Chapter IX: Part TWO: Fairy Stories (1)

_Fairy Godmothers and Wonderful Gifts_

_Rap! Rap! Rap!
“Who’s tirling at the pin?”
“I’m your Fairy Godmother.
Will you let me in?”_

_“Pointed red cap,
Long peakèd chin,
Twinkling black eyes,
Why should I let you in?”_

_Rap! Rap! Rap!--
“Open wide your door,
I’m your Fairy Godmother,
With gifts threescore!”_

CINDERELLA

OR

THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER

Once upon a time there was a gentleman who married for his second wife a woman who was the haughtiest and proudest ever seen. She had two daughters who resembled her in temper. The husband, however, had a young daughter by his first wife, who was of a sweetness and goodness without limit. She was like her own mother, who had been the most sweet-tempered woman in the world.

The wedding was no sooner over than the stepmother began to show her bad disposition. She could not endure the young girl, whose sweetness made her own daughters seem more detestable. She forced her to do the hardest work in the house. It was she who washed the dishes and put them in their places. It was she who polished the bedroom floors for her stepmother and two sisters. She slept under the eaves in a garret, on a wretched mattress; while her sisters lay in elegant rooms where the beds were soft and white, and the walls were lined with long mirrors in which the sisters could see themselves from head to foot.

The poor girl suffered all this with patience. And she did not dare complain to her father, for he would have scolded her, as he was completely governed by his wife.

Each day, after the girl had finished her work, she sat down in the chimney-corner among the cinders--so they called her Cinderella. Nevertheless, Cinderella, in spite of her shabby clothes, was more polite and a hundred times more beautiful than her sisters, although they were magnificently dressed.

It happened one day that the King’s son gave a ball, and that he invited everybody of rank. The ugly sisters were also invited, because they always made a grand figure at all Court festivities. They were very glad at the thought of attending the royal ball, and busied themselves in choosing the robes and head-dresses which should be most becoming. But, alas! it was more trouble and work for Cinderella, for it was she who did her sisters’ ironing, and fluted their ruffles. Night and morning, they talked only of their clothes.

“I,” said the eldest, “shall wear my red velvet robe with rich lace trimming.”

“I,” said the younger, “shall have only my plain skirt, but to make up for its plainness, I shall put on my cloak flowered with gold, and my tiara of diamonds.”

They called in Cinderella to ask her advice, for she had excellent taste. Cinderella gave them the best counsel in the world, and even offered to do their hair, for which they were very glad. And while she was arranging their locks in two rows of puffs, they asked:--

“Cinderella, would you not be delighted to go to the ball?”

“Alas, you are mocking me!” replied she. “It would be no place for me!”

“You are right,” answered the sisters, laughing scornfully. “Everybody would laugh well to see such a scrub-girl as you at the ball!”

Any one but Cinderella would have done their hair crooked out of rage, but she was so sweet that she did her very best. They went two days without eating, so excited were they with joy. They broke a dozen lacings trying to make their waists smaller, and they spent all their time before the mirrors.

At last the happy day arrived, and as they departed for the ball, Cinderella followed them with her eyes as long as she could. Then she burst into tears.

Her Godmother, who saw her in tears, asked what was the matter.

“I wish--I wish--” and Cinderella sobbed so that she could not finish.

Her Godmother, who was a Fairy, said: “You wish to go to the ball, don’t you?”

“Alas! Yes!” sighed Cinderella.

“Then be a good girl,” said her Godmother, “and you shall go. Now, run into the garden and bring me a pumpkin.”

Cinderella went, and picked the biggest she could find; and as she carried it to her Godmother, she wondered how that pumpkin could help her go to the ball.

Her Godmother scooped out all the inside, leaving only the rind which she struck with her wand. Instantly it became a golden coach. Then she went to look at the mousetrap in which she found six mice. She bade Cinderella open the trap, and, as each mouse sprang out, she touched it with her wand. And instantly it was changed into a handsome horse.

As the Godmother was wondering out of what to make a coachman, Cinderella said: “I will go and see if there is a rat in the trap--then we can make a coachman.”

“That is a good thought,” said her Godmother, “go and see.”

Cinderella brought the trap in which were three large rats. Her Godmother chose one of the three because of his long whiskers; and when she touched him, he was instantly changed into a big coachman who had the handsomest moustaches ever seen.

Then she said to Cinderella: “Go into the garden. You will find there six lizards behind the watering-pot. Bring them to me.”

