Four and Twenty Fairy Tales

While Lionette was constraining herself to vanquish the dreadful feeling that the presence of the Fairy had possessed her with, the latter, to the sound of joyful music which echoed through the temple of the Rose-tree, advanced towards the balustrade and saw the Lioness, who, seated in the corner to which she had retired, crouched in the most humble manner as the Fairy gazed on her. Cornue's countenance brightened with intense joy at this sight. "Oracle, whose words are always those of truth," exclaimed she, "you have promised me that I should one day find that which I have sought for so earnestly, and which doubtless you have reserved as a recompense for the many honours I have paid to you. Come," said she to the fairies who followed her, "chain this wild beast, and fasten it to my chariot, after which let us immolate our victims." Four fairies threw a chain about Lionette, who allowed herself to be dragged out of the temple notwithstanding the grief shown by the flowers, that looked as they do when Aurora sheds her gentle dew upon them, for they all loved Lionette; but their tears did not in the least soften the inflexible heart of the jealous Cornue. The Rose-tree shot from its stem a flame which consumed the offering of bees which the fairies had just placed upon a little golden altar they had drawn towards it. Its roses became amaranth colour. Cornue was quite alarmed at this change. "What prodigy is this?" cried she. "Divinity of these realms, do you protect my rival, or is it the joy of delivering her into my power that has produced this mysterious change?" The Rose-tree shuddered at these words, and with a strong and terrible voice thus answered the Fairy: —

Immolate to my just wrathThe first fowl that shall cross thy path.Mercy to it dare to showNone thyself shall ever know!

The Rose-tree after this closed its flowers and leaves, and by this action appeared to bid the Fairy depart. She left the temple much discontented, and remounted her chariot, to which they had fastened Lionette, with three other lions who were very handsome. She took the reins that united these animals and drove slowly over the velvet lawn by the side of the rivulet, the gentle murmuring of which favoured her meditations, until one of the fairies, following in another chariot, exclaimed that she saw a fowl in the water, which appeared to be drowning. Cornue stopped her chariot, and ordered them to catch and bring to her the bird that so luckily came to reconcile her with the oracular Rose-tree. The fairies who were the lightest clad threw themselves into the stream, and caught the poor bird, which was already insensible. They carried it to Cornue, who was not at all surprised at its beauty, for she instantly recognised, to her great dismay, the unfortunate King Coquerico. "Oh, Heavens!" exclaimed she to herself; "is it thus, cruel oracle, thou wouldst have me understand thee?" She held the King up by his feet, and having made him eject the water that he had swallowed, he reopened his eyes, already darkened by the approach of death, then quickly touching him with her wand, said to him, "Resume thy proper form, and save me thereby from the horror of taking thy life, upon which mine depends." At these words the King, safe and sound, appeared more brilliant than the sun, his royal mantle on his shoulders, and his crown of brilliants gracefully encircling his temples. What became of Lionette at this sight? Her lover stood before her – her lover a king, and more beautiful than the day! She would have been speechless with astonishment even had she not resolved beforehand that she would not speak to the Fairy until she had discovered her motive for ill-treating her so cruelly. She remained silent, therefore, but her eyes were so affectionately fixed on the King, that if he had not been pre-occupied by the adventure that had just occurred, he would easily have recognised his unhappy Princess.

