THERE lived far away to the westward a king and queen, who had seven daughters. Six of them were the most charming princesses in the world, but the seventh and youngest was so very plain, that her friends were ashamed of her, and kept her always out of sight. The poor thing, in comparison with her beautiful sisters, seemed almost hideous, which she really was not. However, her skin was red and very coarse, her large gray eyes were lustreless and dull, and there was no such thing as training her harsh black hair in curls, or parting it smoothly on her forehead. Kluma, for that was her name, would not have cared so much for her lack of beauty, if it had not been the cause of her sister’s treating her very ill; and it really was hard that they would not even allow her to play with them, when by themselves, or to remain in their company, because she did not look as well as they—a misfortune that was none of her fault, and which she would have been far more rejoiced than they to have remedied, if she could have done so. Her father and mother, too, were so affected by her want of beauty, in their feelings and conduct toward her, as to be cold and neglectful of her who never disobeyed their commands, and who was ever ready to do a kindness to them, or to the sisters, who so heartily despised her; but the king and queen were weak and silly people, who thought of little else than making a show in the world, and above all things they desired that their daughters might make splendid matches, and gain by their good looks, husbands among the wealthy princes of the neighboring states, and thus increase their own power and importance, as well as establish their children according to their liking. As Kluma grew older, she made herself friends of the inferiors in her father’s palace, by being generous and forbearing toward them. The very animals loved her, and she spent her life happily enough, when she was not in the way of her parents and sisters, who never thought of her, except as of a vexation that they could not well rid themselves of, so would try to keep her out of their minds as much as possible.

Once, as the older sisters were all at play in the park, and Kluma was hidden among the bushes, as usual, looking at them, a little old lady, very meanly dressed, came by that way. She was ill-formed, and so lame, she was forced to go upon crutches. She came hobbling along up the path, and stumbling, dropped first one crutch, then the other. One of the princesses darted forward, and caught up the crutches, which the poor old thing supposed she was going to present to her; but instead, the ill-mannered child ran off with them, and began mimicking the old lady, by limping and hobbling around, to the great amusement of the other sisters, who followed her, shrieking with laughter, over a hill, out of sight. The old woman called after them in piteous tones, but they heeded her not in the least, only mocking her cry; when Kluma, stealing forth from her hiding-place, and coming to her, said, “Do not cry; I will find your crutches for you;” and before the old woman could speak, darted off, soon returning with the crutches in her hand, having found them just beyond the hill, where her unfeeling sister had tossed them. Kluma then assisted the old woman to rise and walk; the poor creature all the while thanking her; and when they reached the road together, and Kluma was going back, she turned and said, “Little lady, although you are not handsome, you are very good; I shall never forget your kindness to me this day, and though I now look so poor, I may yet be able to do you a great service, in return for the good you have done me. Remember.”

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.

Kluma reached her home at night, where she was told that her parents had given their commands that she should remain constantly in her room, and never expose herself to the risk of being seen by the Prince, who was as yet ignorant of her assistance. This was sad news to poor Kluma, and she began to despair of ever seeing the Prince again, as now matters were in progress for the marriage, which was soon to be celebrated between her sister and the prince, and they would probably depart ere she would be released. But she made no resistance, only followed the attendant who was instructed to lead her to imprisonment. As she passed through the hall, the servants were struck with wonder at the amazing change which had taken place in Kluma, and that she had become the most beautiful of the princesses. Day by day, as they attended her, they became accustomed to the change, and spoke of her among themselves, as if she had always been, as now, pre-eminent.

All this long time, for a month at least, Kluma had not seen her parents and sister (who only wished her to keep out of sight, and beyond this, cared very little what became of her), nor even had she caught a passing glimpse of the Prince, from whom they concealed all knowledge of her existence. The pains they took to accomplish their wishes, in this respect, was the very cause of bringing Kluma to his notice. One of the servants, in waiting on him, who, like all the rest, was attached to Kluma, and indignant at her being deprived of her liberty, let fall some hints one day that awakened the curiosity of the Prince, about the beautiful daughter of the King, who was confined in the palace, and, being urged, told the whole story of her wrongs, that it was Kluma and not Cerulia who had saved his life, and whose voice he so loved to hear. The Prince, enraged at the deceit that had been practised upon him, immediately sent for the King and Queen, and demanded that they should produce their other daughter, who was a prisoner in the palace, or he would leave their kingdom at once, and return home alone. They were very much alarmed, and tried to appease his wrath, by making a confession of the fraud that they had practised on him, but represented that it was on account of the perfect hideousness of Kluma, and that she was not even fit to be presented to him; but, as they had already deceived him, and the servant had expatiated largely on her great attractions, he persisted in his desire to see her. The Princess Cerulia, in a rage at the implied slight to herself, and thinking to mortify the Prince and Kluma at the same time, proposed that she should be sent for, and the King, thinking it the best mode of ending this importunity of the Prince, and of convincing him of the truth, consented to its being done. She was accordingly conducted, trembling and agitated, into their presence. The Princess Cerulia haughtily and triumphantly turned her eyes, first upon the Prince, then upon Kluma, when lo! she stood glowing before them, in unsurpassed loveliness. The King and Queen were no less amazed, not knowing how this wonderful change had been wrought. As for the Prince, he needed no second look to know that to this Princess his heart should be given. He thanked her for his life, which she had saved to him, and when she answered he knew the voice he had so longed to hear again. The King, seeing that there was still a hope of his claiming the Prince for his son-in-law, came forward, and tendered the hand of Kluma, which the Prince graciously accepted, as by this time he was completely captivated.

Words cannot describe the rage of the Princess Cerulia when she saw Kluma thus openly preferred to herself, and her mortification knew no bounds, when, after an imposing pageant, and bridal ceremony (at which she was forced to appear as chief bridesmaid), she saw Kluma depart, as the bride of the Prince Talyon, to the kingdom of his father, to which he was heir, and where they lived in happiness many long years; and Kluma still grew more lovely in the eyes of her husband, for the mist was never dissipated as long as she lived, by the rude breath of anger or malice.