pre-eminent; but they, like all beauties, were extremely jealous of each
other, and were not willing to divide the palm between them, but each
one was anxious to be acknowledged as the “flower of the flowers.”
Knowing the foibles of the two rival ladies, an old orange-tree sought
to ingratiate himself into the favor of both by alternately flattering
them in private, and laughing at the ridiculous pretensions of the one
to the other, whispering to each that her charms could not be surpassed;
and then the false old fellow used to entertain his friend, the
oleander, who was not a lady’s man at all, with stories of the vanity of
the two queens, and of the lucky strokes of flattery which had told so
well on his susceptible listeners. But he soon found that his sincerity
was going to be put to the test, for these partisans could no longer
conceal their rivalry; so the Rose openly threw down the gauntlet to the
Lily, and called upon all the flowers of the garden to pronounce upon
their respective merits, and to decide which should henceforward take
the lead among them. The old orange-tree was chosen by the consent of
both the queens to be the chief judge, each of them thinking that the
umpire was enlisted in her favor, and thereby that they had the game in
their own hands. Now, the old gallant did not wish to have anything to
say in the matter, but, as they were both so solicitous, he could not
refuse them with a very good grace; and, to put on the best face, he
invited all the flowers of the garden to an entertainment, at which he
gave out that the question was to be put for ever at rest.
When the queen Lily received her invitation she said to one of her fair
maidens, “The presumption of that flaunting Rose deserves its
punishment, and, were it not that she would be vain enough to suppose
that I am afraid to show myself beside her, I would decline meeting her
altogether; but she would feed her vanity upon my refusal, therefore I
shall give my orders to all the family to adorn themselves, and be in
readiness to attend me to-morrow at midnight.”
The orange-tree spared neither labor nor expense in the preparations. A
table was set out in a large arbor in the midst of the garden, with
refreshments, and the walks were brilliantly illuminated by lamps which
the glow-worms and the fire-flies furnished. A fine orchestra of birds
was stationed on the top of the arbor, and long before midnight all were
in readiness, and the orange-tree was awaiting, with the oleander beside
him (who, by the way, had enjoyed a quiet pipe or two), the arrival of
the guests. Many of the flowers came early, but the orchestra only
struck up when the queen Rose approached; she was received with
distinguished attention by the orange-tree, who presented her to the
oleander. The ill-mannered old bachelor, instead of rising and leading
her to a chair, merely nodded his head, and remained stiffly seated,
much to the mortification of the orange-tree, whose own manners were
polished, and very deferential to ladies, though I have no doubt that
the oleander cared far more for them in his heart than the courtly, but
rather deceptive, orange-tree.
The queen was dressed in her diamonds, and no one could blame her for
the pride with which she looked around upon her attendants, who,
blooming with youth and beauty, were filling the seats. There was the
white rose (always a favorite), with her modest and unpretending
manners; the damask, with her beautiful blush; and even the wild rose
was there, and, as the queen observed to one of her intimates, “Though
she had been brought up in the country, and not at all accustomed to
fashionable society, there was a native grace about her, and a propriety
of manner, which made her very presentable, owing, no doubt, to the good
blood she had in her veins.” The queen was very gracious to all, and
only once did she seem at all disturbed, and that was when the little
prude, the moss-rose, passed her, making such a show of her modesty, in
pretending to hide her face under her veil, when she knew well enough
she was only enhancing her charms by so doing; and presently, when the
little beauty stole shyly into a corner, as if to get out of sight,
every one said she was striving to captivate Monsieur de Yellow Rose, a
gentleman who had travelled in foreign parts, and was by all odds the
most desirable beau in the room. Her artifice must have succeeded, for
they presently commenced a flirtation with each other that lasted the
whole evening. Now a second flourish of trumpets by the orchestra
heralded the approach of the Lilies, and at the sound there was quite a
sensation among the Roses, who all shook up their perfumes, and seemed
not a little fluttered. As for the queen Rose, she was quite agitated,
and her color heightened as the queen Lily, with a splendid train, swept
in with such a calm and undisturbed dignity. First after the queen came
the water-lily, who wore a crown of gold on her head, and had sailed
down from her home in her gondola. When the queen Rose caught sight of
her she whispered, “What a shame it was for the Lily to make pretension
that the water-lily was related to her family, when every one knew well
enough there was no foundation for it, excepting the mere accident of
their having the same family name.” But her indignation went far beyond
this when she saw the fleur-de-lis among the rest, and she cried, “This
is unbearable; he is of a French family, not in any wise connected with
her, who, I do not doubt, she urged so strongly to attend her that, with
the good breeding and politeness for which his nation is so celebrated,
he could not refuse.”
