There was once a king who had an only daughter, and she was so very ugly
and deformed that, when she rode through the streets of Alcantara, the
children ran away, thinking she was a witch.
Her father, however, thought her the most lovely creature in his
kingdom; and as all the courtiers agreed with him, and the Court poet
was always singing her praises, the princess had been led to believe
what most ladies like to believe; and as she was expecting a prince from
a distant country, who was coming expressly to marry her, she had
ordered many rich dresses which only made her look uglier.
The city of Alcantara was ready to receive Prince Alanbam, who was going
to espouse the Princess Altamira.
Crowds thronged the streets, martial music was heard everywhere, and in
the public square a splendid throne had been erected for the king,
Princess Altamira, and Prince Alanbam.
Around the throne were formed large bodies of well-equipped cavalry,
dark visaged warriors clad in white and gold, and mounted on superb Arab
steeds.
Behind the king, on his left side, stood the royal barber with his
retinue of apprentices; and on his right side was seen Nabó the
headsman, a nigger of gigantic stature, with his implement of office, an
axe, over his shoulder.
Seated on the steps of the throne were a number of musicians, and below
these a guard of honour, composed of foot soldiers dressed in short
vests, called “aljubas,” and wide lower garments, and with their
aljavas, or quivers, full of bright arrows.
From the throne the king could see the splendid bridge on six pillars,
built by Trajan, along which a brilliant cavalcade was proceeding,
namely, the procession formed by Prince Alanbam and his retainers.
As soon as the prince, after saluting the king, beheld the princess, he
turned pale, for he had never seen any one so ugly; and however much he
might have desired to keep up an appearance of courtesy to the princess
before her father’s subjects, he could not kiss her as she expected him
to do, nor could he be persuaded to occupy the chair reserved for him
beside the princess.
“Your mercy,” said he, addressing the king, “must excuse my insuperable
bashfulness; but the fact is that the Princess Altamira is so
transcendently beautiful, and so dazzling to behold, that I can never
expect to look upon her face again and live.”
The king and the princess were highly flattered; but as Prince Alanbam
continued obdurate in his professions of bashfulness, they commenced to
feel somewhat vexed, and at last the king said in a loud voice—
“Prince Alanbam, we fully appreciate the motive that prompts your
conduct, but the fact is the Princess Altamira is present to be wedded
to you; and, as a Christian king, the first of my line, I desire to lead
to the altar my only daughter, Princess Altamira, and her affianced
husband, Prince Alanbam.”
“It cannot be,” said the prince. “I would rather marry some one less
beautiful. Sir king, forgive me if I annoy you, but I will not be wedded
to so much beauty.”
The king was now incensed beyond measure, and the princess his
daughter, thinking to spite Prince Alanbam, said—
“With your permission, royal father, since I am too beautiful for a
prince, I will be married to the most learned man in your
kingdom—Bernardo, the royal barber.”
“And that you shall,” said the king; but, on turning round to speak to
the barber, he found that this the most learned man in his kingdom was
all of a tremble, as if dancing to the music of St. Vitus.
“What has possessed thee, caitiff?” asked the king. “Hearest not thou
the honour that is to be conferred on thee?”
“My royal master,” muttered the poor frightened man of learning and
lather, “I can no more avail myself of the honour which you would confer
on me than the Archbishop of Villafranca could. His grace is bound to
celibacy, and I am already married.”
Now, the barber had on many occasions rendered himself obnoxious to
Sanchez, the royal cobbler, who, seeing the king’s perplexity, and a
chance of avenging past insults, exclaimed—
“Royal master, it would be most acceptable to your subjects that so
much beauty should be wedded to so much learning. Our good friend,
Bernardo, was, it is true, married; but since he has been in attendance
at the palace, he has so fallen in love with Princess Altamira that he
no longer notices his wife; therefore, may it please your mercy to
dissolve the first marriage, and announce this new one with her
highness, your daughter?”
The barber at this harangue became so infuriated that he rushed blindly
at the cobbler, and with his razor would have severed his head from the
rest of his body, but that he was prevented by the guard, who held him
down.
“Executioner, do your work!” cried the baffled king; and at one blow the
head of the unfortunate barber rolled on the ground.
Prince Alanbam seeing this, and fearing that more mischief might ensue,
proposed to the king that one hundred knights should be chosen, and that
these should fight for the hand of the lovely Princess Altamira. “I
myself will enter the lists,” said the prince; “and the survivor will be
rewarded by marrying your daughter.”
“That is a good idea,” said the king; and calling together ninety-nine
of his best knights, he bade them fight valiantly, for their reward was
very precious.
Fifty knights, mounted on beautiful chargers, placed themselves on one
side, and were opposed by forty-nine equally well-mounted knights and
Prince Alanbam; and at the word of command, given by the king, they
advanced at headlong speed against each other; but, much to the
astonishment of the spectators, no knight was unhorsed; rather did it
seem that each knight did his utmost to get run through by his opponent.
At it they went again and again, but with the same result, for no man
was hurt, although seeming to court death.
“We will alter the order of things,” exclaimed the king. “The knight who
is first wounded shall be the one to marry the princess.”
This was no sooner said than the knights seemed to be possessed of a
blind fury, and at the first charge nearly every knight was unhorsed and
every one wounded, while the confusion and noise were awful. They were
all accusing each other of being the first wounded; so that, in utter
despair, the king declared his daughter should be married to the
Church, enter a convent, and thus hide her transcendent beauty.
“No, father,” exclaimed the ugly princess; “I will get a husband; and if
in all the states of Spain no one be found worthy enough to be my
husband, I will leave Spain for ever. There is a country where the day
never dawns, and night is eternal. Thither will I go; for in the dark,
as all cats are gray, so are all degrees of beauty brought to one common
level. I now know that it is just as unfortunate to be too beautiful as
it is to be very ugly.”
Having delivered herself of this speech, Princess Altamira bade the
king, her father, good-bye, and was on the point of leaving the royal
presence, when the handsome figure of Felisberto, the blind fiddler, was
seen to approach.
“Princess,” exclaimed blind Felisberto, “to Spain nothing is denied. You
speak of proceeding to the North, where the day never dawns, in search
of a husband. You need but look at me to behold one to whom night and
day, extreme ugliness and transcendent beauty, are alike; and since all
are so bashful that they will not marry you, allow me, fair princess, to
offer you my services as a husband. In my world ‘handsome is that
handsome does.’”
The king was so pleased with the blind fiddler’s speech that he
immediately made him a Grandee of Spain, and acknowledged him as his
son-in-law elect.