In the Circassian mountains lived an old man and his wife who had retired from the world, weary of the caprices of fortune. They had found for themselves a convenient retreat in a cavern, which extended far beneath one of the mountains, and the dread of seeing each other expire was the only anxiety that troubled them in their solitude. They had lived at Courts, and knew all the insincerity that prevailed in them; and far from regretting the brilliant positions they had occupied, they pitied those who, from ambition or want of experience, were desirous of them. They lived a happy and quiet life. Their food consisted of fruit and fish, the latter abounding in a large pond, wherein the old man amused himself by taking them; while a flock of sheep which the old woman had the care of, produced the finest wool in the world to make their clothes with. The old man called himself Mulidor, and his wife was named Phila. They incessantly implored the gods to send somebody to console whichever might be left the last upon earth, or to close their eyes, but their prayers had not yet been granted. It must not, however, be supposed that the gods rejected such pure and reasonable desires, but they wished to prove the constancy of these good people, to recompense them afterwards with interest.

The old man had just caught some fish, and after fastening his boat to the bank, he spread his net upon a rock to dry it in the sun, when a lion rushed out from one of the cavities of the rock, and went to drink in the pond. Mulidor was afraid at first, but afterwards finding that the proud beast was roaring because he could not reach the water, which was too far off from the edge at this spot, he re-entered his boat, and filling a bowl offered it to the lion, who came and emptied it several times. After he had quenched his thirst, he raised his head and looked at his benefactor so mildly, that the good man ventured to caress him. The lion appeared pleased at his doing so, and ate some bread and cheese which the old man took from a basket he had slung on his arm. As, however, this was not a very safe companion, Mulidor thought he had better return to his cavern, fearing that his wife, uneasy at his absence, might come in search of him, and that the lion, having less respect for her than for him, would devour her.

This idea was beginning to agitate him, when the lion, after licking his hand, returned to his own home, leaving the old man at liberty to do so likewise. Upon reaching the cavern he found his wife, as he expected, alarmed at his delay; he related his adventure to her, which made her shudder. They continued to talk upon the subject, and drew this inference, that men might learn lessons of kindness and gratitude from animals. "Do not, however, place yourself again at the mercy of this fierce beast," said she, affectionately, "or let me go with you, for I could not live under the fear I shall henceforth be in concerning you. You have been restored to me this time, but can I flatter myself that the Gods will be always equally gracious to me." The old man, touched by her affection, promised to avoid the lion in future. This conversation kept them up late, and consequently they did not awake till the golden rays of morning shone full upon them. On opening the door to go out and feed her sheep, Phila was greatly surprised to find at it a lion of prodigious size and strength, and a lioness of equal power and beauty, the latter carrying on her back a little girl of five or six years old, who, as soon as she saw the old woman, alighted, ran to her, and embraced her.

The good woman stood motionless with fear and wonder, and the lions, after kissing the little girl, who returned their caresses, ran off, and disappeared in an instant, leaving her in the good wife's hands. Recovering from her fright she looked at the child, who never ceased kissing her, took her in her arms, and went into the cavern to show her to her husband. [Pg 418] They both of them admired her beauty and gentleness; she was quite naked, her fair hair only falling over her shoulders, and upon her right breast she had a singular mark in the shape of a crown.

The good people thanked the Gods for this gift; they dressed the beautiful little child in a light snow-white robe, with a rose-coloured girdle, and tied up her hair with ribbon of the same colour. She allowed them to do so quietly, and without saying a word. They fondled her, and gave her some ewe's milk quite fresh. She smiled at the sight of it, and looking at them, uttered a little cry resembling the roar of a lion. She soon became accustomed to them, however; she had no resemblance to a lion but in her voice, and from that circumstance they called her Lionette. She answered to this name, and her natural intelligence soon enabled her to understand what they said to her, and at length to speak and explain herself. She had been a year with these good people, who loved her dearly, and were equally loved by her, when Mulidor, to make her familiar with their way of life, in case she should lose them, took her out to fish with him. He had been there several times alone without meeting the lions, but little Lionette was no sooner at the foot of the rock where the good man dried his fish than she uttered a little roar, which awoke the lion and lioness, who ran out to her immediately, each vying with the other in fondling and caressing her. She embraced the lioness affectionately, who allowed her freely to do so; at length she jumped upon her back, and the lions ran off with her in a moment. The poor old man was in consternation; he threw himself upon the ground and prayed to die, now that he had lost Lionette. After lying there a long time, finding his despair could be of no avail, he dragged himself to his cavern, and created fresh misery there in relating to Phila the accident that had happened to Lionette.

"Lionette! my dear Lionette!" cried the good woman, "is it possible we can have lost you? Alas! why did the Gods present you to us, so cruelly to take you from us? Of all the goods we have lost we but regret you!" Their affliction was inconsolable, and poor Mulidor had scarcely spirit enough to bear up against this misfortune. The night was passed in lamentations and tears. At break of day they went [Pg 419] in search of her, fearing neither the lions nor their fury; their great love for Lionette made them wish to be devoured also, if she had undergone that frightful fate. They ran to the rock where the lions had chosen to establish themselves, when suddenly they saw little Lionette riding on the lioness towards them. As soon as the lovely child saw them she jumped down, and ran and threw her arms round their necks; then taking from the back of the lioness a kid that she had killed in the chase, "There," said she, "see what mother lioness gives you; she took me hunting to get game for you." These good people were half crazy with delight at seeing her again; they could not help crying, and bathing her pretty face with their tears. "My dear daughter! my dear child!" they exclaimed, "you are restored to us again." Lionette was affected at this sight. "Do you then," said she, "forbid me from seeing the lioness, that you can say nothing to her, and that you shed tears in embracing me?" "No, no, my dear child," they both cried at once, "but we feared that you had abandoned us." "Mother lioness does not wish it," said the child, "she wishes me to be your daughter." She turned round for her to agree to what she said, but she was no longer there, and Lionette returned cheerfully with them to the cavern.

Mulidor and Phila thought this was a very wonderful adventure; they had many private conversations about it, and determined they would not refuse the child to the Lioness, when she chose to come for her; at the same time, Mulidor obtained his wife's consent to consult Tigreline upon Lionette's destiny. She was a very learned Fairy. "I had already thought of doing so," replied Phila, "and it had better be done directly." It was settled he should start the first thing in the morning.

