There was once upon a time so excellent a monarch that his subjects
called him King Good. One day, when he was hunting, a little white
rabbit which the dogs were about to kill, jumped into his arms. The
King caressed the little rabbit, and said, "As it has put itself under
my protection, I will not allow any harm to be done to it." He carried
the little rabbit into his palace and gave it a pretty little house
and nice herbs to eat. At night, when he was alone in his chamber, a
beautiful lady appeared before him; she was arrayed neither in gold nor
in silver, but her robe was white as snow, and her head-dress consisted
simply of a crown of white roses. The good King was much surprised to
see this lady, as his door was locked, and he knew not how she had
entered. She said to him, "I am the Fairy Candid; I passed through the
wood as you were hunting, and I wished to ascertain if you were as
good as everybody said you were. For that purpose I took the form of a
little rabbit, and I saved myself by jumping into your arms; for I know
that those who have pity for animals have more still for men; and if
you had refused me your assistance I should have thought you wicked. I
come to thank you for the kindness you have shown me, and to assure you
I shall always be your friend. You have only to ask me for anything you
wish, I promise to grant it."
"Madam," said the good King, "as you are a Fairy, you ought to know all
I wish for. I have but one son, whom I love exceedingly, and on that
account they have named him Prince Chéri; if you have any affection
for me, become the friend of my son." "With all my heart," said the
Fairy; "I can make your son the handsomest Prince in the world,
or the richest, or the most powerful; choose which you wish him to
be." "I desire none of those things for my son," said the good King;
"but I shall be much obliged if you will make him the best of all
Princes. What will it profit him to be handsome, rich, to have all the
kingdoms of the world, if he should be wicked? You know well he would
be miserable, and that nothing but virtue can make him happy." "You
are quite right," said Candid; "but it is not in my power to make the
Prince Chéri a good man in spite of himself; he must himself endeavour
to become virtuous. All I can promise you is to give him good advice,
to point out to him his faults, and to punish him if he will not
correct them and punish himself."
The good King was quite content with this promise, and died a short
time afterwards. Prince Chéri wept much for his father, for he loved
him with all his heart, and he would have given all his kingdoms, his
gold, and his silver, to have saved him, if such things had power to
change the will of fate. Two years after the death of the good King,
Chéri being in bed, Candid appeared to him. "I promised your father,"
said she to him, "to be your friend; and, to keep my word, I come to
make you a present." At the same time she placed on the finger of Chéri
a little gold ring, and said to him, "Keep this ring carefully--it is
more precious than diamonds. Every time you commit a bad action it will
prick your finger; but if in spite of this pricking you persist in the
evil deed, you will lose my friendship, and I shall become your enemy."
Candid disappeared as she uttered these words, and left Chéri much
astonished. For some time his conduct was so faultless that the ring
did not prick him at all, and this gave him so much gratification, that
his subjects added to his name Chéri, or Beloved, that of Heureux, or
Happy. One day he went out hunting, and caught nothing, which put him
in a bad humour. It appeared to him, then, that the ring pressed his
finger a little; but as it did not prick him he paid no great attention
to it. On entering his apartment, however, his little dog Bibi came
jumping about him affectionately, when he said, "Get thee gone, I am
not in a humour to receive thy caresses!" The poor little dog, who did
not understand him, pulled at his coat, to oblige him at least to
look at him. This irritated Chéri, and he gave him a violent kick. In
a moment the ring pricked him, as if it had been a pin; he was much
astonished, and seated himself, quite ashamed, in a corner of the room.
"I think the Fairy mocks me," said he to himself. "What great evil
have I done in kicking an animal which worried me? Of what use is it
to be master of a great empire if I may not chastise my own dog?" "I
do not mock you," said a voice which replied to the thoughts of Chéri.
