Did Prince Dolar become a great king? Was he, though little more than a
boy, “the father of his people,” as all kings ought to be? Did his reign
last long--long and happy? and what were the principal events of it, as
chronicled in the history of Nomansland?
Why, if I were to answer all these questions I should have to write
another book. And I'm tired, children, tired--as grown-up people
sometimes are, though not always with play. (Besides, I have a small
person belonging to me, who, though she likes extremely to listen to the
word-of-mouth story of this book, grumbles much at the writing of it,
and has run about the house clapping her hands with joy when mamma told
her that it was nearly finished. But that is neither here nor there.)
I have related as well as I could the history of Prince Dolor, but with
the history of Nomansland I am as yet unacquainted. If anybody knows
it, perhaps he or she will kindly write it all down in another book. But
mine is done.
However, of this I am sure, that Prince Dolor made an excellent king.
Nobody ever does anything less well, not even the commonest duty of
common daily life, for having such a godmother as the little old woman
clothed in gray, whose name is--well, I leave you to guess. Nor, I
think, is anybody less good, less capable of both work and enjoyment in
after-life, for having been a little unhappy in his youth, as the prince
had been.
I cannot take upon myself to say that he was always happy now--who
is?--or that he had no cares; just show me the person who is quite free
from them! But whenever people worried and bothered him--as they did
sometimes, with state etiquette, state squabbles, and the like, setting
up themselves and pulling down their neighbors--he would take refuge in
that upper room which looked out on the Beautiful Mountains, and, laying
his head on his godmother's shoulder, become calmed and at rest.
Also, she helped him out of any difficulty which now and then
occurred--for there never was such a wise old woman. When the people of
Nomansland raised the alarm--as sometimes they did--for what people can
exist without a little fault-finding?--and began to cry out, “Un-happy
is the nation whose king is a child,” she would say to him gently, “You
are a child. Accept the fact. Be humble--be teachable. Lean upon the
wisdom of others till you have gained your own.”
He did so. He learned how to take advice before attempting to give it,
to obey before he could righteously command. He assembled round him all
the good and wise of his kingdom--laid all its affairs before them, and
was guided by their opinions until he had maturely formed his own.
This he did sooner than anybody would have imagined who did not know
of his godmother and his traveling-cloak--two secret blessings, which,
though many guessed at, nobody quite understood. Nor did they understand
why he loved so the little upper room, except that it had been his
mother's room, from the window of which, as people remembered now, she
had used to sit for hours watching the Beautiful Mountains.
Out of that window he used to fly--not very often; as he grew older, the
labors of state prevented the frequent use of his traveling-cloak; still
he did use it sometimes. Only now it was less for his own pleasure and
amusement than to see something or investigate something for the good
of the country. But he prized his godmother's gift as dearly as ever.
It was a comfort to him in all his vexations, an enhancement of all his
joys. It made him almost forget his lameness--which was never cured.
However, the cruel things which had been once foreboded of him did not
happen. His misfortune was not such a heavy one, after all. It proved to
be of much less inconvenience, even to himself, than had been feared.
A council of eminent surgeons and mechanicians invented for him a
wonderful pair of crutches, with the help of which, though he never
walked easily or gracefully, he did manage to walk so as to be quite
independent. And such was the love his people bore him that they never
heard the sound of his crutches on the marble palace floors without a
leap of the heart, for they knew that good was coming to them whenever
he approached.
Thus, though he never walked in processions, never reviewed his troops
mounted on a magnificent charger, nor did any of the things which make
a show monarch so much appreciated, he was able for all the duties and
a great many of the pleasures of his rank. When he held his levees,
not standing, but seated on a throne ingeniously contrived to hide his
infirmity, the people thronged to greet him; when he drove out
through the city streets, shouts followed him wherever he went--every
countenance brightened as he passed, and his own, perhaps, was the
brightest of all.
First, because, accepting his affliction as inevitable, he took it
patiently; second, because, being a brave man, he bore it bravely,
trying to forget himself, and live out of himself, and in and for other
people. Therefore other people grew to love him so well that I think
hundreds of his subjects might have been found who were almost ready to
die for their poor lame king.
He never gave them a queen. When they implored him to choose one, he
replied that his country was his bride, and he desired no other. But
perhaps the real reason was that he shrank from any change; and that no
wife in all the world would have been found so perfect, so lovable, so
tender to him in all his weaknesses as his beautiful old godmother.
His twenty-four other godfathers and godmothers, or as many of them as
were still alive, crowded round him as soon as he ascended the throne.
He was very civil to them all, but adopted none of the names they had
given him, keeping to the one by which he had been always known, though
it had now almost lost its meaning; for King Dolor was one of the
happiest and cheerfulest men alive.
He did a good many things, however, unlike most men and most kings,
which a little astonished his subjects. First, he pardoned the condemned
woman who had been his nurse, and ordained that from henceforth there
should be no such thing as the punishment of death in Nomansland. All
capital criminals were to be sent to perpetual imprisonment in Hopeless
Tower and the plain round about it, where they could do no harm to
anybody, and might in time do a little good, as the woman had done.
Another surprise he shortly afterward gave the nation. He recalled his
uncle's family, who had fled away in terror to another country, and
restored them to all their honors in their own. By and by he chose the
eldest son of his eldest cousin (who had been dead a year), and had him
educated in the royal palace, as the heir to the throne. This little
prince was a quiet, unobtrusive boy, so that everybody wondered at the
King's choosing him when there were so many more; but as he grew into a
fine young fellow, good and brave, they agreed that the King judged more
wisely than they.
“Not a lame prince, either,” his Majesty observed one day, watching
him affectionately; for he was the best runner, the highest leaper, the
keenest and most active sportsman in the country. “One cannot make one's
self, but one can sometimes help a little in the making of somebody
else. It is well.”
This was said, not to any of his great lords and ladies, but to a good
old woman--his first homely nurse whom he had sought for far and wide,
and at last found in her cottage among the Beautiful Mountains. He sent
for her to visit him once a year, and treated her with great honor until
she died. He was equally kind, though somewhat less tender, to his other
nurse, who, after receiving her pardon, returned to her native town and
grew into a great lady, and I hope a good one. But as she was so grand a
personage now, any little faults she had did not show.
Thus King Dolor's reign passed year after year, long and prosperous.
Whether he were happy--“as happy as a king”--is a question no human
being can decide. But I think he was, because he had the power of making
everybody about him happy, and did it too; also because he was his
godmother's godson, and could shut himself up with her whenever he
liked, in that quiet little room in view of the Beautiful Mountains,
which nobody else ever saw or cared to see. They were too far off, and
the city lay so low. But there they were, all the time. No change ever
came to them; and I think, at any day throughout his long reign, the
King would sooner have lost his crown than have lost sight of the
Beautiful Mountains.
In course of time, when the little Prince, his cousin, was grown into a
tall young man, capable of all the duties of a man, his Majesty did one
of the most extraordinary acts ever known in a sovereign beloved by
his people and prosperous in his reign. He announced that he wished to
invest his heir with the royal purple--at any rate, for a time--while he
himself went away on a distant journey, whither he had long desired to
go.
Everybody marveled, but nobody opposed him. Who could oppose the good
King, who was not a young king now? And besides, the nation had a great
admiration for the young regent--and possibly a lurking pleasure in
change.
So there was a fixed day when all the people whom it would hold
assembled in the great square of the capital, to see the young prince
installed solemnly in his new duties, and undertaking his new vows. He
was a very fine young fellow; tall and straight as a poplar tree, with a
frank, handsome face--a great deal handsomer than the king, some people
said, but others thought differently. However, as his Majesty sat on his
throne, with his gray hair falling from underneath his crown, and a few
wrinkles showing in spite of his smile, there was something about his
countenance which made his people, even while they shouted, regard him
with a tenderness mixed with awe.
He lifted up his thin, slender hand, and there came a silence over the
vast crowd immediately. Then he spoke, in his own accustomed way, using
no grand words, but saying what he had to say in the simplest fashion,
though with a clearness that struck their ears like the first song of a
bird in the dusk of the morning.
“My people, I am tired: I want to rest. I have had a long reign, and
done much work--at least, as much as I was able to do. Many might have
done it better than I--but none with a better will. Now I leave it to
others; I am tired, very tired. Let me go home.”
There arose a murmur--of content or discontent none could well tell;
then it died down again, and the assembly listened silently once more.
“I am not anxious about you, my people--my children,” continued the
King. “You are prosperous and at peace. I leave you in good hands. The
Prince Regent will be a fitter king for you than I.”
“No, no, no!” rose the universal shout--and those who had sometimes
found fault with him shouted louder than anybody. But he seemed as if he
heard them not.
“Yes, yes,” said he, as soon as the tumult had a little subsided: and
his voice sounded firm and clear; and some very old people, who boasted
of having seen him as a child, declared that his face took a sudden
change, and grew as young and sweet as that of the little Prince Dolor.
“Yes, I must go. It is time for me to go. Remember me sometimes, my
people, for I have loved you well. And I am going a long way, and I do
not think I shall come back any more.”
He drew a little bundle out of his breast pocket--a bundle that nobody
had ever seen before. It was small and shabby-looking, and tied up
with many knots, which untied themselves in an instant. With a joyful
countenance, he muttered over it a few half-intelligible words. Then,
so suddenly that even those nearest to his Majesty could not tell how it
came about, the King was away--away--floating right up in the air--upon
something, they knew not what, except that it appeared to be as safe and
pleasant as the wings of a bird.
And after him sprang a bird--a dear little lark, rising from whence
no one could say, since larks do not usually build their nests in the
pavement of city squares. But there it was, a real lark, singing far
over their heads, louder and clearer and more joyful as it vanished
further into the blue sky.
Shading their eyes, and straining their ears, the astonished people
stood until the whole vision disappeared like a speck in the clouds--the
rosy clouds that overhung the Beautiful Mountains.
King Dolor was never again beheld or heard of in his own country. But
the good he had done there lasted for years and years; he was long
missed and deeply mourned--at least, so far as anybody could mourn one
who was gone on such a happy journey.
Whither he went, or who went with him, it is impossible to say. But I
myself believe that his godmother took him on his traveling-cloak to
the Beautiful Mountains. What he did there, or where he is now, who can
tell? I cannot. But one thing I am quite sure of, that, wherever he is,
he is perfectly happy.
And so, when I think of him, am I.
THE INVISIBLE PRINCE
THERE were a king and queen who were dotingly fond of their only son,
notwithstanding that he was equally deformed in mind and person. The
king was quite sensible of the evil disposition of his son, but the
queen in her excessive fondness saw no fault whatever in her dear
Furibon, as he was named. The surest way to win her favor was to praise
Furibon for charms he did not possess. When he came of age to have a
governor, the king made choice of a prince who had an ancient right to
the crown, but was not able to support it. This prince had a son, named
Leander, handsome, accomplished, amiable--in every respect the opposite
of Prince Furibon. The two were frequently together, which only made the
deformed prince more repulsive.
One day, certain ambassadors having arrived from a far country, the
prince stood in a gallery to see them; when, taking Leander for the
king's son, they made their obeisance to him, treating Furibon as a mere
dwarf, at which the latter was so offended that he drew his sword, and
would have done them a mischief had not the king just then appeared. As
it was, the affair produced a quarrel, which ended in Leander's being
sent to a far-away castle belonging to his father.
