cooks, and fifty stewards set to work, under the superintendence of
the famous Bouchibus, the chief of the royal kitchens. Pigs were
killed, sheep cut up, capons larded, pigeons plucked, and turkeys
spitted; it was a universal massacre. It is impossible to have a feast
worthy of the name without the help of the poultry-yard.
In the midst of this bustle a beautiful wood-pigeon, with blue wings,
perched on one of the kitchen windows, and cooed, in a plaintive
voice,
"Bouchibus, tell me, for you must know, sure,
What has Carlino to do with the Moor?"
The great Bouchibus was at first too busy with public affairs to
attend to the cooing of a pigeon; but after a while he began to be
astonished at understanding the language of birds, and thought it his
duty to inform his new mistress of the wonder. The negress did not
disdain to go to the kitchen. As soon as she heard the song, with a
cry of affright, she ordered Bouchibus to catch the pigeon and make a
stew of it.
No sooner said than done. The poor bird suffered itself to be caught
without resistance. In an instant Bouchibus, armed with his great
knife, cut off its head and threw it into the garden. Three drops of
blood fell on the ground; and three days after there sprang from the
earth a beautiful citron-tree, which grew so fast that before night it
was in blossom.
The prince, while taking the air in his balcony, chanced to spy a
citron-tree which he had never seen before. He called the cook and
asked him who had planted this beautiful tree. The story of Bouchibus
perplexed him greatly. He at once commanded, under penalty of death,
that no one should touch the citron-tree, and that the greatest care
should be taken of it.
The next morning, as soon as he awoke, the prince hastened to the
garden. There were already three citrons on the tree--three citrons
exactly like those which the Fate had given him. Carlino gathered
them, hastened to his apartments, and shut himself up under lock and
key. With a trembling hand he filled a golden cup, set with rubies,
which had belonged to his mother, with water, and opened the magic
knife, which had never left him.
He cut a citron, and the first fairy came forth. Carlino scarcely
glanced at her, and suffered her to take flight. It was the same with
the second; but as soon as the third appeared he gave her the cup,
from which she drank with a smile, and stood before him more graceful
than ever.
The fairy then told Carlino all that she had suffered from the wicked
negress. The prince, beside himself with mingled joy and anger,
laughed and wept, sang and raved. The king, hearing the noise, ran to
see what was the matter, and you may judge of his surprise. He danced
about like a madman, with his crown on his head and his scepter in his
hand. All at once he stopped short, bent his brow, which was a sign
that a thought had struck him, threw a large veil over the princess
which covered her from head to foot, and taking her by the hand, led
her to the dining-room.
It was the hour for breakfast. The ministers and courtiers were ranged
round a long table, magnificently served, waiting for the entrance of
the royal family to be seated. The king called the guests one after
another, and, raising the veil as each approached the fairy, asked:
"What shall be done to the person who sought to destroy this marvel of
beauty?"
And each one, wonder-struck, answered in his own way. Some said that
the author of such a crime deserved a hempen cravat; others thought
that the wretch should be thrown into the water with a stone to his
neck. Beheading seemed to the old minister too mild a punishment for
such a villain; he was in favor of flaying him alive, and all present
applauded his humanity.
When the negress's turn came she approached without suspicion, and did
not recognize the fairy. "Sire," said she, "a monster capable of
injuring this charming creature deserves to be roasted alive in an
oven, and to have his ashes thrown to the winds."
"You have pronounced your own sentence," cried the king of the
Vermilion Towers. "Wretch, behold your victim and prepare to die. Let
a funeral pile be built in the square in front of the castle. I will
give my good people the pleasure of seeing a witch burn; it will
occupy them for an hour or two."
"Sire," said the young fairy, taking the king's hand, "Your Majesty
surely will not refuse me a wedding gift?"
"No, indeed, my child," replied the old king. "Ask what you will;
should it be my crown, I will gladly give it to you."
"Sire," continued the fairy, "grant me this wretched creature's
pardon. An ignorant and miserable slave, life has taught her nothing
but hatred and malice; let me render her happy and teach her that the
only happiness on earth consists in loving others."
"My daughter," said the king, "it is very evident that you are a
fairy; you know nothing of human justice. Among us, we do not reform
the wicked, we kill them; it is sooner done. But I have given my word.
Tame this serpent at your own risk and peril; I am willing."