"You have committed three faults instead of one. You have been in an
ill-humour because you did not like to be disappointed, and because
you believe both beasts and men were only made to obey you. You put
yourself in a passion, which is very wrong, and, lastly, you have been
cruel to a poor animal that did not deserve to be ill-treated. I know
you are much superior to a dog; but if it were a reasonable thing, and
permissible for the great to ill-treat those who are beneath them, I
would at this moment beat you--kill you, for a Fairy is stronger than a
man. The advantage of being master of a great empire is not to be able
to do all the harm that you may wish, but all the good that you can."
Chéri confessed his fault, and promised to correct it; but he did not
keep his word. He had been reared by a foolish nurse, who had spoilt
him when he was little. If he wanted anything he had only to cry, pout,
and stamp his foot, and this woman gave him all he wished for; and this
had made him wilful. She had told him also, from morning to night, that
he would be King some day, and that kings were very happy, because
everybody must obey them, and treat them with great respect, and that
no one could prevent their doing whatever they pleased.
When Chéri grew up, and was capable of reasoning, he soon learnt that
there was nothing so odious as to be proud, vain, and obstinate.
He made some efforts to correct himself, but he had unfortunately
contracted all three defects; and a bad habit is very difficult to
eradicate. It was not that he had naturally a bad heart: he wept with
annoyance when he had committed a fault, and said, "How unfortunate am
I in having to fight thus all my days against my pride and my temper!
If they had corrected me when I was young, I should not now have had so
much trouble."
His ring pricked him very often. Sometimes he stopped immediately, at
others he persisted in his ill-behaviour; and what was very singular
was, that it pricked him very slightly for a light offence, but when
he did anything really wicked, it would make the blood spurt from his
finger. At length he grew impatient at this, and wishing to sin at his
ease, he threw away his ring. He thought himself the happiest of men
when he was released from its pricking. He abandoned himself to all the
follies which entered his head, till at length he became quite wicked,
and nobody could bear him.
One day that Chéri was out walking he saw a young maiden so beautiful,
that he determined to marry her. She was called Zélie, and she was as
good as she was pretty. Chéri imagined that Zélie would be most happy
to become a great Queen; but the girl told him, with much firmness,
"Sire, I am only a shepherdess; I have no fortune; but in spite of
that, I will not marry you." "Am I displeasing to you?" asked Chéri,
a little offended. "No, Prince," replied Zélie; "I think you are very
handsome; but what would be the advantage to me of your beauty, your
riches, the fine clothes and magnificent carriages which you would
give me, if the bad actions I should daily see you commit forced me to
despise and hate you?"
Chéri became enraged with Zélie, and ordered his officers to carry
her by force to his palace. He brooded all day long over the contempt
with which this girl had treated him; but as he loved her, he could
not make up his mind to harm her. Amongst the favourites of Chéri was
his foster-brother, whom he had made his confidant. This man, whose
inclinations were as low as his birth, flattered the passions of his
master, and gave him very bad advice. When he saw Chéri so sad, he
asked the cause of his grief. The Prince having replied that he could
not bear the contempt of Zélie, and that he had determined to correct
himself of his faults, because he must be virtuous to please her, this
wicked man said, "You are very good to give yourself so much trouble
for a little girl. If I were in your place, I would force her to obey
me. Remember that you are King, and that it would be a shame for you
to submit to the will of a shepherdess, who should be only too happy
to be amongst your slaves. Make her fast on bread and water; put her
in prison; and if she continue to refuse to marry you, let her die by
torture, in order to teach others to yield to your wishes. You will be
disgraced if it be known that a simple girl resists your pleasure, and
all your subjects will forget that they are placed in this world only
to serve you." "But," said Chéri, "shall I not be disgraced if I put
to death an innocent girl? For in fact Zélie is guilty of no crime."
"No one is innocent who refuses to obey your commands," replied the
confidant. "But suppose you do commit an injustice, it is better to
be accused of that than to let it be known that it is permitted to be
wanting in respect for you or to contradict you."
The courtier knew Chéri's weak point; and the fear of seeing his
authority diminished made such an impression on the King, that he
stifled the good impulse which had given him the wish to correct
himself. He resolved to go the same evening into the chamber of the
shepherdess, and to ill-treat her if she still refused to marry him.
