To whatever greatness Destiny may elevate those it favours, there is no
worldly felicity exempt from serious sorrow. One cannot be acquainted
with Fairies, and be ignorant that the most skilful amongst them have
failed to discover a charm which would secure them from the misfortune
of being compelled to change their shape some few days in every month,
for that of some animal, terrestrial, celestial, or aquatic.
During that dangerous period, when they are completely at the mercy of
mankind, they have frequently great difficulty in saving themselves
from the perils to which that stern necessity exposes them.
One amongst them, who had changed herself into an Eel, was
unfortunately taken by fishermen, and flung immediately into a small
square tank in the midst of a beautiful meadow, wherein they kept
the fish that were daily required for the table of the King of that
country. Anguillette (so was the Fairy named) found in her new abode a
great many fine fish destined, like herself, to live but a few hours.
She had heard the fishermen say to one another, that that very evening
the King purposed to give a grand banquet, for the which these fine
fish had been carefully selected.
What tidings for the unfortunate Fairy! She accused the Fates of
cruelty a thousand times! She sighed most sadly; but after hiding
herself for some time at the very bottom of the water, in order to
bewail her misfortune in solitude, the desire to escape if possible
from so urgent a peril, induced her to look about her in every
direction to see if she could not by some means get out of the
reservoir, and regain the river which ran at no great distance from
that spot. But the Fairy looked in vain. The tank was too deep for her
to hope to get out of it without help, and her distress was augmented
by seeing the fishermen who had taken her again approaching. They
began to throw in their nets, and Anguillette, by avoiding them with
great cunning, retarded for a few moments the death that awaited her.
The youngest of the King's daughters was walking at that time in the
meadow. She approached the tank to amuse herself by seeing the men fish.
The sun, about to set, shone brilliantly on the water. The skin of
Anguillette, which was very glossy, glittered in its rays as if partly
gilt and of all the colours of the rainbow. The young Princess caught
sight of her, and thinking her exceedingly beautiful, ordered the
fishermen to try and catch that Eel for her. They obeyed, and the
unfortunate Fairy was speedily placed in the hands of the person who
would decide her fate.
When the Princess had contemplated Anguillette for a few moments, she
was touched with compassion, and running to the riverside, put her
gently into the water. This unexpected service filled the Fairy's heart
with gratitude. She appeared on the surface, and said to the Princess,
"I owe you my life, generous Plousine (such was her name), but it is
most fortunate for you that I do so. Be not afraid," she continued,
observing the young Princess about to run away. "I am a Fairy, and will
prove the truth of my words by heaping an infinite number of favours
upon you."
As people were accustomed in those days to behold Fairies, Plousine
recovered from her first alarm, and listened with great attention to
the agreeable promises of Anguillette. She even began to answer her;
but the Fairy interrupting her, said, "Wait till you have profited by
my favour before you express your acknowledgments. Go, young Princess,
and return to this spot to-morrow morning. Think, in the meantime, what
you would wish for, and whatever it may be I will grant it. You may, at
your choice, possess the most perfect and bewitching beauty, the finest
and most charming intellect, or incalculable riches." After these
words, Anguillette sank to the bottom of the river, and left Plousine
highly gratified with her adventure.
She determined not to tell any one what had befallen her, "For," said
she, to herself, "if Anguillette should deceive me, my sisters will
believe that I invented this story."
After this little reflection, she hastened to rejoin her suite, which
was composed of only a few ladies. She found them looking for her.
The young Plousine was occupied all the succeeding night in thinking
what should be her choice. Beauty almost turned the scale; but as she
had sufficient sense to desire still more, she finally determined to
request that favour of the Fairy.
She rose with the sun, and ran to the meadow under the pretence of
gathering flowers to make a garland, as she said, to present to the
Queen, her mother, at her levée. Her attendants dispersed themselves
about the meadow to cull the freshest and most beautiful of the flowers
with which it was everywhere enamelled.
Meanwhile, the young Princess hastened to the riverside, and found upon
the spot where she had seen the Fairy, a column of white marble, of
the most perfect purity. An instant afterwards, the column opened and
the Fairy emerged from it, and appeared to the Princess no longer as
a fish, but as a tall and beautiful woman, of majestic demeanour, and
whose robes and head-dress were covered with jewels.
"I am Anguillette," said she to the young Princess, who gazed upon her
with great attention; "I come to fulfil my promise. You have chosen
intellectual perfection, and you shall possess it from this very
moment. You shall have so much sense as to be envied by those who till
now have flattered themselves they were specially endowed with it."
The youthful Plousine, at these words, felt a considerable alteration
taking place in her mind. She thanked the Fairy with an eloquence that
till then she had been a stranger to.
