should have told her so much about your majesty and your various high
qualities, which no one knows so well as myself, that I am persuaded
she would have returned with me."
"I believe it," said the king, with an angry look at those who had
spoken ill of his favourite; he then gave Avenant a free pardon, and
took him back with him to the court.
After having supplied the famished youth with as much supper as he
could eat, the king admitted him to a private audience, and said, "I
am as much in love as ever with the Fair One with Golden Locks, so I
will take thee at thy word, and send thee to try and win her for me."
"Very well, please your majesty," replied Avenant cheerfully; "I will
depart to-morrow."
The king, overjoyed with his willingness and hopefulness, would have
furnished him with a still more magnificent equipage and suite than
the first ambassador; but Avenant refused to take anything except a
good horse to ride, and letters of introduction to the princess's
father. The king embraced him and eagerly saw him depart.
It was on a Monday morning when, without any pomp or show, Avenant
thus started on his mission. He rode slowly and meditatively,
pondering over every possible means of persuading the Fair One with
Golden Locks to marry the king; but, even after several days' journey
towards her country, no clear project had entered into his mind. One
morning, when he had started at break of day, he came to a great
meadow with a stream running through it, along which were planted
willows and poplars. It was such a pleasant, rippling stream that he
dismounted and sat down on its banks. There he perceived, gasping on
the grass, a large golden carp, which, in leaping too far after gnats,
had thrown itself quite out of the water, and now lay dying on the
greensward. Avenant took pity on it, and though he was very hungry,
and the fish was very fat, and he would well enough have liked it for
his breakfast, still he lifted it gently and put it back into the
stream. No sooner had the carp touched the fresh cool water than it
revived and swam away; but shortly returning, it spoke to him from the
water in this wise:--
"Avenant, I thank you for your good deed. I was dying, and you have
saved me: I will recompense you for this one day."
After this pretty little speech, the fish popped down to the bottom of
the stream, according to the habit of carp, leaving Avenant very much
astonished, as was natural.
Another day he met with a raven that was in great distress, being
pursued by an eagle, which would have swallowed him up in no time.
"See," thought Avenant, "how the stronger oppress the weaker! What
right has an eagle to eat up a raven?" So taking his bow and arrow,
which he always carried, he shot the eagle dead, and the raven,
delighted, perched in safety on an opposite tree.
"Avenant," screeched he, though not in the sweetest voice in the
world; "you have generously succoured me, a poor miserable raven. I
am not ungrateful, and I will recompense you one day.
"Thank you," said Avenant, and continued his road.
Entering in a thick wood, so dark with the shadows of early morning
that he could scarcely find his way, he heard an owl hooting, like an
owl in great tribulation. She had been caught by the nets spread by
birdcatchers to entrap finches, larks, and other small birds. "What a
pity," thought Avenant, "that men must always torment poor birds and
beasts who have done them no harm!" So he took out his knife, cut the
net, and let the owl go free. She went sailing up into the air, but
immediately returned hovering over his head on her brown wings.
"Avenant," said she, "at daylight the birdcatchers would have been
here, and I should have been caught and killed. I have a grateful
heart; I will recompense you one day."
These were the three principal adventures that befell Avenant on his
way to the kingdom of the Fair One with Golden Locks. Arrived there,
he dressed himself with the greatest care, in a habit of silver
brocade, and a hat adorned with plumes of scarlet and white. He threw
over all a rich mantle, and carried a little basket, in which was a
lovely little dog, an offering of respect to the princess. With this
he presented himself at the palace-gates, where, even though he came
alone, his mien was so dignified and graceful, so altogether charming,
that every one did him reverence, and was eager to run and tell the
Fair One with Golden Locks, that Avenant another ambassador from the
king her suitor, awaited an audience.
"Avenant!" repeated the princess, "That is a pretty name; perhaps the
youth is pretty too."
"So beautiful," said the ladies of honour, "that while he stood under
the palace-window we could do nothing but look at him."
"How silly of you!" sharply said the princess. But she desired them to
bring her robe of blue satin to comb out her long hair, and adorn it
with the freshest garland of flowers; to give her her high-heeled
shoes, and her fan. "Also," added she, "take care that my
audience-chamber is well swept and my throne well dusted. I wish in
everything to appear as becomes the Fair One with Golden Locks."
