{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_17825/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_17825","id":"gutenberg_17825","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17825","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Fairy tales"],"text":"E-text prepared by David Garcia, Sjaani, and the Project Gutenberg Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/) from page images\ngenerously made available by Kentuckiana Digital Library\n(http://kdl.kyvl.org/)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 17825-h.htm or 17825-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/8/2/17825/17825-h/17825-h.htm)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/8/2/17825/17825-h.zip)\n      \n      Images of the original pages are available through the Electronic\n      Text Collection of Kentuckiana Digital Library. See\n      http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&idno=B92-277-32008329&view=toc\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING-HEART\n\nby\n\nANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON\n\nAuthor of \"The Little Colonel Series,\" \"Big\nBrother,\" \"Joel: A Boy of Galilee,\"\n\"Keeping Tryst,\" etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Olga, holding it in the hollow of\nher hands, offered him the water.]\n\n\n\n\nBoston\nL. C. Page & Company\n1907\nCopyright, 1900\nBy L. C. Page & Company\n(Incorporated)\nCopyright, 1907\nBy L. C. Page & Company\n(Incorporated)\nAll rights reserved\nFirst Impression, July, 1907\nColonial Press\nElectrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.\nBoston, U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\nIN MEMORY\nOF THE ONES THAT GREW\nSO LONG AGO,\nIN OLD \"Aunt Nancy's\" GARDEN.\n\n\n\n\nThe Legend of the Bleeding-heart\n\n\n\n\nIn days of old, when all things in the Wood had speech, there lived\nwithin its depths a lone Flax-spinner. She was a bent old creature, and\nill to look upon, but all the tongues of all the forest leaves were ever\nkept a-wagging with the story of her kindly deeds. And even to this day\nthey sometimes whisper low among themselves (because they fain would\nhold in mind so sweet a tale) the story of her kindness to the little\norphan, Olga.\n\n'Twas no slight task the old Flax-spinner took upon herself, the day she\nbrought the helpless child to share the shelter of her thatch. The Oak\noutside her door held up his arms in solemn protest.\n\n\"Thou dost but waste thyself,\" he said. \"Thy benefits will be forgot,\nthy labours unrequited. For Youth is ever but another title for\nIngratitude.\"\n\n\"Nay, friend,\" the old Flax-spinner said. \"My little Olga will not be\nungrateful and forgetful.\"\n\nAll hedged about with loving care, the orphan grew to gracious\nmaidenhood, and felt no lack of father, mother, brother or sister. In\nevery way the old Flax-spinner took their places. But many were the\nsacrifices that she made to keep her fed and warmly clad, and every time\nshe went without herself that Olga might receive a greater share,\nWiseacre Oak looked down and frowned and shook his head.\n\nThen would the old dame hasten to her inner room, and there she pricked\nherself with her spindle, until a great red drop of her heart's blood\nfell into her trembling hand. With witchery of words she blew upon it,\nand rolled it in her palm, and muttering, turned and turned and turned\nit. And as the spell was laid upon it, it shrivelled into a tiny round\nball like a seed, and she strung it on a thread where were many others\nlike it, saying, \"By this she will remember. She will not be ungrateful\nand forgetful.\"\n\nSo years went by, and Olga grew in goodness and in beauty, and helped\nthe old Flax-spinner in her tasks as blithely and as willingly as if\nshe were indeed her daughter. Every morning she brought water from the\nspring, gathered the wild fruits of the woods, and spread the linen on\nthe grass to bleach. At such times would the bent old foster-mother hold\nherself erect, and call up to the Oak, \"Dost see? Thou'rt wrong! Youth\nis _not_ another title for Ingratitude.\"\n\n\"Thou hast not lived as long as I,\" would be the only answer.\n\nOne day as Olga was wandering by the spring, searching for watercresses,\nthe young Prince of the castle rode by on his prancing charger. A\nsnow-white plume waved in his hat, and a shining silver bugle hung from\nhis shoulder, for he had been following the chase.\n\nHe was thirsty and tired, and asked for a drink, but there was no cup\nwith which to dip the water from the spring. But Olga caught the drops\nas they bubbled out from the spring, holding them in the hollow of her\nbeautiful white hands, and reaching up to where he sat, offered him the\nsparkling water. So gracefully was it done, that the Prince was charmed\nby her modest manner as well as her lovely face, and baring his head\nwhen he had slaked his thirst, he touched the white hands with his lips.