She now caught sight of the lily of the valley, and exclaimed, “So, so,
my Lady Lily condescends at last to take notice of her humble little
cousin, who has lived for years in retirement, and who, no doubt, would
have remained there still had not some flowers of distinction noticed
her, and brought her forward. I _was_ in hopes that the little thing
would have had spirit enough to reject the advances made to her at such
a late hour.” Notwithstanding her affecting to despise the pretensions
of the Lily, the Rose was not at all at her ease; she felt that as the
Lily sailed around the circle, with her graceful air, she was a rival to
be feared, and was not so sanguine of gaining the victory as she had
been. She saw that the placid mien of the queen Lily had not been
without its effect in calling forth the admiration of those present;
might they not even be led to overlook the beauty which she felt
conscious far exceeded the Lily’s, by that lady’s self-possession and
imposing carriage. At any rate, the Rose felt uneasy, and was quite
nervous, and began rather to repent of her rashness in thus entering
into the lists without first measuring the resources of her adversary.
But she need not have been so alarmed; the orange-tree knew too well
what he was about to risk his standing with either of the ladies by
siding with the other, so, after walking about among the company, and
holding consultation with one and another, he at last gave the signal
for the guests to gather round the table, and partake of the delicacies
that were set before them. After their glasses had been filled he
raised his voice, and proposed as a toast--“The Queen Rose and the Queen
Lily;” and when they had drunk and lowered their glasses, he bowed to
the rivals, and addressed them thus:--
“Ladies, when you compare one with the other you both do yourselves
injustice. The charm of the Rose is her bloom and warmth--that of the
Lily her exceeding fairness; both of you are pieces of perfection, but
of different casts. Should you, Madam (addressing the Rose), attempt to
attain the whiteness of the Lily, you would only succeed in dimming your
natural brightness; and you (to the Lily), in striving to gain the glow
of the Rose, would only mar your purity without reaching your desire.
Be, therefore, content to shine resplendent each in the way that nature
has marked out for you, and be not envious or displeased that another
excels in a different way. Learn also that the Rose suffers nothing by a
display of the perfection of the Lily, nor the Lily by being brought
into comparison with the Rose, for the beauty of each will be only
enhanced by the contrast.”
The oleander and the other flowers all concurred in the sentiments
expressed by the old orange-tree; and the ladies themselves, though at
first they were both a little angry, and inclined to accuse the
orange-tree with treachery, after a few moments’ consideration,
acknowledged the justice of the remarks just made, and the Rose came
forward in a very frank manner and gave her hand to the Lily, who, on
her part, received the concession with a graceful friendliness. After
they had partaken of the delicacies, they left the table arm in arm, and
thus promenaded for some time before the admiring gaze of the assembly;
their attendants followed their example, and the Roses and Lilies,
commingling instead of standing coldly apart, gave such a variety and
animation to the scene that all declared there never had been so
brilliant a fete in the garden as this. The oleander was so inspired by
the scene that he quite melted from his apathetic state, and danced and
laughed with the best, and invited the company, before they separated,
to a banquet that he would prepare them the following week, and even
engaged the orchestra in attendance to be present.
All parted with the greatest kindness and good feeling, and the amity
thus commenced continued through their lives, and resulted in the mutual
advantage of the queen Rose and the queen Lily.
VII.
THE GOLDEN CLOAK.
There once lived a King, who had reigned for many years over his
kingdom, and with his Queen was idolized by his subjects. Only one thing
was wanting to make his happiness complete. This was the want of an heir
to his crown; and when, after a long period had elapsed, contrary to all
expectations, a son was born to him, you may be sure there was great
rejoicing throughout the land.