The good woman prepared a present for the Fairy, to induce her to be more gracious—nothing very precious, the Fairies do not desire it—it was a piece of sky-blue ribbon, and a little basket of nuts, which Tigreline was passionately fond of. Mulidor set out on his journey to her dwelling; she had fixed her habitation in the heart of an immense forest which was filled with tigers—it was from that circumstance she took her name. When any one sought her for a good object, the tigers did them no harm, but if they went thither with [Pg 420] any evil design, they tore them to pieces, and none such were ever known to reach the Fairy's castle. The old man having nothing to fear upon that subject, did not arm himself with any weapon of defence, and arrived without difficulty at the castle at the moment the Fairy was getting up. He found her occupied in stringing large pearls on a golden thread. She received him very graciously, and taking her spectacles from off her nose, "Approach, wise old man," said she. "I know what has brought you here, and I am very glad to see you." Mulidor bowed profoundly, and kissed Tigreline's robe. He offered his little present, which she received very kindly, then making him sit down, she told him she would consult Destiny in her large book, that she might answer correctly the questions he came to ask her. After reading for some time, she raised her eyes to Heaven, then fixing them upon Mulidor, "Listen," said she, "to what I think of Lionette. She must be warned from loving one who is her direct opposite, otherwise great misfortune may happen to her, even to the loss of life. Should she arrive at twenty without this fate befalling her, I answer for her happiness." She then informed the old man that Lionette was a great Princess, exposed to be eaten by lions almost immediately after she was born, through the wickedness of a certain Queen; but she would not tell him anything more, and exhorted the old man to continue to cultivate in the child all those good feelings which he himself possessed, and left it to him to decide on telling her who she was, trusting to his prudence for securing her happiness.

She then gave him for Lionette the string of pearls she had just finished. "If she do not lose it, or give it away," said the Fairy, "it will preserve her from many dangers. It may, indeed, insure her happiness if she take special care of it." The old man thanked the Fairy and returned home, where he arrived before nightfall.

He found his wife and Lionette; the latter embraced him a thousand times, and he tied the Fairy's pearls round her neck, earnestly entreating her to take great care of them. She was enchanted with this new ornament, and the old man related to Phila, as soon as they were alone, all that the Fairy had told him. They consulted together upon the course they should take, and resolved they would say nothing to Lionette of her birth, to prevent her feeling useless regrets. "We can [Pg 421] tell her at any time, should it be necessary to do so," added the prudent wife; "and we should be sorry for it (not having it in our power to give her more than the education of a simple shepherdess) if her disposition, sweet as it is now, should be changed by the knowledge of her rank. Let us attend to her heart and mind: princesses have not the time to do so. She will learn from her own experience that they are as subject as other mortals are to the caprices of Fortune, and perhaps she may be the happier for it."

Mulidor quite agreed with the truth of this, and they applied themselves more than ever to the education of this amiable child, whose natural excellence left them nothing to wish for. She was twelve years old, and continued to go hunting with the Lioness, very often carrying on her shoulder a little quiver, and skilfully shooting the wild beasts. One night, returning later than usual, the cavern resounded with the roars of the Lioness. Mulidor and Phila both went out, and found the Lioness at the door, having brought Lionette with her, who was seated on the ground, endeavouring to console the poor animal, that appeared in deep despair. "The Lion is dead," cried the young child, "and my mother cannot be comforted—a hunter has killed him." The Lioness rolled upon the ground, and shed torrents of tears. The old man, his wife, and Lionette did their best to soothe her grief; but after passing the whole night in the vain attempt, the Lioness expired herself in the morning. The sobs and grief of Lionette were excessive, she could not leave the body of the poor beast, she embraced it, and shed tears over it. At length they dragged her from this sad scene, and while the old man buried the Lioness, the kind Phila attended to Lionette, who was in the deepest affliction. When Mulidor came in, he was much moved by the child's grief, and was anxious to comfort her, but finding he only increased her sorrow, he said, "What would you have done, then, my child, if this accident had happened to either of us? It is not possible you could have felt it more keenly." "Ah! my father," cried she, holding her arms out to embrace him, fearing that he was offended at the little attention she paid to his consolations, "if the Gods have reserved so much misfortune for me, I implore them to let me die instantly, for I shall not be able to support it." "The Gods, my child," replied the old [Pg 422] man, "do not always grant such rash petitions. It is offending Providence not to submit humbly to its decrees. Do you suppose you are the only one who suffers from affliction in this life? Is this the courage I thought you capable of?"

Lionette cast down her eyes: the severity of this remonstrance had brought a slight colour into her cheeks, which made her more lovely. Mulidor felt he had said enough; he went out and left his wife to soften anything he might have said too harshly; and Phila, embracing Lionette, said, "Really, my child, you would make us believe you could have no greater grief. No doubt the friendship you show for these poor animals is highly laudable, but you must take comfort, and thank the Gods that they have not inflicted on you greater misfortunes." "Ah! my mother," cried Lionette, embracing her, "how much obliged I am to you for speaking to me thus; do not let my father be angry with me any more—I feel I could not bear it." Mulidor re-entered; Lionette ran to embrace him; he returned her caresses with a fondness that consoled the charming child. They could not sufficiently admire the goodness of her heart, her sensibility, her gentleness, and frankness; and she also loved them dearly.

Lionette, however, continued to deplore the loss of the Lions: a deep melancholy appeared to have taken possession of her; she dared not give way to it before Mulidor, but she felt less restraint with Phila. The worthy couple often conversed together upon this subject; they became alarmed at Lionette's condition; they tried to amuse her; they went out more frequently, took walks with her, allowed her to go hunting and fishing, gave her birds, flowers, shells; but she preferred hunting to all other amusements. The part of the country in which they lived was so wild a desert that persons must either have come there on purpose, or have lost their way, to be seen in it, so there was little danger of Lionette meeting with anybody. Still, the fact of the Lion having been killed by a hunter was remembered by Mulidor. He never could understand how a man could get so far without having found out their retreat, or being more astonished at seeing a young girl mounted on a Lioness, and hunting in company with a Lion. They did not dare ask Lionette any questions about it, fearing they should renew her grief; and yet they feared [Pg 423] to prohibit her from hunting, feeling, good souls, how cruel it would be to deprive her of her favourite amusement. They only entreated her, therefore, to take care she did not lose herself.

At the end of some months, Lionette regained her spirits a little. The old man and his wife were enchanted at this happy change. They congratulated themselves upon having promoted it by their indulgence, and trusted that she would in time forget the Lions. She grew fast, and began to evince character; she was wonderfully beautiful, even in the most simple of her dresses. Phila had made her garment of the finest tigers' skins, and a little cap of the same material; and thus attired, one might have taken her for Diana herself, she was so graceful and majestic. Her beautiful black eyes heightened the brilliancy and vivacity of her complexion, which neither the hottest sun nor the most scorching wind had any effect upon, nor could they injure the whiteness of her arms or neck. She was not at all aware of her beauty; her strength of mind and her education made her above priding herself on her personal advantages. She spoke well, and her ideas were even superior to her language. The good people were astonished to see her at so early an age evincing so much talent and judgment. She was then just approaching her fifteenth birthday.