The fairy raised the negress, who kissed her hands, weeping; then they
all sat down to the table. The king was so happy that he ate enough
for four. As for Carlino, who kept his eyes fixed on his bride, he cut
his thumb five or six times in a fit of absent-mindedness, which each
time put him in the best humor imaginable. Everything gives us
pleasure when the heart is happy.
When the old king died, full of years and honor, Carlino and his
lovely wife ascended the throne in turn. For half a century, if
history is to be believed, they neither raised the taxes, shed a drop
of blood, nor caused a tear to fall; and although more than a thousand
years have passed since then, the good people of the Vermilion Towers
still sigh at the mention of this distant age, and little children are
not the only ones to ask when the fairies will reign again.
Story of
Coquerico
_A Spanish Tale_
[Illustration:]
Once upon a time there was a handsome hen who lived like a great lady
in the poultry-yard of a rich farmer, surrounded by a numerous family
which clucked about her, and none of which clamored more loudly or
picked up the corn faster with his beak than a poor little deformed
and crippled chicken. This was precisely the one that the mother loved
best. It is the way with all mothers; the weakest and most unsightly
are always their favorites. This misshapen creature had but one eye,
one wing, and one leg in good condition; it might have been thought
that Solomon had executed his memorable sentence on Coquerico, for
that was the name of the wretched chicken, and cut him in two with his
famous sword. When a person is one-eyed, lame, and one-armed, he may
reasonably be expected to be modest; but our Castilian ragamuffin was
prouder than his father, the best spurred, most elegant, bravest, and
most gallant cock to be seen from Burgos to Madrid. He thought himself
a phoenix of grace and beauty, and passed the best part of the day
in admiring himself in the brook. If one of his brothers ran against
him by accident, he abused him, called him envious and jealous, and
risked his only remaining eye in battle; if the hens clucked on seeing
him, he said it was to hide their spite because he did not condescend
to look at them.
One day, when he was more puffed up with vanity than usual, he
resolved no longer to remain in such a narrow sphere, but to go out
into the world, where he would be better appreciated.
"My lady mother," said he, "I am tired of Spain; I am going to Rome to
see the pope and cardinals."
"What are you thinking of, my poor child!" cried his mother. "Who has
put such a folly into your head? Never has one of our family been
known to quit his country, and for this reason we are the honor of our
race, and are proud of our genealogy. Where will you find a
poultry-yard like this--mulberry-trees to shade you, a whitewashed
henroost, a magnificent dunghill, worms and corn everywhere, brothers
that love you, and three great dogs to guard you from the foxes? Do
you not think that at Rome itself you will regret the ease and plenty
of such a life?"
Coquerico shrugged his crippled wing in token of disdain. "You are a
simple woman, my good mother," said he; "everything is accounted
worthy of admiration by him who has never quitted his dunghill. But I
have wit enough to see that my brothers have no ideas and that my
cousins are nothing but rustics. My genius is stifling in this hole; I
wish to roam the world and seek my fortune."
"But, my son, have you never looked in the brook?" resumed the poor
hen. "Don't you know that you lack an eye, a leg, and a wing? To make
your fortune, you need the eyes of a fox, the legs of a spider, and
the wings of a vulture. Once outside of these walls, you are lost."
"My good mother," replied Coquerico, "when a hen hatches a duck she is
always frightened on seeing it run to the water. You know me no
better. It is my nature to succeed by my wit and talent. I must have a
public capable of appreciating the charms of my person; my place is
not among inferior people."
"My son," said the hen, seeing all her counsels useless--"my son,
listen at least to your mother's last words. If you go to Rome, take
care to avoid St. Peter's Church; the saint, it is said, dislikes
cocks, especially when they crow. Shun, moreover, certain personages
called cooks and scullions; you will know them by their paper caps,
their tucked-up sleeves, and the great knives which they wear at their
sides. They are licensed assassins, who track our steps without pity
and cut our throats without giving us time to cry mercy. And now, my
child," she added, raising her claw, "receive my blessing. May St.
James, the patron saint of pilgrims, protect thee!"