"What more do you require of me, Madam?" said he to Cornue. "Is it to make me feel my miseries more keenly that you have restored me to my form of which you so unjustly deprived me? or do you at last repent that you have done me so much mischief?" "Ungrateful ever, and still more ungrateful," replied the Fairy, presenting her hand for him to assist her to descend from her chariot. "Come and justify yourself, and do not accuse me." So saying, she stepped with him upon the mossy bank of the rivulet, and leaving her chariot and her companions at some distance, spoke thus to the King, whom she made to sit down beside her: – "I need scarcely tell you that I have loved you from your infancy; the care that I have taken of you must convince you of it, if you still remember it, for I do not expect gratitude for such poor benefits. I will only slightly touch upon what has hitherto passed, for I experienced but cruel ingratitude, which my affection for you disguised under the name of indifference, arising, perhaps, from my lack of beauty. I believed for some time that by kindness I should overcome this coldness. 'Beauty,' I said, 'is but a poor possession – a sensible man is only caught at first by it. Unlimited power – a fairy who condescends so far as to desire to please a mortal is always sufficiently beautiful.' I discovered but too late the abuse of my confidence, and saw with horror that I had a rival. What did I then do to be revenged, but what every woman would have done? Far from availing myself of my power, I only exercised my discretion. I took Lionette away from you, but I did not kill her – what excess of weakness! – for she was at my mercy – and what a proof of my love do you not recognise in that weakness? Your insults and contemptuous coldness drove me to despair. I deprived you of your form, and I left you. What greater cruelty could you show me than I had inflicted on myself? No, all your hatred did not torture me as much. In what misery did I pass my days after that frightful separation! I accused myself of cruelty, I forgot all your injustice, and when, becoming more calm, I thought of it as it really had been, I reproached myself with having given you cause for it by too much vivacity – in short, your image always present in my mind, the thought of your anger constantly weighing on my heart, I could get no rest. Some of the fairies who attended on me in the Opal Palace advised me to consult the oracular Rose-tree respecting my destiny. This Oracle, without any one knowing the reason, has established itself here, or at least has planted itself in the Sward of Eloquence (the name that is given to that which you behold here, from the rivulet which surrounds it, because it possesses the faculty of making everything speak that is watered by it). Persecuted by my enemies, I came at last to consult this new Oracle. I found at first some relief to my troubles; I took great pleasure in embellishing its abode; by my art I caused all kinds of flowers to grow here; I raised a little temple of verdure, and watering all the flowers from the Rivulet of Eloquence, I enabled them to converse with the Rose-tree and entertain it. The information I gathered respecting my destiny made me grateful to the Oracle, and gave me confidence in its predictions. I came often to question it, and I endeavoured to discover by whom it could possibly be inspired. I ascertained that it was not one of those deities who take pleasure in manifesting themselves to mortals, as at Delphi. It was a man transformed into a rose-tree, and protected by a power unknown to me, and carefully kept a secret. I offered him all my power as a reward for what he had promised me, but he constantly declined it. At last, having predicted an event which has occurred to me this very day, and the commencement of my happiness, he commanded me to sacrifice to him the first fowl that I should see. Judge if all the happiness I could expect from its promises is to be weighed in the balance against your life – for that is what he demands of me. Could I feel, could I know, a comfort, deprived of it? Let the Oracle be angry with me, overwhelm me if it will with the most dreadful calamities, I will not avoid them by the sacrifice of your life. Continue, if you dare, to treat me inhumanly, cruelly – I will submit to it, provided I can still behold you; for I have resolved to suffer everything your hatred can inflict upon me, sooner than consent to immolate you to the strange caprice of the Rose-tree."

Cornue ceased speaking, and the King, having expressed his acknowledgments, replied, – "What can I do for you, Madam? My heart is mine no longer; I have no wish to deceive you; not only is such perfidy incompatible with my nature, but you too well know what I think for me to attempt to impose on your credulity, and I owe you too much gratitude for saving my life willingly to deceive you, were it in my power. But why have you preserved one who never can make you happy? Far better would it have been for you to have obeyed your Oracle. Certain that you will always oppose my happiness, I should have received my death at your hands with pleasure, since I can never entertain for you a warmer feeling than gratitude. You would have relieved me from the shame of appearing thankless to you, and from being obliged to drag out an existence far from the object of my eternal affection."

The King was silent, and the Fairy greatly agitated; neither spoke for some time. "What did this deceitful Oracle promise you?" at length inquired the King. "If you can be rendered happy by ending my life, why defer the sacrifice? The generosity you have shown in preserving it, excites in my heart a feeling of emulation. Conduct me to the temple, it will not be you that will immolate me, at least; Love will acquit you, for Love will dispose of my life, as it is he who prevents my making you the mistress of it." "Talk no more of sacrifice," said the Fairy, rising; "your life is too precious for me not to struggle to preserve it, at the risk of all that may happen. Come to my palace, and we will see to-morrow what can be done." She then moved towards her chariot, which she stepped into with the Prince, and the Lions went at such speed that they arrived almost immediately at the Opal Palace.