There, however, he was quite happy, for he was a great lover of hunting,
fishing, and walking: he understood painting, read much, and played upon
several instruments, so that he was glad to be freed from the fantastic
humors of Furibon. One day as he was walking in the garden, finding the
heat increase, he retired into a shady grove and began to play upon the
flute to amuse himself. As he played, he felt something wind about his
leg, and looking down saw a great adder: he took his handkerchief, and
catching it by the head was going to kill it. But the adder, looking
steadfastly in his face, seemed to beg his pardon. At this instant one
of the gardeners happened to come to the place where Leander was, and
spying the snake, cried out to his master: “Hold him fast, sir; it
is but an hour since we ran after him to kill him: it is the most
mischievous creature in the world.”
Leander, casting his eyes a second time upon the snake, which was
speckled with a thousand extraordinary colors, perceived the poor
creature still looked upon him with an aspect that seemed to implore
compassion, and never tried in the least to defend itself.
“Though thou hast such a mind to kill it,” said he to the gardener,
“yet, as it came to me for refuge, I forbid thee to do it any harm; for
I will keep it, and when it has cast its beautiful skin I will let it
go.” He then returned home, and carrying the snake with him, put it into
a large chamber, the key of which he kept himself, and ordered bran,
milk, and flowers to be given to it, for its delight and sustenance;
so that never was snake so happy. Leander went sometimes to see it, and
when it perceived him it made haste to meet him, showing him all the
little marks of love and gratitude of which a poor snake was capable,
which did not a little surprise him, though he took no further notice of
it.
In the meantime all the court ladies were extremely troubled at his
absence, and he was the subject of all their discourse. “Alas!” cried
they, “there is no pleasure at court since Leander is gone, of
whose absence the wicked Furibon is the cause!” Furibon also had his
parasites, for his power over the queen made him feared; they told him
what the ladies said, which enraged him to such a degree that in his
passion he flew to the queen's chamber, and vowed he would kill himself
before her face if she did not find means to destroy Leander. The queen,
who also hated Leander, because he was handsomer than her son, replied
that she had long looked upon him as a traitor, and therefore would
willingly consent to his death. To which purpose she advised Furibon
to go a-hunting with some of his confidants, and contrive it so that
Leander should make one of the party.
“Then,” said she, “you may find some way to punish him for pleasing
everybody.”
Furibon understood her, and accordingly went a-hunting; and Leander,
when he heard the horns and the hounds, mounted his horse and rode to
see who it was. But he was surprised to meet the prince so unexpectedly;
he alighted immediately and saluted him with respect; and Furibon
received him more graciously than usual and bade follow him. All of a
sudden he turned his horse and rode another way, making a sign to the
ruffians to take the first opportunity to kill him; but before he had
got quite out of sight, a lion of prodigious size, coming out of his
den, leaped upon Furibon; all his followers fled, and only Leander
remained; who, attacking the animal sword in hand, by his valor and
agility saved the life of his most cruel enemy, who had fallen in a
swoon from fear. When he recovered, Leander presented him his horse to
remount. Now, any other than such a wretch would have been grateful, but
Furibon did not even look upon him; nay, mounting the horse, he rode in
quest of the ruffians, to whom he repeated his orders to kill him. They
accordingly surrounded Leander, who, setting his back to a tree, behaved
with so much bravery that he laid them all dead at his feet. Furibon,
believing him by this time slain, rode eagerly up to the spot. When
Leander saw him he advanced to meet him. “Sir,” said he, “if it was by
your order that these assassins came to kill me, I am sorry I made any
defense.”
“You are an insolent villain!” replied Furibon, “and if ever you come
into my presence again, you shall surely die.”
Leander made no answer, but retired sad and pensive to his own home,
where he spent the night in pondering what was best for him to do; for
there was no likelihood he should be able to defend himself against
the power of the king's son; therefore he at length concluded he would
travel abroad and see the world. Being ready to depart, he recollected
his snake, and, calling for some milk and fruits, carried them to the
poor creature for the last time; but on opening the door he perceived an
extraordinary luster in one corner of the room, and casting his eye on
the place he was surprised to see a lady, whose noble and majestic air
made him immediately conclude she was a princess of royal birth. Her
habit was of purple satin, embroidered with pearls and diamonds; she
advanced toward him with a gracious smile.
“Young prince,” said she, “you find no longer your pet snake, but me,
the fairy Gentilla, ready to requite your generosity. For know that we
fairies live a hundred years in flourishing youth, without diseases,
without trouble or pain; and this term being expired, we become snakes
for eight days. During that time it is not in our power to prevent any
misfortune that may befall us; and if we happen to be killed, we never
revive again. But these eight days being expired, we resume our usual
form and recover our beauty, our power, and our riches. Now you know
how much I am obliged to your goodness, and it is but just that I should
repay my debt of gratitude; think how I can serve you and depend on me.”
The young prince, who had never conversed with a fairy till now, was so
surprised that it was a long time before he could speak. But at length,
making a profound reverence, “Madam,” said he, “since I have had the
honor to serve you, I know not any other happiness that I can wish for.”
“I should be sorry,” replied she, “not to be of service to you in
something; consider, it is in my power to bestow on you long life,
kingdoms, riches; to give you mines of diamonds and houses full of gold;
I can make you an excellent orator, poet, musician, and painter; or, if
you desire it, a spirit of the air, the water, or the earth.”
Here Leander interrupted her. “Permit me, madam,” said he, “to ask you
what benefit it would be to me to be a spirit?”
“Much,” replied the fairy, “you would be invisible when you pleased, and
might in an instant traverse the whole earth; you would be able to fly
without wings, to descend into the abyss of the earth without dying,
and walk at the bottom of the sea without being drowned; nor doors, nor
windows, though fast shut and locked, could hinder you from entering
anywhere; and whenever you had a mind, you might resume your natural
form.”
“Oh, madam!” cried Leander, “then let me be a spirit; I am going to
travel, and should prefer it above all those other advantages you have
so generously offered me.”
Gentilla thereupon stroking his face three times, “Be a spirit,” said
she; and then, embracing him, she gave him a little red cap with a plume
of feathers. “When you put on this cap you shall be invisible; but when
you take it off you shall again become visible.”
Leander, overjoyed, put his little red cap upon his head and wished
himself in the forest, that he might gather some wild roses which he had
observed there: his body immediately became as light as thought; he flew
through the window like a bird; though, in flying over the river, he was
not without fear lest he should fall into it, and the power of the fairy
not be able to save him. But he arrived in safety at the rose-bushes,
plucked the three roses, and returned immediately to his chamber;
presented his roses to the fairy, overjoyed that his first experiments
had succeeded so well. She bade him keep the roses, for that one of them
would supply him with money whenever he wanted it; that if he put the
other into his mistress' bosom, he would know whether she was faithful
or not; and that the third would keep him always in good health. Then,
without staying to receive his thanks, she wished him success in his
travels and disappeared.
Leander, infinitely pleased, settled his affairs, mounted the finest
horse in the stable, called Gris-de-line, and attended by some of his
servants in livery, made his return to court. Now you must know Furibon
had given out that had it not been for his courage Leander would have
murdered him when they were a-hunting; so the king, being importuned by
the queen, gave orders that Leander should be apprehended. But when he
came, he showed so much courage and resolution that Furibon ran to the
queen's chamber and prayed her to order him to be seized. The queen,
who was extremely diligent in everything that her son desired, went
immediately to the king. Furibon, being impatient to know what would be
resolved, followed her; but stopped at the door and laid his ear to the
keyhole, putting his hair aside that he might the better hear what was
said. At the same time, Leander entered the court-hall of the palace
with his red cap upon his head, and perceiving Furibon listening at the
door of the king's chamber, he took a nail and a hammer and nailed his
ear to the door. Furibon began to roar, so that the queen, hearing her
son's voice, ran and opened the door, and, pulling it hastily, tore her
son's ear from his head. Half out of her wits, she set him in her lap,
took up his ear, kissed it, and clapped it again upon its place; but
the invisible Leander, seizing upon a handful of twigs, with which they
corrected the king's little dogs, gave the queen several lashes upon her
hands, and her son as many on the nose: upon which the queen cried out,
“Murder! murder!” and the king looked about, and the people came running
in; but nothing was to be seen. Some cried that the queen was mad, and
that her madness proceeded from her grief to see that her son had lost
one ear; and the king was as ready as any to believe it, so that when
she came near him he avoided her, which made a very ridiculous scene.
Leander, then leaving the chamber, went into the garden, and there,
assuming his own shape, he boldly began to pluck the queen's cherries,
apricots, strawberries, and flowers, though he knew she set such a high
value on them that it was as much as a man's life was worth to touch
one. The gardeners, all amazed, came and told their majesties that
Prince Leander was making havoc of all the fruits and flowers in the
queen's gardens.
“What insolence!” said the queen: then turning to Furibon, “my pretty
child, forget the pain of thy ear but for a moment, and fetch that vile
wretch hither; take our guards, both horse and foot, seize him, and
punish him as he deserves.”
Furibon, encouraged by his mother, and attended by a great number of
armed soldiers, entered the garden and saw Leander; who, taking refuge
under a tree, pelted them all with oranges. But when they came running
toward him, thinking to have seized him, he was not to be seen; he had
slipped behind Furibon, who was in a bad condition already. But Leander
played him one trick more; for he pushed him down upon the gravel walk,
and frightened him so that the soldiers had to take him up, carry him
away, and put him to bed.
Satisfied with this revenge, he returned to his servants, who waited
for him, and giving them money, sent them back to his castle, that
none might know the secret of his red cap and roses. As yet he had
not determined whither to go; however, he mounted his fine horse
Gris-de-line, and, laying the reins upon his neck, let him take his
own road: at length he arrived in a forest, where he stopped to shelter
himself from the heat. He had not been above a minute there before he
heard a lamentable noise of sighing and sobbing; and looking about
him, beheld a man, who ran, stopped, then ran again, sometimes crying,
sometimes silent, then tearing his hair, then thumping his breast like
some unfortunate madman. Yet he seemed to be both handsome and young:
his garments had been magnificent, but he had torn them all to tatters.
The prince, moved with compassion, made toward him, and mildly accosted
him. “Sir,” said he, “your condition appears so deplorable that I must
ask the cause of your sorrow, assuring you of every assistance in my
power.”
“Oh, sir,” answered the young man, “nothing can cure my grief; this day
my dear mistress is to be sacrificed to a rich old ruffian of a husband
who will make her miserable.”
“Does she love you, then?” asked Leander.
“I flatter myself so,” answered the young man.
“Where is she?” continued Leander.
“In the castle at the end of this forest,” replied the lover.
“Very well,” said Leander; “stay you here till I come again, and in a
little while I will bring you good news.”
He then put on his little red cap and wished himself in the castle. He
had hardly got thither before he heard all sorts of music; he entered
into a great room, where the friends and kindred of the old man and the
young lady were assembled. No one could look more amiable than she;
but the paleness of her complexion, the melancholy that appeared in
her countenance, and the tears that now and then dropped, as it were by
stealth from her eyes, betrayed the trouble of her mind.
Leander now became invisible, and placed himself in a corner of the
room. He soon perceived the father and mother of the bride; and coming
behind the mother's chair, whispered in her ear, “If you marry your
daughter to that old dotard, before eight days are over you shall
certainly die.” The woman, frightened to hear such a terrible sentence
pronounced upon her, and yet not know from whence it came, gave a loud
shriek and dropped upon the floor. Her husband asked what ailed her:
she cried that she was a dead woman if the marriage of her daughter went
forward, and therefore she would not consent to it for all the world.
