Wonder Tales Read online

  Now that country was governed by a young king whose mother was still alive. It would be impossible to imagine anyone so handsome, so charming, so admirable in every way, as this young monarch. He was worshipped by his subjects, respected by his neighbours, and greatly feared by his enemies. He had all the virtues: he was just, clement, magnanimous, restrained in victory, noble in adversity. His people complained only that he seemed indifferent to beautiful women; but he knew that he was vulnerable to love and was fearful of his own susceptibility; the queen mother had taught him that a king must know how to rule over himself before he could rule over others. His outward appearance was as perfect as his soul, and all the women of his court burned with desire for him, and wanted to set him on fire too. His name was Zelindor, and his country was called the Kingdom of Felicity.

  If the beautiful she-bear had known the name of that country, she wouldn’t have been surprised to feel so contented, for one of the privileges of that blessed land was to be happy there.

  Zelindor, being young and dashing, gave a party or went to one every day. He often went hunting, too: he was noble-hearted, and enjoyed war-like pursuits.

  The she-bear had already been living there for three months when Zelindor came hunting in the forest. Contrary to her usual habit, she had left her cave during the day to stroll beside the sea. She was coming slowly back, drinking in the air, which was fragrant with the scent of the flowers that adorned the meadow, when she saw the hunt pass in front of her. She forgot the danger that a bear faces in such circumstances, and stopped to watch.

  All the king’s companions drew back with terror at the sight of the dreadful beast. The brave young king was the only one who advanced, sword in hand, to run her through. When the bear saw him come near, she prostrated herself at his feet and lowered her head to receive the blow. Zelindor, touched by this behaviour, struck the bear lightly with his sword without doing her any harm; then she rose to her feet and, looking at him with the most pleasing and conciliatory expression she was capable of, kissed and licked his hand. These signs of affection astonished the king even more, and he forbade those of his men who had come near to shoot at her. He removed an exquisite scarf which he wore draped elegantly over his shoulder, and tied it round the bear’s neck; she accepted it submissively. Holding one end of the scarf, he led her to his palace. There he had her put in a little garden which adjoined his private study. The pretty bear understood very well everything that was said to her, but when she found that she was no longer able to utter a single word, she could not help weeping. As soon as she was in the garden, the young king came to see her and fed her with his own hands. Her heart, unlike her appearance, had not changed, and it beat faster when she contemplated the king’s attractions. What a difference, she said to herself, between this handsome prince and that frightful Rhinoceros! But when her thoughts turned to her own appearance, she immediately added: How horrible I look! What’s the use of my finding him so handsome! The bear was in despair, and her tears flowed even more freely now than when she had noticed she was dumb.

  Leaving the food the king had given her, she went and lay down on a beautiful lawn that bordered a superb ornamental pond. Zelindor, seeing she looked sad, came and spoke to her in the kindest and most sympathetic way. At this, the poor bear became even more desperate, and fell on her back, as if on the point of death. The king, touched by her state, took some water in his hand, rubbed it on the bear’s muzzle, and did his best to revive her. She opened her eyes, which were streaming with tears; taking the king’s hands between her two front paws, she shook them respectfully and seemed to thank him.

  But you’re quite charming, said young Zelindor. I can scarcely believe it, my good little bear: can you really understand me? The bear nodded that yes, she could. Overcome with joy to discover that she was capable of reason, the king kissed her. She modestly turned her face away and took a step back. What! exclaimed Zelindor, won’t you let me touch you, you sweet little bear? How amusing! What do you want of me, then? Could it be you don’t love me?

  When she heard this, the bear prostrated herself on the grass at Zelindor’s feet to hide her confusion; then all at once she jumped up again, picked a branch from one of the orange trees that encircled the pond, and presented it to the king.

  More enchanted than ever with his she-bear, Zelindor ordered that she was to be looked after with the greatest care, and gave her a delightful rocky grotto surrounded with statues; inside there was a bed of well-tended grass where she could retire at night. He came to see her at every possible moment, and brought her into every conversation: he was crazy about her.

  When she was alone, the bear’s thoughts were melancholy indeed. The delectable Zelindor had awoken her feelings, but how could he find her attractive in this frightful shape? She neither ate nor slept; she spent her days scratching the prettiest verses imaginable on the trees in the garden. Not only love, but jealousy too had come to torment her. She was sick with misery, except when the king came to see her. Then another anxiety struck her. Perhaps he was married: after all, she was more or less married to Rhinoceros, who seemed even more horrible now that she knew Zelindor’s charms.