Cinderella had no sooner brought them than they were changed into six footmen in gold-laced coats, who sprang up behind the coach with the air of never having done anything else in their lives.

Then the Fairy said to Cinderella: “Here is a fine coach in which to go to the ball! Are you not glad?”

“Yes,” replied she, “but must I go in these ugly clothes?”

Her Godmother, in answer, touched her with her wand, and instantly her old clothes were changed into robes of gold and silver embroidered with gems. Then her Godmother presented her with a pair of glass slippers, the prettiest in the world.

Now that Cinderella was all dressed, she got into the coach; but her Godmother told her above all things not to remain a minute later than midnight. For if she remained a single minute longer, her coach would become a pumpkin; her horses, mice; her coachman, a rat; and her footmen, lizards; while all her fine clothes would change to rags.

Cinderella promised her Godmother that she would not fail to return before midnight.

She departed for the ball, so joyful that she did not know herself. The King’s son, who was informed by his servants of the arrival of a beautiful Princess whom nobody knew, ran to receive her. He assisted her to descend from the coach, and led her into the hall where the guests were assembled.

There was a great silence. People stopped dancing, and the violins ceased playing, while all crowded around to see the beauty of the unknown one. Then a confused murmur arose. “Oh, how beautiful she is!” The King even, old as he was, could not take his eyes off her, and he whispered to the Queen that it was long since he had seen such a handsome and amiable person.

All the ladies were anxious to examine her head-dress and robes, and they decided to have some made like them the very next morning, provided, of course, that they could procure beautiful enough materials and needlewomen sufficiently skilful.

The King’s son led Cinderella to the place of honour, and asked her to dance with him. She danced with such grace that she was more admired than ever. A superb banquet was served, but the young Prince did not taste it, so much was he occupied in gazing at her. She seated herself by her sisters, and showed them a thousand attentions. She offered them a share of the oranges and lemons that the Prince had given her, which greatly surprised them, for they did not know her.

While they were chatting, Cinderella heard the clock strike a quarter before twelve. She immediately bowed to the company, and hastened away as fast as she could.

When she arrived at home, she found her Fairy Godmother, and having thanked her, told her how she longed to go again the next night, for the Prince had invited her. And while she was relating all the things that had happened at the ball, she heard the two sisters rap at the door.

Cinderella opened it. “How late you are,” she said.

“If you had been at the ball,” replied one of the sisters, “you would not think it late! There came the most beautiful Princess you have ever dreamed of. She was devoted to us, and gave us oranges and lemons.”

Cinderella could scarcely contain herself for joy. She asked the name of the Princess.

“We do not know,” they said. “Even the King’s son is curious to learn who she is.”

Cinderella smiled and said to the elder sister: “Was she so beautiful then! How happy you are!”

The next night the sisters went to the ball. Cinderella went, too, even more magnificently attired than the first time. The King’s son was constantly by her side, and never ceased whispering sweet things. Cinderella was not at all weary, and she forgot what her Godmother had told her; so that when she heard the first stroke of midnight, she could not believe that it was more than eleven o’clock.

She sprang up, and fled as swiftly as a deer. The Prince followed her, but could not catch her. She lost one of her glass slippers, which he tenderly picked up.

Cinderella reached home breathless, without coach or footmen, and clad in rags. Nothing remained of all her splendour but one little glass slipper, for she had dropped the other.

The Prince’s attendants asked the palace guards if they had seen a Princess pass by. They said that they had seen no one except a poorly dressed girl, who looked more like a peasant than a Princess.

When her sisters returned, Cinderella asked if they had had a good time again, and if the lovely Princess had been present. They said yes, but that she had fled as soon as twelve o’clock had sounded, and that she had dropped one of her little glass slippers--it was the prettiest thing!--and that the Prince had picked it up. And that he had done nothing but look at it for the rest of the night! Assuredly he must be very much in love with the Princess to whom it belonged!

And they were right. A few days after this the King’s son sent a herald who announced, by sound of a trumpet, that the Prince would marry any lady whom the glass slipper fitted.

Then commenced a great trying-on by Princesses and Duchesses and all the ladies of the Court--but it was of no use. At last they brought the glass slipper to the two sisters, who did their best to get their feet into it, but they could not do so.

Cinderella, who was looking on and recognized her slipper, said smilingly: “Let me see if it will fit me.”

Her sisters began to laugh scornfully and to ridicule her; but the attendant who held the slipper, looking attentively at Cinderella, saw that she was very beautiful, and said that she had a right to do so, for he had been ordered to try the slipper on every girl in the Kingdom.