Her husband laughed at her and called her a fool. But the invisible
Leander accosting the man, threatened him in the same way, which
frightened him so terribly that he also insisted on the marriage being
broken off. When the lover complained, Leander trod hard upon his gouty
toes and rang such an alarm in his ears that, not being able any longer
to hear himself speak, away he limped, glad enough to go. The real
lover soon appeared, and he and his fair mistress fell joyfully into one
another's arms, the parents consenting to their union. Leander, assuming
his own shape, appeared at the hall door, as if he were a stranger drawn
thither by the report of this extraordinary wedding.
From hence he traveled on, and came to a great city, where, upon his
arrival, he understood there was a great and solemn procession, in order
to shut up a young woman against her will among the vestal-nuns. The
prince was touched with compassion; and thinking the best use he could
make of his cap was to redress public wrongs and relieve the oppressed,
he flew to the temple, where he saw the young woman, crowned with
flowers, clad in white, and with her disheveled hair flowing about her
shoulders. Two of her brothers led her by each hand, and her mother
followed her with a great crowd of men and women. Leander, being
invisible, cried out, “Stop, stop, wicked brethren: stop, rash and
inconsiderate mother; if you proceed any further, you shall be squeezed
to death like so many frogs.” They looked about, but could not conceive
from whence these terrible menaces came. The brothers said it was
only their sister's lover, who had hid himself in some hole; at which
Leander, in wrath, took a long cudgel, and they had no reason to say the
blows were not well laid on. The multitude fled, the vestals ran away,
and Leander was left alone with the victim; immediately he pulled off
his red cap and asked her wherein he might serve her. She answered him
that there was a certain gentleman whom she would be glad to marry, but
that he wanted an estate. Leander then shook his rose so long that he
supplied them with ten millions; after which they were married and lived
happily together.
But his last adventure was the most agreeable. Entering into a wide
forest, he heard lamentable cries. Looking about him every way, at
length he spied four men well armed, who were carrying away by force a
young lady, thirteen or fourteen years of age; upon which, making up to
them as fast as he could, “What harm has that girl done?” said he.
“Ha! ha! my little master,” cried he who seemed to be the ringleader of
the rest, “who bade you inquire?”
“Let her alone,” said Leander, “and go about your business.”
“Oh, yes, to be sure,” cried they, laughing; whereupon the prince,
alighting, put on his red cap, not thinking it otherwise prudent to
attack four who seemed strong enough to fight a dozen. One of them
stayed to take care of the young lady, while the three others went after
Gris-de-line, who gave them a great deal of unwelcome exercise.
Meantime the young lady continued her cries and complaints. “Oh, my dear
princess,” said she, “how happy was I in your palace! Did you but
know my sad misfortune, you would send your Amazons to rescue poor
Abricotina.”
Leander, having listened to what she said, without delay seized the
ruffian that held her, and bound him fast to a tree before he had time
or strength to defend himself. He then went to the second, and taking
him by both arms, bound him in the same manner to another tree. In the
meantime Abricotina made the best of her good fortune and betook herself
to her heels, not knowing which way she went. But Leander, missing her,
called out to his horse Gris-de-line; who, by two kicks with his hoof,
rid himself of the two ruffians who had pursued him: one of them had his
head broken and the other three of his ribs. And now Leander only wanted
to overtake Abricotina; for he thought her so handsome that he wished
to see her again. He found her leaning against a tree. When she saw
Gris-de-line coming toward her, “How lucky am I!” cried she; “this
pretty little horse will carry me to the palace of pleasure.” Leander
heard her, though she saw him not: he rode up to her; Gris-de-line
stopped, and when Abricotina mounted him, Leander clasped her in his
arms and placed her gently before him. Oh, how great was Abricotina's
fear to feel herself fast embraced, and yet see nobody! She durst not
stir, and shut her eyes for fear of seeing a spirit. But Leander took
off his little cap. “How comes it, fair Abricotina,” said he, “that you
are afraid of me, who delivered you out of the hands of the ruffians?”
With that she opened her eyes, and knowing him again, “Oh, sir,” said
she, “I am infinitely obliged to you; but I was afraid, for I felt
myself held fast and could see no one.”
“Surely,” replied Leander, “the danger you have been in has disturbed
you and cast a mist before your eyes.”
Abricotina would not seem to doubt him, though she was otherwise
extremely sensible. And after they had talked for some time of
indifferent things, Leander requested her to tell him her age, her
country, and by what accident she fell into the hands of the ruffians.
“Know then, sir,” said she, “there was a certain very great fairy
married to a prince who wearied of her: she therefore banished him from
her presence, and established herself and daughter in the Island of Calm
Delights. The princess, who is my mistress, being very fair, has many
lovers--among others, one named Furibon, whom she detests; he it was
whose ruffians seized me to-day when I was wandering in search of a
stray parrot. Accept, noble prince, my best thanks for your valor, which
I shall never forget.”
Leander said how happy he was to have served her, and asked if he could
not obtain admission into the island. Abricotina assured him this was
impossible, and therefore he had better forget all about it. While they
were thus conversing, they came to the bank of a large river. Abricotina
alighted with a nimble jump from the horse.
“Farewell, sir,” said she to the prince, making a profound reverence; “I
wish you every happiness.”
“And I,” said Leander, “wish that I may now and then have a small share
in your remembrance.”
So saying, he galloped away and soon entered into the thickest part of
the wood, near a river, where he unbridled and unsaddled Gris-de-line;
then, putting on his little cap, wished himself in the Island of Calm
Delights, and his wish was immediately accomplished.
The palace was of pure gold, and stood upon pillars of crystal and
precious stones, which represented the zodiac and all the wonders of
nature; all the arts and sciences; the sea, with all the variety of fish
therein contained; the earth, with all the various creatures which it
produces; the chases of Diana and her nymphs; the noble exercises of the
Amazons; the amusements of a country life; flocks of sheep with their
shepherds and dogs; the toils of agriculture, harvesting, gardening. And
among all this variety of representations there was neither man nor
boy to be seen--not so much as a little winged Cupid; so highly had the
princess been incensed against her inconstant husband as not to show the
least favor to his fickle sex.
“Abricotina did not deceive me,” said Leander to himself; “they have
banished from hence the very idea of men; now let us see what they have
lost by it.” With that he entered into the palaces and at every step he
took he met with objects so wonderful that when he had once fixed his
eyes upon them he had much ado to take them off again. He viewed a
vast number of these apartments, some full of china, no less fine than
curious; others lined with porcelain, so delicate that the walls were
quite transparent. Coral, jasper, agates, and cornelians adorned the
rooms of state, and the presence-chamber was one entire mirror. The
throne was one great pearl, hollowed like a shell; the princess sat,
surrounded by her maidens, none of whom could compare with herself. In
her was all the innocent sweetness of youth, joined to the dignity of
maturity; in truth, she was perfection; and so thought the invisible
Leander.
Not seeing Abricotina, she asked where she was. Upon that, Leander,
being very desirous to speak, assumed the tone of a parrot, for there
were many in the room, and addressed himself invisibly to the princess.
“Most charming princess,” said he, “Abricotina will return immediately.
She was in great danger of being carried away from this place but for a
young prince who rescued her.”
The princess was surprised at the parrot, his answer was so extremely
pertinent.
“You are very rude, little parrot,” said the princess; “and Abricotina,
when she comes, shall chastise you for it.”
“I shall not be chastised,” answered Leander, still counterfeiting the
parrot's voice; “moreover, she will let you know the great desire that
stranger had to be admitted into this palace, that he might convince
you of the falsehood of those ideas which you have conceived against his
sex.”
“In truth, pretty parrot,” cried the princess, “it is a pity you are not
every day so diverting; I should love you dearly.”
“Ah! if prattling will please you, princess,” replied Leander, “I will
prate from morning till night.”
“But,” continued the princess, “how shall I be sure my parrot is not a
sorcerer?”
“He is more in love than any sorcerer can be,” replied the prince.
At this moment Abricotina entered the room, and falling at her lovely
mistress' feet, gave her a full account of what had befallen her, and
described the prince in the most glowing colors.
“I should have hated all men,” added she, “had I not seen him! Oh,
madam, how charming he is! His air and all his behavior have something
in them so noble; and though whatever he spoke was infinitely pleasing,
yet I think I did well in not bringing him hither.”
To this the princess said nothing, but she asked Abricotina a hundred
other questions concerning the prince; whether she knew his name, his
country, his birth, from whence he came, and whither he was going; and
after this she fell into a profound thoughtfulness.
Leander observed everything, and continued to chatter as he had begun.
“Abricotina is ungrateful, madam,” said he; “that poor stranger will die
for grief if he sees you not.”
“Well, parrot, let him die,” answered the princess with a sigh; “and
since thou undertakest to reason like a person of wit, and not a little
bird, I forbid thee to talk to me any more of this unknown person.”
Leander was overjoyed to find that Abricotina's and the parrot's
discourse had made such an impression on the princess. He looked upon
her with pleasure and delight. “Can it be,” said he to himself, “that
the masterpiece of nature, that the wonder of our age, should be
confined eternally in an island, and no mortal dare to approach her?
But,” continued he, “wherefore am I concerned that others are banished
hence, since I have the happiness to be with her, to hear and to admire
her; nay, more, to love her above all the women in the universe?”
It was late, and the princess retired into a large room of marble and
porphyry, where several bubbling fountains, refreshed the air with an
agreeable coolness. As soon as she entered the music began, a sumptuous
supper was served up, and the birds from several aviaries on each side
of the room, of which Abricotina had the chief care, opened their little
throats in the most agreeable manner.
Leander had traveled a journey long enough to give him a good appetite,
which made him draw near the table, where the very smell of such viands
was agreeable and refreshing. The princess had a curious tabby-cat, for
which she had a great kindness. This cat one of the maids of honor held
in her arms, saying, “Madam, Bluet is hungry!” With that a chair was
presently brought for the cat; for he was a cat of quality, and had a
necklace of pearl about his neck. He was served on a golden plate with
a laced napkin before him; and the plate being supplied with meat, Bluet
sat with the solemn importance of an alderman.
“Ho! ho!” cried Leander to himself; “an idle tabby malkin, that perhaps
never caught a mouse in his life, and I dare say is not descended from
a better family than myself, has the honor to sit at table with my
mistress: I would fain know whether he loves her so well as I do.”
Saying this, he placed himself in the chair with the cat upon his
knee, for nobody saw him, because he had his little red cap on; finding
Bluet's plate well supplied with partridge, quails, and pheasants,
he made so free with them that whatever was set before Master Puss
disappeared in a trice. The whole court said no cat ever ate with
a better appetite. There were excellent ragouts, and the prince made
use of the cat's paw to taste them; but he sometimes pulled his paw
too roughly, and Bluet, not understanding raillery, began to mew and be
quite out of patience. The princess observing it, “Bring that fricassee
and that tart to poor Bluet,” said she; “see how he cries to have them.”
Leander laughed to himself at the pleasantness of this adventure; but he
was very thirsty, not being accustomed to make such large meals without
drinking. By the help of the cat's paw he got a melon, with which he
somewhat quenched his thirst; and when supper was quite over, he went to
the buffet and took two bottles of delicious wine.
The princess now retired into her boudoir, ordering Abricotina to follow
her and make fast the door; but they could not keep out Leander, who was
there as soon as they. However, the princess, believing herself alone
with her confidante:
“Abricotina,” said she, “tell me truly, did you exaggerate in your
description of the unknown prince, for methinks it is impossible he
should be as amiable as you say?”