\n\nBefore he rode away he asked her name and where she lived. The next day\na courier in scarlet and gold stopped at the door of the cottage and\ninvited Olga to the castle. Princesses and royal ladies from all over\nthe realm were to be entertained there, seven days and seven nights.\nEvery night a grand ball was to be given, and Olga was summoned to each\nof the balls. It was because of her pleasing manner and her great\nbeauty that she had been bidden.\n\nThe old Flax-spinner courtesied low to the courier and promised that\nOlga should be at the castle without fail.\n\n\"But, good dame,\" cried Olga, when the courier had gone, \"prithee tell\nme why thou didst make such a promise, knowing full well this gown of\ntow is all I own. Wouldst have me stand before the Prince in beggar's\ngarb? Better to bide at home for aye than be put to shame before such\nguests.\"\n\n\"Have done, my child!\" the old dame said. \"Thou shalt wear a court robe\nof the finest. Years have I toiled to have it ready, but that is naught.\nI loved thee as my own.\"\n\nThen once more the old Flax-spinner went into her inner room, and\npricked herself with her spindle till another great red drop of her\nheart's blood fell into her trembling hand. With witchery of words she\nblew upon it, and rolled it in her palm, and muttering, turned and\nturned and turned it. And as the spell was laid upon it, it shrivelled\ninto a tiny round ball like a seed, and she strung it on to a thread,\nwhere were many others like it. Seventy times seven was the number of\nbeads on this strange rosary.\n\nWhen the night of the first ball rolled around, Olga combed her long\ngolden hair and twined it with a wreath of snowy water-lilies, and then\nshe stood before the old dame in her dress of tow. To her wonderment\nand grief she saw there was no silken robe in waiting, only a string of\nbeads to clasp around her white throat. Each bead in the necklace was\nlike a little shrivelled seed, and Olga's eyes filled with tears of\ndisappointment.\n\n\"Obey me and all will be well,\" said the old woman.\n\n\"When thou reachest the castle gate clasp one bead in thy fingers and\nsay:\n\n     \"'For love's sweet sake, in my hour of need,\n     Blossom and deck me, little seed.'\n\nStraightway right royally shalt thou be clad. But remember carefully the\ncharm. Only to the magic words, 'For love's sweet sake' will the\nnecklace give up its treasures. If thou shouldst forget, then thou must\nbe doomed always to wear thy gown of tow.\"\n\nSo Olga sped on her moon-lighted way through the forest until she came\nto the castle gate. There she paused, and grasping a bead of the strange\nnecklace between her fingers, repeated the old dame's charm:\n\n     \"For love's sweet sake, in my hour of need,\n     Blossom and deck me, little seed.\"\n\nImmediately the bead burst with a little puff as if a seed pod had\nsnapped asunder. A faint perfume surrounded her, rare and subtle as if\nit had been blown across from some flower of Eden. Olga looked down and\nfound herself enveloped in a robe of such delicate texture, that it\nseemed soft as a rose-leaf and as airy as pink clouds that sometimes\nfloat across the sunset. The water-lilies in her hair had become a\ncoronal of opals.\n\nWhen she entered the great ball-room, the Prince of the castle started\nup from his throne in amazement. Never before had he seen such a vision\nof loveliness. \"Surely,\" said he, \"some rose of Paradise hath found a\nsoul and drifted earthward to blossom here.\" And all that night he had\neyes for none but her.\n\nThe next night Olga started again to the castle in her dress of tow, and\nat the gate she grasped the second bead in her fingers, repeating the\ncharm. This time the pale yellow of the daffodils seemed to have woven\nitself into a cloth of gold for her adorning. It was like a shimmer of\nmoon-beams, and her hair held the diamond flashings of a hundred tiny\nstars.\n\nThat night the Prince paid her so many compliments and singled her out\nso often to bestow his favours, that Olga's head was turned. She tossed\nit proudly, and quite scorned the thought of the humble cottage which\nhad given her shelter so long. The next day when she had returned to\nher gown of tow and was no longer a haughty court lady, but only Olga,\nthe Flax-spinner's maiden, she repined at her lot. Frowning, she carried\nthe water from the spring. Frowning, she gathered the cresses and\nplucked the woodland fruit. And then she sat all day by the spring,\nrefusing to spread the linen on the grass to bleach.\n\nShe was discontented with the old life of toil, and pouted crossly\nbecause duties called her when she wanted to do nothing but sit idly\ndreaming of the gay court scenes in which she had taken a bright brief\npart. The old Flax-spinner's fingers trembled as she spun, when she saw\nthe frowns, for she had given of her heart's blood to buy happiness for\nthis maiden she loved, and well she knew there can be no happiness where\nfrowns abide. She felt that her years of sacrifice had been in vain, but\nwhen the Oak wagged his head she called back waveringly, \"My little Olga\nwill not be ungrateful and forgetful!