The Fairy smiled at the astonishment the Princess could not conceal at
her own powers of expression. "I am so much pleased with you," said the
benignant Anguillette, "for making the choice you have done, in lieu
of preferring beauty of person, which has such charms for one of your
sex and age, that to reward you, I will add the gift of that loveliness
you have so prudently foregone. Return hither to-morrow, at the same
hour,--I give you till then to choose the style of beauty you would
possess."
The Fairy disappeared, and left the young Plousine still more
impressed with her good fortune. Her choice of superior intellect was
dictated by reason, but the promise of surpassing beauty flattered her
heart, and that which touches the heart is always felt most deeply.
On quitting the riverside, the Princess took the flowers presented
to her by her attendants, and made a very tasteful garland with
them, which she carried to the Queen; but what was her Majesty's
astonishment, that of the King, and of all the Court, to hear Plousine
speak with an elegance and a fluency which captivated every heart.
The Princesses, her sisters, vainly endeavoured to contest her mental
superiority; they were compelled to wonder at and admire it.
Night came. The Princess, occupied with the expectation of becoming
beautiful, instead of retiring to rest, passed into a cabinet hung with
portraits, in which, under the form of goddesses, were represented
several of the Queens and Princesses of her family. All these were
beauties, and she indulged a hope that they would assist her in
deciding on a style of beauty worthy to be solicited from a Fairy. The
first that met her sight was a Juno. She was fair and had a presence
such as should distinguish the Queen of the Gods. Pallas and Venus
stood beside her. The subject of the picture was the Judgment of Paris.
The noble haughtiness of Pallas excited the admiration of the young
Princess; but the loveliness of Venus almost decided her choice.
Nevertheless, she passed on to the next picture, in which was seen
Pomona reclining on a couch of turf, beneath trees laden with the
finest fruits in the world. She appeared so charming, that the
Princess, who since morning had become acquainted with all their
stories, was not surprised that a God had taken various forms in order
to please her.
Diana next appeared, attired as the poets represent her, the quiver
slung behind her, and the bow in her hand. She was pursuing a stag, and
followed by a numerous band of Nymphs.
Flora attracted her attention a little further off. She appeared to be
walking in a garden, the flowers of which, although exquisite, could
not be compared to the bloom of her complexion. Next came the Graces,
beautiful and enchanting. This picture was the last in the room.
But the Princess was struck by that which was over the mantel-piece.
It was the Goddess of Youth. A heavenly air was shed over her whole
person. Her tresses were the fairest in the world; the turn of her head
was most graceful, her mouth charming, her figure perfectly beautiful,
and her eyes appeared much more likely to intoxicate than the nectar
with which she seemed to be filling a cup.
"I will wish," exclaimed the young Princess, after she had contemplated
with delight this lovely portrait, "I will wish to be as beautiful as
Hebe, and to remain so as long as possible."
After this determination she returned to her bed-chamber, where the day
she awaited seemed to her impatience as if it would never dawn.
At length it came, and she hastened again to the riverside. The Fairy
kept her word. She appeared, and threw a few drops of water in the face
of Plousine, who became immediately as beautiful as she had desired to
be.
Some sea-gods had accompanied the Fairy. Their applause was the first
effect produced by the charms of the fortunate Plousine. She looked at
her image in the water, and could not recognise herself. Her silence
and her astonishment were for the moment the only indications of her
thankfulness.
"I have fulfilled all your wishes," said the generous Fairy. "You
ought to be content; but I shall not be so if my favours do not far
exceed your desires. In addition to the wit and beauty I have endowed
you with, I bestow on you all the treasures at my disposal. They are
inexhaustible. You have but to wish whenever you please for infinite
wealth, and at the same moment you will acquire it, not only for
yourself, but for all those you may deem worthy to possess it."
The Fairy disappeared, and the youthful Plousine, now as lovely as
Hebe, returned to the palace. Everybody who met her was enchanted. They
announced her arrival to the King, who was himself lost in admiration
of her, and it was only by her voice and her talent that they
recognised the amiable Princess. She informed the King that a Fairy
had bestowed all those precious gifts upon her; and she was no longer
called anything but Hebe, in consequence of her perfect resemblance to
the portrait of that Goddess. What new causes were here to engender
the hatred of her sisters against her! The beauties of her mind had
excited their jealousy much less than those of her person.
All the Princes who had been attracted by their charms became faithless
to them without the least hesitation. In like manner were all the other
Court beauties abandoned by their admirers. No tears or reproaches
could stop the flight of those inconstant lovers, and this conduct,
which then appeared so singular, has since, it is said, become a common
custom.
Hebe inflamed all hearts around her, while her own remained insensible.