“Madam,” replied the damsel, “if I have failed in anything, it was in
coming short of what was due to him.”
The princess sighed and was silent for a time; then resuming her speech:
“I am glad,” said she, “thou didst not bring him with thee.”
“But, madam,” answered Abricotina, who was a cunning girl, and already
penetrated her mistress' thoughts, “suppose he had come to admire the
wonders of these beautiful mansions, what harm could he have done us?
Will you live eternally unknown in a corner of the world, concealed
from the rest of human kind? Of what use is all your grandeur, pomp,
magnificence, if nobody sees it?”
“Hold thy peace, prattler,” replied the princess, “and do not disturb
that happy repose which I have enjoyed so long.”
Abricotina durst make no reply; and the princess, having waited her
answer for some time, asked her whether she had anything to say.
Abricotina then said she thought it was to very little purpose her
mistress having sent her picture to the courts of several princes, where
it only served to make those who saw it miserable; that every one would
be desirous to marry her, and as she could not marry them all, indeed
none of them, it would make them desperate.
“Yet, for all that,” said the princess, “I could wish my picture were in
the hands of this same stranger.”
“Oh, madam,” answered Abricotina, “is not his desire to see you violent
enough already? Would you augment it?”
“Yes,” cried the princess; “a certain impulse of vanity, which I was
never sensible of till now, has bred this foolish fancy in me.”
Leander heard all this discourse, and lost not a tittle of what she
said; some of her expressions gave him hope, others absolutely destroyed
it. The princess presently asked Abricotina whether she had seen
anything extraordinary during her short travels.
“Madam,” said she, “I passed through one forest where I saw certain
creatures that resembled little children: they skip and dance upon the
trees like squirrels; they are very ugly, but have wonderful agility and
address.”
“I wish I had one of them,” said the princess; “but if they are so
nimble as you say they are, it is impossible to catch one.”
Leander, who passed through the same forest, knew what Abricotina meant,
and presently wished himself in the place. He caught a dozen of little
monkeys, some bigger, some less, and all of different colors, and with
much ado put them into a large sack; then, wishing himself at Paris,
where, he had heard, a man might have everything for money, he went and
bought a little gold chariot. He taught six green monkeys to draw it;
they were harnessed with fine traces of flame-colored morocco leather.
He went to another place, where he met with two monkeys of merit,
the most pleasant of which was called Briscambril, the other
Pierceforest--both very spruce and well educated. He dressed Briscambril
like a king and placed him in the coach; Pierceforest he made the
coachman; the others were dressed like pages; all which he put into his
sack, coach and all.
The princess not being gone to bed, heard a rumbling of a little coach
in the long gallery; at the same time, her ladies came to tell her that
the king of the dwarfs was arrived, and the chariot immediately entered
her chamber with all the monkey train. The country monkeys began to
show a thousand tricks, which far surpassed those of Briscambril and
Pierceforest. To say the truth, Leander conducted the whole machine. He
drew the chariot where Briscambril sat arrayed as a king, and making
him hold a box of diamonds in his hand, he presented it with a becoming
grace to the princess. The princess' surprise may be easily imagined.
Moreover, Briscambril made a sign for Pierceforest to come and dance
with him. The most celebrated dancers were not to be compared with them
in activity. But the princess, troubled that she could not guess from
whence this curious present came, dismissed the dancers sooner than she
would otherwise have done, though she was extremely pleased with them.
Leander, satisfied with having seen the delight the princess had taken
in beholding the monkeys, thought of nothing now but to get a little
repose, which he greatly wanted. He stayed sometime in the great
gallery; afterward, going down a pair of stairs, and finding a door
open, he entered into an apartment the most delightful that ever was
seen. There was in it a bed of cloth-of-gold, enriched with pearls,
intermixed with rubies and emeralds: for by this time there appeared
daylight sufficient for him to view and admire the magnificence of this
sumptuous furniture. Having made fast the door, he composed himself to
sleep. Next day he rose very early, and looking about on every side,
he spied a painter's pallet, with colors ready prepared and pencils.
Remembering what the princess had said to Abricotina touching her
own portrait, he immediately (for he could paint as well as the most
excellent masters) seated himself before a mirror and drew his own
picture first; then, in an oval, that of the princess. He had all her
features so strong in his imagination that he had no occasion for her
sitting; and as his desire to please her had set him to work, never did
portrait bear a stronger resemblance. He had painted himself upon one
knee, holding the princess' picture in one hand, and in the other a
label with this inscription, “She is better in my heart.” When the
princess went into her cabinet, she was amazed to see the portrait of
a man; and she fixed her eyes upon it with so much the more surprise,
because she also saw her own with it, and because the words which
were written upon the label afforded her ample room for curiosity. She
persuaded herself that it was Abricotina's doing; and all she desired
to know was whether the portrait was real or imaginary. Rising in haste,
she called Abricotina, while the invisible Leander, with his little
red cap, slipped into the cabinet, impatient to know what passed. The
princess bade Abricotina look upon the picture and tell her what she
thought of it.
After she had viewed it, “I protest!” said she, “'tis the picture of
that generous stranger to whom I am indebted for my life. Yes, yes, I am
sure it is he; his very features, shape, and hair.”
“Thou pretendest surprise,” said the princess, “but I know it was thou
thyself who put it there.”
“Who! I, madam?” replied Abricotina. “I protest I never saw the picture
before in my life. Should I be so bold as to conceal from your knowledge
a thing that so nearly concerns you? And by what miracle could I come by
it? I never could paint, nor did any man ever enter this place; yet here
he is painted with you?”
“Some spirit, then, must have brought it hither,” cried the princess.
“How I tremble for fear, madam!” said Abricotina. “Was it not rather
some lover? And therefore, if you will take my advice, let us burn it
immediately.”
“'Twere a pity to burn it,” cried the princess, sighing; “a finer piece,
methinks, cannot adorn my cabinet.” And saying these words, she cast her
eyes upon it. But Abricotina continued obstinate in her opinion that
it ought to be burned, as a thing that could not come there but by the
power of magic.
“And these words--'She is better in my heart,'” said the princess;
“must we burn them too?”
“No favor must be shown to anything,” said Abricotina, “not even to your
own portrait.”
Abricotina ran away immediately for some fire, while the princess went
to look out at the window. Leander, unwilling to let his performance be
burned, took this opportunity to convey it away without being perceived.
He had hardly quitted the cabinet, when the princess turned about to
look once more upon that enchanting picture, which had so delighted her.
But how was she surprised to find it gone! She sought for it all the
room over; and Abricotina, returning, was no less surprised than her
mistress; so that this last adventure put them both in the most terrible
fright.
Leander took great delight in hearing and seeing his incomparable
mistress; even though he had to eat every day at her table with the
tabby-cat, who fared never the worse for that; but his satisfaction was
far from being complete, seeing he durst neither speak nor show himself;
and he knew it was not a common thing for ladies to fall in love with
persons invisible.
The princess had a universal taste for amusement. One day, she was
saying to her attend-ants that it would give her great pleasure to know
how the ladies were dressed in all the courts of the universe. There
needed no more words to send Leander all over the world. He wished
himself in China, where he bought the richest stuffs he could lay his
hands on, and got patterns of all the court fashions. From thence he
flew to Siam, where he did the same; in three days he traveled over
all the four parts of the world, and from time to time brought what
he bought to the Palace of Calm Delights, and hid it all in a chamber,
which he kept always locked. When he had thus collected together all the
rarities he could meet with--for he never wanted money, his rose always
supplying him--he went and bought five or six dozen of dolls, which he
caused to be dressed at Paris, the place in the world where most
regard is paid to fashions. They were all dressed differently, and as
magnificent as could be, and Leander placed them all in the princess'
closet. When she entered it, she was agreeably surprised to see such
company of little mutes, every one decked with watches bracelets,
diamond buckles, or necklaces; and the most remarkable of them held a
picture box in its hand, which the princess opening, found it contained
Leander's portrait. She gave a loud shriek, and looking upon Abricotina,
“There have appeared of late,” said she, “so many wonders in this place,
that I know not what to think of them: my birds are all grown witty; I
cannot so much as wish, but presently I have my desires; twice have I
now seen the portrait of him who rescued thee from the ruffians; and
here are silks of all sorts, diamonds, embroideries, laces, and an
infinite number of other rarities. What fairy is it that takes such care
to pay me these agreeable civilities?”
Leander was overjoyed to hear and see her so much interested about his
picture, and calling to mind that there was in a grotto which she often
frequented a certain pedestal, on which a Diana, not yet finished, was
to be erected, on this pedestal he resolved to place himself, crowned
with laurel, and holding a lyre in his hand, on which he played like
another Apollo. He most anxiously waited the princess' retiring to the
grotto, which she did every day since her thoughts had taken up with
this unknown person; for what Abricotina had said, joined to the sight
of the picture, had almost destroyed her repose: her lively humor
changed into a pensive melancholy, and she grew a great lover of
solitude. When she entered the grotto, she made a sign that nobody
should follow her, so that her young damsels dispersed themselves into
the neighboring walks. The princess threw herself upon a bank of green
turf, sighed, wept, and even talked, but so softly that Leander could
not hear what she said. He had put his red cap on, that she might not
see him at first; but having taken it off, she beheld him standing on
the pedestal. At first she took him for a real statue, for he observed
exactly the attitude in which he had placed himself, without moving so
much as a finger. She beheld with a kind of pleasure intermixed with
fear, but pleasure soon dispelled her fear, and she continued to view
the pleasing figure, which so exactly resembled life. The prince having
tuned his lyre, began to play; at which the princess, greatly surprised,
could not resist the fear that seized her; she grew pale and fell into
a swoon. Leander leaped from the pedestal, and putting on his little red
cap, that he might not be perceived, took the princess in his arms and
gave her all the assistance that his zeal and tenderness could inspire.
At length she opened her charming eyes and looked about in search of
him, but she could perceive nobody; yet she felt somebody who held her
hands, kissed them, and bedewed them with his tears. It was a long time
before she durst speak, and her spirits were in a confused agitation
between fear and hope. She was afraid of the spirit, but loved the
figure of the unknown. At length she said: “Courtly invisible, why are
you not the person I desire you should be?” At these words Leander was
going to declare himself, but durst not do it yet. “For,” thought he,
“if I again affright the object I adore and make her fear me, she will
not love me.” This consideration caused him to keep silence.
The princess, then, believing herself alone, called Abricotina and told
her all the wonders of the animated statue; that it had played divinely,
and that the invisible person had given her great assistance when she
lay in a swoon.
“What pity 'tis,” said she, “that this person should be so frightful,
for nothing can be more amiable or acceptable than his behavior!”
“Who told you, madam,” answered Abricotina, “that he is frightful? If he
is the youth who saved me, he is beautiful as Cupid himself.”
“If Cupid and the unknown are the same,” replied the princess, blushing,
“I could be content to love Cupid; but alas! how far am I from such a
happiness! I love a mere shadow; and this fatal picture, joined to what
thou hast told me, have inspired me with inclinations so contrary to the
precepts which I received from my mother that I am daily afraid of being
punished for them.”
“Oh! madam,” said Abricotina, interrupting her, “have you not troubles
enough already? Why should you anticipate afflictions which may never
come to pass?”
It is easy to imagine what pleasure Leander took in this conversation.
