Amid the festive throng, with courtly hospitality, walked the young prince. The winds and sun had bronzed his handsome face, and the damp exhalations of the mine had moistened the rich curls of his dark hair. Yet nothing in all the rough miner’s life had harmed him in any way. He was a prince born, and a real prince at heart. There was not a father in the north land who would not have taken him by the hand, nor a mother who would not have been proud of him. Even the young maidens whispered together, “He is a man; one could look up to him, and that is the best of all.”
The prince was attentive to all his fair guests, but he danced more with the consul’s daughter. She was a proud young beauty, so ambitious, that she had treated with scorn many an honest heart in the Gold Land.
“My great-great-grandfather was younger brother to an earl, and I am beautiful enough to be the bride of a nobleman,” she would say, as she sat by her mirror. When the herald came with the invitation to the ball, she determined in her mind to marry the rich Russian prince.
“Of course,” she thought, “I am the most beautiful, so that is settled. I will go back to the old world, where I will astonish even the queen with the richness of my dress and the luster of my jewels, and every one will pay court to the princess of the Gold Land.”
So she went to the ball with glistening eyes and a proud flush upon her cheek, and all the guests whispered, “The consul’s daughter is the most beautiful maiden.” It found an echo in the heart of the prince, so that the matter seemed really decided.
Just then the music ceased, for the musicians were weary. The dancers were quite out of breath, and the windows of the grand saloon were opened to admit the refreshing air.
Without, the snow-flakes were holding their revel in honor of the princess Golden Snow. Up to the great carved windows they flew, and their clear voices sounded through the ball-room so distinctly, that the prince and all his guests heard them:
“The consul’s daughter is fair, we know,
But not like the beautiful Golden Snow.
There are lovely maids at the castle ball,