This done, she seated herself on her throne of ivory and ebony, and
gave orders for her musicians to play, but softly, so as not to
disturb conversation. Thus, shining in all her beauty, she admitted
Avenant to her presence.
He was so dazzled that at first he could not speak: then he began and
delivered his harangue to perfection.
"Gentle Avenant," returned the princess, after listening to all his
reasons for her returning with him, "your arguments are very strong,
and I am inclined to listen to them; but you must first find for me a
ring, which I dropped into the river about a month ago. Until I
recover it, I can listen to no propositions of marriage."
Avenant, surprised and disturbed, made her a profound reverence and
retired, taking with him the basket and the little dog Cabriole, which
she refused to accept. All night long he sat sighing to himself, "How
can I ever find a ring which she dropped into the river a month ago?
She has set me an impossibility."
"My dear master," said Cabriole, "nothing is an impossibility to one
so young and charming as you are: let us go at daybreak to the
river-side."
Avenant patted him, but replied nothing: until, worn out with grief,
he slept. Before dawn Cabriole wakened him, saying, "Master, dress
yourself and let us go to the river."
There Avenant walked up and down, with his arms folded and his head
bent, but saw nothing. At last he heard a voice, calling from a
distance, "Avenant, Avenant!"
The little dog ran to the water-side--"Never believe me again, master,
if it is not a golden carp with a ring in its mouth!"
"Yes, Avenant," said the carp, "this is the ring which the princess
has lost. You saved my life in the willow meadow, and I have
recompensed you. Farewell!"
Avenant took the ring gratefully and returned to the palace with
Cabriole, who scampered about in great glee. Craving an audience, he
presented the princess with her ring, and begged her to accompany him
to his master's kingdom. She took the ring, looked at it, and thought
she was surely dreaming.
"Some fairy must have assisted you, fortunate Avenant," said she.
"Madam, I am only fortunate in my desire to obey your wishes."
"Obey me still," she said graciously. "There is a prince named
Galifron, whose suit I have refused. He is a giant as tall as a tower,
who eats a man as a monkey eats a nut: he puts cannons into his
pockets instead of pistols; and when he speaks, his voice is so loud
that every one near him becomes deaf. Go and fight him, and bring me
his head."
Avenant was thunderstruck; but after a time he recovered
himself--"Very well, madam. I shall certainly perish, but I will
perish like a brave man. I will depart at once to fight the Giant
Galifron."
The princess, now in her turn surprised and alarmed, tried every
persuasion to induce him not to go, but in vain. Avenant armed himself
and started, carrying his little dog in its basket. Cabriole was the
only creature that gave him consolation: "Courage, master! While you
attack the giant, I will bite his legs: he will stoop down to strike
me, and then you can knock him on the head." Avenant smiled at the
little dog's spirit, but he knew it was useless.
Arrived at the castle of Galifron, he found the road all strewn with
bones, and carcases of men. Soon he saw the giant walking. His head
was level with the highest trees, and he sang in a terrific voice--
"Bring me babies to devour;
More--more--more--more--
Men and women, tender and tough;
All the world holds not enough."
To which Avenant replied, imitating the tune--
"Avenant you here may see,
He is come to punish thee:
Be he tender, be he tough,
To kill thee, giant, he is enough."
Hearing these words, the giant took up his massive club, looked around
for the singer, and, perceiving him, would have slain him on the spot,
had not a raven, sitting on a tree close by, suddenly flown out upon
him and picked out both his eyes. Then Avenant easily killed him and
cut off his head, while the raven, watching him, said--
"You shot the eagle who was pursuing me: I promised to recompense you,
and to-day I have done it. We are quits."
"No, it is I who am your debtor, Sir Raven," replied Avenant, as,
hanging the frightful head to his saddle-bow, he mounted his horse and
rode back to the city of the Fair One with Golden Locks.
There everybody followed him, shouting, "Here is brave Avenant, who
has killed the giant," until the princess, hearing the noise, and
fearing it was Avenant himself who was killed, appeared, all
trembling; and even when he appeared with Galifron's head, she
trembled still, although she had nothing to fear.