In the meantime the little Furibon, still enamored of the princess
whom he had never seen, expected with impatience the return of the four
servants whom he had sent to the Island of Calm Delights. One of them at
last came back, and after he had given the prince a particular account
of what had passed, told him that the island was defended by Amazons,
and that unless he sent a very powerful army, it would be impossible to
get into it. The king his father was dead, and Furibon was now lord
of all: disdaining, therefore, any repulse, he raised an army of four
hundred thousand men, and put himself at the head of them, appearing
like another Tom Thumb upon a war-horse. Now, when the Amazons perceived
his mighty host, they gave the princess notice of its who immediately
dispatched away her trusty Abricotina to the kingdom of the fairies,
to beg her mother's instructions as to what she should do to drive the
little Furibon from her territories. But Abricotina found the fairy in
an angry humor.
“Nothing that my daughter does,” said she, “escapes my knowledge.
The Prince Leander is now in her palace; he loves her, and she has a
tenderness for him. All my cares and precepts have not been able to
guard her from the tyranny of love, and she is now under its fatal
dominion. But it is the decree of destiny, and I must submit; therefore,
Abricotina, begone! nor let me hear a word more of a daughter whose
behavior has so much displeased me.”
Abricotina returned with these ill tidings, whereat the princess was
almost distracted; and this was soon perceived by Leander, who was near
her, though she did not see him. He beheld her grief with the greatest
pain. However, he durst not then open his lips; but recollecting that
Furibon was exceedingly covetous, he thought that, by giving him a sum
of money, he might perhaps prevail with him to retire. Thereupon, he
dressed himself like an Amazon, and wished himself in the forest, to
catch his horse. He had no sooner called him than Gris-de-line came
leaping, prancing, and neighing for joy, for he was grown quite weary
of being so long absent from his dear master; but when he beheld him
dressed as a woman he hardly knew him. However, at the sound of his
voice, he suffered the prince to mount, and they soon arrived in the
camp at Furibon, where they gave notice that a lady was come to speak
with him from the Princess of Calm Delights. Immediately the little
fellow put on his royal robes, and having placed himself upon his
throne, he looked like a great toad counterfeiting a king.
Leander harangued him, and told him that the princess, preferring a
quiet and peaceable life to the fatigues of war, had sent to offer his
majesty as much money as he pleased to demand, provided he would suffer
her to continue in peace; but if he refused her proposal, she would omit
no means that might serve for her defense. Furibon replied that he took
pity on her, and would grant her the honor of his protection; but that
he demanded a hundred thousand millions of pounds, and without which he
would not return to his kingdom. Leander answered that such a vast sum
would be too long a-counting, and therefore, if he would say how many
rooms full he desired to have, the princess was generous and rich enough
to satisfy him. Furibon was astonished to hear that, instead of
entreating, she would rather offer more; and it came into his wicked
mind to take all the money he could get, and then seize the Amazon and
kill her, that she might never return to her mistress. He told Leander,
therefore, that he would have thirty chambers of gold, all full to the
ceiling. Leander, being conducted into the chambers, took his rose and
shook it, till every room was filled with all sorts of coin. Furibon was
in an ecstasy, and the more gold he saw the greater was his desire
to get hold of the Amazon; so that when all the rooms were full,
he commanded his guards to seize her, alleging she had brought him
counterfeit money. Immediately Leander put on his little red cap and
disappeared. The guards, believing that the lady had escaped, ran
out and left Furibon alone; when Leander, availing himself of the
opportunity, took the tyrant by the hair, and twisted his head off with
the same ease he would a pullet's; nor did the little wretch of a king
see that hand that killed him.
Leander having got his enemy's head, wished himself in the Palace of
Calm Delights, where he found the princess walking, and with grief
considering the message which her mother had sent her, and on the means
to repel Furibon.
Suddenly she beheld a head hanging in the air, with nobody to hold it.
This prodigy astonished her so that she could not tell what to think of
it; but her amazement was increased when she saw the head laid at her
feet, and heard a voice utter these words:
“Charming Princess, cease your fear
Of Furibon; whose head see here.”
Abricotina, knowing Leander's voice, cried:
“I protest, madam, the invisible person who speaks is the very stranger
that rescued me.”
The princess seemed astonished, but yet pleased.
“Oh,” said she, “if it be true that the invisible and the stranger
are the same person, I confess I shall be glad to make him my
acknowledgments.”
Leander, still invisible, replied, “I will yet do more to deserve them;”
and so saying he returned to Furibon's army, where the report of the
king's death was already spread throughout the camp. As soon as Leander
appeared there in his usual habit, everybody knew him; all the officers
and soldiers surrounded him, uttering the loudest acclamations of joy.
In short, they acknowledged him for their king, and that the crown of
right belonged to him, for which he thanked them, and, as the first
mark of his royal bounty, divided the thirty rooms of gold among the
soldiers. This done he returned to his princess, ordering his army to
march back into his kingdom.
The princess was gone to bed. Leander, therefore, retired into his own
apartment, for he was very sleepy--so sleepy that he forgot to bolt his
door; and so it happened that the princess, rising early to taste the
morning air, chanced to enter into this very chamber, and was astonished
to find a young prince asleep upon the bed. She took a full view of him,
and was convinced that he was the person whose picture she had in
her diamond box. “It is impossible,” said she, “that this should be a
spirit; for can spirits sleep? Is this a body composed of air and fire,
without substance, as Abricotina told me?” She softly touched his hair,
and heard him breathe, and looked at him as if she could have looked
forever. While she was thus occupied, her mother, the fairy entered with
such a noise that Leander started out of his sleep. But how deeply
was he afflicted to behold his beloved princess in the most deplorable
condition! Her mother dragged her by the hair and loaded her with a
thousand bitter reproaches. In what grief and consternation were the two
young lovers, who saw themselves now upon the point of being separated
forever! The princess durst not open her lips, but cast her eyes upon
Leander, as if to beg his assistance. He judged rightly that he ought
not to deal rudely with a power superior to his own, and therefore he
sought, by his eloquence and submission, to move the incensed fairy.
He ran to her, threw himself at her feet, and besought her to have pity
upon a young prince who would never change in his affection for her
daughter. The princess, encouraged, also embraced her mother's knees,
and declared that without Leander she should never be happy.
“Happy!” cried the fairy; “you know not the miseries of love nor the
treacheries of which lovers are capable. They bewitch us only to poison
our lives; I have known it by experience; and will you suffer the same?”
“Is there no exception, madam?” replied Leander, and his countenance
showed him to be one.
But neither tears nor entreaties could move the implacable fairy; and
it is very probable that she would have never pardoned them, had not the
lovely Gentilla appeared at that instant in the chamber, more brilliant
than the sun. Embracing the old fairy:
“Dear sister,” said she, “I am persuaded you cannot have forgotten the
good office I did you when, after your unhappy marriage, you besought
a readmittance into Fairyland; since then I never desired any favor
at your hands, but now the time is come. Pardon, then, this lovely
princess; consent to her nuptials with this young prince. I will engage
he shall be ever constant to her; the thread of their days shall be spun
of gold and silk; they shall live to complete your happiness; and I will
never forget the obligation you lay upon me.”
“Charming Gentilla,” cried the fairy, “I consent to whatever you desire.
Come, my dear children, and receive my love.” So saying, she embraced
them both.
Abricotina, just then entering, cast her eyes upon Leander; she knew
him again, and saw he was perfectly happy, at which she, too, was quite
satisfied.
“Prince,” condescendingly said the fairy-mother, “I will remove the
Island of Calm Delights into your own kingdom, live with you myself, and
do you great services.”
Whether or not Prince Leander appreciated this offer, he bowed low, and
assured his mother-in-law that no favor could be equal to the one he
had that day received from her hands. This short compliment pleased the
fairy exceedingly, for she belonged to those ancient days when people
used to stand a whole day upon one leg complimenting one another. The
nuptials were performed in a most splendid manner, and the young prince
and princess lived together happily many years, beloved by all around
them.
PRINCE CHERRY
LONG ago there lived a monarch, who was such a very, honest man that his
subjects entitled him the Good King. One day, when he was out hunting,
a little white rabbit, which had been half-killed by his hounds,
leaped right into his majesty's arms. Said he, caressing it: “This poor
creature has put itself under my protection, and I will allow no one to
injure it.” So he carried it to his palace, had prepared for it a neat
little rabbit-hutch, with abundance of the daintiest food, such as
rabbits love, and there he left it.
The same night, when he was alone in his chamber, there appeared to
him a beautiful lady. She was dressed neither in gold, nor silver,
nor brocade; but her flowing robes were white as snow, and she wore a
garland of white roses on her head. The Good King was greatly astonished
at the sight; for his door was locked, and he wondered how so dazzling a
lady could possibly enter; but she soon removed his doubts.
“I am the fairy Candide,” said she, with a smiling and gracious air.
“Passing through the wood where you were hunting, I took a desire to
know if you were as good as men say you are I therefore changed myself
into a white rabbit and took refuge in your arms. You saved me and now I
know that those who are merciful to dum beasts will be ten times more so
to human beings. You merit the name your subjects give you: you are the
Good King. I thank you for your protection, and shall be always one
of your best friends. You have but to say what you most desire, and I
promise you your wish shall be granted.”
“Madam,” replied the king, “if you are a fairy, you must know, without
my telling you, the wish of my heart. I have one well-beloved son,
Prince Cherry: whatever kindly feeling you have toward me, extend it to
him.”
“Willingly,” said Candide. “I will make him the handsomest, richest, or
most powerful prince in the world: choose whichever you desire for him.”
“None of the three,” returned the father. “I only wish him to be
good--the best prince in the whole world. Of what use would riches,
power, or beauty be to him if he were a bad man?”
“You are right,” said the fairy; “but I can not make him good: he
must do that himself. I can only change his external fortunes; for
his personal character, the utmost I can promise is to give him good
counsel, reprove him for his faults, and even punish him, if he will not
punish himself. You mortals can do the same with your children.”
“Ah, yes!” said the king, sighing. Still, he felt that the kindness of a
fairy was something gained for his son, and died not long after, content
and at peace.
Prince Cherry mourned deeply, for he dearly loved his father, and would
have gladly given all his kingdoms and treasures to keep him in life a
little longer. Two days after the Good King was no more, Prince Cherry
was sleeping in his chamber, when he saw the same dazzling vision of the
fairy Candide.
“I promised your father,” said she, “to be your best friend, and in
pledge of this take what I now give you;” and she placed a small gold
ring upon his finger. “Poor as it looks, it is more precious than
diamonds; for whenever you do ill it will prick your finger. If, after
that warning, you still continue in evil, you will lose my friendship,
and I shall become your direst enemy.”'
So saying, she disappeared, leaving Cherry in such amazement that he
would have believed it all a dream, save for the ring on his finger.
He was for a long time so good that the ring never pricked him at all;
and this made him so cheerful and pleasant in his humor that everybody
called him “Happy Prince Cherry.” But one unlucky day he was out hunting
and found no sport, which vexed him so much that he showed his ill
temper by his looks and ways. He fancied his ring felt very tight and
uncomfortable, but as it did not prick him he took no heed of this:
until, re-entering his palace, his little pet dog, Bibi, jumped up
upon him and was sharply told to get away. The creature, accustomed to
nothing but caresses, tried to attract his attention by pulling at his
garments, when Prince Cherry turned and gave it a severe kick. At this
moment he felt in his finger a prick like a pin.
