Roman Legends: A collection of the fables and folk-lore of Rome. Rachel Harriette Busk
you, according to promise, in the morning. When you have driven with him in his carriage all day, towards evening you will find yourself in a thick wood. Say to him you are tired with sitting in the carriage all day, and ask to be allowed to walk a little way in the wood before sundown. I, meantime, will place ready my wooden figure of an old woman, which you will find there, and, watching for a moment when he has his head turned, place yourself inside the figure and walk away. There is another thing which you must do, which is very important. When the ring was lost, you must know it was he who took it, and, though he kept it studiously concealed all the while he was in your father’s palace, he will now carry it boldly slung on the feather in his cap; this you must find means of possessing yourself of during the journey, because it is essential to you that you should have it in your own hands. And fear nothing either, in making your escape, for the ring is your own property, which he has falsely taken; and, in leaving him, remember he can have no power over you against your will. I may not inform you what may befall you in your new character as poor Maria Wood, but be good and courageous; always, as now, choose the right bravely in all questions and doubts, and you shall not go unrewarded.’
There was little time for leave-taking between the good teacher and her affectionate pupil, for the prince almost immediately after came to claim his bride, and all the neighbours and friends came, too, to the festivities. The dress woven of sunbeams was brought by four-and-twenty pages, for it was so dazzling they could not hold it for more than five minutes at a time, and they had to carry it by relays.
At last leave-takings and festivities were over, and, amid the good-wishes and blessings of all, Maria drove away in the prince’s carriage. On they drove all day, and towards the end of it, as it was getting dark, Maria contrived to twitch the ring from the prince’s cap without his being aware of it; presently after she exclaimed, ‘Oh dear! how cramped I feel from sitting all day in this carriage; cannot I walk a little way in this wood before it gets dark?’
‘Most certainly you can, if you wish,’ replied the prince, who, having everything his own way, was in a very accommodating humour.
When they had walked a little way down the forest-path, Maria espied the wooden form she was to assume, placed ready under a tree.
‘That old woman will have a longish way to go to get a night’s shelter, I fancy,’ exclaimed the prince, with a laugh which made Maria shudder, both from its heartlessness and also because it reminded her that she would soon find herself alone, far from shelter, in that dark wood. But was it not better to be alone in the dark than in such company as that she was about to leave, she said to herself. Then she turned once more to look at it. The figure looked so natural she could not forbear saying mechanically, ‘Poor old woman! give me a little coin to bestow on her that she may wish us Godspeed on our night-journey.’
‘Nonsense!’ replied the prince. ‘Never let me hear you talk such idle stuff. And, come, it is time to go back into the carriage; it is getting quite dark.’
‘Oh! what a beautiful firefly!’ exclaimed Maria, reminded by the speech to hasten her separation from her uncongenial companion, ‘Oh, do catch it for me!’
The prince lifted his cap, and ran a few steps after the insect. ‘Oh, I see another, and I shall catch it before you catch yours—you’ll see!’ So saying, she darted towards the tree where the wooden figure stood ready, and placing herself inside, walked slowly and freely along, counterfeiting the gait of an aged and weary woman.
The prince had soon caught the firefly and was bringing it back in triumph, when, to his dismay, Maria was nowhere to be seen. He ran this way and that, called and shouted in vain. The servants with the carriage were too far off to have seen anything; there was no witness to appeal to but the old woman.
‘Which way did the young lady run who was walking with me just now?’ he eagerly inquired.
‘Down that path there to the right, as fast as the firefly itself could fly, and if she comes back as quickly as she went she will be back presently,’ replied Maria Wood, feigning the voice of an old woman.
The prince ran in the direction indicated, and was soon himself lost in the mazes of the forest, where he wandered hopelessly all night; and only when the morning light came was he able to make his way back to his carriage, and drive home ashamed and crestfallen, giving up his conquest in despair, and vowing useless vengeance against the fairy godmother, whose intervention he now recognised it was had baffled him.
Maria meantime walked steadily and fearlessly along, guided by the stars which peeped here and there through the tall trees. Nor was shelter so far off as the prince had said. Before very long a party of charcoal-burners hailed her, and offered a share of such poor hospitality as they could command. It was very different from the comforts of her father’s house; but Maria took it as the first instalment of the hardships she had accepted.
Maria’s wooden form was very skilfully made; the limbs had supple joints, which could be moved by the person inside just like those of a living being; and the clothes the teacher had provided being just like those of the country people about, no one entertained the least suspicion that Maria Wood, as she had now become, was anything different from themselves.
The charcoal-burners were kind, simple people, and, finding Maria willing to assist them in their labours to the extent of her powers, proposed to her to stay and cast in her lot with them as long as the season for their work lasted; and she did their hard work and shared their poor fare with never a word of complaint.
At last, one day, when she was on I know not what errand, at some distance from the encampment, the young king of the country, who had lately been called to the throne, came through the forest hunting, with a large retinue of followers. Crash, crash, like thunder, went the brushwood as the wild boar trampled it down, and the eager dogs bounded after him with lightning speed. They passed close to Maria, who was as much alarmed as if she had really been the old woman she seemed to be: but when she saw the riders bearing down upon her, their horses’ hoofs tearing up the soil, and the branches everywhere giving way before their impetuosity, her heart failed her entirely, and she swooned away upon the grass. The king, however, was the only one whose course passed over the spot where she was, and he only perceived her in time to rein up his mount just before it might have trampled on her.
‘See here to this old body, whom we have nearly frightened to death,’ he cried; and the huntsmen came and lifted her up.
‘Some of you carry her home to the palace, that she may be attended to,’ said the king further; and they carried her home to the palace, and laid her on a bed, and restored her senses.
When the king came home from the hunt, he would go himself to see how it had fared with her; and when he found her almost restored he asked her whither she would wish to be sent.
‘Little it matters to me where I go,’ replied Maria Wood, in the saddened voice of grief-stricken age; ‘for home and kindred have I none. Little it matters where I lay my weary bones to rest.’
When the king heard her speak thus he compassionated her, and inquired if there was any service in the household that could be offered her.
‘Please your Majesty, there is not much strength in her for work,’ replied the steward; ‘but, if such is your royal will, she can be set to help the scullions in the kitchen.’
‘Will that suit you, old dame?’ inquired the king. ‘They shall not ask too much of you, and a good table and warm shelter shall never be wanting.’
‘All thanks to your Majesty’s bounty. My heart could desire nothing more than to live thus under the shadow of your Majesty,’ replied Maria, making a humble obeisance.
And thus Maria, from a princess, became a servant of servants.
‘What’s the use of giving us such a cranky old piece as that for a help?’ said the scullion to the turnspit, as Maria was introduced to her new quarters.
‘Why, as to that, as she has taken the service she must do it, cranky or not cranky,’ answered the turnspit.
‘Aye, I