For some days past, Phila perceived that she had taken the trouble to put her hair in curls on going to bed, and that on going out she glanced at herself with a kind of satisfaction in a fountain adjoining the cavern. She mentioned this to Mulidor, who was as much surprised at it as herself; they, however, did not choose to speak to her about it, but determined to watch her closely, that they might discover the motive of this unusual attention to her personal appearance, and they recollected that for some time past she had appeared thoughtful, uneasy, and indifferent to matters which had previously amused her.

Lionette returned to the cavern rather earlier on that day; she brought with her a brace of partridges that she had killed. The good woman asked her if she felt too tired to help her with some spinning she wished to finish. "If you could dispense with my assistance," said Lionette, "I should be very much obliged to you; I feel so inclined to sleep."

[Pg 424]

Phila consented, and let her go into a little nook of the cavern which made a kind of room for her. She had decorated it with all the rarest things that she had found. The hangings were composed of the feathers of singular birds, and an abundance of flowers in shells, which she kept filled with fresh water, ornamented this pretty chamber. Mulidor had taught her to paint; she had finished some charming pictures, and with the wool she had found in the cavern she had embroidered some cushions, which she had arranged as a couch. Upon this she threw herself, looking more like a goddess than a mortal.

The good woman becoming uneasy at the length of time she slept, went to seek her; she found her, as I have just described, reclining on the cushions; her eyes were shut, but a few tears that were struggling to escape through their long lashes, convinced her that the lovely Lionette was in some distress. She stood looking at her for some time, she had never seen her look so beautiful; but at length, alarmed at her condition, she drew nearer, and taking her hands, pressed them affectionately between her own.

This action aroused Lionette, and turning her eyes towards Phila, "Ah, mother!" said she, throwing herself upon her neck, "how ashamed I am to appear thus before you." "Why, my dear girl," said Phila, "why do you conceal your troubles from me? Do you not know how interested we both feel for you? What is the matter with you, my child? Do not hide your distress from me; perhaps I could assuage it."

Lionette was some time before she ventured to answer. She kept her head bent down in the old woman's hands; she kissed them passionately. At length she regained her courage, and raising herself, her cheeks suffused with blushes, "I am about to tell you something," said she, "which has tormented me for some time past. Let me hope this avowal at least will serve to obtain your forgiveness." "Speak, my dear girl," said Phila, "and fear nothing. I am more uneasy at your grief than angry at your having concealed it from me."

Lionette encouraged by this, told her that, on her way to the forest, about three months ago, she had seen a young shepherd fast asleep, and that an arrow which she had shot at a bird having missed it, fell and pierced the young man's [Pg 425] hand; that attracted by the cry he uttered, she approached him, and assisted in stanching the blood. "This wound," she added, "awoke in my heart a strange emotion. I trembled in applying to it the herbs I had gathered, the properties of which you had taught me. He, far from being angry with me, told me he should never complain of that wound, but eternally of the one my eyes had inflicted on him.

"This language, quite new to me, was so fascinating that I wished never to quit him. He wept as he gazed on me; he kissed my hands to detain me. I proposed that he should follow me, that my father might assist in curing him. 'I cannot do so, beautiful Lionette,' said he (I had told him my name), 'a most cruel fate has forced me to fly from the world; but promise me to come sometimes and cheer my solitude, and I shall ask nothing more from the Gods. I shall believe their anger is appeased.' I did promise him—he asked me too tenderly to be refused. At length I felt you would be uneasy at my stay, and I left him with so much regret that I burst into tears, and hurried away that he might not perceive it, for I was ashamed, I think, of my compassion for him.

"I returned, restless and miserable. Next morning I went in search of him. I cannot tell what prevented me from making you acquainted with it, but I was on the point of telling you a hundred times, and as often I felt it would be impossible to do so—perhaps it was because he had begged me to keep it a secret. I ran to look for him, to ask his permission to tell you. Approaching the spot where we had seen each other the evening before, I stopped suddenly. A feeling of reproach came over me for having hidden this proceeding from you; and besides, I was so agitated, I feared I should be ill. 'What shall I do by myself here?' thought I; 'I am without help, and that which I might find is perhaps dangerous to wait for. Unfortunate Lionette, what hast thou promised to do? Fly, return to thy duty, for it is clear that thou hast wandered from it, since thou art so much disturbed at taking this secret step. The Gods warn thee. This state of mind is not natural.' I had sat down to reflect. I got up. I retraced my steps, when a grievous thought arrested me. 'Alas!' said I, 'perhaps he is unable to come to meet me, from the wound I inflicted on him; and if so, [Pg 426] what will be his despair at not seeing me? There is no one to help him in this desolate place but myself. To refuse him my assistance would be inhuman. Let me find out whether he wants me, and see him but for that.'

"I proceeded, therefore, to the fatal place where I had wounded him the evening before. He was not there. I became alarmed; my limbs failed me; I fell upon the moss which covered the ground. I saw some traces of his blood still remaining on it. I was nearly suffocated by my grief. Happily my tears flowed, and that relieved me; but I felt the keenest affliction when I thought that perhaps I had been the cause of his death. I drew out my arrows, and broke them deliberately as a punishment for my cruelty. I caught sight by chance of the one with which I had wounded him. It was still upon the ground, and stained with his blood. My tears flowed faster at this frightful sight. I gave utterance to my agony in piercing shrieks. They were interrupted by the sight of the young shepherd himself, running quickly towards me. I could not rise. He threw himself on his knees near me, in so much terror that I was alarmed myself at his excessive paleness. He asked me what had happened. At the same time I put the same question to him. We re-assured each other. I told him the reason of my tears. Never was any one thanked so tenderly. His words had a charm in them that went to my heart. I listened with a pleasure I had never felt before; I nearly forgot his wound, so much I feared to interrupt him. I was astonished, however, to hear him say how much he loved me—he, whom I had scarcely ever seen; and I was still more surprised to find how dear he had become to me, for he told me more than I could dare tell him; and I believe he could read my heart, for I thought exactly as he did, only it appeared to me I could not so well have expressed myself.

"At last he told me that he wished to be mine. 'And are you not so already?' said I. 'Can you be more so than you are? That would enchant me.' He smiled at my words. I thought I had said something wrong, and I blushed at my awkward manner of expressing myself. I know not what he thought, but he said a thousand more affectionate things to me. He informed me he was the son of a great king, and [Pg 427] would be my husband. 'I cannot be your wife,' said I: 'they will not let me.' 'Ah! who will oppose it,' exclaimed he, 'if you consent?' I then told him that my father and mother had always said a crown would be an obstacle to the happiness of my life, and that they certainly would never consent to such a union. 'Wait for a few days,' said he, 'and I will tell you how to soften their severity. If you love me you will assist me in conquering it; but never refrain from coming to this place. My life depends upon your acquiescence. Fear nothing from me, lovely Lionette; nothing can be purer than my affection, and I call all the divinities of the forest to witness that I shall ever respect as much as I love you.' He gave me his hand; I gave him mine, and I vowed, as he had done, to love for ever, if you consented to it.