“What nonsense!” said he to himself. “The fairy must be making game of
me. Why, what great evil have I done! I, the master of a great empire,
cannot I kick my own dog?”
A voice replied, or else Prince Cherry imagined it, “No, sire; the
master of a great empire has a right to do good, but not evil. I--a
fairy--am as much above you as you are above your dog. I might punish
you, kill you, if I chose; but I prefer leaving you to amend your
ways. You have been guilty of three faults today--bad temper, passion,
cruelty: do better to-morrow.”
The prince promised, and kept his word a while; but he had been brought
up by a foolish nurse, who indulged him in every way and was always
telling him that he would be a king one day, when he might do as he
liked in all things. He found out now that even a king cannot always do
that; it vexed him and made him angry. His ring began to prick him so
often that his little finger was continually bleeding. He disliked
this, as was natural, and soon began to consider whether it would not be
easier to throw the ring away altogether than to be constantly annoyed
by it. It was such a queer thing for a king to have a spot of blood on
his finger! At last, unable to put up with it any more, he took his ring
off and hid it where he would never see it; and believed himself the
happiest of men, for he could now do exactly what he liked. He did it,
and became every day more and more miserable.
One day he saw a young girl, so beautiful that, being always accustomed
to have his own way, he immediately determined to espouse her. He never
doubted that she would be only too glad to be made a queen, for she
was very poor. But Zelia--that was her name--answered, to his great
astonishment, that she would rather not marry him.
“Do I displease you?” asked the prince, into whose mind it had never
entered that he could displease anybody.
“Not at all, my prince,” said the honest peasant maiden. “You are very
handsome, very charming; but you are not like your father the Good King.
I will not be your queen, for you would make me miserable.”
At these words the prince's love seemed all to turn to hatred: he gave
orders to his guards to convey Zelia to a prison near the palace,
and then took counsel with his foster brother, the one of all his ill
companions who most incited him to do wrong.
“Sir,” said this man, “if I were in your majesty's place, I would never
vex myself about a poor silly girl. Feed her on bread and water till
she comes to her senses; and if she still refuses you, let her die in
torment, as a warning to your other subjects should they venture to
dispute your will. You will be disgraced should you suffer yourself to
be conquered by a simple girl.”
“But,” said Prince Cherry, “shall I not be disgraced if I harm a
creature so perfectly innocent?”
“No one is innocent who disputes your majesty's authority,” said the
courtier, bowing; “and it is better to commit an injustice than allow it
to be supposed you can ever be contradicted with impunity.”
This touched Cherry on his weak point--his good impulses faded; he
resolved once more to ask Zelia if she would marry him, and if she again
refused, to sell her as a slave. Arrived at the cell in which she was
confined, what was his astonishment to find her gone! He knew not whom
to accuse, for he had kept the key in his pocket the whole time. At
last, the foster-brother suggested that the escape of Zelia might have
been contrived by an old man, Suliman by name, the prince's former
tutor, who was the only one who now ventured to blame him for anything
that he did. Cherry sent immediately, and ordered his old friend to be
brought to him, loaded heavily with irons. Then, full of fury, he went
and shut himself up in his own chamber, where he went raging to and fro,
till startled by a noise like a clap of thunder. The fairy Candide stood
before him.
“Prince,” said she, in a severe voice, “I promised your father to give
you good counsels and to punish you if you refused to follow them. My
counsels were forgotten, my punishment despised. Under the figure of a
man, you have been no better than the beasts you chase: like a lion in
fury, a wolf in gluttony, a serpent in revenge, and a bull in brutality.
Take, therefore, in your new form the likeness of all these animals.”
Scarcely had Prince Cherry heard these words than to his horror he found
himself transformed into what the Fairy had named. He was a creature
with the head of a lion, the horns of a bull, the feet of a wolf, and
the tail of a serpent. At the same time he felt himself transported to
a distant forest, where, standing on the bank of a stream, he saw
reflected in the water his own frightful shape, and heard a voice
saying:
“Look at thyself, and know thy soul has become a thousand times uglier
even than thy body.”
Cherry recognized the voice of Candide, and in his rage would have
sprung upon her and devoured her; but he saw nothing and the same voice
said behind him:
“Cease thy feeble fury, and learn to conquer thy pride by being in
submission to thine own subjects.”
Hearing no more, he soon quitted the stream, hoping at least to get rid
of the sight of himself; but he had scarcely gone twenty paces when he
tumbled into a pitfall that was laid to catch bears; the bear-hunters,
descending from some trees hard by, caught him, chained him, and only
too delighted to get hold of such a curious-looking animal, led him
along with them to the capital of his own kingdom.
There great rejoicings were taking place, and the bear-hunters, asking
what it was all about, were told that it was because Prince Cherry,
the torment of his subjects, had just been struck dead by a
thunderbolt--just punishment of all his crimes. Four courtiers, his
wicked companions, had wished to divide his throne between them; but the
people had risen up against them and offered the crown to Suliman, the
old tutor whom Cherry had ordered to be arrested.
All this the poor monster heard. He even saw Suliman sitting upon his
own throne and trying to calm the populace by representing to them that
it was not certain Prince Cherry was dead; that he might return one day
to reassume with honor the crown which Suliman only consented to wear as
a sort of viceroy.
“I know his heart,” said the honest and faithful old man; “it is
tainted, but not corrupt. If alive, he may reform yet, and be all his
father over again to you, his people, whom he has caused to suffer so
much.”
These words touched the poor beast so deeply that he ceased to beat
himself against the iron bars of the cage in which the hunters carried
him about, became gentle as a lamb, and suffered himself to be taken
quietly to a menagerie, where were kept all sorts of strange and
ferocious animals a place which he had himself often visited as a boy,
but never thought he should be shut up there himself.
However, he owned he had deserved it all, and began to make amends by
showing himself very obedient to his keeper. This man was almost as
great a brute as the animals he had charge of, and when he was in ill
humor he used to beat them without rhyme or reason. One day, while he
was sleeping, a tiger broke loose and leaped upon him, eager to devour
him. Cherry at first felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought of being
revenged; then, seeing how helpless the man was, he wished himself free,
that he might defend him. Immediately the doors of his cage opened.
The keeper, waking up, saw the strange beast leap out, and imagined, of
course, that he was going to be slain at once. Instead, he saw the tiger
lying dead, and the strange beast creeping up and laying itself at his
feet to be caressed. But as he lifted up his hand to stroke it, a voice
was heard saying, “Good actions never go unrewarded;” and instead of
the frightful monster, there crouched on the ground nothing but a pretty
little dog.
Cherry, delighted to find himself thus metamorphosed, caressed the
keeper in every possible way, till at last the man took him up into
his arms and carried him to the king, to whom he related this wonderful
story, from beginning to end. The queen wished to have the charming
little dog; and Cherry would have been exceedingly happy could he have
forgotten that he was originally a man and a king. He was lodged most
elegantly, had the richest of collars to adorn his neck, and heard
himself praised continually. But his beauty rather brought him into
trouble, for the queen, afraid lest he might grow too large for a pet,
took advice of dog-doctors, who ordered that he should be fed entirely
upon bread, and that very sparingly; so poor Cherry was sometimes nearly
starved.
One day, when they gave him his crust for breakfast, a fancy seized him
to go and eat it in the palace garden; so he took the bread in his mouth
and trotted away toward a stream which he knew, and where he sometimes
stopped to drink. But instead of the stream he saw a splendid palace,
glittering with gold and precious stones. Entering the doors was a crowd
of men and women, magnificently dressed; and within there was singing
and dancing and good cheer of all sorts. Yet, however grandly and gayly
the people went in, Cherry noticed that those who came out were pale,
thin, ragged, half-naked, covered with wounds and sores. Some of them
dropped dead at once; others dragged themselves on a little way and
then lay down, dying of hunger, and vainly begged a morsel of bread from
others who were entering in--who never took the least notice of them.
Cherry perceived one woman, who was trying feebly to gather and eat some
green herbs. “Poor thing!” said he to himself; “I know what it is to be
hungry, and I want my breakfast badly enough; but still it will kill me
to wait till dinner time, and my crust may save the life of this poor
woman.”
So the little dog ran up to her and dropped his bread at her feet; she
picked it up and ate it with avidity. Soon she looked quite recovered,
and Cherry, delighted, was trotting back again to his kennel, when he
heard loud cries, and saw a young girl dragged by four men to the door
of the palace, which they were trying to compel her to enter. Oh, how
he wished himself a monster again, as when he slew the tiger!--for the
young girl was no other than his beloved Zelia. Alas! what could a poor
little dog do to defend her? But he ran forward and barked at the men,
and bit their heels, until at last they chased him away with heavy
blows. And then he lay down outside the palace door, determined to watch
and see what had become of Zelia.
Conscience pricked him now. “What!” thought he, “I am furious against
these wicked men, who are carrying her away; and did I not do the same
myself? Did I not cast her into prison, and intend to sell her as a
slave? Who knows how much more wickedness I might not have done to her
and others, if Heaven's justice had not stopped me in time?”
While he lay thinking and repenting, he heard a window open and saw
Zelia throw out of it a bit of dainty meat. Cherry, who felt hungry
enough by this time, was just about to eat it, when the woman to whom he
had given his crust snatched him up in her arms.
“Poor little beast!” cried she, patting him, “every bit of food in that
palace is poisoned: you shall not touch a morsel.”
And at the same time the voice in the air repeated again, “Good actions
never go unrewarded;” and Cherry found himself changed into a beautiful
little white pigeon. He remembered with joy that white was the color of
the fairy Candide, and began to hope that she was taking him into favor
again.
So he stretched his wings, delighted that he might now have a chance
of approaching his fair Zelia. He flew up to the palace windows, and,
finding one of them open, entered and sought everywhere, but he could
not find Zelia. Then, in despair, he flew out again, resolved to go over
the world until he beheld her once more.
He took flight at once and traversed many countries, swiftly as a bird
can, but found no trace of his beloved. At length in a desert, sitting
beside an old hermit in his cave and par-taking with him his frugal
repast, Cherry saw a poor peasant girl and recognized Zelia. Transported
with joy, he flew in, perched on her shoulder, and expressed his delight
and affection by a thousand caresses.
She, charmed with the pretty little pigeon, caressed it in her turn, and
promised it that if it would stay with her she would love it always.
“What have you done, Zelia?” said the hermit, smiling; and while he
spoke the white pigeon vanished, and there stood Prince Cherry in his
own natural form. “Your enchantment ended, prince, when Zelia promised
to love you. Indeed, she has loved you always, but your many faults
constrained her to hide her love. These are now amended, and you may
both live happy if you will, because your union is founded upon mutual
esteem.”
Cherry and Zelia threw themselves at the feet of the hermit, whose form
also began to change. His soiled garments became of dazzling whiteness,
and his long beard and withered face grew into the flowing hair and
lovely countenance of the fairy Candide.
“Rise up, my children,” said she; “I must now transport you to your
palace and restore to Prince Cherry his father's crown, of which he is
now worthy.”
She had scarcely ceased speaking when they found themselves in the
chamber of Suliman, who, delighted to find again his beloved pupil and
master, willingly resigned the throne, and became the most faithful of
his subjects.
King Cherry and Queen Zelia reigned together for many years, and it is
said that the former was so blameless and strict in all his duties that
though he constantly wore the ring which Candide had restored to him, it
never once pricked his finger enough to make it bleed.