Notwithstanding the hatred her sisters evinced towards her, she
neglected nothing that she thought might please them. She wished for
so much wealth for the eldest--and to wish and to give were the same
thing to her,--that the greatest Sovereign in that part of the world
requested the hand of that Princess in marriage, and the nuptials were
celebrated with incredible magnificence. The King, Hebe's father,
desired to take the field with a great army. The wishes of his
beautiful daughter caused him to succeed in all his enterprises, and
his kingdom was filled with such immense wealth, that he became the
most formidable of all the monarchs in the universe.
The divine Hebe, however, weary of the bustle of the Court, was anxious
to pass a few months in a pleasant mansion a short distance from the
capital. She had excluded from it all magnificence, but everything
about it was elegant, and of a charming simplicity. Nature alone had
taken care to embellish the walks, which Art had not been employed
to form. A wood, the paths through which had something wild in their
scenery, intersected by rivulets and little torrents that formed
natural cascades, surrounded this beautiful retreat.
The youthful Hebe often walked in this solitary wood. One day, when her
heart felt more than usually oppressed with a tedium and lassitude to
which she was now constantly subject, she endeavoured to ascertain the
reason of it. She seated herself on the turf, beside a rivulet that
with gentle murmur courted meditation.
"What sorrow is it," she asked herself, "that comes thus to trouble the
excess of my happiness? What Princess in all the universe is blest with
a lot so perfect as mine? The beneficence of the Fairy has accorded
me all I wished for. I can heap treasures upon all who surround me. I
am adored by all who behold me, and my heart is a stranger to every
painful emotion. No! I cannot imagine whence arises the insupportable
weariness which has for some time past detracted from the happiness of
my life."
The young Princess was incessantly occupied by this reflection. At
length she determined to go to the bank of Anguilette's river, and
endeavour to obtain an interview with her.
The Fairy, accustomed to indulge her inclinations, appeared on the
surface of the water. It happened to be one of the days when she was
changed into a fish.
"It always gives me pleasure to see you, young Princess," said she
to Hebe. "I know you have been passing some time in a very solitary
dwelling, and you appear to me in a languishing state, which does not
at all correspond with your good fortune. What hails you, Hebe? Confide
in me." "There is nothing the matter," replied the young Princess,
with some embarrassment. "You have showered too many benefits upon
me for anything to be wanting to a felicity which is your own work."
"You would deceive me," rejoined the Fairy; "I see it easily. You are
no longer satisfied. Yet what more can you desire? Deserve my favour
by a frank confession," added the gracious Fairy, "and I promise you
I will again fulfil your wishes." "I know not what I wish," replied
the charming Hebe. "But nevertheless," she continued, casting down
her beautiful eyes, "I feel a lack of something, and that, whatever
it may be, it is that which is absolutely essential to my happiness."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Fairy, "it is love that you are sighing for. That
passion alone could inspire you with such strange ideas. Dangerous
disposition!" continued the prudent Fairy. "You sigh for love--you
shall experience it. Hearts are but too naturally disposed to be
affected by it. But I warn you that you will vainly invoke me to
deliver you from the fatal passion you believe to be so sweet a
blessing. My power does not extend so far."
"I care not," quickly replied the Princess, smiling and blushing at
the same moment. "Alas! of what value to me are all the gifts you have
bestowed upon me, if I cannot in turn make with them the happiness of
another?" The Fairy sighed at these words, and sank to the bottom of
the river.
Hebe retraced her steps to the wilderness, her heart filled with a hope
which already began to dissipate her melancholy. The warnings of the
Fairy caused her some anxiety; but her prudent reflections were soon
banished by others, as dangerous as they were agreeable.
On reaching home she found a courier awaiting her with a message from
the King, commanding her return to the Court that very day, in order
that she might be present at an entertainment in preparation for the
succeeding one. She took her departure accordingly, a few hours after
the receipt of the message, and returned to the Court, where she was
received with great pleasure by the King and Queen; who informed her
that a foreign Prince, upon his travels, having arrived there a few
days previously, they had determined to give him a fête, that he might
talk in other countries of the magnificence displayed in their kingdom.
The youthful Hebe, obeying a presentiment of which she was unconscious,
first inquired of the Princess, her sister, if the foreigner was
handsome. "I never yet saw any one that could be compared to him,"
answered the Princess. "Describe, him to me," said Hebe, with emotion.
"He is such as they paint heroes," replied Ilerie. "His form is
graceful; his demeanour noble; his eyes are full of a fire that has
already made more than one indifferent beauty at this Court acknowledge
their power. He has the finest head in the world; his hair is dark
brown; and the moment he appears, he absorbs the attention of all
beholders."
"You draw a most charming portrait of him," said the youthful Hebe; "is
it not a little flattered?" "No, sister," replied the Princess Ilerie,
with a sigh she could not suppress. "Alas! you will find him, perhaps,
but too worthy of admiration."
The Queen retired, and the beautiful Hebe, as soon as she had time to
examine her heart, perceived that she had lost that tranquillity of
which, till now, she had not known the value.