He made Cinderella seat herself, and, placing the slipper on her little foot, saw that it went on easily and fitted her like wax. The amazement of the sisters was great, but was greater still when Cinderella drew the other slipper from her pocket and put it on her other foot.

Immediately the Fairy Godmother arrived, and, having touched Cinderella’s clothes with her wand, changed them into garments more magnificent than those she had worn before.

Then the two sisters recognized her for the beautiful Princess whom they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, and begged forgiveness for the cruel treatment she had suffered. Cinderella raised and embraced them, and assured them that she pardoned them with all her heart, and that she now entreated them to love her dearly.

She was then conducted to the palace of the Prince, adorned as she was in all her magnificence. The Prince found her more beautiful than ever, and a few days after he married her with great pomp.

Cinderella, who was as good as she was beautiful, lodged her sisters in the palace, and married them on the same day to two great lords of the Court.

_Charles Perrault_

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOOD

Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who were most miserable because they had no children; but when a lovely baby girl was born to them, they were two of the happiest people in the world. And in order to make all things as propitious as possible for the little Princess, they invited seven Fairies who lived in the Kingdom, to be her Godmothers.

When the christening ceremony was over, there was a magnificent banquet given for the Fairies. Before each of them was laid a plate of massive gold, and a case--also of massive gold--containing a spoon, a fork, and a knife, all of the same precious metal, and richly studded with diamonds and rubies.

But just as everybody was seated at the table, who should enter but an old Fairy, who had not been invited because for more than fifty years she had been shut up in a tower, and was supposed to be either dead or enchanted.

The King immediately commanded that a chair should be placed for her at the table, but he could not offer her a golden plate and case, for only seven had been made for the seven Fairies. The unreasonable old creature considered herself insulted, and began to mutter frightful threats between her teeth. The youngest of the Fairies, hearing this, concealed herself behind the tapestry, in order to be the last to speak, and so perhaps prevent any harm being done to the little Princess.

Meanwhile the Godmothers began to bestow their gifts.

One said: “My Godchild shall be the most beautiful girl in the whole world.” The second added: “And she shall have the disposition of an angel.” The third said: “I give her the gift of perfect grace and graciousness.” The fourth added: “And she shall dance like a sylph.” The fifth said: “She shall sing like a nightingale.” The sixth added: “She shall excel in playing on every sort of musical instrument.”

Then came the turn of the old Fairy, who screamed like a cockatoo, while her head shook more from rage than from age: “The Princess shall pierce her hand with a spindle, and shall die!”

These dreadful words made the whole company--every one--shudder; and there was no one there who was not drowned in tears. At that moment the youngest Fairy appeared from behind the tapestry, and said sweetly:--

“Do not weep, Your Majesties, your daughter will not die. It is true that I have not power enough to entirely undo the evil that my elder sister has done. The Princess will hurt her hand with a spindle, but, instead of dying, she will fall asleep for a hundred years, and then a royal Prince will come and waken her.”

The King, hoping to prevent this calamity, forbade any person in the Kingdom either to spin or even to keep a spindle in the house. Any one who disobeyed was to be punished with death.

Sixteen years after this, the King and Queen went with their Court to a castle in the country, when it happened that the young Princess, wandering curiously from room to room, mounted to the top of a tower. There she found an old woman sitting alone before her wheel. This old woman had never heard that the King had forbidden any one to spin.

“What are you doing, my good mother?” asked the Princess.

“I am spinning, my beautiful child,” answered the old woman.

“Oh, how pretty it is!” exclaimed the Princess. “How do you do it? Give that to me, so I may see if I can do as well!”

And as she spoke, she took the spindle so eagerly and so quickly, that it pierced her hand, and she sank fainting to the floor. The poor old woman, in the greatest distress, cried for help. People came hurrying from all sides. They dashed water on the Princess. They unlaced her robes. They bathed her temples with perfumes. But she did not move. Then the King, who, hearing the commotion, was come into the tower-room, remembered the malediction of the old Fairy. He perceived that the misfortune was a thing that had to come about, since the Fairies had foretold it.

He caused the Princess to be carried to the most splendid apartment in the castle, and to be laid on a couch of down and on pillows of down embroidered with gold and silver. Her eyes were closed, but her soft breathing showed that she was not dead. Then, too, her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose-colour, and her lips were like coral. She seemed a sleeping angel, she was so beautiful.