THE PRINCE WITH THE NOSE
THERE was once a king who was passionately in love with a beautiful
princess, but she could not be married because a magician had
enchanted her. The king went to a good fairy to inquire what he should
do. Said the fairy, after receiving him graciously: “Sir, I will tell
you a great secret. The princess has a great cat whom she loves so well
that she cares for nothing and nobody else; but she will be obliged to
marry any person who is adroit enough to walk upon the cat's tail.”
“That will not be very difficult,” thought the king to himself, and
departed, resolving to trample the cat's tail to pieces rather than not
succeed in walking upon it. He went immediately to the palace of his
fair mistress and the cat; the animal came in front of him, arching
its back in anger as it was wont to do. The king lifted up his foot,
thinking nothing would be so easy as to tread on the tail, but he found
himself mistaken. Minon--that was the creature's name--twisted itself
round so sharply that the king only hurt his own foot by stamping on the
floor. For eight days did he pursue the cat everywhere: up and down
the palace he was after it from morning till night, but with no better
success; the tail seemed made of quicksilver, so very lively was it. At
last the king had the good fortune to catch Minon sleeping, when tramp!
tramp! he trod on the tail with all his force.
Minon woke up, mewed horribly, and immediately changed from a cat into a
large, fierce-looking man, who regarded the king with flashing eyes.
“You must marry the princess,” cried he, “because you have broken the
enchantment in which I held her; but I will be revenged on you. You
shall have a son with a nose as long as--that;” he made in the air a
curve of half a foot; “yet he shall believe it is just like all other
noses, and shall be always unfortunate till he has found out it is not.
And if you ever tell anybody of this threat of mine, you shall die on
the spot.” So saying the magician disappeared.
The king, who was at first much terrified, soon began to laugh at this
adventure. “My son might have a worse misfortune than too long a nose,”
thought he. “At least it will hinder him neither in seeing nor hearing.
I will go and find the princess and marry her at once.”
He did so, but he only lived a few months after, and died before his
little son was born, so that nobody knew anything about the secret of
the nose.
The little prince was so much wished for that when he came into the
world they agreed to call him Prince Wish. He had beautiful blue eyes
and a sweet little mouth, but his nose was so big that it covered half
his face. The queen, his mother, was inconsolable; but her ladies tried
to satisfy her by telling her that the nose was not nearly so large as
it seemed, that it would grow smaller as the prince grew bigger, and
that if it did not a large nose was indispensable to a hero. All great
soldiers, they said, had great noses, as everybody knew. The queen was
so very fond of her son that she listened eagerly to all this comfort.
Shortly she grew so used to the princes's nose that it did not seem to
her any larger than ordinary noses of the court; where, in process
of time, everybody with a long nose was very much admired, and the
unfortunate people who had only snubs were taken very little notice of.
Great care was observed in the education of the prince; and as soon as
he could speak they told him all sorts of amusing tales, in which all
the bad people had short noses, and all the good people had long ones.
No person was suffered to come near him who had not a nose of more than
ordinary length; nay, to such an extent did the countries carry their
fancy, that the noses of all the little babies were ordered to be pulled
out as far as possible several times a day, in order to make them grow.
But grow as they would, they never could grow as long as that of Prince
Wish. When he was old enough his tutor taught him history; and whenever
any great king or lovely princess was referred to, the tutor always took
care to mention that he or she had a long nose. All the royal apartments
were filled with pictures and portraits having this peculiarity, so
that at last Prince Wish began to regard the length of his nose as his
greatest perfection, and would not have had it an inch less even to save
his crown.
When he was twenty years old his mother and his people wished him to
marry. They procured for him the likenesses of many princesses, but the
one he preferred was Princess Darling, daughter of a powerful monarch
and heiress to several kingdoms. Alas! with all her beauty, this
princess had one great misfortune, a little turned-up nose, which,
every one else said made her only the more bewitching. But here, in the
kingdom of Prince Wish, the courtiers were thrown by it into the utmost
perplexity. They were in the habit of laughing at all small noses; but
how dared they make fun of the nose of Princess Darling? Two unfortunate
gentlemen, whom Prince Wish had overheard doing so, were ignominiously
banished from the court and capital.
After this, the courtiers became alarmed, and tried to correct their
habit of speech; but they would have found themselves in constant
difficulties, had not one clever person struck out a bright idea. He
said that though it was indispensably necessary for a man to have
a great nose, women were very different; and that a learned man had
discovered in a very old manuscript that the celebrated Cleopatra, Queen
of Egypt, the beauty of the ancient world, had a turned-up nose. At this
information Prince Wish was so delighted that he made the courtier a
very handsome present, and immediately sent off ambassadors to demand
Princess Darling in marriage.
She accepted his offer at once, and returned with the ambassadors. He
made all haste to meet and welcome her, but when she was only three
leagues distant from his capital, before he had time even to kiss her
hand, the magician who had once assumed the shape of his mother's cat,
Minon, appeared in the air and carried her off before the lover's very
eyes.
Prince Wish, almost beside himself with grief, declared that nothing
should induce him to return to his throne and kingdom till he had found
Darling. He would suffer none of his courtiers or attendants to follow
him; but bidding them all adieu, mounted a good horse, laid the reins on
the animal's neck, and let him take him wherever he would.
The horse entered a wide-extended plain, and trotted on steadily the
whole day without finding a single house. Master and beast began almost
to faint with hunger; and Prince Wish might have wished himself at home
again, had he not discovered, just at dusk, a cavern, where there sat,
beside a bright lantern, a little woman who might have been more than a
hundred years old.
She put on her spectacles the better to look at the stranger, and he
noticed that her nose was so small that the spectacles would hardly
stay on; then the prince and the fairy--for she was a fairy--burst into
laughter.
“What a funny nose!” cried the one.
“Not so funny as yours, madam,” returned the other. “But pray let us
leave our noses alone, and be good enough to give me something to eat,
for I am dying with hunger, and so is my poor horse.”
“With all my heart,” answered the fairy. “Although your nose is
ridiculously long, you are no less the son of one of my best friends. I
loved your father like a brother; he had a very handsome nose.”
“What is wanting to my nose?” asked Wish rather savagely.
“Oh! nothing at all. On the contrary, there is a great deal too much of
it; but never mind, one may be a very honest man, and yet have too big a
nose. As I said, I was a great friend of your father's; he came often to
see me. I was very pretty then, and oftentimes he used to say to me, 'My
sister----'”
“I will hear the rest, madam, with pleasure, when I have supped; but
will you condescend to remember that I have tasted nothing all day?”
“Poor boy,” said the fairy, “I will give you some supper directly; and
while you eat it I will tell you my history in six words, for I hate
much talking. A long tongue is as insupportable as a long nose; and I
remember when I was young how much I used to be admired because I was
not a talker; indeed, some one said to the queen my mother--for poor as
you see me now, I am the daughter of a great king, who always----”
“Ate when he was hungry, I hope,” interrupted the prince, whose patience
was fast departing.
“You are right,” said the imperturbable old fairy; “and I will bring
you your supper directly, only I wish first just to say that the king my
father----”
“Hang the king your father!” Prince Wish was about to exclaim, but he
stopped himself, and only observed that however the pleasure of her
conversation might make him forget his hunger, it could not have the
same effect upon his horse, who was really starving.
The fairy, pleased at his civility, called her servants and bade them
supply him at once with all he needed. “And,” added she, “I must say you
are very polite and very good-tempered, in spite of your nose.”
“What has the old woman to do with my nose?” thought the prince. “If I
were not so very hungry, I would soon show her what she is--a regular
old gossip and chatterbox. She to fancy she talks little, indeed! One
must be very foolish not to know one's own defects. This comes of being
born a princess. Flatterers have spoiled her and persuaded her that she
talks little. Little, indeed! I never knew anybody chatter so much.”
While the prince thus meditated, the servants were laying the table,
the fairy asking them a hundred unnecessary questions, simply for the
pleasure of hearing herself talk. “Well,” thought Wish, “I am delighted
that I came hither, if only to learn how wise I have been in never
listening to flatterers, who hide from us our faults, or make us believe
they are perfections. But they could never deceive me. I know all my own
weak points, I trust.” As truly he believed he did.
So he went on eating contentedly, nor stopped till the old fairy began
to address him.
“Prince,” said she, “will you be kind enough to turn a little? Your nose
casts such a shadow that I cannot see what is on my plate. And, as I was
saying, your father admired me and always made me welcome at court. What
is the court etiquette there now? Do the ladies still go to assemblies,
promenades, balls?--I beg your pardon for laughing, but how very long
your nose is.”
“I wish you would cease to speak of my nose,” said the prince, becoming
annoyed. “It is what it is, and I do not desire it any shorter.”
“Oh! I see that I have vexed you,” returned the fairy. “Nevertheless,
I am one of your best friends, and so I shall take the liberty of
always----” She would doubtless have gone on talking till midnight; but
the prince, unable to bear it any longer, here interrupted her, thanked
her for her hospitality, bade her a hasty adieu, and rode away.
He traveled for a long time, half over the world, but he heard no news
of Princess Darling. However, in each place he went to, he heard one
remarkable fact--the great length of his own nose. The little boys in
the streets jeered at him, the peasants stared at him, and the more
polite ladies and gentlemen whom he met in society used to try in vain
to keep from laughing, and to get out of his way as soon as they could.
So the poor prince became gradually quite forlorn and solitary; he
thought all the world was mad, but still he never thought of there being
anything queer about his own nose. At last the old fairy, who, though
she was a chatterbox, was very good-natured; saw that he was almost
breaking his heart. She felt sorry for him and wished to help him in
spite of himself, for she knew the enchantment which hid from him the
Princess Darling could never be broken till he had discovered his own
defect. So she went in search of the princess, and being more powerful
than the magician, since she was a good fairy and he was an evil
magician, she got her away from him and shut her up in a palace of
crystal, which she placed on the road which Prince Wish had to pass.
He was riding along, very melancholy, when he saw the palace; and at its
entrance was a room, made of the purest glass, in which sat his beloved
princess, smiling and beautiful as ever. He leaped from his horse and
ran toward her. She held out her hand for him to kiss, but he could
not get at it for the glass. Transported with eagerness and delight, he
dashed his sword through the crystal and succeeded in breaking a small
opening, to which she put up her beautiful rosy mouth. But it was in
vain; Prince Wish could not approach it. He twisted his neck about, and
turned his head on all sides, till at length, putting up his hand to his
face, he discovered the impediment.
“It must be confessed,” exclaimed he, “that my nose is too long.”
That moment the glass walls all split asunder, and the old fairy
appeared, leading Princess Darling.
“Avow, prince,” said she, “that you are very much obliged to me, for now
the enchantment is ended. You may marry the object of your choice. But,”
added she, smiling, “I fear I might have talked to you forever on the
subject of your nose, and you would not have believed me in its length,
till it became an obstacle to your own inclinations. Now behold it!” and
she held up a crystal mirror. “Are you satisfied to be no different from
other people?”
“Perfectly,” said Prince Wish, who found his nose had shrunk to an
ordinary length. And taking the Princess Darling by the hand, he kissed
her courteously, affectionately, and satisfactorily. Then they departed
to their own country, and lived very happily all their days.
THE FROG-PRINCE
IN times of yore, when wishes were both heard and granted, lived a king
whose daughters were all beautiful but the youngest was so lovely that
the sun himself, who has seen so much, wondered at her beauty every
time he looked in her face. Now, near the king's castle was a large dark
forest; and in the forest, under an old linden tree, was a deep well.
