To the severe decree of Fate In blind submission bend. A Princess, most unfortunate, Will here her sorrows end.
The Princess was frightened at the indications of grief the Rose-tree gave way to, and if the first words overwhelmed her, the latter encouraged her a little. "Alas!" said she, "I fear nothing but the prolongation of my existence; if I should end my miserable life here, I should bless the fate that led me to this spot; but wise and generous Rose-tree, before ending my days, may I not know if he to whom I would willingly consecrate them still lives; and if he is happy, wherever he may be? This is my only anxiety. I should die without one regret if I knew that his destiny was decided." The rose-bush was again strongly agitated, and thus replied:—
For the last time, at thy desire, I raise my warning voice:— Thy lover only will expire Shouldst thou oppose his choice.
"Ah! wise Divinity," exclaimed the affectionate Lioness, "I will ask you nothing more; if he live, I am too happy. May I alone suffer from the severity of the Fairies! Their persecutions appear as nothing to me if he be exempted from them, and I permitted to see him happy. Ah! why should I fetter his inclinations? Alas! the choice which I should be opposed to, whatever it might be, would never offend me; what can he owe me? and what can I offer him worthy of his merits? The unfortunate Lionette not having it in her power to make him happy, should not prevent him from becoming so, at least I may be permitted the desire of being the cause of it." Saying this, she retired to the cabinet of the tube-roses, where she passed the night talking of her shepherd, and telling her love for him to her faithful friend, who in return more fully informed her what she knew of the Fairy Cornue and of her floral companions. "As for the oracular Rose-tree," said she, "all we know is, it is not of the rose-tree race, it was here when we came, and I believe that the Fairy, to embellish its dwelling-place, transplanted us hither; it speaks without being watered, and appears but little amused by our conversation. It is naturally melancholy, and you have seen for yourself it has a perfect knowledge of the past, the present, and the future. The Fairy passes whole days, when she comes here, in talking to it; rarely does she do us that honour, and I think it is in consequence of the vexatious things she hears from it that she feels no pleasure in talking to us. A pomegranate blossom, a very great friend of mine, often repeated their conversation to me. The Rose-tree conceals from the Fairy what it is—the Fairy cannot discover it; all one can make out is, that it was not always a rose-tree."
She had spoken thus far, when a pink, a ranunculus, and some other flowers entered, and after paying their compliments to the Lioness, they announced to the Tube-rose that Cornue intended to visit them a day earlier than usual; that they might expect her the following morning, and that she proposed making a pompous sacrifice to the Rose-tree; that they were ignorant of the cause of this grand ceremony, but thought it denoted the approach of some great event. The flowers wondered among themselves what this great event could be, without coming to any definite conclusion.
They then talked about the weather, a conversation in which they shone greatly, and which would have amused Lionette had she been in another frame of mind, but she spoke little, and listened less. At sunset the flowers retired each to their home; and Lionette, after taking a very slight repast of herbs from the mossy ground, and drinking the water from the wonderful rivulet, went to sleep at the feet of her faithful friend the Tube-rose. The first rays of the sun having touched her eyelids, she awoke: the flowers were already on the move. Lionette arose, and repaired to the Rose-tree. She laid herself down in one of the corners of its little temple, and saw all the flowers arrive, and place themselves artistically to do honour to the Fairy, who did not keep them long waiting. The whole of the temple glowed with the beautiful colours of these various flowers; some formed themselves into arbours, others into garlands, crowns, girandoles, in short, into a thousand and a thousand kinds of ornaments, so marvellously arranged that the general effect was dazzling. The sweetness of their perfume was exquisite; and that which drew Lionette from her reflections was, that after this arrangement, and on notice of the Fairy's approach, they commenced so melodious a concert that the most melancholy beings would have forgotten their grief, and have yielded to the sweet enchantment in which this music wrapped the soul. The Tube-rose, above all, was perfection. It charmed Lionette completely. She listened with delight to this wonderful melody, and admired the poetry of the hymn which they sang; when suddenly she saw the redoubtable Cornue enter, blazing with jewels, but more frightfully ugly than can be described. She was seized with a horror at this sight which she could not account for. She reproached herself for it. "Is it possible," said she to herself, "that I can be still affected by the weak prejudice of which my sex is so susceptible? Ought we to decide upon the qualities of the mind by the beauty or ugliness of the countenance? What feelings must I inspire if they judge poor Lionette by her form? Judge thyself before thou judgest others, and conceal not from thyself that if ugliness induces thee to take an aversion to any one, thou must thyself inspire a terrible horror."
While Lionette was constraining herself to vanquish the dreadful feeling that the presence of the Fairy had possessed her with, the latter, to the sound of joyful music which echoed through the temple of the Rose-tree, advanced towards the balustrade and saw the Lioness, who, seated in the corner to which she had retired, crouched in the most humble manner as the Fairy gazed on her. Cornue's countenance brightened with intense joy at this sight. "Oracle, whose words are always those of truth," exclaimed she, "you have promised me that I should one day find that which I have sought for so earnestly, and which doubtless you have reserved as a recompense for the many honours I have paid to you. Come," said she to the fairies who followed her, "chain this wild beast, and fasten it to my chariot, after which let us immolate our victims." Four fairies threw a chain about Lionette, who allowed herself to be dragged out of the temple notwithstanding the grief shown by the flowers, that looked as they do when Aurora sheds her gentle dew upon them, for they all loved Lionette; but their tears did not in the least soften the inflexible heart of the jealous Cornue. The Rose-tree shot from its stem a flame which consumed the offering of bees which the fairies had just placed upon a little golden altar they had drawn towards it. Its roses became amaranth colour. Cornue was quite alarmed at this change. "What prodigy is this?" cried she. "Divinity of these realms, do you protect my rival, or is it the joy of delivering her into my power that has produced this mysterious change?" The Rose-tree shuddered at these words, and with a strong and terrible voice thus answered the Fairy:—
Immolate to my just wrath The first fowl that shall cross thy path. Mercy to it dare to show None thyself shall ever know!