The kind Fairy, who had saved the Princess’s life, was in the Kingdom of Mataquin, twelve thousand miles away, but the King instantly sent word of the misfortune, by a little dwarf, who travelled in seven-league boots--which are boots that pass over seven leagues at each step--and she arrived directly at the castle, in a chariot of fire drawn by dragons.

She approved of all that the King had done. But being exceedingly wise, she knew that the poor Princess would be in a pitiable condition when at the end of a hundred years she awoke to find herself alone in that old castle. She knew of but one thing to do, and she did it. At a wave of her wand every one fell asleep--ladies of honour, waiting-maids, squires, pages, stewards, cooks, scullions, porters, footmen,--every breathing thing, even the horses in the stables with the grooms, the mastiffs in the courtyard, and little Pouffi, the Princess’s lap dog, who was nestling beside her on the couch--all slept. The spits full of partridges over the fire, and even the fire itself, waited silently to serve their mistress when she should wake and need them.

Only the King and Queen were left to kiss their darling child, and go away from the castle. The King forbade any one to approach the place, but this command was not necessary, for within a quarter of an hour there was grown up around the castle park, such a vast wood, whose trees, great and small, were so interlaced with briars and thorns, that neither man nor beast could pass through. It was plain that the Fairy had arranged matters after Fairy fashion, taking care that the young Princess should not be disturbed while she slept.

When the hundred years were gone, a King, not of the family of the Princess, reigned over the land. One day his son was hunting near the Fairy wood, and asked what were those turrets he saw rising above the trees. People told him everything that they had heard. One said that it was an enchanted castle. Another said that all the witches in the country held their revels there. The most common belief, however, seemed to be that it was the dwelling-place of an ogre, who carried off all the children he could catch, and devoured them at his leisure; for no one could follow him, as only he could pass through the wood.

While the Prince was lost in wonder at these tales, an old peasant approached him, and said: “Your Highness, more than fifty years ago I heard my father say that in yonder castle was the most beautiful Princess on earth, and that she would sleep a hundred years and then be wakened by the son of a King, and that she would marry him.”

That was enough to set the Prince on fire for the adventure. In fact, he felt in his heart that he was the chosen one. He did not delay for an instant. No sooner had he taken a step toward the wood than the trees great and small, and the thorns and briars, disentangled themselves and opened a path.

He walked toward the castle which stood at the end of a broad avenue. He saw, with surprise, that none of his attendants had been able to follow him, for the wood had closed again behind him; but all the same he went on boldly.

He entered a spacious outer court, where a person less brave than he would have been paralyzed by fear. A deathlike silence reigned, and many dead men lay stretched upon the ground. But the Prince saw, at a second glance, that the men had only the appearance of being dead, that, indeed, they were really men-at-arms, who had fallen asleep with their half-emptied wine-glasses beside them.

He ascended the stairway. He entered an antechamber, where the guard, ranged in line, with their muskets on their shoulders, were snoring contentedly. He crossed a presence-chamber where many lords and ladies were sleeping, some standing and some sitting.

Then he found himself in a magnificent apartment where on a couch, whose curtains were lifted, slept a young Princess as lovely as if she had strayed from Paradise!

The Prince knelt beside her, and pressed his lips on her white hand that lay on the coverlet. The spell was broken! The Princess opened her eyes, and, looking at the Prince as if he was no stranger, said:--

“Is it you, my Prince! I know you, for the Fairy has sent me such happy dreams in order that I might know the one who should free me from enchantment.”

Then they talked together. Each had so much to say. The Prince forgot the flight of time, and the Princess certainly did, it was so long since she had talked with any one.

Meanwhile the whole castle had awakened when the Princess did; and all the people had returned to their regular duties. They were naturally half-starved. Dinner was prepared.

Then the maid of honour, who was as hungry as the others, and who really had difficulty to keep her voice from being as sharp as her appetite, went to the Princess’s apartment, and said in a gentle tone: “Pardon, Your Highness, but dinner is served.”

The Princess was superbly dressed, and the Prince was careful not to say that her robe was like that of his great-grandmother. He did not find her any the less beautiful for all that. They dined in the Hall of Mirrors, and were served by the pages and ladies-in-waiting of the Princess. The violins and hautboys played delightfully considering that they had lain untouched for a hundred years. After dinner, the Prince and Princess were married in the chapel of the castle. And on the death of the Prince’s father, which occurred soon after the marriage, the Prince and Princess reigned happily over all that land.