Coquerico pretended not to see the tear that trembled in his mother's
eye, nor did he trouble himself any more about his father, who
bristled his plumage and seemed about to call him back. Without caring
for those whom he left behind, he glided through the half-open door
and, once outside, flapped his only wing and crowed three times, to
celebrate his freedom--"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
As he half flew, half hopped over the fields, he came to the bed of a
brook which had been dried up by the sun. In the middle of the sands,
however, still trickled a tiny thread of water, so small that it was
choked by a couple of dead leaves that had fallen into it.
"My friend," exclaimed the streamlet at the sight of our traveler--"my
friend, you see my weakness; I have not even the strength to carry
away these leaves which obstruct my passage, much less to make a
circuit, so completely am I exhausted. With a stroke of your beak you
can restore me to life. I am not an ingrate; if you oblige me, you may
count on my gratitude the first rainy day, when the water from heaven
shall have restored my strength."
"You are jesting," said Coquerico. "Do I look like one whose business
it is to sweep the brooks? Apply to those of your own sort." And with
his sound leg, he leaped across the streamlet.
"You will remember me when you least expect it," murmured the brook,
but with so feeble a voice that it was lost on the proud cock.
A little farther on, Coquerico saw the wind lying breathless on the
ground.
"Dear Coquerico, come to my aid," it cried; "here on earth we should
help one another. You see to what I am reduced by the heat of the day;
I, who in former times uprooted the olive-trees and lashed the waves
to frenzy, lie here well-nigh slain by the dog-star. I suffered myself
to be lulled to sleep by the perfume of the roses with which I was
playing; and, lo! here I am, stretched almost lifeless upon the
ground. If you will raise me a couple of inches with your beak and fan
me a little with your wing, I shall have the strength to mount to
yonder white clouds which I see in the distance, where I shall receive
aid enough from my family to keep me alive till I gain fresh strength
from the next whirlwind."
"My lord," answered the spiteful Coquerico, "Your Excellency has more
than once amused himself by playing tricks at my expense. It is not a
week since your lordship glided like a traitor behind me and diverted
himself by opening my tail like a fan and covering me with confusion
in the face of nations. Have patience, therefore, my worthy friend;
mockers always have their turn; it does them good to repent and to
learn to respect those whose birth, wit, and beauty should screen them
from the jests of a fool." And Coquerico, bristling his plumage,
crowed three times in his shrillest voice and proudly strutted
onward.
A little farther on he came to a newly mown field where the farmers
had piled up the weeds in order to burn them. Coquerico approached a
smoking heap, hoping to find some stray kernels of corn, and saw a
little flame which was charring the green stalks without being able to
set them on fire.
"My good friend," cried the flame to the new-comer, "you are just in
time to save my life; I am dying for want of air. I cannot imagine
what has become of my cousin, the wind, who cares for nothing but his
own amusement. Bring me a few dry straws to rekindle my strength, and
you will not have obliged an ingrate."
"Wait a moment," said Coquerico, "and I will serve you as you deserve,
insolent fellow that dares ask my help!" And behold! he leaped on the
heap of dried weeds, and trampled it down till he smothered both flame
and smoke; after which he exultingly shouted three times,
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" and flapped his wings, as if he had done a great
deed.
Proudly strutting onward and crowing, Coquerico at last arrived at
Rome, the place to which all roads lead. Scarcely had he reached the
city when he hastened to the great Church of St. Peter. Grand and
beautiful as it was, he did not stop to admire it, but, planting
himself in front of the main entrance, where he looked like a fly
among the great columns, he raised himself on tiptoe and began to
shout, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" only to enrage the saint and disobey his
mother.
He had not yet ended his song when one of the pope's guard, who
chanced to hear him, laid hands on the insolent wretch who dared thus
to insult the saint, and carried him home in order to roast him for
supper.
"Quick!" said he to his wife on entering the house, "give me some
boiling water; here is a sinner to be punished."
"Pardon, pardon, Madame Water!" cried Coquerico. "Oh, good and gentle
water, the best and purest thing in the world, do not scald me, I pray
you!"
"Did you have pity on me when I implored your aid, ungrateful wretch?"
answered the water, boiling with indignation. And with a single gush
it inundated him from head to foot, and left not a bit of down on his
body.
The unhappy Coquerico stripped of all his feathers, the soldier took
him and laid him on the gridiron.
"Oh, fire, do not burn me!" cried he, in an agony of terror. "Oh,
beautiful and brilliant fire, the brother of the sun and the cousin of
the diamond, spare an unhappy creature; restrain thy ardor, and soften
thy flame; do not roast me!"