The Rose-tree after this closed its flowers and leaves, and by this action appeared to bid the Fairy depart. She left the temple much discontented, and remounted her chariot, to which they had fastened Lionette, with three other lions who were very handsome. She took the reins that united these animals and drove slowly over the velvet lawn by the side of the rivulet, the gentle murmuring of which favoured her meditations, until one of the fairies, following in another chariot, exclaimed that she saw a fowl in the water, which appeared to be drowning. Cornue stopped her chariot, and ordered them to catch and bring to her the bird that so luckily came to reconcile her with the oracular Rose-tree. The fairies who were the lightest clad threw themselves into the stream, and caught the poor bird, which was already insensible. They carried it to Cornue, who was not at all surprised at its beauty, for she instantly recognised, to her great dismay, the unfortunate King Coquerico. "Oh, Heavens!" exclaimed she to herself; "is it thus, cruel oracle, thou wouldst have me understand thee?" She held the King up by his feet, and having made him eject the water that he had swallowed, he reopened his eyes, already darkened by the approach of death, then quickly touching him with her wand, said to him, "Resume thy proper form, and save me thereby from the horror of taking thy life, upon which mine depends." At these words the King, safe and sound, appeared more brilliant than the sun, his royal mantle on his shoulders, and his crown of brilliants gracefully encircling his temples. What became of Lionette at this sight? Her lover stood before her—her lover a king, and more beautiful than the day! She would have been speechless with astonishment even had she not resolved beforehand that she would not speak to the Fairy until she had discovered her motive for ill-treating her so cruelly. She remained silent, therefore, but her eyes were so affectionately fixed on the King, that if he had not been pre-occupied by the adventure that had just occurred, he would easily have recognised his unhappy Princess.
"What more do you require of me, Madam?" said he to Cornue. "Is it to make me feel my miseries more keenly that you have restored me to my form of which you so unjustly deprived me? or do you at last repent that you have done me so much mischief?" "Ungrateful ever, and still more ungrateful," replied the Fairy, presenting her hand for him to assist her to descend from her chariot. "Come and justify yourself, and do not accuse me." So saying, she stepped with him upon the mossy bank of the rivulet, and leaving her chariot and her companions at some distance, spoke thus to the King, whom she made to sit down beside her:—"I need scarcely tell you that I have loved you from your infancy; the care that I have taken of you must convince you of it, if you still remember it, for I do not expect gratitude for such poor benefits. I will only slightly touch upon what has hitherto passed, for I experienced but cruel ingratitude, which my affection for you disguised under the name of indifference, arising, perhaps, from my lack of beauty. I believed for some time that by kindness I should overcome this coldness. 'Beauty,' I said, 'is but a poor possession—a sensible man is only caught at first by it. Unlimited power—a fairy who condescends so far as to desire to please a mortal is always sufficiently beautiful.' I discovered but too late the abuse of my confidence, and saw with horror that I had a rival. What did I then do to be revenged, but what every woman would have done? Far from availing myself of my power, I only exercised my discretion. I took Lionette away from you, but I did not kill her—what excess of weakness!—for she was at my mercy—and what a proof of my love do you not recognise in that weakness? Your insults and contemptuous coldness drove me to despair. I deprived you of your form, and I left you. What greater cruelty could you show me than I had inflicted on myself? No, all your hatred did not torture me as much. In what misery did I pass my days after that frightful separation! I accused myself of cruelty, I forgot all your injustice, and when, becoming more calm, I thought of it as it really had been, I reproached myself with having given you cause for it by too much vivacity—in short, your image always present in my mind, the thought of your anger constantly weighing on my heart, I could get no rest. Some of the fairies who attended on me in the Opal Palace advised me to consult the oracular Rose-tree respecting my destiny. This Oracle, without any one knowing the reason, has established itself here, or at least has planted itself in the Sward of Eloquence (the name that is given to that which you behold here, from the rivulet which surrounds it, because it possesses the faculty of making everything speak that is watered by it). Persecuted by my enemies, I came at last to consult this new Oracle. I found at first some relief to my troubles; I took great pleasure in embellishing its abode; by my art I caused all kinds of flowers to grow here; I raised a little temple of verdure, and watering all the flowers from the Rivulet of Eloquence, I enabled them to converse with the Rose-tree and entertain it. The information I gathered respecting my destiny made me grateful to the Oracle, and gave me confidence in its predictions. I came often to question it, and I endeavoured to discover by whom it could possibly be inspired. I ascertained that it was not one of those deities who take pleasure in manifesting themselves to mortals, as at Delphi. It was a man transformed into a rose-tree, and protected by a power unknown to me, and carefully kept a secret. I offered him all my power as a reward for what he had promised me, but he constantly declined it. At last, having predicted an event which has occurred to me this very day, and the commencement of my happiness, he commanded me to sacrifice to him the first fowl that I should see. Judge if all the happiness I could expect from its promises is to be weighed in the balance against your life—for that is what he demands of me. Could I feel, could I know, a comfort, deprived of it? Let the Oracle be angry with me, overwhelm me if it will with the most dreadful calamities, I will not avoid them by the sacrifice of your life. Continue, if you dare, to treat me inhumanly, cruelly—I will submit to it, provided I can still behold you; for I have resolved to suffer everything your hatred can inflict upon me, sooner than consent to immolate you to the strange caprice of the Rose-tree."