  One moonlit evening, she was sitting beside the pond, which was a favourite place of hers because the young king always liked to walk there. She was recalling all her misfortunes, and crying so much that her tears disturbed the water. A huge carp, which was evidently not asleep, came up to the surface. Don’t be so sad, beautiful little bear, said the carp; Fairy Medlar is watching over you and she will make you as happy as you are beautiful. With that, leaping lightly onto the lawn, the carp turned into a handsome lady, tall, majestic, and magnificently dressed. The bear threw herself at her feet. Have courage, my girl, said Fairy Medlar; I have tested your patience for long enough, and you’ll soon get your reward. You’re not married at all to the ogre Rhinoceros; you’re going to wed handsome Zelindor. But keep your secret for a little while yet: you may quit your bearskin every night, but you must put it on again first thing in the morning.

  Then the fairy disappeared. As midnight had struck, the princess felt the bearskin fall from her. You can imagine how grateful she was to her bounteous godmother, what pleasure and delight she felt. She spent the night picking flowers, to make garlands and crowns which she hung at the door of her lover’s study.

  She felt some impatience at the period of waiting which the fairy had imposed on her without telling her when it would end; but she had no wish to prolong it through any fault of her own, cost her what it might, so at daybreak she would put the bearskin on again. She spent her time writing the most charming things. Whether she wrote about her jealousy or about her feelings of love, her heart provided an endless supply of fresh thoughts and expressions that delighted the king: for he read them all.

  He had given permission for people to come and see the bear, but she found the crowds tiresome. When one is passionately in love, only solitude is pleasing. She wrote the king a little poem about it, and the lines in which she expressed her feelings were so exquisite and affectionate that he was quite enchanted by them. He had her garden closed; henceforth he was the only one to enter it.

  For his part, the young king, as he reflected how clever the bear was, dared not admit to himself that he found her irresistibly attractive. He rejected the very thought, and was determined that his feelings for her should not go beyond kindness and compassion. Meanwhile, however, he had lost his taste for hunting; nothing interested him, nothing pleased him except seeing his bear. He talked to her about everything under the sun, while she, in the sand or on tablets that he gave her, scratched useful mottoes and sage maxims for his guidance.

  But you can’t really be a bear, he said to her one day. In the name of all the gods, tell me who you are. How much longer are you going to keep it secret? You’re in love with me, I don’t doubt it, my happiness depends on my believing it, but please, my reputation’s at stake: don’t make it necessary for me to respond to the love of a bear. Te
ll me who you really are, I implore you, in the name of love itself, which you know so well.

  It was a difficult moment, the bear was hard put to resist him, but the fear of losing her lover made her choose rather to risk his anger. Her only reply was to jump and frisk about, and this made Zelindor sigh bitterly. He went away, and his heart mutinied at the thought that he was capable of such ridiculous feelings.

  Zelindor, in despair that he could ever have imagined the bear to be a rational person, made up his mind to tear himself away from this monstrous passion, and, giving instructions that the bear was to be well looked after, he decided to travel. He wanted to leave without seeing her, and so, only taking with him two of his favourites, he mounted his horse and rode away from his palace. But as soon as he set foot in the forest where he had met the bear, he remembered his adventure there; he ordered his companions to go away and leave him alone.

  The two young courtiers were extremely attached to him and had been distressed to see his mood so profoundly changed in recent times; they obeyed him, and moved a little way off. The youthful king dismounted, lay down beneath a tree, and began to lament his strange destiny. He fell into a reverie, from which he was awakened by the very tree he was leaning against. It trembled violently and split open; from it there emerged a lady of rare beauty, wearing such a brilliant array of precious stones that the king was dazzled at the sight.

  He hastily scrambled to his feet and bowed deeply to the fairy (for he had no doubt that that was what she was). Let time do its work, Zelindor, she said to him. Do you really think that a king whom we deign to protect can ever be unhappy? Return to your palace as fast as you can, and save from despair one whom you have abandoned out of an excess of scruple.

  The fairy disappeared after these words. Strengthened by her prediction, which in his heart he wanted to believe, the king hastily mounted his horse and returned at full speed to his apartments.

  He went at once to the garden; the bear was nowhere to be seen, so he ran to her grotto to look for her.

  The unhappy princess had heard the people who looked after her talking amongst themselves and saying that he had gone away. She had not seen him for three days, and she was completely crushed by this dreadful news. She fell down in a faint on her grassy bed, and it was in that dire state that the king found her. How anxiously he rushed to her side, how distressed he was to see her on the point of death! She was cold as ice, her heart had almost stopped beating. The king cried aloud, soaked her with his tears, and called her by all the most affectionate names.