"I examined his hand, and found the wound had healed; I was delighted at this, and left him, promising to return, and not to say anything to you until he desired me. I returned so absorbed by his image that I felt as though I only lived when he was present. I had no pleasure in anything but him: the more I saw him the more I wished to see him. It was the same with him. He is charming, mother! and were you to see him you could not do otherwise than love him.

"Three months have passed in this sweet union, and now comes my misery. This morning he told me that it was necessary that he should be absent for some days upon important business which tended much to our happiness. I had never known what it was to lose sight of him for more than a few hours. I was as wretched as he was. He told me, however, that he should soon return, and that he was even more anxious than myself to complete our happiness. I wept bitterly. At length the hour arrived for us to part, I unfastened my necklace, and tied it round his arm——"

"Oh, heavens! what have you done, my child?" exclaimed Phila. "We are lost beyond help."

She threw herself upon the ground, and filled the cavern with her cries, Lionette, alarmed at this sight, arose to assist the good woman. "What is the matter, then, mother?" she cried. "Why should a necklace of such trifling consequence [Pg 428] rouse you to so much grief?" "It is for you I weep, my daughter," said Phila. "Your happiness was linked with the preservation of that unfortunate necklace."

She then repeated what the Fairy Tigreline had said to Mulidor, and did not conceal from her that she was a princess, but that she knew nothing more. Lionette, who possessed naturally an elevated mind, was not astonished at this news. "Very well, mother," said she; "the more you convince me of the probability of my high birth, the more courageously I ought to bear up against the sad events which are predicted of me, though, to speak the truth, I do not believe in them; and I see nothing unfortunate here but the absence of the shepherd whom I love, and his unhappy name, which made me fly from him without being able to control myself. These are the only misfortunes I know of." "What say you, my daughter?" exclaimed the old woman; "his name caused you to fly from him? Explain this riddle—I do not understand it." "Alas! this is the cause of my despair," replied Lionette. "I had scarcely tied the necklace round his arm, when he kissed my hand with such transport that I forgot my grief for the moment. 'Yes, beautiful Lionette,' he said, 'it is for life that you have enchained the happy Prince Coquerico.'

"Hardly had he pronounced his name, which he had never told me (he preferred that I should always call him my shepherd), than I felt so horrified, without knowing wherefore, that I fled as swiftly as possible. He followed me; he called me. I had not the power to return. An invisible hand seemed to impel me forward. 'My dear Lionette,' he cried, 'where are you going? It is your shepherd—it is Coquerico who calls you.' I ran still faster. At last I lost sight of him, either that I had taken paths he knew not of, or that he was afraid of displeasing me by following me any longer. I arrived here in such confusion I had some trouble in hiding it from you. You know the rest, my mother—all that has happened to me, and I beg you a thousand pardons for profiting so little from your good lessons; and although I owe my birth to apparently powerful princes, I shall always submit to your authority."

Mulidor came in as Lionette finished speaking; they made him acquainted with this adventure; he was in great alarm at what might happen from the loss of the necklace, and did not [Pg 429] dare go and consult Tigreline, whom they had so decidedly disobeyed. There was nothing to be done but to wait and see what would befal the Princess. They entreated her to forget this young man; they succeeded by degrees in consoling her for his absence, and notwithstanding her melancholy, she took part occasionally in their cheerful conversation.

Two months passed in this manner. One night they were suddenly awakened out of a deep sleep by a clap of thunder which made them think the cavern was crumbling to pieces. They started to their feet, and had not time to recover themselves before a hideous and very richly dressed Fairy touched them with her wand, and they were transformed into two Lionesses and a Lion, she then transported them in an instant to the Forest of Tigers, where she vanished and left them.

Who could express the consternation of the wise old man, or his wife's distress? That of the Princess was still greater, she reproached herself as being the cause of these good peoples' misfortune; and what distressed her still more was, not being able to speak, she had not the power of comforting them. This calamity for the moment made her forget Prince Coquerico; but when she thought she should never see him more, or that if she did, he would fly in terror from her, or at least not recognise her, she uttered such frightful roars that the forest resounded with them, and her poor companions came near her to try to console her. Their grief was redoubled to find they could neither understand nor speak to her. They groaned despairingly. At length it occurred to all three of them to go to the Fairy, but they had no power of communicating the idea to each other. The Lion was the first to start, the two Lionesses followed him, but the Tigers stopped the way, without, however, doing them any harm. Finding their intentions were frustrated, they concluded it was by the Fairy's orders. They buried themselves in the thickest part of the forest, and laid down very sorrowfully upon some beautiful green grass, which served as a bed for them. They passed some considerable time in this place without seeing the Fairy, she took care, however, to send them food by one of the Tigers regularly every day.

It is now time to acquaint the reader who Prince Coquerico was:—That young Prince was the son of a King who had been [Pg 430] very powerful, and who had reigned in the Fortunate Islands. This King was dead, and having left his son at a tender age, the Queen became regent. The ambition of reigning, the pride of being Sovereign Mistress, had closed her heart against the feelings of nature. She had her son brought up in a castle upon the edge of the sea, in luxury and idleness unequalled; and her excuse for this sort of education was a prediction of the Fairies at his birth, to the effect that his life would be endangered if he took up arms before he was twenty years old.

Everything was interdicted that could give him any desire for military exercises, and the art of war was depicted in such frightful colours that, however valiant the Prince might have been born, he shuddered at even the picture of a sword. The King, his father, who had died in battle, was represented to him as so sanguinary a sovereign that he vowed he would never imitate him.

They had named this prince, Coquerico, in derision from his having amused himself one day—contrary to the desire of his tutors—with looking at a fight between two game cocks. He spent his life in walking; in hearing sentimental romances read to him, the heroes of which they represented in such a manner that he might not have a desire to become like them; he learned to play upon several instruments, to paint, and to work at tapestry. The Queen went to see him very often, and pictured to him the fate of kings in such distressing colours, that he dreaded the moment when he should ascend the throne.