The foster-brother of Chéri, who feared some good change in him,
assembled three young lords as wicked as himself to carouse with the
King. They supped together; and the courtiers took care to cloud the
reason of the poor Prince, by making him drink deep. During the repast
they excited his anger against Zélie, and made him so ashamed of the
tenderness he had shown for her, that he rose like a madman, swearing
that he would make her obey him, or sell her the next day as a slave.
Chéri having entered the chamber in which the girl had been shut up,
was surprised not to find her there, for he had the key in his pocket.
He was in a frightful rage, and swore to be avenged on those whom he
should suspect of having aided her to escape. His confidants hearing
him speak thus, resolved to profit by his anger to rid themselves
of a nobleman who had been Chéri's governor. This worthy man had
occasionally taken the liberty of pointing out to the King his faults,
for he loved him as though he had been his own son. At first Chéri had
thanked him, but at length he grew impatient at being contradicted, and
then began to think it was only from a spirit of opposition that his
governor found fault with him, whilst every one else praised him. He
ordered him, therefore, to retire from Court; but, notwithstanding this
order, he admitted now and then that he was an honest man; that he no
longer loved him, but that he esteemed him in spite of himself. The
favourites were always in dread of the King recalling the governor, and
they now imagined they had found a favourable opportunity of getting
rid of him altogether. They represented to the King that Suliman (such
was the name of the worthy man) had boasted that he would set Zélie at
liberty. They bribed three men, who deposed that they had overheard
Suliman speak to this effect; and the Prince, transported with anger,
commanded his foster-brother to send a guard to bring the governor to
him fettered like a criminal.
After having given these orders, Chéri retired to his room; but hardly
had he entered it, when the ground trembled, he heard a tremendous clap
of thunder, and Candid appeared before him. "I promised your father,"
said she to him, in a severe tone, "to give you advice, and to punish
you if you refused to follow it. You have scorned that advice; you have
retained but the form of a man; your crimes have changed you into a
monster, the horror of heaven and earth. It is time I should fulfil my
promise by punishing you. I condemn you to become like the beasts whose
inclinations you already copy. You have resembled the lion in your
rage, the wolf in your gluttony, the serpent by wounding him who has
been your second father, and the bull by your brutality. You shall bear
in your new form the trace of all these animals."
Hardly had she finished these words before Chéri saw with horror he
was the monster she described. He had the head of a lion, the horns of
a bull, the feet of a wolf, and the tail of a viper. At the same time
he found himself in a great forest, on the brink of a fountain wherein
he saw his horrible form reflected, and heard a voice, which said,
"Consider attentively the state to which thy crimes have reduced thee.
Thy mind is become a thousand times more frightful than thy body."
Chéri recognised the voice of Candid, and in his fury he turned to
throw himself on her, and, if it had been possible, to devour her; but
he saw no one, and the same voice said to him, "I mock thy impotent
fury, and will humble thy pride by placing thee under the power of
thine own subjects."
Chéri thought that by flying from this fountain he should escape
from much of his vexation, as he should no longer have his ugliness
and deformity before his eyes: he rushed therefore into the wood; but
hardly had he gone a few steps, when he fell into a hole which had been
made to catch a bear, and immediately the hunters, who had climbed the
trees to watch for their prey, descended, and having secured him with
chains, led him towards the capital city of his kingdom.
On the way, instead of perceiving that he had drawn on himself this
chastisement by his own fault, he cursed the Fairy, gnawed his
chains, and gave himself up to his rage. As he approached the city
to which they were conducting him, he observed great rejoicing going
on; and the hunters having asked what had happened, were told that
Prince Chéri, who had had no pleasure but in tormenting his people,
had been destroyed in his chamber by a thunderbolt, for so they
imagined. "The gods," said they, "could no longer support the excess
of his wickedness, and have thus ridden the world of him. Four lords,
accomplices of his crimes, thought to profit by the event, and to
divide his kingdom amongst them; but the people who knew that it was
their evil counsel which had corrupted the King, tore them to pieces,
and have offered the crown to Suliman, whom the wicked Chéri had
wished to put to death. This worthy Lord has just been crowned, and
we celebrate this day as that of the deliverance of the kingdom; for
Suliman is virtuous, and will restore to us peace and prosperity."