"Anguillette!" she exclaimed, as soon as she was alone. "Alas! what is
this object which you have allowed to present itself to my sight? Your
prudent counsels are rendered vain by its presence. Why do you not
give me strength enough to resist such attractive charms? It may be,
however, that their power surpasses that of any Fairy."
Hebe slept but little that night. She rose very early, and the thought
of how she should dress herself for the fête that evening occupied her
the whole day, to a degree she had been previously a stranger to, for
it was the first time she had felt an anxiety to please.
The young foreigner, actuated by the same desire, neglected nothing
that might make him appear agreeable to the eyes of the charming
Hebe. The Princess Ilerie was equally solicitous of conquest. She
possessed a thousand attractions, and when Hebe was not beside her,
she was considered the most beautiful creature in the world; but Hebe
outshone every one. The Queen gave a magnificent ball that evening;
it was succeeded by a marvellous banquet. The young foreigner would
have been struck by its prodigious splendour, if he could have looked
at anything besides Hebe. After the banquet, a novel and brilliant
illumination shed another daylight over the palace gardens. It was
summer-time; the company descended into the gardens for the pleasure of
an evening promenade. The handsome foreigner conducted the Queen; but
this honour did not compensate him for being deprived of the company
of his Princess, even for a few moments. The trees were decorated with
festoons of flowers, and the lamps which formed the illumination were
disposed in a manner to represent, in every direction, bows, arrows,
and other weapons of Cupid, together, in some places, with inscriptions.
The company entered a little grove, illuminated like the rest of the
gardens, and the Queen seated herself beside a pleasant fountain,
around which had been arranged seats of turf, ornamented with garlands
of pinks and roses. Whilst the Queen was engaged in conversation with
the King and a host of courtiers that surrounded them, the Princesses
amused themselves by reading the sentences formed by small lamps under
the various devices. The handsome foreigner was at that moment close
to the beautiful Hebe. She turned her eyes towards a spot in which
appeared a shower of darts, and read aloud these words, which were
displayed beneath them:--
"Some are inevitable."
"They are those which are shot from the eyes of the divine Hebe,"
quickly added the Prince, looking at her tenderly. The Princess heard
him, and felt confused; but the Prince drew from her embarrassment a
happy augury for his love, as it appeared unmingled with anger. The
fête terminated with a thousand delightful novelties. The charms of the
stranger had touched too sensibly the heart of Ilerie for her to be
long without perceiving that he loved another. The Prince had paid her
some attention previous to the arrival of Hebe at Court; but since he
had seen the latter, he had been wholly engrossed by his passion.
In the meanwhile the young stranger endeavoured, by every proof of
affection, to touch the heart of the beautiful Princess. He was
devoted, amiable--her fate compelled her to love, and the Fairy
abandoned her to the inclinations of her heart. What excuses for
yielding! She could no longer struggle against herself. The charming
Stranger had informed her that he was the son of a King, and that his
name was Atimir. This name was known to the Princess. The Prince had
performed wonders in a war between the two kingdoms; and as they had
always been opposed to each other, he had not chosen to appear at the
Court of Hebe's royal father under his real name.
The young Princess, after a conversation during which her heart fully
imbibed the sweet and dangerous poison of which the Fairy had warned
her, gave permission to Atimir to disclose to the King his rank and his
love. The young Prince was transported with delight; he flew to the
King's apartments, and urged his suit with all the eloquence his love
could inspire him with.
The King conducted him to the Queen. This proposed marriage, assuring
the establishment of a lasting peace between the two kingdoms, the
hand of the beautiful Hebe was promised to her happy lover as soon
as he had received the consent of the King, his father. The news was
soon circulated, and the Princess Ilerie suffered anguish equal to her
jealousy. She wept--she groaned; but it was necessary to control her
emotion and conceal her vain regrets.
The beautiful Hebe and Atimir now saw each other continually; their
affection increased daily, and in those happy days the young Princess
could not imagine why the Fairies did not employ all their skill to
make mortals fall in love when they wished to insure their felicity.
An ambassador from Atimir's royal father arrived at Court. He had
been awaited with the utmost impatience. He was the bearer of the
required consent, and preparations were immediately commenced for the
celebration of those grand nuptials. Atimir had therefore no longer any
reason for anxiety--a dangerous state for a lover one desires to retain
faithful.