Here it was that Lionette abandoned herself to the bitterest grief when she saw the Fairy descend from her chariot with the Prince, desiring that her lions might be put into a grotto where a thousand other wild animals were lodged that she drove in harness. "Oh, Heavens!" she cried, "to what am I reduced?" She permitted herself to be led away to the grotto, and retiring into a dark corner, stretched herself upon a little straw, and passed the night groaning at her fate. Some days elapsed without any one disturbing her sad repose; at the end of which time two young fairies came to take four lions, some tigers, and two bears to be hunted for the entertainment of the Fairy and in honour of the King.

As the Princess was ignorant of the purpose for which these animals were selected, she did not speak to the Fairies. But what a situation for her! Her lover, whom she could not doubt was in the Palace, and who could not know her – the severity of the Fairy – the horror of passing her days in this strange place – all gave her a disgust to life, which would not yield to the love she possessed for the King, though it had been redoubled by the sight of him. "Ah, why should I continue to love him?" she exclaimed. "Doubtless he no longer loves me. And to render my punishment the greater, I feel he is more lovely than ever. Let me die; and may he never know the extent of the misery he has caused me. Bereft of his love – bereft of him – why should I regret to die?"

She could not suppose him to be enamoured of Cornue; she tried in vain to think why he was at the Opal Palace; she lamented the timidity that induced her to fly from Tigreline at the crowing of the cock. In recalling to her mind the few circumstances she was cognizant of, she felt convinced that the cock that flew in at the window was certainly the same which was brought to Cornue, and re-transformed upon the Sward of Eloquence. "How contrary is my destiny!" said she. "My heart pants for an object which certainly compels me to fly from it. Let me hasten to put an end to this torment. Can the approach of death be a greater punishment? Coquerico, ungrateful Coquerico, has forgotten me. Why should I any longer doubt it? Let me go and expire at the foot of the Rose-tree, and for ever fly from a place that only aggravates and redoubles my grief."

Fortunately the fairies had not shut the door of the grotto. The wretched Princess stole out, and found herself in Cornue's forest. She heard a great noise of horns and dogs; she entered a thick part of the wood which appeared likely to conceal her. Anxious to let the chase go by, she had thrust herself under some low branches, when she heard a dear voice she could not be mistaken in. This voice spoke to one whom she soon knew to be the Fairy Cornue. "Yes, Madam, I avow it. I have an invincible repugnance to hunt lions ever since the unfortunate Lionette has been changed into one. I know not what has become of her. You wish me to remain in ignorance about her; you object to my taking any means by which I might obtain knowledge of her present position. You wish to kill me. Ah, why, then, do you hesitate, when your Oracle demands my death? Let me go to consult it, or with my sword will I rid myself of a life which is rendered insupportable by your tyranny." "How can you imagine," replied the Fairy, "that I should allow you to seek this Oracle who demands your death? For it is not that he desires a cock as a sacrifice more than any other bird – it is you yourself that the barbarous Oracle would have immolated; and do you think I will consent to that? I love you, and you hate me – that is all my offence in your eyes. And if I were to restore Lionette to you, you would soon forget even the trifling gratitude you might profess to entertain for me." "I," exclaimed the King, "forget it? Never! I forget that I was indebted to you for the happiness of my existence? Do not imagine it. Restore her to her natural shape, and I swear to you I will agree to everything that depends upon myself. You will command my obedience, and my friendship will be unbounded. In fact, if I cannot give you my heart, at least there will be so little apparent difference, that you yourself will scarcely perceive it." "Enough," said the Fairy; "I trust to your oath, and I will yield to your impatience. To-morrow we will proceed to the temple of the Rose-tree. I will expose myself to its anger. I will try to appease it, and then we shall see if your word is inviolable."

The King and the Fairy passed on, and the Princess, delighted to find her lover as faithful as she had believed him inconstant, turned her footsteps towards the temple of the Rose-tree, and arrived there late at night.