In that country, as in many others, it was the custom for all the male
children born on the same day with the heir-apparent to the crown to be
brought up with him, and devoted to his service. They were educated at
the expense of the State, and the parents thought themselves indeed
fortunate in having their children so magnificently provided for
without exertion on their own part. Amid these youths Prince Anjah, who
in reality was a paragon of beauty, stood pre-eminent. They were all
fine looking and noble boys, excepting one, the dwarfish Balzebar, who
was ugly in countenance and deformed in person, and of so weak an
intellect that he was almost an idiot. _He was, beside this, both deaf
and dumb._ The King was going to reject this poor little mischance at
first, but the Queen, who was a wise and benevolent woman, represented
to her husband that this misfortune, in being incapable of providing for
himself, gave him a more especial claim on the protection of his
sovereign, and besides that, as everything, however humble and despised,
had its use, this unfortunate child might perhaps be destined to exert
some powerful influence on the fortunes of their son. Her words made
such an impression on the King’s mind, he consented to receive Balzebar
with the rest, to the great joy of his parents, who would not otherwise
have known what to do with him.
As the children grew older, Anjah, who was of a most generous and noble
disposition, took Balzebar under his own particular care and
guardianship, and thus prevented poor Balzebar from being harassed as he
would have been by the ridicule of his more unthinking companions, who
delighted in tormenting the poor soul, and in playing their tricks upon
him. Balzebar in return became so attached to Prince Anjah, that he
followed him about everywhere, as a dog might have done his master who
was kind to him, and was never contented away from him. It was a curious
sight to see the tall and finely-formed Anjah followed everywhere by
this little stunted and ugly dwarf.
When the Prince had reached his eighteenth year, in accordance with the
custom of that time, he was sent to a foreign country, where learning
and the arts were in an advanced state, to be educated. All the young
men, his followers, accompanied him, even Balzebar; for though the King
and his ministers had at first decided that he should remain at home,
fearing that the constant appearance of such an inferior personage in
his train might be prejudicial to the dignity of the young Prince, yet,
at the earnest solicitation of Anjah (who knew that the faithful
creature would grieve himself to death if he should forsake him), he was
permitted to depart with them. A fine vessel had been put in order for
their use, and with a band of music the Prince and his retinue were
escorted to the place where it was in waiting. Great crowds were
collected on the shore, and the loud huzzas of the populace drowned the
swelling notes of the trumpet as their Prince, with his white plumes
floating to the wind, stepped on board the ship; but they could scarcely
restrain a yell of contempt and derisive laughter as the little
hump-backed mute followed after him up the plank with the agility of a
monkey. Two and two the others embarked, and the young men stood on the
upper deck together as the vessel moved off, and waved their adieus,
till at last the helmet with the snowy plumes, which was the
distinguishing mark of the Prince, could no longer be seen.
Anjah felt grieved at parting with his parents, and as his father was
quite an old man, he thought it very probable that he should never see
him again, for he was to remain five long years away from home; and the
tears, in spite of his efforts, started forth as he saw the King
watching the receding vessel, and knew what a pang his heart was
suffering in thus separating from his child, the pride of his old age.
But when distance shut from his sight the land and all familiar objects,
the world seemed as it were opening before him, full of bright promise;
he forgot his sorrow, and as the bark bounded lightly over the billows,
his heart danced within him, buoyant with hope and pleasure. After a
short and prosperous voyage, they came in view of the beautiful land
which was their destination. They were received by the King of the
country with distinguished honor, befitting their rank and importance.
This King was reputed to be as wise as Solomon, and had collected to his
court all the learned men of the world; and hither were sent the youth
of high rank from all nations, to learn wisdom of these sages. But their
parents would have done well to have kept them at home out of harm’s
way, for the high-spirited young men who flocked to this Temple of
Minerva thought their own wisdom far superior to that of the sages, and
held all their acquirements in very light esteem; and if they learned
anything at all, it was the knowledge which experience gives, which, to
be sure, is the very best sort of lore, but which they might have
acquired just as perfectly anywhere else.