As soon as the Prince felt certain of his happiness, he became less
ardent. One day that he was on his way to meet the fair Hebe in the
palace gardens, he heard the voices of females in conversation in
a bower of honeysuckles. He caught the sound of his name, and this
awakened his curiosity to know more. He approached the bower softly,
and easily recognised the voice of the Princess Ilerie. "I shall
die before that fatal day, my dear Cléonice," said she, to a young
person seated beside her. "The gods will not permit me to behold the
ungrateful object of my love united to the too fortunate Hebe. My
torments are too keen to endure much longer." "But, madam," replied
her female companion, "Prince Atimir is not faithless; he has never
avowed love for you. Destiny alone is to blame for your misfortunes,
and amongst all the princes who adore you, you might find, perhaps, one
more amiable than he is, did not a fatal prepossession engross your
heart." "More amiable than him!" rejoined Ilerie. "Is there such a
being in the universe? Powerful Fairy!" she added, with a sigh, "of all
the blessings with which you have laden the fortunate Hebe, I but covet
that of Atimir's devoted attachment to her." The words of the Princess
were interrupted by her tears. Ah! how happy would she have been had
she known how much those tears had moved the heart of Atimir!
She rose to leave the bower, and the Prince hid himself behind some
trees to escape observation. The tears and the love of Ilerie had
affected him deeply, but he imagined they were but the emotions of pity
which he felt for a beautiful Princess whom he had unintentionally
made so miserable. He proceeded to join Hebe, and the contemplation of
her charms banished for the moment all other thoughts from his mind.
In passing through the gardens, as he returned with the Princess Hebe
to the Palace, he trod upon something which attracted his attention.
He picked it up, and found it was a set of magnificent tablets. It was
not far from the bower in which he had overheard the conversation of
Ilerie and her attendant. He feared if Hebe saw the tablets, she would
obtain some knowledge of his adventure. He hid them, therefore, without
her having observed them. She happened at that moment to be occupied in
re-adjusting some ornament in her head-dress.
That evening Ilerie did not make her appearance in the Queen's
apartments. It was reported that she had felt indisposed on returning
from her walk. Atimir perfectly understood that her object was to
conceal the agitation to which he had seen her a prey in the bower of
honeysuckles. This reflection increased his compassion for her.
As soon as he had retired to his own chamber he opened the tablets he
had picked up. On the first leaf he saw a cipher formed of a double A,
crowned with a wreath of myrtle, and supported by two little Cupids,
one of whom appeared to be wiping the tears from his cheeks with the
end of the ribbon that bandaged his eyes, and the other breaking his
arrows. The sight of this cipher agitated the young Prince. He knew
that Ilerie drew admirably. He turned over the leaf quickly to gain
further information, and on the opposite side found the following
lines:-
Hither all-conquering Love thy footsteps led;
At thy first glance sweet peace my bosom fled;
Oh, cruel one, to try on me the dart
With which you meant to wound another's heart!
The handwriting, which he recognised, but too clearly proved to him
that the tablets were those of the Princess Ilerie. He was affected
by the great tenderness of these sentiments, which far from being
nourished by his love and attentions, were not even encouraged by hope.
These verses reminded him that previous to the arrival of Hebe at Court
he had thought Ilerie lovely. He began to consider himself unfaithful
to that Princess, and he became too seriously so to the charming Hebe.
He struggled, however, against these first emotions; but his heart was
accustomed to range, and so dangerous a habit is rarely corrected.
He threw Ilerie's tablets on a table, resolving not to look at them any
more; but he took them up again a moment afterwards, despite himself,
and found in them a thousand things which completed the triumph of
Ilerie over the divine Hebe.
The Prince's heart was occupied all night by conflicting feelings. In
the morning he waited on the King, who named the day he had fixed on
for his marriage with Hebe. Atimir replied with an embarrassment which
the King mistook for a proof of his passion--(how little do we know
of the human heart!) It was the effect of his inconstancy! The King
desired to visit the Queen; the Prince was obliged to follow him. He
had been there but a short time when the Princess Ilerie appeared with
an air of melancholy which made her more lovely in the eyes of the
inconstant Atimir, who was aware of its cause. He approached her, and
talked to her for some time. He gave her to understand that he was no
longer ignorant of her affection for him. He spoke with ardour of his
feelings for her. It was too much for Ilerie. Ah! how is it possible to
receive calmly the assurance of so great so unexpected a happiness.
The charming Hebe entered the Queen's apartments shortly afterwards.
Her sight brought the blood into the cheeks both of the Princess
Ilerie and of the fickle Atimir. "How beautiful she is!" exclaimed
Ilerie, looking at the Prince with an emotion she could not conceal.
"Avoid her, sir, or end at once my existence." The Prince had not
power to answer her. Hebe approached them with a grace and charm
which unconsciously loaded with reproaches the ungrateful Atimir. He
could not long endure his position. He quitted the Princess, saying
that he was anxious to despatch a courier to his father. She was so
prepossessed in his favour that she never noticed some eloquent glances
at Ilerie, which he cast on leaving her.
While Ilerie triumphed in secret, the beautiful Hebe learned from the
King and Queen that in three days she was to be the bride of Atimir.
How unworthy was he of the sensations which this news awakened in the
heart of the lovely Hebe.