All the flowers were asleep. She did not disturb any of them; she went and lay at the feet of the Tube-rose – she did not sleep. The beauty of the night filled her soul, already prepared to receive delightful impressions, with the purest joy, unmingled with a shade of sorrow. The amiable Coquerico, faithful and loving, appeared in her idea so worthy of being loved, that she did not regret all she had suffered for him. She never thought about his being a King; she disdained every advantage that was the mere consequence of chance. He was worthy of her affection – that was all she considered. Cornue's reproaches had revealed her jealousy. Lionette in an instant therefore understood why the Fairy had so ill-treated her; and as the happiest love is subject to reverses, she distressed herself at what the King would have to suffer if he resisted the Fairy's passion. She immediately determined to abandon her lover to her rival in order to save his life, which the Oracle had told her he would lose if she opposed his choice. Some mournful reflections upon this situation succeeded to those that had so pleasantly occupied her. She determined to seek the Oracle without delay. She arose very quietly, and entered the temple as the day broke.

King Coquerico was not in a better situation. The horror with which Cornue had inspired him by her new barbarity in wishing his mistress to perish by his hand under the pretence of affording him the entertainment of a lion hunt, was unconquerable: his patience was exhausted, and he only feigned to agree to her wishes in order to gain time to be revenged, by getting the necklace out of her possession.

The Fairy had luckily not noticed the little bottle under his wing the day she restored him to his form; he therefore still possessed it, and trusted it would be of great use to him. He retired early that night, under pretence of being fatigued, and the Fairy begged he would wear the ornaments that she had ordered to be put into his room, that he might make a grander figure in the eyes of the Rose-tree. He was no sooner in his own apartment than the recollection of what Cornue had said, and of what he had promised, threw him into deep distress, as he foresaw that if he could not anticipate the artful Fairy's intention, he should only obtain from this jealous enemy the pleasure of once more seeing Lionette, in return for which Cornue would undoubtedly insist upon his marrying her.

This cruel thought made him more eager for revenge, and that feeling was increased by his observing a large basket made of pearls and garnets in filigree work, which stood on a table beside him. He made no doubt it contained the presents she had requested him to wear. He raised the white taffeta embroidered in gold which covered this elegant basket, and perceived with astonishment, mingled with rage, the royal robes that are worn at the marriage of the Kings of the Fortunate Islands. As they were the work of the Fairies, it is impossible to describe their magnificence.

A moment afterwards, recollecting that he should appear thus attired before the Princess, he could not divest himself of the idea that occurred to him, that perhaps such magnificence might make an impression on her. However, believing the Fairy to be asleep, he resolved to put his plan in execution without delay, and throwing all the ornaments back into the basket, he ascended a private staircase which led to Cornue's bed-chamber. He arrived without any obstacle at her bed-side; the curtains were open, and held back by Cupids of mother-of-pearl; these also supported crystal chandeliers filled with wax lights, to illumine the room. When she could not sleep the Cupids sang, or read to her the news of the day, Gazettes, or fresh stories that were written about the Fairies. On that night they must certainly have been reading to her as long a story as this, for she snored terribly. She could not have foreseen the King's unseasonable visit, for no one could look so ugly in bed as she did. She had neither rouge nor patches; and her livid and unhealthy-looking skin, gave her more the appearance of a corpse than of a living and amorous Fairy. Her horn assisted in making her more hideous. She had the fatal necklace round her neck, which was partly uncovered. The King was not at all enchanted by the sight of her. His desire to free himself from so hideous an object made him hastily draw forth his little bottle, in order to fling some drops of its contents over the Fairy, when all the Cupids suddenly began to cry, "Who goes there? who goes there?" The Fairy opened her eyes, and the King remained more surprised and more distressed than it is possible to say. "What do you here, Prince?" said she, sitting upright; "what has brought you into my room without having sent me word of your intention?" She would have asked him a thousand other questions if she had had the time, for the King, more alarmed at her ugliness than at the menacing tone she gave to her words, allowed her to talk, and did not answer her. "What would you?" she said again. "Explain your object."