Anjah had not been long there before he became initiated into the secret
that Merea, the King’s daughter, was the most beautiful Princess in the
world, and he pondered much more deeply on this fact than on the
philosophy of the schools, and he strove with much greater assiduity to
be the successful candidate for her heart and hand than for the prizes
offered to the victorious scholar, or the laurel wreath of the poet. As
he was far handsomer than all her other suitors, he had very little
difficulty in gaining the young maiden’s particular and approving
notice. His agreeable manners became a certain passport to her favor,
and she so honored him above the rest, that Anjah, conscious of
victory, assumed rather a high and triumphant air among those who were,
like himself, captivated with the King’s charming daughter. He spent all
his leisure time in her company, and did not rest easy till he had
obtained her father’s permission to address his daughter, which he found
little difficulty in gaining, for the King “as wise as Solomon,” saw
very plainly that no more noble son-in-law would ever be likely to
present himself. After Anjah had conversed with Merea, and found the
maiden already won, he sent to seek his father’s consent to his
betrothal to her, as the fame of her excellence and beauty had reached
him. The King, his father, could think of no more suitable consort for
his son than a Princess so charming and of such a high rank, so, sending
his approval and blessing to his son, Anjah and Merea were publicly
betrothed. Then, and not till then, Anjah applied himself sedulously to
the study of the sciences which should fit him for governing a kingdom,
and filling with dignity the exalted station to which Providence had
destined him.
Three years passed away, and Anjah’s improvement in mind did honor to
his teachers, and to his own perseverance and capacity; two years more,
and the allotted time of his exile, (which owing to the society of
Merea, had been anything but irksome,) would be fulfilled, and he was
looking forward to the time when he should return with his bride to his
native land, when a hasty summons came, commanding him to speed his
departure, as his father was lying at the point of death, and longed
once more to see his son alive. Anjah delayed not a moment to obey the
call, though his heart was full of conflicting emotions--sorrow at being
obliged to leave his betrothed, mingled with anxiety to see his father
once more; and bidding adieu to the many friends that his kindness and
affability had won, he went with his followers down to the vessel, which
had been sent to convey him home, accompanied by the King, the Princess
Merea, and all their retinue. The King, in bidding him farewell,
pronounced a blessing, and conferred on him many valuable presents as
marks of his favor; but the Princess, when she parted with him, gave
him only one keepsake, but that was of surpassing richness; it was a
cloak of beaten gold, curiously wrought, of the purest metal, so elastic
and pliable that it fell like a mantle over his shoulders; she clasped
it with her own hands about his neck, and then by signs bade Balzebar,
who stood beside them, to make it his especial care, so that Anjah
should not lose or be robbed of it.
In the time of their sojourn in this country, Balzebar had attached
himself more than ever to Anjah; and Merea, who had petted him, on
account of his attachment to the Prince, was looked upon by the dwarf as
almost as great a paragon as his master,--indeed, an angel of goodness.
She became so associated in his mind with the Prince Anjah, that he was
ever eager to do her bidding, and promised to take care of the cloak,
and suffer no one to take it away; then giving Prince Anjah her last
adieu, Merea departed with her father. Anjah assuring her that he would
return as speedily as possible, and make her his wife. When the vessel
was out at sea, Anjah and his companions remained on deck, pacing up and
down, or looking pensively at the receding shore, thinking of the kind
and fair ones that they had left behind, and wishing themselves back
again, all but the poor mute, Balzebar, who sat watching Anjah, with his
cloak glittering in the sun, and the white plumes of the golden helmet,
which he always wore, fluttering in the breeze. His dull eyes were half
dazzled by the light which was reflected on this shining mantle, and he
opened and shut them as if basking in the radiance. When night came, and
the Prince had divested himself of his golden helmet, with the white
plumes, and the golden cloak, Balzebar put them carefully away, in a box
which had been prepared for the purpose, and then placing it under his
head, for a pillow, slept, as he always did, like a great dog at the
feet of Prince Anjah.