He was just ten years old, the time appointed for the Queen to resign the throne to him, when, walking on the coast, apart from his followers, he was caught up by a whirlwind, and disappeared in an instant. His tutors, surprised that he was so long a time in returning, went to seek him, but could find him nowhere. The most diligent search proved in vain, and they were compelled to apprise the Queen of this mysterious circumstance. She would easily have been consoled for this accident if the people of the Island, tired of her government, and indignant at the education that had been given to their King, had not risen in rebellion. After having torn her ministers in pieces, they compelled her to fly to a neighbouring Monarch, who granted her an asylum. This [Pg 431] King had been a widower for two years, having but one daughter, in giving birth to whom the Queen died.

He married the fugitive Queen; and the people of the Fortunate Islands elected a council to rule the kingdom until they could obtain news of their Prince Coquerico, whom they did not believe to be dead. They were right, the whirlwind had been caused by a Fairy, who, delighted at the sight of so beautiful a Prince, and angry to find him brought up so badly, had resolved to purloin him from a mother who had proved herself unworthy of being blessed with such a son.

To cultivate a fine disposition spoiled by so wicked an education, the Fairy was impelled by another feeling less generous and more natural. The beauty of this Prince had touched her heart, she imagined that gratitude would make some impression upon that of the young Coquerico. The few charms she possessed, however, were not likely to do so. She was old, and had a horn in the middle of her forehead; but she was very susceptible, and was always complaining that she had met with none but ungrateful beings. "By bringing up this young man," she thought, "he will become accustomed to my appearance, and perhaps my care and affection for him will inspire him with sentiments that may lead in time to that happy union of souls, that perfect mutual love, which I have heard so much of and never experienced."

Cornue (that was her name) reasoned thus in transporting the handsome Prince to her dwelling, which was in the Desert where the old man and his wife had brought up the young Lionette for the last four years. Cornue had built herself a charming palace upon the summit of one of the mountains, but it was inaccessible to all human beings, in consequence of the clouds with which it was continually surrounded. The charms of life, its amusements, both rational and frivolous, were all united there. This palace was of immense extent, although formed of one single opal, so transparent and so beautiful that through the walls one might see a grain of millet at the end of the garden, which was worthy of so magnificent a palace, from its groves, terraces, parterres, and fountains.

The tasteful Cornue had not spared anything, even in her dress, for when, placing the Prince in the vestibule of her [Pg 432] palace, she made herself visible to him, she had enveloped her horn in a green velvet case, covered with diamonds; her hair, which was rather grey, was powdered white,[41] and tied with green moulinet bows, in the centre of each of which sparkled a large diamond; and her dress, of flesh-colour and silver, showed her form so truly, that one could perceive the Graces had striven among themselves which should give the finishing touch to it.

The Prince was surprised at this apparition. She kissed his hand, and asked his forgiveness for taking him away from his retirement without his permission. "If I can avoid being your king," said he, with an air which showed that he was not alarmed at the manner in which he had been conducted thither, "I should be very well contented, for the fear of ascending the throne made me desirous of leaving my kingdom, and you have done me a favour in taking me away from it;—but I should like to know," added he, quickly, "why you wear so pointed a head-dress, and why your dress is of so peculiar a colour?" "We excuse such childish questions at your age," said the Fairy, slightly blushing; "you will be ashamed of them some day;—but let us enter the palace, and you will find something to occupy your attention more agreeably."

She then gave him her hand, and they passed into a saloon in keeping with the beauty of the rest of the palace. A hundred black slaves were arranged in two files, through which the Prince and the Fairy proceeded to the centre. It was sufficiently light to see the rarities which ornamented this beautiful place; statues, sculptured marbles, porcelain, furniture, were all admired with the taste of a connoisseur by the young Prince. The slave opened the door of a magnificent gallery, filled with charts, maps of the world, instruments of geometry, models of the most beautiful cities in Asia, Europe, and Africa; of palaces where the men and women of each nation were dressed in their national costumes, and by the Fairy's skill they moved hither and thither, spoke in their own language, and held conversations according to their position. This amused the Prince for a considerable time. He requested the Fairy to allow him to remain in that gallery a little longer than she seemed inclined to do.

[Pg 433]

He made the slaves who accompanied him explain what this all meant; he bade them repeat it, and was quite enchanted. He recognised the Fortunate Islands; he saw his tutors seeking for him, and who appeared in despair at not finding him—that touched his heart with pity. The Fairy at length withdrew him from this scene, that he might not witness the catastrophe. She amused him with other objects.

Some islands surrounded by the sea, upon another model, afforded him great entertainment. Vessels filled with passengers executed some wonderful evolutions; then there was a sea-fight, followed by a storm, which dispersed the ships and sank several of them. This terminated the diversions of this day. The Fairy then proposed supper, after which an opera was represented; this was succeeded by a ball, and the Prince danced with the Fairy, and with the nymphs in the Fairy's train, and at last six slaves conducted him to a handsome apartment, in which he retired to rest.

The next and following days were passed in conversations, sometimes serious, sometimes mirthful; the slaves had orders to cultivate his taste for the arts while amusing him, to which purpose he lent himself readily. He was already accustomed to walk in a second gallery, which formed a superb arsenal; he heard them talk of arms and of war with pleasure; he almost wished to witness a battle, and felt ashamed he had ever thought otherwise. The slaves formed themselves into battalions, he placed himself at their head, he enjoyed his triumph in a sham fight, he invented stratagems, he sought for glory everywhere; he no longer feared to be a king. The gallery of models had displayed to him the pleasures of royalty; he passed three hours each day in it, and took lessons from the ablest politicians. The cabinet secrets of all the Courts in the universe were no secrets to him.

There was a model of the whole globe in that gallery, and what art pervaded that grand work! Not only all the kingdoms and their various provinces, to the smallest habitation, were represented; but every mortal upon the face of the earth was seen in pursuit of his vocation. All spoke their own language, you heard them, you saw them,—the most secret actions were displayed therein: the ocean and its vessels, rivers, lakes, streamlets, deserts, even yet undiscovered countries,—nothing [Pg 434] was hidden from the learned Cornue. All was to be found in her model. There was wherewithal to amuse one during the longest life that ever was known.

The Prince was fascinated by this wonderful work of art; he studied it for a long time; he could with difficulty tear himself from it; nor did he consent to do so till the Fairy assured him that this gallery forming a portion of his suite of apartments, he might visit it whenever he wished.

He left it at length to enjoy new pleasures—an opera, a supper, followed by a magnificent ball, in which the fairies of Cornue's Court distinguished themselves in dancing, notwithstanding they were ugly and old, for their mistress took care not to incur the reproach of being the least handsome person in the Palace; and the designs she had upon the heart of the young Prince would not admit of her neglecting anything that would bring them to bear.