The faithless Prince, though pre-occupied by his new passion, passed
part of the day in Hebe's company. Ilerie was present, and was a
thousand times ready to die with jealousy. Her love had redoubled since
she had entertained hope.
On returning to his own apartments in the evening, the Prince was
presented with a note by an unknown messenger. He opened it hastily,
and found in it these words:--
"I yield to a passion a thousand times stronger than my reason. Since I
can no longer attempt to conceal sentiments which chance has revealed
to you, come, Prince, come, and learn the determination to which I am
driven by the love you have inspired me with. Oh, how happy will it be
for me if it cost me but my life!"
The bearer of the note informed the Prince that he was commissioned to
conduct him to the spot where the Princess Ilerie awaited him. Atimir
did not hesitate a moment to follow him, and after several turnings,
he was introduced into a little pavilion at the end of a very dark
avenue. The interior of the pavilion was sufficiently lighted. He found
in it Ilerie with one of her attendants; the rest were walking in the
gardens. When she had retired to this apartment, no one entered it
without her orders. Ilerie was seated on a pile of cushions of crimson
and gold embroidery. Her dress was rich and elegant, the material being
of yellow and silver tissue. Her hair, which was black and exceedingly
beautiful, was ornamented with ribbons of the same colour as the dress,
and ties of yellow diamonds. At her sight, Atimir could not persuade
himself that infidelity was a crime. He knelt at her feet, and Ilerie,
gazing upon him with a tenderness sufficiently indicative of the
emotion of her heart, said, "Prince, I have not caused you to come
hither in order to persuade you to break off your marriage; I know too
well it is determined upon, and the expressions with which you have
endeavoured to alleviate my misfortune and flatter my affection do not
induce me to believe that you would abandon Hebe for me; but," she
continued, with a gush of tears, which completed the conquest of the
heart of Atimir, "I will not endure the life which you have rendered
so wretched. I will sacrifice it without regret to my love, and this
poison," she added, showing a little box which she had in her hand,
"will save me from the fearful torment of seeing you the husband of
Hebe."
"No, beautiful Ilerie!" exclaimed the fickle Prince, "I will never be
her husband. I will abandon all for your sake; I love you a thousand
times better than I loved Hebe; and despite my duty and my faith so
solemnly plighted, I am ready to fly with you to a spot where no
obstacle shall exist to our happiness." "Ah, Prince!" said Ilerie, with
a sigh, "can I confide, then, in one so faithless?" "He will never be
faithless to you," rejoined Atimir. "And the King, your father, who
gave Hebe to me, will not refuse to sanction my union with the lovely
Ilerie, when she is already mine." "Away, then, Atimir," said the
Princess, after a few minutes' silence. "Let us hasten whither our
destiny leads us. Whatever misery the step entails on me, nothing can
weigh against the sweet delights of loving and being beloved."
After these words, they consulted together respecting their flight.
There was no time to lose. They determined to depart the following
night. They separated with regret, and, notwithstanding the vows of
Atimir, Ilerie still feared the power of Hebe's attractions. The rest
of that night and all the next day she was a prey to that anxiety.
In the meanwhile, the Prince hurriedly gave all the necessary orders
for keeping his departure secret, and the next day, as soon as
everybody in the palace had retired to their apartments, he hastened
to join Ilerie in the pavilion in the garden, where she awaited him,
attended only by Cléonice. They set out, and made incredible haste to
pass the frontiers of the kingdom.
The following morning the news was made public, by a letter which
Ilerie had written to the Queen, and another which Atimir had addressed
to the King. They were couched in touching language, and it was easy to
perceive that love had dictated them. The King and Queen were extremely
enraged; but no words can express the agony of the unfortunate and
charming Hebe. What despair! what tears! what petitions to the Fairy
Anguillette to terminate torments equal to the most cruel she had
predicted! But the Fairy kept her word. In vain did Hebe seek the
riverside. Anguillette did not appear, and she abandoned herself to all
the horrors of desperation. The Princes who had been discouraged by the
success of the ungrateful Atimir now felt their hopes revive; but their
attentions and professions only increased the torture of the faithful
Hebe.
The King ardently desired that she should select for herself a husband,
and had several times urged her to do so; but that duty appeared
too cruel to her affectionate heart. She determined to fly from her
father's kingdom; but, before her departure, she went once more in
search of Anguillette. The Fairy could no longer resist the tears of
the beautiful Hebe. She appeared to her, and at her sight the Princess
wept still more, and had not the power to speak to her.
"You have now experienced," said the Fairy, "what that fatal pleasure
which I would never willingly have accorded to you is; but Atimir has
too severely punished you, Hebe, for your neglect of my advice. Go!