"Madam," said Avenant, "your enemy is dead: so I trust you will accept
the hand of the king my master."
"I cannot," replied she thoughtfully, "unless you first bring me a
phial of the water in the Grotto of Darkness. It is six leagues in
length, and guarded at the entrance by two fiery dragons. Within it is
a pit, full of scorpions, lizards, and serpents, and at the bottom of
this place flows the Fountain of Beauty and Health. All who wash in it
become, if ugly, beautiful, and if beautiful, beautiful for ever; if
old, young; and if young, young for ever. Judge then, Avenant, if I
can quit my kingdom without carrying with me some of this miraculous
water."
"Madam," replied Avenant, "you are already so beautiful that you
require it not; but I am an unfortunate ambassador whose death you
desire: I will obey you, though I know I shall never return."
So he departed with his only friends--his horse and his faithful dog
Cabriole; while all who met him looked at him compassionately, pitying
so pretty a youth bound on such a hopeless errand. But, however kindly
they addressed him, Avenant rode on and answered nothing, for he was
too sad at heart.
He reached a mountain-side, where he sat down to rest, leaving his
horse to graze, and Cabriole to run after the flies. He knew that the
Grotto of Darkness was not far off, yet he looked about him like one
who sees nothing. At last he perceived a rock, as black as ink, whence
came a thick smoke; and in a moment appeared one of the two dragons,
breathing out flames. It had a yellow and green body, claws, and a
long tail. When Cabriole saw the monster, the poor little dog hid
himself in terrible fright. But Avenant resolved to die bravely; so,
taking a phial which the princess had given him, he prepared to
descend into the cave.
"Cabriole," said he, "I shall soon be dead: then fill this phial with
my blood, and carry it to the Fair One with Golden Locks, and
afterwards to the king my master, to show him I have been faithful to
the last."
While he was thus speaking, a voice called, "Avenant, Avenant!"--and
he saw an owl sitting on a hollow tree. Said the owl: "You cut the net
in which I was caught, and I vowed to recompense you. Now is the time.
Give me the phial: I know every corner of the Grotto of Darkness--I
will fetch you the water of beauty."
Delighted beyond words, Avenant delivered up his phial; the owl flew
with it into the grotto, and in less than half-an-hour reappeared,
bringing it quite full and well corked. Avenant thanked her with all
his heart, and joyfully took once more the road to the city.
The Fair One with Golden Locks had no more to say. She consented to
accompany him back, with all her suite, to his master's court. On the
way thither, she saw so much of him, and found him so charming, that
Avenant might have married her himself had he chosen; but he would not
have been false to his master for all the beauties under the sun. At
length they arrived at the king's city, and the Fair One with Golden
Locks became his spouse and queen. But she still loved Avenant in her
heart, and often said to the king her lord--"But for Avenant I should
not be here; he has done all sorts of impossible deeds for my sake; he
has fetched me the water of beauty, and I shall never grow old--in
short, I owe him everything."
And she praised him in this sort so much, that at length the king
became jealous; and though Avenant gave him not the slightest cause of
offence, he shut him up in the same high tower once more--but with
irons on his hands and feet, and a cruel jailer besides, who fed him
with bread and water only. His sole companion was his little dog
Cabriole.
When the Fair One with Golden Locks heard of this, she reproached her
husband for his ingratitude, and then, throwing herself at his knees,
implored that Avenant might be set free. But the king only said, "She
loves him!" and refused her prayer. The queen entreated no more, but
fell into a deep melancholy.
When the king saw it, he thought she did not care for him because he
was not handsome enough; and that if he could wash his face with her
water of beauty, it would make her love him more. He knew that she
kept it in a cabinet in her chamber, where she could find it always.