His education was entrusted to six fairies, who led him each morning into the gallery of the globe for three hours; they explained the various interests of Princes, he learned their languages, he heard and saw the effect of their politics, their battles by land and sea, which displayed to him the ability of ministers and of generals. Already he was able to form sound opinions, and to speak of things with the knowledge acquired from experience. His noble mind developed itself, he burned with a desire for glory, he blushed at having been afraid of it. He also appreciated the pleasures of royalty, he began to find a satisfaction in being master, but he did not at all covet the soft and effeminate life which he perceived in the seraglios of the sovereigns of Persia and Constantinople; he preferred those kings who reigned absolutely over their subjects, with a certainty that they would shed their blood to preserve theirs. Insensibly he became the most accomplished Prince living. He was not ignorant upon any point; his fine intellect assisting his slight experience, he evinced in everything the greatest judgment and discernment. "But where can one see this land, and the inhabitants, that I observe in my model?" said he sometimes to Cornue. "I will show you some day," answered she; "it is not time yet." That would vex him; he was desirous of appearing of some consequence himself in this fine plan of the universe, he was annoyed at not seeing himself in it. This caused him many reflections, but as they only sprang from his brain, they did [Pg 435] not distress him much—those suggested by the heart, more interesting, he knew nothing of yet.

The Fairy did not fear that the beauties whom he saw in the model would awake in him any emotions contrary to her wishes; they were so exceedingly small, that he could but take them for pretty little puppets, the largest figure, of a man even, not being taller than one's thumb. His great amusement was the opera and comedy; he went to them very often: the little figures acted wonderfully well, and as he had a great appreciation of genius, he attended all orations of the Academy,[42] and commented upon them with great sagacity.

Until he was eighteen years old, this gallery continued to be his greatest pleasure; in fact, he knew no other. At that age he began to wish to know the people whose portraits he saw; the Fairy, desirous to please him, dared not oppose him too much; she put him off with promises, but feared he would escape her. "I hunt in your park," he said; "I walk in it; I always see the same things, it tires me; I should like sometimes to see something different." "Ah! truly," said the Fairy, "you have well preserved the faults of human kind. Miserable state of men! Can they be perfectly happy?—they cannot believe themselves to be so, they sigh for what they do not possess, and when they have obtained it they are disgusted with it. Ah! what have you to wish for here? do you not reign here? are you not the master? Do you fear treachery here, false friends, or bad advisers? We live but to please you; you are all-powerful in this Palace—you command; we obey you. What being could be grander and happier than you are?"

The Prince bent his head at the enumeration of all the happiness the Fairy had surrounded him with, and found that he still desired more. He said nothing, but his uneasiness, his agitation, his weariness, appeared in spite of him in all his actions. Cornue increased the magnificence of her dress; the Prince did not notice it; he scarcely ever looked at her. She was disconsolate; for the idea, entertained ever since she had carried him off, the hope of being ardently loved by him, had strengthened with time, and the Prince's increasing beauty had contributed much to her passion. He was just at that happy age in which we please without much trouble, and love with that frankness which is so soon discarded.

[Pg 436]

Cornue was enraged that he did not think of her. "You ought to love me, were it only to amuse you," said she to him, one day, when she was very melancholy. "Love you," replied he, looking very vacantly at her; "do I not love you?" Then, without thinking of it, he added immediately, "I feel certain I shall never love." "Ah! why?" said the Fairy; "who prevents you?" "Nobody," he replied; then rose, and took a gun, and went shooting for the rest of the day.

The Fairy, in despair at his indifference, and fearing she should lose him if she still persisted in opposing him, perceiving also that he was thinner, and that his colour had faded, determined to allow him to change the scene, and for this reason one morning she sent for him. "The time has arrived," said she, "that I can give you your liberty to leave the Palace. You will find the vast universe, of which I am about to open the roads to you, resemble a very stormy ocean, but since you wish to expose yourself to it, I will not detain you; all I advise you to do is to confide in me when in trouble (for you will have much to endure before you become King), and to commence your excursions by going to my sister Tigreline, and asking her, from me, for the wonderful necklace which can alone preserve you from the misfortunes attached to your fate. Take this bottle, pour a drop of the spirit it contains upon the clouds which surround the park; they will open for you to pass, and this dog will guide you on your way back to the palace."

The Prince, who did not expect so great a favour, displayed such transports of gratitude that the Fairy felt nearly recompensed for her trouble by the caresses she received from him. He promised to follow her advice upon every point, and set out immediately. The boundaries of the park adjoined a forest so wild and frightful that Coquerico found the world was not quite so beautiful as he imagined it to be; notwithstanding, he entered this vast wilderness, accompanied solely by his dog. Guided by his faithful companion, he was pursuing a path which led to the Forest of Tigers, when suddenly he saw a lion of extraordinary size coming straight towards him. At first he was startled at such a meeting, never [Pg 437] having seen a lion in Cornue's park; but recovering himself a little, he shot an arrow with so true an aim that it pierced the lion's heart, and he fell dead at his feet. He proceeded as fast as possible, but his attention was arrested a moment afterwards by frightful roarings. He looked in the direction from whence they came, and he saw in the distance another lion, running at full speed, with a young child on its back; he was about to pursue it, but his dog pulled him by the coat so hard that he thought the Fairy Cornue had appointed this dog to be his guardian, and so, giving himself up to his guidance, he arrived at Tigreline's abode without further accident.

As soon as he had told her the reason of his journey, she replied, "Prince Coquerico, you will inform my sister that I have disposed of the necklace that she asks me for; doubtless it was for you she wanted it. I hope, however, that it will not fall into your hands so soon, whatever advantage you might desire from it. But to make up for the loss of this gift, which I am no longer able to bestow, I warn you that if you ever pronounce your name rashly, or without its being absolutely necessary, you will lose, perhaps for ever, that which is most dear to you. I advise you, therefore, to conceal your name from every one, or at least not to mention it lightly. Go, Prince, I can do nothing more for you."

The Prince thanked the Fairy very much, kissed her hand, retired, and returned to Cornue's palace, very well satisfied with the little he had seen. He was received most graciously; they asked him many questions; he related all his adventures; he fancied he should never have finished talking about them, everything had seemed of such singular beauty to him. He was in high spirits all the evening. They praised him, they caressed him, but that did not content him. He was resolved to go out again, and the Fairy, perceiving how good-tempered he was, permitted him to do as he wished. For a whole year he roamed to the furthest extent of the beautiful country in the neighbourhood; sometimes he went on horseback, and often dismounted to sleep under the trees during the heat of the day. This sort of exercise increased his stature and his strength. He was now in the prime of his beauty.