"Did you have pity on me when I implored your aid, ungrateful wretch?"
answered the fire, and, fiercely blazing with anger, in an instant it
burnt Coquerico to a coal.
The soldier, seeing his roast chicken in this deplorable condition,
took him by the leg and threw him out of the window. The wind bore the
unhappy fowl to a dunghill, where it left him for a moment.
"Oh, wind," murmured Coquerico, who still breathed, "oh, kindly
zephyr, protecting breeze, behold me cured of my vain follies. Let me
rest on the paternal dunghill."
"Let you rest!" roared the wind. "Wait, and I will teach you how I
treat ingrates." And with one blast it sent him so high in the air
that, as he fell back, he was transfixed by a steeple.
There St. Peter was awaiting him. With his own hand he nailed him to
the highest steeple in Rome, where he is still shown to travelers.
However high placed he may be, all despise him because he turns with
the slightest wind; black, dried up, stripped of his feathers, and
beaten by the rain, he is no longer called Coquerico, but Weathercock,
and thus expiates, and must expiate eternally, his disobedience,
vanity, and wickedness.
KING BIZARRE and PRINCE CHARMING
OR, THE ART OF GOVERNING MEN
A TALE OF ALL NATIONS
[Illustration:]
I
KING BIZARRE AND PRINCE CHARMING
In the kingdom of Wild Oats, a happy country, a land blessed of
Heaven, where the men are always right and the women never wrong,
there lived long ago a king who thought of nothing but the happiness
of his kingdom, and who, it is said, never was dull for lack of
amusement. Whether he was beloved by his people is doubtful; it is
certain that the courtiers had little esteem and less love for their
prince. For this reason, they had given him the surname of King
Bizarre, the only title by which he is known in history, as is seen in
the _Great Chronicles of the Kingdoms and Principalities of the World
Which Have Never Existed_, a learned masterpiece which has
immortalized the erudition and criticism of the reverend father, Dr.
Melchisedec de Mentiras y Necedad.
Left a widower after a year's marriage, Bizarre had fixed his whole
affections on his son and heir, who was the most beautiful child
imaginable. His complexion was as fresh as a rose; his beautiful hair
fell in golden curls on his shoulders; add to his clear blue eyes a
straight nose, a small mouth, and a dimpled chin, and you have the
portrait of a cherub. At twelve years of age this young marvel danced
enchantingly, rode like a riding-master, and fenced to perfection. No
one could have helped being won by his smile and the truly royal
manner in which he saluted the crowd in passing when he was in good
humor. For this reason, the voice of the people, which is never
mistaken, had christened him Prince Charming, and his name always
clung to him.
Charming was as beautiful as the day; but the sun itself, it is said,
has spots, and the princes do not disdain to resemble the sun. The
child dazzled the court with his fine mien; but there were shadows
here and there which did not escape the piercing eye of love or envy.
Supple, agile, and adroit in all kinds of bodily exercises, Charming
had an indolent mind. He lacked application, and had taken a fancy
that he ought to know everything without studying. It is true that
governesses, courtiers, and servants had continually repeated to him
that work was not made for kings, and that a prince always knows
enough when he lavishes on poets, writers, and artists, with a
prodigal and disdainful hand, a little of the money which the people
are too happy to offer him.
These maxims tickled Charming's pride; and at twelve years of age the
beautiful child, with precocious firmness, had steadily refused to
learn the alphabet. Three teachers, chosen from the most able and
patient instructors, a priest, a philosopher, and a colonel, had
attempted in turn to bend his youthful obstinacy; but the priest had
wasted his philosophy, the philosopher his tactics, and the colonel
his Latin. Left master of the field of battle, Charming listened to
nothing but his caprice, and lived lawless and unconstrained. As
stubborn as a mule, as irascible as a turkey-cock, as dainty as a cat,
and as idle as an adder, but an accomplished prince withal, he was the
pride of the beautiful country of Wild Oats, and the hope and love of
a people that esteemed nothing in their kings but grace and beauty.