Now it happened that a waiting-maid, in cleaning out this cabinet,
had, the very day before knocked down the phial, which was broken in a
thousand pieces, and all the contents were lost. Very much alarmed,
she then remembered seeing, in a cabinet belonging to the king, a
similar phial. This she fetched, and put in the place of the other
one, in which was the water of beauty. But the king's phial contained
the water of death. It was a poison, used to destroy great
criminals--that is, noblemen, gentlemen, and such like. Instead of
hanging them or cutting their heads off, like common people, they were
compelled to wash their faces with this water; upon which they fell
asleep, and woke no more. So it happened that the king, taking up this
phial, believing it to be the water of beauty, washed his face with
it, fell asleep, and--died.
Cabriole heard the news, and, gliding in and out among the crowd which
clustered round the young and lovely widow, whispered softly to
her--"Madam, do not forget poor Avenant." If she had been disposed to
do so, the sight of his little dog would have been enough to remind
her of him--his many sufferings, and his great fidelity. She rose up,
without speaking to anybody, and went straight to the tower where
Avenant was confined. There, with her own hands, she struck off his
chains, and putting a crown of gold on his head, and a purple mantle
on his shoulders, said to him, "Be king--and my husband."
Avenant could not refuse; for in his heart he had loved her all the
time. He threw himself at her feet, and then took the crown and
sceptre, and ruled her kingdom like a king. All the people were
delighted to have him as their sovereign. The marriage was celebrated
in all imaginable pomp, and Avenant and the Fair One with Golden Locks
lived and reigned happily together all their days.
THE BUTTERFLY.
In the time of the illustrious Merinous, it was indeed a pleasure to
be a king; the laws were just, the people obedient, and peace was over
the land. This monarch would have been the happiest of men, but for
the continual complaints of his consort, which tore his very heart in
twain. She wept continually for her daughters, nineteen of whom had
perished in the flower of youth. The Fairy of the Fountain had
promised a twentieth; but years passed away in fruitless expectation.
"You have neglected to do the fairy sufficient homage," said the king
one day; "I shall give orders to conduct you to the foot of the
mountain with pomp and splendour. But when arrived there the mountain
itself must be climbed on foot, with many fatigues: most women would
rather die childless than encounter them."
"Courage shall not be wanting on my part," said the queen, "and I wish
to set out immediately."
The king kissed her forehead, bade her good-night, and fell asleep.
At early dawn appeared in the grand court of the palace an equipage,
dazzling as the sun itself; the wheels were of massy gold, with
emerald nails, which sparkled in the light. It was drawn by forty-two
horses, white as snow, whose reins were of rose-coloured satin, the
fashion of that period. They snorted impatiently, striking fire from
the pavement beneath their feet; their eyes were inflamed; their bits
covered with foam, and their proud and triumphant air seemed already
to announce the success of the queen's enterprise. Three thousand
chevaliers, armed at all points and mounted on fiery coursers, wheeled
about the chariot, the air resounding with their joyful acclamations
of--"_Long live King Merinous and his august spouse!_"
The queen saluted the people with the utmost grace and condescension,
which caused such immoderate joy, that she was almost stifled by the
pressure of the crowd: but the guards gently kept them at a distance,
and the procession passed on.
When her majesty had reached the foot of the mountain, she alighted
from her chariot, and, accompanied by only four maids-of-honour,
proceeded on foot.
This mountain was formed of slippery earth, slightly covered over with
green turf, but giving way at every step. The queen's pretty little
white satin shoes were soon left behind; and her feet next stuck so
fast that she could not withdraw them; her fair hands were in the same
plight; she cried aloud for succour, fearing she should be completely
buried alive.
Turning then round to look for her maids-of-honour, she perceived that
they had fallen flat on their faces (the impression remains till this
day), and were struggling, making the most desperate efforts, less in
consideration of their own danger than that of the queen. In fine,
after four hours and a half's patient perseverance they succeeded in
regaining their feet; and strange to say, no mud or clay attached
itself to their clothes; nothing worse than a slight shade of the
green turf, which assumed the appearance of a gauze veil. The fairy
then, seeing the queen willing to overcome difficulties, would not try
her further, but with one stroke of a wand reduced the mountain two or
three hundred feet; the remaining height was very dry and easy of
ascent.
The queen was thus conducted to a delicious grove: a coral fountain
rose in the midst; its waters, of the purest rose-colour, wound along
the meadow, murmuring plaintive airs, whose words were perfectly
distinguishable. The fairy there welcomed her majesty, who prepared to
explain the occasion of her journey; but that was quite unnecessary.