He was very anxious to ask the Fairy to restore him to his subjects; he was tired of this life of privation; his mind, as fine as his person, made him anxious to revisit his kingdom; [Pg 438] but he dared not as yet request Cornue's permission, lest he should appear ungrateful. This brought back his former melancholy. Cornue became alarmed; she endeavoured to amuse him in every imaginable way. He scarcely ever went out; he passed his days almost entirely in the gallery of models, and when he saw a battle he could not be got away from it. What was still worse, he one day witnessed the coronation of a young King. At this sight they thought he would go mad. The shouts of joy, the warlike instruments, the pomp of the ceremony, transported him with anger as well as delight. "Why, then," said he, "am I to be imprisoned here during my youth, when I could be at the head of these people, making either war or peace, enjoying really my rights of birth? They would detain me here, a captive, render me as effeminate as Achilles at the Court of Licomedia. Can I not find a Ulysses who will come to my rescue?" He would have given still greater vent to his vexation had they not come to announce to him that the Fairy was waiting for him to order them to begin an opera she had commanded the performance of. "What, always some fête?" said he. "Well," he continued, "I must submit to it."

The opera they were to perform was Armide.[43] The Fairy, who had been told what an ill-humour the Prince was in, watched him during the performance. She thought that he seemed amused by it, for he was so attentive to the piece. The fourth and fifth acts he certainly did think wonderful; he spoke of it the whole of the evening; he admired above everything the idea of the shield which restored the hero to glory. "What," said the Fairy; "does not Armida interest you at all? Do you not pity her? So much affection deserves a better recompense." "By my faith, Madam," replied the Prince, "your Armida has what she deserves. I should like to know if the heart is to be commanded; I believe it to be perfectly independent of the will, as far as I am concerned." Cornue felt the cruelty of this answer, but she did not appear to do so, and turned the conversation to another subject.

[Pg 439]

The Prince retired early, that he might go the next day shooting. This was the day that his hand was wounded by the beautiful Lionette's arrow. Upon returning to the Fairy's palace the Prince considered whether he should speak of this adventure; he was astonished at himself for wishing to keep it a secret. A sweet feeling (hitherto unknown to him) stole over his mind, and took such possession of it that he was unable to conceal it. He asked himself what it could mean, and he could find no reason for it. The name of Lionette enchanted him. He repeated it incessantly. The grace, the beauty of this young girl enchanted him, and he found himself within the palace without being aware how he had arrived there. It was then he began to recover himself a little.

Under the effect of this intoxicating feeling, he said a thousand gallant things to the Fairy. She was surprised at it, but flattering herself that her charms had produced this alteration, she did not inquire the reason of such extraordinary joy. His wound made her uneasy, but he took care to tell her that he had hurt himself with one of his own arrows, and the enamoured Cornue, anxious about everything that concerned him, cured it by breathing upon it, without further inquiry. He was in charming spirits for the rest of the day; Cornue thought he had lost his senses; she ordered some music that he thought delightful, although he had heard the same every day without noticing it—so much does love embellish the slightest objects. His passion led him to indulge in delicious meditations, and to discover in his heart the existence of emotions he had never dreamed of. He retired early, and hastened to the gallery, seeking for a representation of her whom he had seen during the day—he was successful in his search; he saw the lovely Lionette seated between the old people in the cavern, and when, on separating for the night, they extinguished the light, and she was in darkness, he still remained gazing in the direction of the cavern, and did not leave the gallery until the following morning was sufficiently advanced for him to go and meet the lovely huntress herself. In traversing the forest he lost himself, and that was the cause of his being so long before he rejoined his beautiful Lionette.

Unfortunately for the Fairy, her skill was now useless to her—from the moment Fairies fall in love, their art cannot protect them; when they recover their reason they regain their power; but in the interim they can neither punish [Pg 440] their rivals nor discover them, unless chance assist them, as it might common mortals. Three months elapsed without her having an idea of the cause of the change in Prince Coquerico; she heard no more of his ambitious aspirations; a country life and retirement was all he now desired; he dressed himself as a shepherd; he composed eclogues and madrigals; he engraved them upon the trees in the park, accompanied by gallant and amorous devices that the Fairy could not understand. When she asked him for an explanation, he smiled, and told her it was not for him to instruct so learned a person as she was. "Ask your own heart, Madam," added he, "that will teach you; it was mine that dictated it all to me."

The Fairy was quite contented with this answer; she interpreted it according to her own wishes, but she could not reconcile to herself the Prince's frequent absence, after all he had said to her; for he went out the first thing in the morning, and did not return till the last thing at night. She passed whole days in thinking about new dresses and different entertainments. As she had a lively imagination, she succeeded with the latter, but the former were absolutely useless—her age and her horn entirely defeated all attempts at decoration. It was upon this occasion that she invented the Bal-Masqués, which have been ever since so successful. The Prince often indulged in this agreeable delusion, and with his heart full of the beautiful Lionette, he spoke to the Fairy as though he were addressing his love, and the credulous Cornue took it all to herself.

Towards the end of the third month of this intense and secret passion, the Prince at length resolved to ask the Fairy to conduct him to his own kingdom. It was not ambition that induced him to wish it, but a higher and more delicate sentiment. Why conceal it? Love itself made him anxious to ascend the throne, that he might place the beautiful Lionette on it beside him. He had scarcely spoken to the Fairy about it before she consented, flattering herself that he wished to share his crown with her. With what pleasure did she order everything for his departure. The Prince, as we know, took leave of his lovely shepherdess, and set out, with the Fairy and a numerous suite, for the kingdom of the Fortunate Isles. Cornue was seated with him in a car of [Pg 441] rock crystal, drawn by a dozen unicorns; their harness was of gold and rubies, as brilliant as the sun. A dozen other chariots, as pompous, followed; and the Prince, as beautiful as Cupid, and magnificently dressed, attracted the attention of every one. He had most carefully concealed the necklace that the lovely Lionette had given him; he wore it on his left arm as a bracelet, and his dress covered it. He was delighted at the thought of appearing before Lionette in such grand apparel, and to read in her looks the joy such proof of his love would give her; but he could not help feeling a secret anxiety, which at times cast a cloud over his mind; he attributed it to the distance between him and his love, and sometimes he thought he had done wrong in going so far away from her. "The happiness I am seeking, is it worth what I lose?" said he. "Lionette loves me as she has seen me; will she love me more for possessing a crown? Ah! Lionette, I know you too well to wrong you so much; your noble and simple heart only estimates that true grandeur which places man above his fellows by the elevation of his mind."