About midnight, they were awakened by a terrible noise; it was thunder,
mingling with the roaring of the sea. While they had been sleeping, a
most terrific storm had arisen, and bidding Balzebar follow him, Anjah
rushed on deck. The elements were in a perfect fury, the ship was tossed
wildly about on the summit of the waves, and seemed as if going to
pieces with the strain. Just then there came the cry that the vessel had
sprung a leak, and a boat was hastily let down, into which the Prince
and his companions were hurried. Beside the Prince on deck, gazing on
all with wonder and dismay, Balzebar had stood, till seeing Anjah
descend into the boat, and beckon to himself, he disappeared. Vainly
they called him; he could not hear their cries nor answer them. Fearful
for their own safety, none of the crew would venture in search of him,
and being all in the boat, they pushed off lest they might be swamped
beneath the vessel, and were far away before Anjah discovered that
Balzebar was not among them. To return for him was beyond all human
power. When morning light appeared, the storm had calmed, yet no trace
of the vessel could be seen. So they concluded that the ship had sunk,
and that poor Balzebar had made his grave ere now in the ocean’s
depths. With great exertions, they managed to bend the course of the
boat in the same direction whence they came, and after almost incredible
toils and dangers, were driven by the wind so near the shore, as to be
picked up by a vessel bound for the port, and carried safely to land,
where they were welcomed by the King and the Princess Merea, and with as
great rejoicing as if they had been restored again from the dead. And
now Anjah and Merea seemed doubly dear to each other, and she mourned
with him over the supposed fate of the poor harmless and faithful
Balzebar. But let us leave the Prince in the kind keeping of the King
and Princess, while we see what was in reality become of the lost
Balzebar.
When the Prince descended into the boat, and made signs to Balzebar to
follow him, the first impulse of the dwarf was to obey his master; but,
remembering the box which contained the royal helmet, and the golden
cloak, he ran below to secure it. It took him a long time to find his
way to the berth, on account of the darkness and the motion of the
vessel, and when at last he reached the deck, the boat had gone far
away, out of his sight. Not knowing what to do, he sat down in his
despair, and fearing every moment that he should be washed overboard by
the waves, made preparations to lash himself on to the masts; but ere he
did this, to prevent the loss of that, which to his poor, weak mind, was
of far more importance than his own life, the golden cloak and the royal
helmet and plumes, he placed the latter upon his head, and bound it
firmly on; and then taking the cloak out of its folds, fastened it
securely round his own neck; it was intended to cover the shoulders, and
fall to the knees of Anjah; but it sufficed to envelop the whole form of
the dwarf, even to his very feet; and now with this rich shroud about
him, he lashed himself to the mast, just in time to be saved from an
impending death; for very soon the vessel divided asunder, and the
drifting wreck to which Balzebar was attached, was tossed about at the
mercy of the waves. How long he remained in this position he knew not;
he became insensible from hunger and cold, and would no doubt have soon
perished had not some sailors on a vessel espied a glittering object at
a distance. They came nearer to it, and discovered that it was a human
being clinging to the masts of a ship; and rescuing him from his
perilous situation, and seeing the royal garb in which he was arrayed,
they conceived that he was some great prince, and treated him in a
manner that accorded with such a supposition. He was taken on board the
ship, and all treated him with the respect and deference to which his
seeming high rank entitled him. When he reached the shore, a
proclamation was issued, that a great prince had been found shipwrecked,
and had been rescued in his royal robes; his person was also described
as being as imposing and grand as were his habiliments, and
notwithstanding that he was unable to speak one word, or make any
intelligible sound, but kept up a disagreeable sort of muttering, no one
seemed to discover that he was at all wanting in intellect, and the
proclamation went on and stated his mind and accomplishments to be equal
to his person. It was only necessary for him to make his appearance
with his golden cloak about him, and the helmet with the white plumes on
his head, (and no one could persuade him for one moment to divest
himself of them,) to have a crowd of adorers follow in his pathway with
shouts and huzzas.
Indeed, such was their adulation, that they bore him about in a sort of
triumphal car, and he became the people’s idol. The little sense that
Balzebar had ever been blessed with, had nearly all been lost in the
hardships and dangers to which he had been exposed, and he allowed
himself to be borne about, pleased as a child might have been with a
pageant, in which he himself was the principal object.