_Charles Perrault_

PRINCE CHÉRI

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 sought refuge in your arms. You saved me; and now I know that those who are merciful to dumb 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 Chéri: 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 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 cannot 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 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 Chéri 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 Chéri 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 Chéri 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 humour that everybody called him “Happy Prince Chéri.” 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, reëntering 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 Chéri 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 Chéri 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 to-day--bad temper, passion, cruelty. Do better to-morrow.”

The Prince promised, and kept his word awhile; 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 always 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 marry 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 Chéri, “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 Chéri 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. Chéri 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 punishments 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 Chéri 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.”

Chéri 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 Chéri, the torment of his subjects, had been struck dead by a thunderbolt--just punishment of all his crimes. Four courtiers, his wicked companions, had wished to divide his throne among them; but the people had risen up against them, and offered the crown to Suliman, the old tutor whom Chéri 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 Chéri was dead; that he might return one day to reassume with honour 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-humour 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. Chéri 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.

Chéri, delighted to find himself thus transformed, 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 Chéri 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 Chéri 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 gaily the people went in, Chéri 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.

Chéri 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 not 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 Chéri, 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!” he thought, “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. Chéri, 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 Chéri found himself changed into a beautiful little white pigeon. He remembered with joy that white was the colour of the Fairy Candide, and began to hope that she was taking him into favour 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 partaking with him of his frugal repast, Chéri 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 Chéri 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.”

Chéri 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 Fairy Candide.

“Rise up, my children,” said she; “I must now transport you to your palace, and restore to Prince Chéri 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 Chéri 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.

_Madame Le Prince de Beaumont_
(_After Miss Mulock_)

TOADS AND DIAMONDS

Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so exactly like her mother in disposition and in face that whoever saw one, saw the other. They were both so disagreeable and so proud that nobody could endure them.

The younger was the image of her dead father. She was sweet and kind-hearted, besides being very beautiful. While her mother loved the elder daughter to distraction, she hated the younger. The poor child had to eat in the kitchen, and work day and night. And twice every day she had to walk several miles to a distant fountain to fetch home a large pitcher of water.

One morning, while she was resting beside the fountain, a poor woman passing by, stopped and asked her for a drink.

“Yes, indeed!” said the obliging young girl. And immediately dipping her pitcher, she filled it where the water was coldest, and held it carefully up so that the woman might easily drink from it.

When the woman had finished drinking, she said: “You are so beautiful, so good, and so kind, that I must bestow a gift upon you. For every word that you speak, there shall fall from your lips either a flower or a jewel.”

Now the woman was not really a poor peasant, but a Fairy who had taken that form in order to find how kind-hearted the young girl was. She then vanished.

As soon as the daughter arrived at home, her mother scolded her for being absent so long.

“I beg your pardon, my mother, for being gone such a long time,” answered the girl. And as she spoke there fell from her lips three roses, three lilies, three pearls, and three large diamonds.

“What do I see!” exclaimed her mother in amazement. “Where did you get them, my child?” It was the first time in her life that she had ever called her “my child.” “I do believe those jewels came from your mouth!”

The poor girl told her in a few words what had happened, and while she was talking a shower of blossoms and gems fell to the ground.

“Truly!” exclaimed the mother; “I must send my darling there! Look!” called she to the elder daughter; “see what comes out of your sister’s mouth. Would you not be glad to have the same Fairy gifts? You have only to go and draw some water from the fountain, and when a poor woman asks for a drink to give it to her very politely.”

“It would certainly look fine for me to carry a great pitcher to the fountain!” answered the elder daughter angrily.

“I wish you to go there at once,” said her mother.

So the girl went, but grumbling. She took the prettiest silver pitcher that there was in the house; and she was no sooner arrived at the fountain than she saw, stepping out of the wood, a magnificent lady attired in rich robes. She approached the girl and asked her for a drink. It was the same Fairy who had appeared to her sister, but who had taken the form of a Princess in order to find how rude the girl would be.

“Oh, indeed!” answered the insolent girl; “do you think that I am come here on purpose to give you a drink? I suppose you think that I have brought a silver pitcher expressly to draw water for you! Draw the water yourself, my fine lady!”

“You are rude,” replied the Fairy without becoming in the least angry. “Since you are so utterly disobliging, I bestow on you a gift. It is this, for every word that you speak, there shall fall from your mouth either a viper or a toad.”

Then the Fairy vanished.

When her mother saw the girl returning, she cried out: “Well, my daughter!”

“Well, my mother!” snapped the hateful girl, and as she spoke there sprang from her mouth two snakes and one toad.

“What do I see!” shrieked her mother. “Your sister is the cause of this, and she shall pay for it!”

