She then went on, leaving poor Kluma half laughing at the thought of such a miserable old woman as that ever having it in her power to benefit a king’s daughter. As Kluma grew older, her sisters’ ill-treatment of her became more marked; they made her perform the most menial offices for them, and then ridiculed her awkwardness and her blunders, not heeding the pains that she took to please them. One after another they were sought in marriage by grand princes, and left their father’s kingdom for that of their husbands, till at last five of them had gone, and only one, the next older than Kluma, named Cerulia, the most beautiful of all, was left at home. This did not render Kluma’s position any the less trying. Cerulia was the most lovely, it is true, but also the most ill-natured and exacting of the sisters, and being so much by herself, she had no other means of passing away her leisure than by plaguing and tormenting poor Kluma almost out of her life; so that, at the last (and no wonder,) Kluma’s patience was so severely tried, that she sometimes retorted in anger, and became in danger of adding a disagreeable temper to a forbidding countenance.
As the parents of Kluma had married their five eldest daughters so much to their satisfaction, and had no hope of being able to dispose of Kluma at all, they determined that their sixth and last marriageable daughter, the Princess Cerulia, as she surpassed the rest in the elegance of her person, should as far outshine them in the magnificence of her settlement. Therefore, they refused the offers made by persons of wealth and high station near home, and the father himself commissioned one of his ministers to go to a country far to the east, where dwelt an opulent king called Hayda, who had an only son, Prince Talyon, who was heir to the finest kingdom in the world, and to make proposals to the king, to the effect that his son, Prince Talyon, should wed the Princess Cerulia. He went, and returned in due time, bringing the consent of King Hayda, and wonderful accounts of his riches, and of the generosity of the young Prince.
One night, shortly after this, a fearful storm arose. The castle stood on an eminence, commanding a view of the sea, and amid the lightnings and tempest, a ship was seen tossing to and fro, till at last it was dashed in pieces on the rocks. Then the shrieks and cries of the victims were most terrible. Kluma could not endure the sight, but ran with a crowd of domestics to the strand, where the dead bodies were constantly being washed on shore. Among the rest was a youth meanly clad, but of a noble form and countenance, who seemed to Kluma to show still some signs of life. She caused the men, therefore, to bear him to the castle, where they tried to restore him to consciousness. The domestics took off his wet garments, and wrapped him in warm dry flannels, and after a long time he breathed once more, and was able presently to take food, and even to walk about; but he could see nothing, a blindness having fallen upon him. The whole charge of nursing him devolved upon Kluma and her servants, for, as he was found in such mean attire, her parents thought him a person of low degree, and therefore cared little what became of him; and as they cared as little for Kluma and her occupation, she was left to spend her time with the stranger, to whom she became much attached; and as he could not see, she used to lead him about the parks and grounds for air. He seemed to be very much pleased with her, and never liked her to be away from him.
One day, while walking about, she encountered the minister who had been sent with the commission to the kingdom of Hayda. How great was his astonishment at recognizing in the poor blind youth that Kluma was leading about, the rich Prince Talyon! He went directly and reported his discovery to the King and Queen, who were taken by surprise, and were perfectly shocked to think that he had been so neglected by all but Kluma. But they determined now to make amends. Immediately a magnificent palace was prepared for him, costly robes put upon him, and servants kept constantly in waiting. As for Kluma, she was sent out of the way, although he was ever asking for her, and supposed that she was the Princess to whom he was betrothed, not knowing that the King had another daughter. He presently confessed his rank, and that he came in disguise to see for himself his future bride. Being in the hands of a skillful physician, his sight was soon restored, and when he asked to see her who had saved his life, and who had nursed him so long and faithfully, they brought before him the Princess Cerulia. He was charmed when he first cast his eyes upon her beauty, but when she spoke to him, the smile of joy left his lips, and he prayed of them not to deceive him; and when they still strove to convince him that it was she, he cried, “Would that I might be again blind, if her voice would have the music that it had in my past hours of darkness!”
Poor Kluma was very much grieved when she learned who the youth really was, that she had been the means of restoring to life, and though she knew of his asking for her, she never once thought of presenting herself to him, for she was sure he only needed to see her coarse features, to despise and hate her. Nevertheless she could not keep herself from thinking of him, and every day saw her sadder, and more troubled, till at last, more miserable than ever, she wandered far away from home, and sat herself down to bewail her sad lot. While she was weeping, she heard a step beside her, and a rustling, and on looking up, saw a little lady, dressed in a robe of spangled silk, all glittering with diamonds. Kluma could not at first remember, that she had seen her before, but she spoke and said, “Young Princess, why do you weep; have you forgotten the poor old lady to whom, years ago, you restored the crutches, that your naughty sisters willfully threw away from her? She then told you that perhaps one day it would be in her power to requite you; she has remembered it if you have not; and now tell me, for I am the same person, what you need, and why you weep so bitterly? and I, who am an enchantress of great power, can perhaps fulfill your wishes.”
“Oh!” said Kluma eagerly, “can you take away this red skin, these colorless eyes, this coarse black hair, and give me instead fairness, like my sisters?”
“I fear not,” said the Enchantress.
“Then,” said Kluma, “all that you can do for me will be in vain; I shall yet be hated for my ugliness,” and wept more bitterly than ever.
But the Enchantress was so anxious to console poor Kluma, that she kept on urging her, till Kluma finally told her everything about her sisters’ ill-treatment, of the young prince that she had saved, and of her great attachment to him, and of her grief on learning who he was; also, that she had been forbidden to see him, or to speak to him, and that if permitted, she never should dare to do so, for fear that he would scorn her.
The Enchantress mused for a while, then suddenly recollecting herself, drew from her bosom a small box, formed of diamonds, which she held up before Kluma, while she said, “I think I can dispel your grief, though I cannot change your countenance. In this box there is a mist, formed of the purest dew by morning’s earliest beam; it is so light and transparent that it can scarce be seen, and yet it forms a medium of such intensity and power, the very ugliest features seen through it become softened and harmonized. But listen! only around the face and form of the most patient and amiable, can it be held; the very slightest breath of anger, or malicious passion, will blow it away, never more to return.” So saying, she opened the box, and out flew a light cloud, that floated over the countenance and form of Kluma, and the Enchantress holding up a mirror before her, revealed to her her face, shining resplendent through the diamond fleece. She saw the mild light beaming from her eyes, the lips around which played a heavenly smile, and the hair, meekly parted from the brow, “pure as an angel’s.” Kluma was almost transported, and turned to thank the Enchantress, for so long remembering, and so generously rewarding, a simple act of kindness. The little lady smiled on her, and said, “Go back to your home, but do not forget the conditions on which you keep your charms. Be patient and obedient, and all will yet prosper with you.” And before Kluma could thank her again, she vanished.