The fairy, exacting profound secrecy, presented her with a phial of
water drawn from the fountain, strictly ordering that it should be
broken when she had drank it all. The queen, charmed by this
reception, made presents of inestimable value, and rejoined her
maids-of-honour, who had been thrown into an enchanted sleep. They
then returned to the palace in such high spirits, that all the court
danced and sung for a month afterwards.
In due course her majesty became, for the twentieth time, a joyful
mother.
The magnificence and liberality displayed on this occasion exceed
belief. The royal palace was surrounded by three hundred large spouts
which poured forth alternately, night and day the choicest sweetmeats,
confectionery, and money; the streets, in fact, were filled--the
passengers had only to stoop down and be satisfied.
But in the midst of these festivities the Fairy of the Fountain,
uncovering the little princess's cradle, which was of mother-o'-pearl
studded with diamonds, perceived a beautiful butterfly, placed
immediately under the infant's left eye.
The chief cradle-rocker, who dreaded being taxed with negligence, took
a humming-bird's wing, and endeavoured to chase it away, but all in
vain: it remained quite unconcerned in the same spot, extending its
large wings of rose-colour and azure-blue on the face of the princess,
appearing rather to caress than to wish to do her any injury. "Ah!"
said the fairy, "this butterfly is not what you imagine. It is a
powerful fairy, who presides at the birth of the most distinguished
princesses, and endows them with a degree of levity which generally
leads to misfortune. I can lessen the evil, without doubt, but I
cannot entirely avert it." The queen wept bitterly at this sad news,
and the king saw no person during eight days. He then ceased to think
on the subject.
Misfortunes rarely enter into the speculations of kings. Masters of
the destinies of others, mankind flatter them into a belief that their
power can almost control fate itself. Accordingly, the visit of the
butterfly did not produce much permanent inquietude. The
poets-laureate and literati of the court turned it into numerous
sentimental conceits; amongst others, that the insect had fastened on
the princess's cheek mistaking it for a rose. This idea branched out
into a hundred elegies, a thousand madrigals, and fifteen hundred
songs, which were sung in all the principal families, and adapted to
airs, some already known, and others composed for the occasion.
The fairy frequently visited her little charge, but was unable to
conquer her fickle disposition. Ten different nurses had already been
obliged to give her up; she scratched them, bit them, and obstinately
refused to be fed. When she grew older, and began her education, she
was so easily wearied and vexed, that no one dared to contradict her.
The fairy was consulted; who made her smell at a very rare flower.
This produced a degree of intelligence so extraordinary, that in three
days she could read, write, speak all languages, and play on every
instrument after just twenty-three minutes' application.
The queen was now delighted, for the princess's talents were noised
abroad equally with her beauty. She had scarcely attained the age of
fourteen when many kings sought the honour of her hand. The good King
Merinous was well stricken in years, and fondly desired to see
Papillette established. All who seemed worthy of her received a
favourable reception, and amongst this number was the accomplished
Prince Favourite. After he had been presented in due form, the old
monarch asked his daughter what she thought of their new guest.
"Sire," replied the maiden, "I have been brought up with too much
modesty and reserve to bestow attention on strangers of the other
sex."
"That is true," returned the monarch; "but merely regarding him as a
picture, how has he appeared to you?"
"Tall and handsome," answered Papillette, "his chestnut hair clinging
in close and crisping curls to his ivory brow; his eyes of
violet-blue, filled with soft vivacity; his teeth, of the most
brilliant white, divide lips of coral; his nose is perfect Grecian,
and his limbs like the rarest statuary. I might say more, had I
ventured to look at the prince."
"It is enough," said the king; "your first glance has shown you
enough. I am delighted that you are so sensible to the merits of
Prince Favourite, as I design him for your husband. Love him
accordingly."
"Your majesty's commands are laws to your dutiful daughter," replied
Papillette.
One may easily imagine with what magnificence preparations were made
for the nuptials; the king hastened them, lest his daughter's
fickleness and levity might cause disappointment to their dearest
hopes.