Stories from Pentamerone | Page 7

and his wife, who had no
children whatever, and they longed with the greatest eagerness to have
an heir. The woman, above all, was for ever saying, "O heavens! if I
might but have a little baby--I should not care, were it even a sprig of a
myrtle." And she repeated this song so often, and so wearied Heaven
with these words, that at last her wish was granted; and at the end of
nine months, instead of a little boy or girl, she placed in the hands of
the nurse a fine sprig of myrtle. This she planted with great delight in a
pot, ornamented with ever so many beautiful figures, and set it in the
window, tending it morning and evening with more diligence than the
gardener does a bed of cabbages from which he reckons to pay the rent
of his garden.
Now the King's son happening to pass by, as he was going to hunt, took
a prodigious fancy to this beautiful plant, and sent to ask the mistress of
the house if she would sell it, for he would give even one of his eyes
for it. The woman at last, after a thousand difficulties and refusals,
allured by his offers, dazzled by his promises, frightened by his threats,
overcome by his prayers, gave him the pot, beseeching him to hold it
dear, for she loved it more than a daughter, and valued it as much as if
it were her own offspring. Then the Prince had the flower-pot carried
with the greatest care in the world into his own chamber, and placed it
in a balcony, and tended and watered it with his own hand.
It happened one evening, when the Prince had gone to bed, and put out
the candles, and all were at rest and in their first sleep, that he heard the
sound of some one stealing through the house, and coming cautiously
towards his bed; whereat he thought it must be some chamber-boy

coming to lighten his purse for him, or some mischievous imp to pull
the bed-clothes off him. But as he was a bold fellow, whom none could
frighten, he acted the dead cat, waiting to see the upshot of the affair.
When he perceived the object approach nearer, and stretching out his
hand felt something smooth, and instead of laying hold, as he expected,
on the prickles of a hedgehog, he touched a little creature more soft and
fine than Barbary wool, more pliant and tender than a marten's tail,
more delicate than thistle-down, he flew from one thought to another,
and taking her to be a fairy (as indeed she was), he conceived at once a
great affection for her. The next morning, before the Sun, like a chief
physician, went out to visit the flowers that are sick and languid, the
unknown fair one rose and disappeared, leaving the Prince filled with
curiosity and wonder.
But when this had gone on for seven days, he was burning and melting
with desire to know what good fortune this was that the stars had
showered down on him, and what ship freighted with the graces of
Love it was that had come to its moorings in his chamber. So one night,
when the fair maiden was fast asleep, he tied one of her tresses to his
arm, that she might not escape; then he called a chamberlain, and
bidding him light the candles, he saw the flower of beauty, the miracle
of women, the looking-glass and painted egg of Venus, the fair bait of
Love--he saw a little doll, a beautiful dove, a Fata Morgana, a
banner--he saw a golden trinket, a hunter, a falcon's eye, a moon in her
fifteenth day, a pigeon's bill, a morsel for a king, a jewel--he saw, in
short, a sight to amaze one.
In astonishment he cried, "O sleep, sweet sleep! heap poppies on the
eyes of this lovely jewel; interrupt not my delight in viewing as long as
I desire this triumph of beauty. O lovely tress that binds me! O lovely
eyes that inflame me! O lovely lips that refresh me! O lovely bosom
that consoles me! Oh where, at what shop of the wonders of Nature,
was this living statue made? What India gave the gold for these hairs?
What Ethiopia the ivory to form these brows? What seashore the
carbuncles that compose these eyes? What Tyre the purple to dye this
face? What East the pearls to string these teeth? And from what
mountains was the snow taken to sprinkle over this bosom--snow
contrary to nature, that nurtures the flowers and burns hearts?"
So saying he made a vine of his arms, and clasping her neck, she awoke

from her sleep and replied, with a gentle smile, to