At length he arrived at the Fortunate Isles, and the people, delighted to see their Prince again, received him with acclamations. He was crowned, and by the attentions of the enamoured Cornue, the ceremony was followed by magnificent fêtes, in which the Prince, from gratitude, insisted on her sharing all the honours. The fêtes ended, and the affairs of this fine kingdom put in order by the Fairy and the ministers she had chosen, she determined to have a complete explanation with the King, and began by adroitly proposing that he should marry. She had gained the ministers over to her wishes, and induced them to join in the proposition she had made to him; but who can tell Cornue's astonishment when the young Prince replied by acknowledging his love for the beautiful Lionette, and entreating her to assist in rendering him happy, by enabling him to share his throne with the object of his affections! "Ah! where have you seen this Lionette?" replied the Fairy, with a look in which astonishment, rage, and vexation were equally visible. "What, then," added she, "is this the return for my care of you?" The Prince, astonished at this sharp reply, and not fearing her reproaches, ended by relating his interview with Lionette, and painted his affection in such glowing colours that [Pg 442] she plainly saw the opposition she might make against it would only tend to irritate him and increase his passion; then cleverly making her decision, "I would not speak thus to you," said she, "but to reproach you for your want of confidence, that you did not open your heart to me. I should have served you better, and Lionette would have been to-day Queen of the Fortunate Isles; but you have acted like a young man without experience, and I doubt if I can serve you at present as I could otherwise have done." "Ah! Madam," replied the King, "you can if you will. Give me your chariot, and let me go and seek my beautiful Lionette." "I will do better for you," said she, with a forced smile; "I will go with you as soon as it strikes midnight; hold yourself in readiness; we shall be on our way back before the sun is up, and I know no other means of satisfying your impatience."

The Prince embraced the Fairy's knees, transported with joy and gratitude, which wounded her much more than his unfortunate confidence; she took leave of him under a pretext of consulting her books, but really because she could not contain herself, and her fury had risen to a most horrible height. Who could describe it? All that an amorous, jealous, and mistaken woman could feel, she, as a Fairy, felt still more; nor could the most forcible language paint but feebly the tortures which racked her heart. She had promised, however, to accompany the Prince; but that would enable her to execute the vengeance she meditated.

She felt the more assured of her revenge as the Prince had let the necklace fall from his arm, and had left her without being aware of his loss. She picked it up, and thanking the stars for so lucky an accident, no longer delayed taking measures for her revenge, which would have been useless without that precious necklace. She closed the doors of her apartment, that her absence might not be perceived, and desired the King might be told she must consult her books in private, and at midnight she would be visible. She mounted a flying dragon, and speedily arrived in the cavern, where everything was in profound repose; the dragon sneezed, which was like a clap of thunder, and enough to rend the cavern. She accomplished, as we have already seen, her wicked intentions, and returned to the Fortunate Isles as [Pg 443] the clock struck eleven. She could hardly restrain her delight while waiting for the King; but soon the idea of his being in love, and without doubt loved in return, renewed her fury; she was in a transport of rage when he entered her room with an eagerness which assisted not a little to increase it.

She endeavoured to calm herself, or rather to dissemble her rage; her fury was at such a height that her horn was in a flame, and the enamoured and too credulous Coquerico, thinking it was an attention she was paying him to guide him in the darkness of the night, thanked her a thousand times for this precaution. They mounted a chariot drawn by three owls, set off at full speed, and descended in the forest close to the cavern wherein Lionette had been reared. The Prince only knew it from Lionette's description of it. Love invests with interest the most trifling circumstance connected with its object.

He had often asked her to describe the place she inhabited. He remembered every little detail distinctly. He could not be deceived; besides, he knew her bow and arrow that were in the cabinet in which she slept. His grief was excessive at not finding her; he called her, he went in and out of the cavern a thousand and a thousand times, he entreated the Fairy to throw a light from her horn upon places that were obscure, and seeing some little pictures she had painted—"Ah! this is her work," cried he; "I will preserve them all my life." The Fairy was so irritated at his transports, that she threw out a flame from her horn, which in a moment destroyed everything that was in the cavern.

The Prince had great difficulty to save himself from this conflagration. The Fairy protected him, however, and triumphed within herself at the absence of her rival. She advised the Prince to seek for her elsewhere. "Perhaps," said she, "her parents have married her; or perhaps," she continued, ironically, "grief at your loss has caused her death." "I know not what has happened," said the Prince, in a tone which marked the agitation of his mind, and distracted at not being able to find his mistress; "but I would rather believe her to be dead than unfaithful; and if it be true that she exists no longer, very soon I shall follow her to the grave." "Here is a furious determination of a lover!" cried the Fairy; but considering that under the circumstances it would be better [Pg 444] not to irritate the King, she changed her tone. "What I have said," pursued she, "is to prove the interest I take in you. I am sorry you should have conceived an affection for a person of such low extraction, and I cannot sufficiently thank Fate that, in accordance with my own opinion, has removed this shepherdess, and thus assisted your heart to recover from its error." "I know not if Fate has assisted you to drive me mad," replied the Prince, sharply; "but if so, I feel she has been more successful in that attempt than the other. As to Lionette, I will repair the defect, if it be one, to be born of obscure parents,—not that I believe it possible for her to be what she appears. In any case, however, happy are the princesses who are as high-minded as she is."

The Prince now, seeing how uselessly he was seeking for her in this place, entered the chariot again with the Fairy, and returned to the Fortunate Isles, where they arrived at sunrise without having spoken a single word, both of them occupied—the one by her fury, the other by his grief.

The King, upon his return, shut himself up in his palace, and thought of nothing but by what steps he might recover Lionette. It occurred to him he ought to go to Tigreline. This resolution taken, he proceeded to Cornue to tell her his project. "I cannot imagine," said he to her, "why you do not assist me in this affair; is your power so limited? Is Tigreline's more extensive than yours?—for I believe," he added, instantly, "you are so interested in my happiness, that you would exert all the skill you possess to increase it, if it were possible. I could not even doubt it, without being ungrateful. I have had sufficient proofs to be quite sure of it, and I feel that I can never forget them." Cornue blushed at this question, which she did not expect, and becoming acquainted with the extent of her misfortune by the latter part of the King's discourse. "It is in consequence of that very affection I have for you," said she, "as you ought to know, that I will not serve you in fostering a passion that would diminish your glory; and if you are as grateful as you say you are for the care I have taken to make you happy, and for preserving your life, you will discard an infatuation which will be your ruin. What an idea will your people—will the whole universe—have of a king so little master of himself that he runs after a poor shepherdess, to give her a [Pg 445] crown which he might share with the first princesses in the world—no matter whom: perhaps even a fairy might not have disdained to partake of one with you." These last words, which escaped her in spite of herself, opened the King's eyes, and looking at the Fairy with astonishment, he was convinced of the truth of his suspicions when he saw her standing silent, confused, and carefully avoiding his gaze.

It was some time before he could find words to answer, from his excessive astonishment; but unwilling either to irritate the Fairy at the moment he so much wanted her assistance, or to encourage a hope that he felt incapable of sustaining. "The knowledge you have of the human heart, Madam," said............