"I am very sorry, Madam, to have disturbed your rest," at length said the King; "but not knowing your projects, before I definitively pledge my word to you I wish to know what you propose to exact from me." "Would there not have been time to-morrow," said the Fairy, "to have asked me this mighty question, and was it necessary to awake me for so silly a purpose? Go to your rest, my Lord, and to-morrow we shall be in a condition for you to propose, and for me to resolve." The King, truly seeing no other way of getting out of this embarrassment, was very well disposed to return to his room, when the Fairy called him back. "Come here," cried she, "where are you going? Ought you not to apologize for your imprudence, or do you think you have not committed any?" The King, annoyed by this fresh obstacle, which prevented him from retiring, said, "Ah, Madam, do not make me commit a greater fault, in any longer disturbing your rest; it ought to be precious to me, and the respect I owe you – " "No, no," replied the Fairy, "approach; I do not wish to sleep any more, and I will absolutely know what brought you here; do not fear to offend me, but dread to conceal your feelings from me. I wish for a candid avowal, and," continued she, looking at him most affectionately, "I expect you will entertain me as a punishment for awaking me."

The King, at this disagreeable proposition, thought he should lose all patience, but being in the power of this terrible person he suppressed his first movement, and seating himself, out of respect, some distance from the Fairy's bed, said, "Since you wish it, Madam, I will obey you. I came, not thinking you were asleep, to ask you to restore the Princess to her natural form immediately, and to declare, without that, I cannot follow you to the temple of the rose-tree." "Truly," replied the Fairy, much annoyed at this commencement, "this is a beautiful subject to disturb every one about; could not that have been deferred till to-morrow?" "No, Madam," replied the King, "and I am very sorry I did not urge it yesterday, without being under the necessity of waiting another day." "Well," said the Fairy, "what will you do for me in return, and what have I to expect from your gratitude?" "I have told you, Madam, the strongest friendship, and all that an affectionate heart could further give – " "Friendship," replied the Fairy; "no, no, King Coquerico, it is not at such a price that I dispense my favours – it must be of more value than that. Shall I tell you what it is? It is not worth while to wait till to-morrow to inform you. I cannot ask you for your love, I am convinced of that; you are incapable of feeling it for me; you have made me sufficiently understand that; but I will forgive you upon condition that to-morrow you will solemnly give me your faith."

The King, prepared as he had been for this event by Tigreline, could not quietly listen to her discourse, and find himself so near renouncing for ever a Princess whom he loved, without feeling it most cruelly. "If my heart were free," he replied, in a tone of voice changed by the excessive effort he made to suppress his fury, "I could offer you the one or the other; but, Madam, I have disposed of my heart beyond my own control, and I will not offer you my hand, the possession of which would make you miserable, for at every instant I should make you feel, in spite of myself, that, my heart being separated from it, I was not worthy the honour you conferred on me. The gratitude I owe you, therefore, obliges me absolutely to refuse you, at the peril of my life." "We shall see that to-morrow," replied Cornue. "Go and strengthen or change your noble resolutions; but remember that if you resist mine, it will not be your life that will answer to me for it. I shall know how to find, in spite of you, the sensitive place of a heart you assure me is so indifferent."

The King, maddened by rage and grief, departed, and returned to his own apartments, where he abandoned himself to the deepest despair. Twenty times he was about to plunge his sword in his heart, and sacrifice his life to the Princess; but thinking he might perhaps revenge her, or at least save her from the fury of the Fairy, he abandoned that frightful idea, and resolved upon going to the temple of the Rose-tree.

As soon as the morning appeared, the palace of the Fairy resounded with music and nuptial hymns; she sent to know if the King was ready, giving an order that they should attend to him as her husband. A pompous chariot was in the palace court. All the fairies from far and near were summoned to this ceremony; they arrived from every quarter. Tigreline only announced that she should be at the temple. At length the King appeared; his pale and thin face indicated that he was the victim of the sacrifice, rather than the person to whom it was to be offered. With all that he was as lovely as the day.