Fly these scenes, where everything recalls to you the remembrance of
your love. You will find a vessel on the coast, which will bear you to
the only spot in the world where you can be cured of your unfortunate
attachment; but take care," added Anguillette, raising her voice, "when
your heart shall have regained its tranquillity, that you never seek
to behold again the faithless Atimir, or it will cost you your life!"
Hebe wished more than once to see that Prince again at whatever price
Love might compel her to pay for that gratification; but a whisper
of Reason, and respect for her own honour, induced her to accept the
Fairy's offer. She thanked her for this last favour, and departed the
next morning for the sea-coast, followed by such of her women as she
had most confidence in.
She found the vessel Anguillette had promised her. It was gilt all
over. The masts were of marqueterie of the most admirable pattern; the
sails, of rose-colour and silver tissue; and in every part of it was
inscribed the word "Liberty." The crew were attired in dresses of the
same colours as the sails. All appeared to breathe in this atmosphere
the sweet air of freedom.
The Princess entered a magnificent cabin. The furniture was admirable,
and the paintings perfect. She was as much a prey to sorrow in this new
abode as she was in her father's Court. They strove in vain to amuse
her by a thousand pleasures; she was not yet in a state of mind to pay
the slightest attention to them.
One day while she was contemplating a painting in her cabin, which
represented a landscape, she remarked in it a young shepherd, who, with
a smiling countenance, was depicted cutting nets to set at liberty a
great number of birds that had been caught in them, and some of these
little creatures seemed to be soaring to the skies with marvellous
velocity. All the other pictures displayed similar subjects. None
suggested an idea of love, and all appeared to boast the charms of
Liberty. "Alas!" exclaimed the Princess, sorrowfully, "will my heart
never enjoy that sweet happiness which reason prays for so often in
vain?"
The unfortunate Hebe thus passed her days, struggling between her love
and her desire to forget it. The ship had been a month at sea without
touching anywhere, when one morning that the Princess was on deck she
saw land at a distance, which appeared to be that of a very lovely
country. The trees were of surprising height and beauty, and as the
vessel neared them, she perceived they were covered with birds of the
most brilliant plumage, whose songs made a charming concert. Their
notes were very soft, and it appeared as if they were afraid of making
too much noise. They landed on this beautiful shore. The Princess
descended from the vessel, followed by her women, and from the moment
she breathed the air of this island, some unknown power seemed to set
her heart at rest, and she fell into an agreeable slumber, which for a
short time sealed up her beautiful eyes.
This pleasant country, to which she was a stranger, was the Peaceful
Island. The Fairy Anguillette, a near relation of the Princes who
reigned in these parts, had conferred upon it, for two thousand years,
the happy power of curing unfortunate attachments. It is confidently
asserted that it still possesses that power; but the difficulty is to
find the island.
The Prince who reigned in it at that period, was descended in a right
line from the celebrated Princess Carpillon and her charming husband,
of whom a modern Fairy, wiser and more polished than those of ancient
times, has so gracefully recounted the wonderful adventures.[8]
While the fair Hebe enjoyed a repose, the sweetness of which she had
not tasted for six months, the Prince of the Peaceful Island was taking
an airing in the wood that fringed the shore. He was seated in his car,
drawn by four young white elephants, and surrounded by a portion of
his Court. The sleeping Princess attracted his attention. Her beauty
astonished him. He descended from his car with a haste and vivacity
unusual to his nature. He felt at the sight of her all the love which
the charms of Hebe were worthy to inspire. The noise awoke her, and
on opening her lovely eyes, she was struck by a thousand beauties in
the young Prince. He was of the same age as Hebe--just nineteen. He
was perfectly handsome, his figure full of grace, his height above
the ordinary standard, and his hair, which fell in rich curls down to
his waist, was of the same colour as Hebe's. His dress was composed
of feathers of a thousand different colours, over which he wore a
sort of mantle, with a train all made of swan's-down, and fastened on
his shoulders by the finest jewels in the world. His girdle was of
diamonds, from which hung by golden chains a small sabre, the hilt and
sheath of which were entirely covered with rubies. A sort of helmet,
made of feathers like the rest of his attire, crowned his handsome
head, and on one side of it, fastened by a diamond of prodigious size,
was a plume of heron's feathers, which added greatly to the effect of
his appearance.
The Prince was the first object that presented itself to the eyes
of the young Princess at her waking. He appeared worthy of her
observation, and for the first time in her life she looked upon another
than Atimir with some interest.
"Everything assures me," said the Prince of the Peaceful Island to
the Princess, "that you can be no other than the divine Hebe. Alas!
who else could possess so many charms?" "Who, my Lord," replied the
young Princess, blushing, as she rose to her feet, "could have so soon
informed you of my having landed on this island?" "A powerful Fairy,"
answered the young monarch, "who, desirous of making me the happiest
Prince in the world, and this country the most fortunate, had promised
to lead you hither, and had even permitted me to indulge in the
proudest hopes; but I am too well aware," he added, with a sigh, "that
my fate depends much more upon your favour than upon hers."