\"\n\nThat night outside the castle gate, Olga paused. She had forgotten the\ncharm. The day's discontent had darkened her memory as storm-clouds\ndarken the sky. But she grasped her necklace imperiously.\n\n\"Deck me at once!\" she cried in a haughty tone. \"Clothe me more\nbeautifully than mortal maid was ever clad before, so that I may find\nfavour in the Prince's sight and become the bride of the castle! I would\nthat I were done for ever with the spindle and the distaff!\"\n\nBut the moon went under a cloud and the wind began to moan around the\nturrets. The black night hawks in the forest flapped their wings\nwarningly, and the black bats flitted low around her head.\n\n\"Obey me at once!\" she cried angrily, stamping her foot and jerking at\nthe necklace. But the string broke, and the beads went rolling away in\nthe darkness in every direction and were lost--all but one, which she\nheld clasped in her hand.\n\nThen Olga wept at the castle gate; wept outside in the night and the\ndarkness, in her peasant's garb of tow. But after awhile through her\nsobbing, stole the answering sob of the night wind.\n\n\"Hush-sh!\" it seemed to say. \"Sh-sh! Never a heart can come to harm, if\nthe lips but speak the old dame's charm.\"\n\nThe voice of the night wind sounded so much like the voice of the old\nFlax-spinner, that Olga was startled and looked around wonderingly. Then\nsuddenly she seemed to see the thatched cottage and the bent form of the\nlonely old woman at the wheel. All the years in which the good dame had\nbefriended her seemed to rise up in a row, and out of each one called a\nthousand kindnesses as with one voice: \"How canst thou forget us, Olga?\nWe were done for love's sweet sake, and that alone!\"\n\nThen was Olga sorry and ashamed that she had been so proud and\nforgetful, and she wept again. The tears seemed to clear her vision, for\nnow she saw plainly that through no power of her own could she wrest\nstrange favours from fortune. Only the power of the old charm could make\nthem hers. She remembered it then, and holding fast the one bead in her\nhand, she repeated humbly:\n\n     \"For love's sweet sake, in my hour of need,\n     Blossom and deck me, little seed.\"\n\nLo, as the words left her lips, the moon shone out from behind the\nclouds above the dark forest. There was a fragrance of lilies all\nabout, and a gossamer gown floated around her, whiter than the whiteness\nof the fairest lily. It was fine like the finest lace the frost-elves\nweave, and softer than the softest ermine of the snow. On her long\ngolden hair gleamed a coronet of pearls.\n\nSo beautiful, so dazzling was she as she entered the castle door, that\nthe Prince came down to meet her, and kneeling, kissed her hand and\nclaimed her as his bride. Then came the bishop in his mitre, and led her\nto the throne, and before them all the Flax-spinner's maiden was married\nto the Prince, and made the Princess Olga.\n\nThen until the seven days and seven nights were done, the revels lasted\nin the castle. And in the merriment the old Flax-spinner was again\nforgotten. Her kindness of the past, her loneliness in the present had\nno part in the thoughts of the Princess Olga.\n\nAll night the old Oak, tapping on the thatch, called down, \"Thou'rt\nforgotten! Thou'rt forgotten!\"\n\nBut the beads that had rolled away in the darkness, buried themselves in\nthe earth, and took root, and sprang up, as the old woman knew they\nwould do. There at the castle gate they bloomed, a strange, strange\nflower, for on every stem hung a row of little bleeding hearts.\n\nOne day the Princess Olga, seeing them from her window, went down to\nthem in wonderment.\n\n\"What do you here?\" she cried, for in her forest life she'd learned all\nspeech of bird and beast and plant.\n\n\"We bloom for love's sweet sake,\" they answered. \"We have sprung from\nthe old Flax-spinner's gift--the necklace thou didst break and scatter.\nFrom her heart's best blood she gave it, and her heart still bleeds to\nthink she is forgotten.\"\n\nThen they began to tell the story of the old dame's sacrifices, all the\nseventy times seven that she had made for the sake of the maiden, and\nOlga grieved as she listened, that she could have been so ungrateful.\nThen she brought the Prince to hear the story of the strange, strange\nflowers, and when he had heard, together they went to the lowly cottage\nand fetched the old Flax-spinner to the castle, there to live out all\nher days in ease and contentment.\n\n\"See now,\" she whispered to the Oak at parting, but sturdily he held his\nground, persisting, \"Thou _wouldst_ have been forgotten, save for that\nmiracle of bloom.\"\n\n_And still the flower we call BLEEDING-HEART blooms on by cottage walls\nand castle gardens, to waken all the world to grateful memories. And\never it doth bring to mind the lonely hearts that bleed because they are\nforgotten, and all they sacrificed for love's sweet sake, to give us\nhappiness._","title":"The Legend of the Bleeding-heart","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2559}