Chéri groaned with rage at hearing this discourse; but it was far
worse when he arrived in the Great Square before the Palace. He saw
Suliman on a superb throne, and heard the people wish him a long life,
to repair all the evils which his predecessor had committed. Suliman
made a sign with his hand to request silence, and said to the crowd: "I
have accepted the crown which you offered me, but only to preserve it
for Prince Chéri; he is not dead, as you believe. A Fairy has revealed
this to me, and perhaps some day you will see him again as virtuous as
he was in his youth. Alas!" continued he, shedding tears, "flatterers
ruined him. I knew his heart, it was formed for virtue; and but for the
poisonous discourse of those who surrounded him, he would have been a
father to you. Detest his vices, but pity him, and let us all pray the
gods to restore him to us. As for me, I should esteem myself too happy
to bathe this throne with my blood, if I could see him ascend it again
with those good dispositions which would make him fill it worthily."
The words of Suliman went to the heart of Chéri. He found then how
sincere had been the attachment and fidelity of this excellent man, and
for the first time reproached himself for his wickedness. Hardly had he
listened to this good impulse than he felt the rage which had animated
him subdued, he reflected on the crimes he had committed, and confessed
he had not been punished as severely as he had deserved. He ceased to
struggle in his iron cage, and became mild as a lamb. They placed him
in a large menagerie, where they kept all sorts of monsters and wild
beasts, and chained him up with the rest.
Chéri then came to the resolution of beginning to amend of his faults,
by showing obedience to the man who kept him. This man was very brutal
when he was in an ill-temper. Although the Monster was very docile, he
beat him without rhyme or reason. One day that this man was asleep, a
tiger that had broken his chain threw himself upon him to devour him;
at first Chéri felt an emotion of joy at seeing himself about to be
delivered from his persecutor, but immediately after he condemned this
feeling and wished himself at liberty. "I would," said he, "render good
for evil by saving the life of this unhappy man." Hardly had he formed
the wish, than he saw his iron cage open, he threw himself before
the man, who was now awake and defending himself from the tiger. The
Keeper thought himself lost when he saw the Monster; but his fear was
soon turned into joy--the benevolent Monster sprang upon the tiger,
strangled him, and then laid himself down at the feet of him whom he
had saved. The man, penetrated by gratitude, was about to stoop to
caress the Monster which had rendered him so great a service, when
he heard a voice which said, "A good action never goes without its
reward," and at the same moment he saw only a pretty dog at his feet.
Chéri, charmed at this metamorphosis, bestowed a thousand caresses on
his Keeper, who took him in his arms and carried him to the King, to
whom he related this marvellous story. The Queen desired to have the
dog; and Chéri would have been very happy in his new condition had he
been able to forget that he was once a man and a monarch. The Queen
loaded him with caresses; but fearing that he would grow larger, she
consulted her physicians, who told her that she must give him no food
but bread, and only a moderate quantity of that. Poor Chéri was dying
of hunger half the day, but he was obliged to have patience.