After this speech, to which she replied with much propriety, the
Prince requested her to enter his car, that she might be conducted to
the palace; and out of respect to her, he would have declined taking
his place in it, but as she had gathered from his language and his
attendants that he was the sovereign of the island, she insisted on
his seating himself beside her. Never had two such beautiful persons
been seen in the same car. All the Prince's courtiers at the sight
involuntarily burst into a tumult of applause. On the road, the young
Prince entered into conversation with Hebe, with great animation and
tenderness; and the Princess, happy to find her heart once more at
ease, had recovered all her natural vivacity.
They reached the palace; it was not far from the sea-coast. It was
approached through long and beautiful avenues, bordered by canals of
running water. It was built entirely of ivory and roofed with agate.
The Prince's guards were drawn up in line in all the courts. In the
first, they were clothed with yellow feathers, and carried quivers,
bows and arrows of silver. In the second, they were all clothed with
flame-coloured feathers, and wore sabres with golden hilts, and sheaths
ornamented with turquoises. The royal party entered the third court,
in which the guards were dressed in white feathers, and held in their
hands demi-lances painted and gilt, and entwined with garlands of
flowers. There was never any war in that country, so that they did not
carry any formidable weapons.
The Prince, descending from his car, led the lovely Hebe to a
magnificent apartment. His Court was numerous, the ladies were
beautiful; the men gallant and graceful; and although everybody in the
Island was dressed in feathers only, they evinced so much taste in the
arrangement of the colours, that the effect was very agreeable.
That evening, the Prince of the Peaceful Island gave a superb banquet
to the beautiful Hebe, which was followed by a concert of flutes,
lutes, theorbos and harpsichords. In that country they were not fond of
any noisy instruments. The music was very charming; when it had lasted
some time, a very sweet voice sang the following words:--
Ever to be thy beauty's slave I swear,
Nor can my heart conceive a happier state
Than constant bondage in a chain so fair--
Faithful as fond--on thee depends my fate.
The Prince gazed on Hebe while this tender air was sung, with an
expression which persuaded her that the verses but declared his own
sentiments.
When the concert was over, the Prince of the Peaceful Island, as it was
late, led the Princess to the apartment selected for her. It was the
most beautiful room in the palace. She found in it a great many ladies,
who had been chosen by the Prince to have the honour of attending upon
her.
The Prince quitted the beautiful Hebe the most enamoured of men. The
Princess retired to rest, the ladies of the Court withdrew, and no one
remained in the bed-chamber except the attendants she had brought with
her. "Who could have believed it?" said she to them, as soon as they
were left together, "my heart is tranquil. What deity has appeased my
sufferings? I no longer love Atimir. I can think that he is the husband
of Ilerie without dying of grief. Is not all this a dream which passes
around me? No," she continued, after a moment's pause; "for even my
dreams were never so free from agitation." She then returned thanks a
thousand times to Anguillette, and fell asleep.
When she awoke the next morning the Fairy appeared to her with a
gracious smile upon her countenance, which she had not seen her wear
since the fatal day she had requested the gift of love. "At length,"
said the kind Fairy, "I have fortunately brought you hither. Your heart
is free, and therefore it may be happy. I have cured you of a baneful
passion; but, Hebe, may I trust that the fearful torments to which you
have been exposed will sufficiently induce you to shun for ever those
places in which you might chance to meet the ungrateful Atimir." What
promises did not the young Princess make to the Fairy! How repeatedly
did she abjure love and her faithless lover! "Remember, at least, your
promises," rejoined the Fairy, with an air that inspired respect. "You
will perish with Atimir should you ever seek again to behold him;
but everything around you here ought to prevent your entertaining a
desire so fatal to your existence. I will no longer conceal from you
what I have determined upon in your favour. The Prince of the Peaceful
Island is my kinsman. I protect him and his empire. He is young, he
is amiable, and no Prince in the world is so worthy of being your
husband. Reign, then, fair Hebe, in his heart and over his realm. Your
royal father consents to your union. I was in his palace yesterday. I
informed him and the Queen of your present position, and they gave me
full power to care for your future fortunes."
The Princess was greatly tempted to ask the Fairy what news had been
heard of Atimir and Ilerie since her departure, but she dared not,
after so many favours, run the risk of displeasing her. She employed to
thank her all the eloquence the Fairy had gifted her with.
Her attendants now entered the chamber, and the Fairy disappeared. As
soon as Hebe had arisen, twelve children of the most perfect beauty,
dressed as Cupids, brought to her from the Prince twelve crystal
baskets, filled with the most brilliant and fragrant flowers in the
world. These flowers covered sets of jewels of all colours and of
marvellous beauty. In the first basket presented to her, she found a
note containing these lines:--