When the day was very hot, the king's daughter used to go to the wood
and seat herself at the edge of the cool well; and when she became
wearied, she would take a golden ball, throw it up in the air, and catch
it again. This was her favorite amusement. Once it happened that her
golden ball, instead of falling back into the little hand that she
stretched out for it, dropped on the ground, and immediately rolled away
into the water. The king's daughter followed it with her eyes, but the
ball had vanished, and the well was so deep that no one could see down
to the bottom. Then she began to weep, wept louder and louder every
minute, and could not console herself at all.
While she was thus lamenting some one called to her: “What is the matter
with you, king's daughter? You weep so that you would touch the heart of
a stone.”
She looked around to see whence the voice came, and saw a frog
stretching his thick ugly head out of the water.
“Ah! it is you, old water-paddler!” said she. “I am crying for my golden
ball, which has fallen into the well.”
“Be content,” answered the frog; “I dare say I can give you some good
advice; but what will you give me if I bring back your plaything to
you?”
“Whatever you like, dear frog,” said she, “my clothes, my pearls and
jewels, even the golden crown I wear.”
The frog answered, “Your clothes, your pearls and jewels, even your
golden crown, I do not care for; but if you will love me, and let me be
your companion and play-fellow, sit near you at your little table, eat
from your little golden plate, drink from your little cup, and sleep in
your little bed--if you will promise me this, then I will bring you back
your golden ball from the bottom of the well.”
“Oh, yes!” said she; “I promise you every-thing, if you will only bring
me back my golden ball.”
She thought to herself, meanwhile: “What nonsense the silly frog talks!
He sits in the water with the other frogs, and croaks, and cannot be
anybody's playfellow!”
But the frog, as soon as he had received the promise dipped his head
under the water and sank down. In a little while up he came again with
the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the grass. The king's daughter
was overjoyed when she beheld her pretty plaything again, picked it up,
and ran away with it.
“Wait! wait!” cried the frog; “take me with you. I cannot run as fast as
you.”
Alas! of what use was it that he croaked after her as loud as he could.
She would not listen to him, but hastened home, and soon forgot the poor
frog, who was obliged to plunge again to the bottom of his well.
The next day, when she was sitting at dinner with the king and all the
courtiers, eating from her little gold plate, there came a sound of
something creeping up the marble staircase--splish, splash; and when it
had reached the top, it knocked at the door and cried, “Youngest king's
daughter, open to me.”
She ran, wishing to see who was outside; but when she opened the door
and there sat the frog, she flung it hastily to again and sat down at
table, feeling very, very uncomfortable. The king saw that her heart was
beating violently, and said, “How, my child, why are you afraid? Is a
giant standing outside the door to carry you off?”
“Oh, no!” answered she, “it is no giant, but a nasty frog, who
yesterday, when I was playing in the wood near the well, fetched my
golden ball out of the water. For this I promised him he should be my
companion, but I never thought he could come out of his well. Now he is
at the door, and wants to come in.”
Again, the second time there was a knock, and a voice cried:
“Youngest king's daughter,
Open to me;
Know you what yesterday
You promised me,
By the cool water?
Youngest king's daughter,
Open to me.”
Then said the king, “What you promised you must perform. Go and open the
door.”
She went and opened the door; the frog hopped in, always following and
following her till he came up to her chair. There he sat and cried out,
“Lift me up to you on the table.”
She refused, till the king, her father, commanded her to do it. When
the frog was on the table, he said, “Now push your little golden plate
nearer to me, that we may eat together.” She did as he desired, but one
could easily see that she did it unwillingly. The frog seemed to enjoy
his dinner very much, but every morsel she ate stuck in the throat of
the poor little princess.
Then said the frog, “I have eaten enough, and am tired; carry me to your
little room, and make your little silken bed smooth, and we will lay
ourselves down to sleep together.”
At this the daughter of the king began to weep; for she was afraid of
the cold frog, who wanted to sleep in her pretty clean bed.
But the king looked angrily at her, and said again: “What you have
promised you must perform. The frog is your companion.”
It was no use to complain; whether she liked it or not, she was obliged
to take the frog with her up to her little bed. So she picked him
up with two fingers, hating him bitterly the while, and carried him
upstairs: but when she got into bed, instead of lifting him up to her,
she threw him with all her strength against the wall, saying, “Now you
nasty frog, there will be an end of you.”
But what fell down from the wall was not a dead frog, but a living young
prince, with beautiful and loving eyes, who at once became, by her own
promise and her father's will, her dear companion and husband. He told
her how he had been cursed by a wicked sorceress, and that no one but
the king's youngest daughter could release him from his enchantment and
take him out of the well.
The next day a carriage drove up to the palace gates with eight white
horses, having white feathers on their heads and golden reins. Behind it
stood the servant of the young prince, called the faithful Henry. This
faithful Henry had been so grieved when his master was changed into a
frog that he had been compelled to have three iron bands fastened round
his heart, lest it should break. Now the carriage came to convey the
prince to his kingdom, so the faithful Henry lifted in the bride and
bridegroom and mounted behind, full of joy at his lord's release. But
when they had gone a short distance, the prince heard behind him a noise
as if something was breaking. He cried out, “Henry, the carriage is
breaking!”
But Henry replied: “No, sir, it is not the carriage but one of the bands
from my heart, with which I was forced to bind it up, or it would have
broken with grief while you sat as a frog at the bottom of the well.”
Twice again this happened, and the prince always thought the carriage
was breaking; but it was only the bands breaking off from the heart of
the faithful Henry, out of joy that his lord, the frog-prince, was a
frog no more.
CLEVER ALICE
ONCE upon a time there was a man who had a daughter who was called
“Clever Alice,” and when she was grown up, her father said, “We must see
about her marrying.”
“Yes,” replied her mother, “whenever a young man shall appear who is
worthy of her.”
At last a certain youth, by name Hans, came from a distance to make a
proposal of marriage; but he required one condition, that the clever
Alice should be very prudent.
“Oh,” said her father, “no fear of that! she has got a head full of
brains;” and the mother added, “ah, she can see the wind blow up the
street, and hear the flies cough!”
“Very well,” replied Hans; “but remember, if she is not very prudent,
I will not take her.” Soon afterward they sat down to dinner, and her
mother said, “Alice, go down into the cellar and draw some beer.”
So Clever Alice took the jug down from the wall, and went into the
cellar, jerking the lid up and down on her way, to pass away the time.
As soon as she got downstairs she drew a stool and placed it before
the cask, in order that she might not have to stoop, for she thought
stooping might in some way injure her back and give it an undesirable
bend. Then she placed the can before her and turned the tap, and while
the beer was running, as she did not wish her eyes to be idle, she
looked about upon the wall above and below. Presently she perceived,
after much peeping into this corner and that corner, a hatchet, which
the bricklayers had left behind? sticking out of the ceiling right above
her head. At the sight of this Clever Alice began to cry, saying, “Oh!
if I marry Hans, and we have a child, and he grows up, and we send him
into the cellar to draw beer, the hatchet will fall upon his head and
kill him,” and so she sat there weeping with all her might over the
impending misfortune.
Meanwhile the good folks upstairs were waiting for the beer, but as
Clever Alice did not come, her mother told the maid to go and see what
she was stopping for. The maid went down into the cellar and found Alice
sitting before the cask crying heartily, and she asked, “Alice, what are
you weeping about?”
“Ah,” she replied, “have I not cause? If I marry Hans, and we have a
child, and he grows up, and we send him here to draw beer, that hatchet
will fall upon his head and kill him.”
“Oh,” said the maid, “what a clever Alice we have!” And sitting down,
she began to weep, too, for the misfortune that was to happen.
After a while, when the servant did not return, the good folks above
began to feel very thirsty; so the husband told the boy to go down into
the cellar and see what had become of Alice and the maid. The boy went
down, and there sat Clever Alice and the maid both crying, so he asked
the reason; and Alice told him the same tale, of the hatchet that was
to fall on her child, if she married Hans, and if they had a child. When
she had finished, the boy exclaimed, “What a clever Alice we have!” and
fell weeping and howling with the others.
Upstairs they were still waiting, and the husband said, when the boy
did not return, “Do you go down, wife, into the cellar and see why Alice
stays so long.” So she went down, and finding all three sitting there
crying, asked the reason, and Alice told her about the hatchet which
must inevitably fall upon the head of her son. Then the mother likewise
exclaimed, “Oh, what a clever Alice we have!” and, sitting down, began
to weep as much as any of the rest.
Meanwhile the husband waited for his wife's return; but at last he felt
so very thirsty that he said, “I must go myself down into the cellar and
see what is keeping our Alice.” As soon as he entered the cellar, there
he found the four sitting and crying together, and when he heard the
reason, he also exclaimed, “Oh, what a clever Alice we have!” and sat
down to cry with the whole strength of his lungs.
All this time the bridegroom above sat waiting, but when nobody
returned, he thought they must be waiting for him, and so he went down
to see what was the matter. When he entered, there sat the five crying
and groaning, each one in a louder key than his neighbor.
“What misfortune has happened?” he asked.
“Ah, dear Hans!” cried Alice, “if you and I should marry one another,
and have a child, and he grew up, and we, perhaps, send him down to
this cellar to tap the beer, the hatchet which has been left sticking up
there may fall on his head, and so kill him; and do you not think this
is enough to weep about?”
“Now,” said Hans, “more prudence than this is not necessary for my
housekeeping; because you are such a clever Alice, I will have you for
my wife.” And, taking her hand, he led her home, and celebrated the
wedding directly.
After they had been married a little while, Hans, said one morning,
“Wife, I will go out to work and earn some money; do you go into the
field and gather some corn wherewith to make bread.”
“Yes,” she answered, “I will do so, dear Hans.” And when he was gone,
she cooked herself a nice mess of pottage to take with her. As she came
to the field, she said to herself, “What shall I do? Shall I cut first,
or eat first? Aye, I will eat first!” Then she ate up the contents of
her pot, and when it was finished, she thought to herself, “Now, shall I
reap first or sleep first? Well, I think I will have a nap!” and so she
laid herself down among the corn, and went to sleep.
Meanwhile Hans returned home, but Alice did not come, and so he said,
“Oh, what a prudent Alice I have! She is so industrious that she does
not even come home to eat anything.” By and by, however, evening came
on, and still she did not return; so Hans went out to see how much she
had reaped; but, behold, nothing at all, and there lay Alice fast asleep
among the corn! So home he ran very fast, and brought a net with little
bells hanging on it, which he threw over her head while she still slept
on. When he had done this, he went back again and shut to the
house door, and, seating himself on his stool, began working very
industriously.
At last, when it was nearly dark, the clever Alice awoke, and as soon as
she stood up, the net fell all over her hair, and the bells jingled at
every step she took. This quite frightened her, and she began to doubt
whether she were really Clever Alice, and said to herself, “Am I she, or
am I not?” This was a question she could not answer, and she stood still
a long while considering about it. At last she thought she would go home
and ask whether she was really herself--supposing somebody would be able
to tell her.
When she came up to the house door it was shut; so she tapped at the
window, and asked, “Hans, is Alice within?” “Yes,” he replied, “she
is.” At which answer she became really terrified, and exclaiming, “Ah,
heaven, then I am not Alice!” she ran up to another house, intending
to ask the same question. But as soon as the folks within heard the
jingling of the bells in her net, they refused to open their doors, and
nobody would receive her. So she ran straight away from the village, and
no one has ever seen her since.