One morning that they brought him his little roll for his breakfast,
he had a fancy to go and eat it in the garden of the Palace. He took
it in his mouth, and walked towards a canal which he knew was a short
distance off; but he could nowhere find it, and in its place he saw
a large mansion, the exterior of which blazed with gold and precious
stones. He observed in it an immense number of persons of both sexes
magnificently dressed: they sang and danced, and fared sumptuously
within the building; but all those who came out of it were pale, thin,
covered with wounds, and nearly naked, for their clothes were torn
into shreds. Some fell dead as they issued from it without having
strength to drag themselves a step further; others proceeded with great
difficulty; whilst some remained lying on the ground dying of hunger
and begging a morsel of bread from those who entered the house, but
who did not vouchsafe a look at them. Chéri approached a young girl
who was trying to tear up some grass to eat; touched with compassion,
the Prince said to himself, "I have a good appetite, but I shall not
die of hunger if I wait till dinner-time and sacrifice my breakfast to
this poor creature; perhaps I shall save her life." He resolved to act
on this good impulse, and placed his bread in the hand of the girl,
who put it to her mouth with avidity. She soon appeared quite restored
by it; and Chéri, transported with joy at having so opportunely come
to her relief, was about to return to the Palace when he heard loud
cries. It was Zélie in the hands of four men, who dragged her towards
the mansion, which they forced her to enter. Chéri then regretted his
form of a monster, which would have afforded him the means of rescuing
Zélie; but a poor little dog as he was, he could only bark at the
ravishers and strive to follow them. They drove him away by kicks;
but he resolved not to quit the spot, and find out what had become of
Zélie. He reproached himself for the misfortunes of this beautiful
girl. "Alas!" said he to himself, "I am indignant with those who have
carried her off. Have I not committed the same crime myself? and if the
justice of the gods had not frustrated my attempt, should I not have
treated her with the same barbarity?"
The reflections of Chéri were interrupted by a noise which he heard
above his head. He saw a window open; and his joy was extreme when he
perceived Zélie, who threw from this window a plateful of meat so well
dressed that it made him hungry to see it. The window was shut again
immediately; and Chéri, who had not eaten all day, was about to devour
the meat, when the young girl to whom he had given the bread uttered a
cry, and having taken him in her arms, "Poor little animal," said she,
"do not touch that food; this house is the Palace of Voluptuousness;
all who come out of it are poisoned." At the same moment Chéri
heard a voice which said, "Thou seest a good action never remains
unrecompensed;" and immediately he was changed into a beautiful little
white pigeon. He remembered that this colour was the favourite one of
Candid, and began to hope that she might at length restore him to her
good graces. He was desirous of rejoining Zélie; and rising in the air,
flew all round the palace, and found with joy one window open; but in
vain did he traverse all the building--he could not find Zélie. In
despair at her loss, he resolved not to rest till he should meet with
her. He flew for several days, and having entered a desert, observed
a cavern, which he approached. How great was his delight! Zélie was
seated there by the side of a venerable hermit, and sharing with him a
frugal repast. Chéri, transported with joy, flew on to the shoulder of
the lovely shepherdess, and expressed by his caresses the pleasure he
felt at seeing her. Zélie, charmed with the gentleness of the little
creature, stroked it gently with her hand, and although she thought it
could not understand her, she told it that she accepted the gift it
made her of itself, and that she would always love it. "What have you
done, Zélie?" said the hermit. "You have plighted your faith." "Yes,
charming shepherdess," said Chéri to her, who resumed at this moment
his natural form, "the termination of my metamorphosis was dependent
on your consent to our union. You have promised always to love me,
confirm my happiness, or I shall hasten and implore the Fairy Candid,
my protectress, to restore me to the form under which I have had the
happiness of pleasing you." "You need not fear her inconstancy," said
Candid, who, quitting the form of the hermit under which she had been
concealed, appeared before them in her proper person. "Zélie loved you
from the first moment she saw you; but your vices compelled her to
conceal the passion with which you had inspired her. The change in your
heart leaves her at liberty to show her affection for you. You will
live happily, because your union will be founded on virtue."
Chéri and Zélie threw themselves at the feet of Candid. The Prince was
never tired of thanking her for her goodness, and Zélie, enchanted to
find that the Prince detested his former evil ways, confirmed to him
the Fairy's avowal of her affection. "Rise, my children," said the
Fairy to them, "I will transport you to your Palace, and restore to
Chéri a crown of which his vices had rendered him unworthy." Hardly
had she finished speaking when they found themselves in the chamber of
Suliman, who, charmed to see his dear master once more become virtuous,
abdicated the throne, and remained the most faithful of his subjects.
Chéri reigned for a long period with Zélie; and it is said that he
applied himself so well to his duties, that the ring, which he again
wore, never once pricked his finger severely enough to draw a single
drop of blood.