And she rushed to beat the poor child, who fled into the neighbouring wood. The son of the King was returning from the chase, and met her as she was running away. Seeing how beautiful she was, he asked her why she was there alone, and why she wept.

“Ah, sir,” she said, “it is because my mother has driven me from home.”

The King’s son, seeing five or six pearls and as many diamonds fall from her lips, begged her to explain how such a marvel could be. When she told him about the Fairy’s gift, he thought that such a wedding portion was more than he could expect with a Princess, so he led the girl to his palace, and married her.

As for the sister, she made herself so hated, and so many vipers and toads sprang from her mouth, that at last her mother drove her from home. And, after having been refused shelter by all the neighbours, she died in a dark corner of the wood.

_Charles Perrault_

BLANCHE AND ROSE

Once upon a time there was a poor widow, who had two charming daughters. She named the elder Blanche, and the younger Rose, because they had the most beautiful complexions in the world.

One day, while the mother sat spinning at the door of her cottage, she saw a poor, bent, old woman hobbling by on a crutch. She pitied her, and said:--

“You are very tired. Sit down a minute and rest.”

Then she called her daughters to fetch a chair. They both hastened, but Rose ran faster than her sister and brought it.

“Will you not have a drink?” asked the mother kindly.

“Indeed, I will,” replied the old woman. “And it seems to me that I could eat a morsel, too, if you will give me something to strengthen me.”

“I will gladly give you all that I have,” said the mother, “but as I am poor, it will not be much.”

Then she bade her daughters wait on the old woman, who had seated herself at the table. She told Blanche to go and pick some plums from the plum tree that Blanche herself had planted, and of which she was very proud. But instead of obeying her mother pleasantly, she went away grumbling, and thinking, “What a shame that I have taken such care of my tree just for this greedy old woman!” However, she did not dare refuse to fetch some plums, and she brought them with a very bad grace, and evidently much against her will.

“And you, Rose,” said the mother, “you have no fruit to give this good lady, for your grapes are not yet ripe!”

“That is true,” answered Rose, “but I hear my hen cackling. She has just laid an egg, and I will give that with all my heart!”

And without allowing the old woman time to speak, Rose ran out to seek the egg. But when she came back the old woman had disappeared, and in her place stood the most beautiful lady--a Fairy.

“Good woman,” said she to the mother, “I am about to reward your two daughters as they deserve. The elder shall become a great Queen, and the younger shall be a farmer’s wife.”

Then the lady waved a wand and in a twinkling the little cottage was changed into a pretty farmhouse surrounded by a flourishing farm.

“This is your wedding portion,” said she to Rose. “I know I am giving to each of you what you like best.”

So saying the Fairy disappeared, leaving the mother and daughters speechless with surprise and joy. They were delighted with the spotlessness of all the furniture. The chairs were of wood, but they were so well polished that they shone like mirrors. The beds were covered with linen as white as snow. In the stables there were twenty sheep, as many lambs, four oxen, four cows; and in the yard were chickens, ducks, and pigeons. There was also a pretty garden full of fruits and flowers.

Blanche saw without jealousy all that the Fairy had given her sister. She was taken up with the thought of the delightful times she should have when she became a Queen. Just then a party of royal hunters passed by. And while she stood in the door to look at them, she appeared so wonderfully beautiful in the eyes of the King that he determined to marry her.

After she became Queen, she said to Rose: “I do not wish you to be a farmer’s wife. Come with me, sister, and I will wed you to a great lord.”

“I am much obliged to you, my sister,” answered Rose, “but I am used to the country, and wish always to remain here.”

During the first months of her marriage Queen Blanche was so occupied with fine clothes, balls, and the theatre, that she thought of nothing else. But afterward she became accustomed to the gay doings of the Court, and nothing amused her. On the contrary, she had many troubles.

At first the courtiers paid her great deference, but she knew that when she was not present, they said to each other: “See how this little peasant puts on the airs of a fine lady! The King must have very low taste to choose such a wife!”

Talk like this came to the King, and he began to think that he had made a mistake in marrying Blanche, so he ceased to love her, and neglected her sadly. When the courtiers saw this, they no longer did her honour. She had not one true friend to whom she might confide her sorrows. She always had a doctor near her who examined her food and took away everything she liked. They put no salt in her soups. She was forbidden to walk when she wished to. In a word, she was interfered with from morning to night. The King took her children from her, and gave them in charge of governesses who brought them up badly. But the Queen dared not say a word.