II
PAZZA
Notwithstanding he had been brought up at court, King Bizarre was a
man of sense. Charming's ignorance was far from pleasing to him, and
he often asked himself with anxiety what would become of his kingdom
in the hands of a prince whom the basest of flatterers might easily
deceive. But what was he to do, what means could he employ with a
child that a worshiped wife had bequeathed to him in dying? Rather
than see his son weep, Bizarre would have given him his crown; his
affection rendered him powerless. Love is not blind, whatever the
poets may say; alas! it would be too happy not to see a jot. It is the
torment of him who loves to become, despite himself, the slave and
accomplice of the ingrate who feels himself beloved.
Every day, after the council, the king went to spend the evening with
the Countess of Castro, an old lady who had dandled him on her knees
when an infant, and who alone could recall to him the sweet memories
of his childhood and youth. She was very ugly, and something of a
witch, it is said; but the world is so wicked that we must never
believe more than half its scandal. The countess had large features
and luxuriant gray hair, and it was easy to see that she had been
beautiful in former times.
One day, when Charming had been more unreasonable than usual, the king
entered the countess's house with an anxious air, and seating himself
before the card-table, began to play a game of Patience. It was his
way of diverting his thoughts and forgetting for a few hours the cares
of royalty. Scarcely had he ranged sixteen cards in a square when he
heaved a deep sigh.
"Countess," he cried, "you see before you the most wretched of fathers
and kings. Despite his natural grace, Charming is every day becoming
more wilful and vicious. Must I leave such an heir after me, and
intrust the happiness of my people to a crowned fool?"
"That is the way with Nature," replied the countess; "she always
distributes her gifts with an impartial hand. Stupidity and beauty go
hand in hand, and wit and ugliness are seldom separated. I have an
example of this in my own family. A few days ago a great-grandniece
was sent to me, a child under ten years old, that has no other
relative. She is as tawny as a frog, as scraggy as a spider, yet,
withal, as cunning as an ape, and as learned as a book. Judge for
yourself, sire; here is my little monster coming to salute you."
Bizarre turned his head and saw a child that answered in every respect
to the countess's description. With a high, round forehead, black,
wild-looking eyes, rough hair turned back in the Chinese fashion,
dull, brown skin, great white teeth, red hands, and long arms, she was
anything but a beauty. But the chrysalis gives birth to the butterfly.
Wait a few years, and you will see what pretty women come from these
frightful little girls of ten.
The little monster approached the king, and courtesied to him with so
serious an air that Bizarre could not help laughing, though he felt
little like it.
"Who are you?" asked he, chucking the child under the chin.
"Sire," she answered, gravely, "I am Donna Dolores Rosario Coral
Concha Balthazara Melchiora Gaspara y Todos Santos, the daughter of
the noble knight Don Pasquale Bartolomeo Francesco de Asiz y--"
"Enough," said the king. "I did not ask for your genealogy; we are
witnessing neither your baptism nor your marriage. What are you
commonly called?"
"Sire," replied she, "I am called Pazza."[1]
[Footnote 1: That is to say, Madcap, in Italian. It appears that a
very mixed language is spoken in the kingdom of Wild Oats.]
"And why are you called Pazza?"
"Because it is not my name."
"That is strange," said the king.
"No, it is natural," replied the child. "My aunt pretends that I am
too giddy for any saint to wish to own me for her goddaughter, and
that is why she has given me a name that can offend no one in
Paradise."
"Well answered, my child. I see that you are not an ordinary girl. The
saints in Paradise are not always treated with such consideration.
Since you know so much, tell me what is a wise man?"
"A wise man, sire, is one who knows what he says when he speaks, and
what he does when he acts."
"Upon my word," exclaimed the king, "if my wise men were what you
fancied them, I would make the Academy of Sciences my council of
state, and would give it my kingdom to govern. What is an ignorant
man?"
"Sire," returned Pazza, "there are three kinds of ignorant men: he
who knows nothing, he who talks of what he does not know, and he who
will learn nothing; all three are fit for nothing but to be burned or
hung."
"That is a proverb. Do you know what proverbs are called?"
"Yes, sire; they are called the wisdom of nations."
"And why are they called so?"
"Because they are mad; they say whatever you please; they are of all
colors, to suit all tastes. Proverbs are like bells, which answer yes
or no according to the humor of their listener."
Upon which, springing with both feet from the ground, Pazza caught a
fly that was buzzing about the king's nose; then, leaving Bizarre
astonished, she took her doll and, seating herself on the ground,
began to rock it in her arms.
"Well, sire," the countess said, "what do you think of this child?"