  The sound of his voice penetrated into the depths of her soul, calling it back just as it was about to fly away. She opened her eyes and stretched out her paws to embrace her beloved, believing that she was about to die; but the king’s loving words and prayers for forgiveness called her back to life. He begged her to forget his inquisitive questions and swore that he adored her. The poor bear was overjoyed when she heard this confession of love, and they spent the most delightful day together. Although the king was the only one who spoke, the bear never tired of listening to him, and she replied in her own way.

  She showed the young king some pages she had written about his absence. He was enchanted by them, and their happy combination of wit and sincerity, sweet reason and passionate emotions, has indeed never been surpassed. Suffice it to say that they resembled the celebrated Letters of a Peruvian Lady,9 that masterpiece of refined sentiment, which will for ever remain the object of public admiration.

  If Zelindor stopped reading from time to time, it was only to throw himself at his mistress’s feet and kiss her paws.

  Time went imperceptibly by. Lovers have never been able to measure the passage of the hours: endlessly drawn out when they are apart, it flies all too swiftly past in moments of pleasure. The clock struck midnight, and the bearskin fell away, revealing the divine form of Hawthorn. She was wearing a magnificent dress, and her head was crowned only with her own beautiful hair.

  It’s a miracle! cried the king. Was it really you I tried to run away from? Was it you I was afraid to love?

  The princess remained demurely silent, but her modesty only made her the more beautiful. She was also afraid that Fairy Medlar would reproach her for forgetting herself and betraying her secret to her lover. She was still feeling confused and agitated when suddenly the fairy appeared in person.

  Happiest of lovers, she cried; from tomorrow, you may enjoy the fruits of your ordeal: you have suffered torments enough. Now, daughter, reward your lover’s tender affection by giving him your hand; and you, handsome Zelindor, return to your court and make all the necessary preparations for your wedding with this princess. Once you are united, you need fear no further transformation; but Hawthorn must submit herself to my rule for another twenty-four hours. Go, let her sleep; she needs rest. I shall ensure that, when she appears, she will be worthy of you.

  The young king went out, leaving the fairy and the princess together. He was in such a state of ecstasy that, instead of going to bed, he had the whole palace woken up, assembled his council, and said that he wanted to get married the next day; he gave orders to make ready his throne and light up the whole château, especially the gallery. He also instructed all the ladies of the court to put on their finest dresses; then he went to see his mother and invite her to his wedding.

  The queen mother, who had just heard that her son had woken everyone up, saw how overexcited he was: he was talking with an animation which had long been lacking in him, and she was afraid that he had had some kind of accident. What he was saying, however, was so reasonable and consistent that – apart from this business of his hasty marriage – she could see nothing seriously wrong with him; she merely asked him who was the person he had chosen. The only thing I can tell you about her, madam, he said, is that you will find her charming.

  Zelindor spent the rest of the night furnishing an apartment for his divine princess. This activity was especially delightful to him because it kept her image constantly in his mind, and he succeeded in producing the cleverest effect of amorous elegance.

  As the ladies of the palace, aroused from their sleep by the news, had not heard whom the king was to marry, each believed herself to be the lucky one. So they all devoted themselves single-mindedly to the question of what they were to wear: they felt as if they had almost no time to get ready, even though they were not to appear in the gallery until the following evening. More than one had lost her heart to the young king.

  When the time came and the palace was superbly illuminated, the queen and the ladies made their way to the gallery, which shone with so many lights that it would have put the sunniest of days to shame. Young Zelindor, more charming than ever, and dressed in the very finest his tailors could invent to adorn his noble form, at last made his appearance. Letting his eyes wander over the throng of beauties, he said: I confess, dear ladies, that I would genuinely regret not having picked one of you to grace the throne, if she who will soon appear did not justify my choice.

  Thereupon, seating himself on the throne, he ordered them to fetch his bear.

  People looked at one another, completely at a loss to know why the king wanted it, and whispered: Is he going to marry the bear?

  The she-bear arrived, accompanied by two princes of the blood royal, each of whom was holding one end of the scarf the king had tied round her neck. As she approached, the king stepped down from his throne. Gently touching her head with the tip of his sceptre, he said: Reveal yourself, my lovely princess; may your charms undo the wrong I have done these ladies.

  Hardly had these words passed his lips when the bearskin fell away and Princess Hawthorn, appearing in her full splendour, eclipsed all those who until that time had had any claim to be beautiful.

  Fairy Medlar became visible at the same moment. She herself had dressed the princess, so it is hardly surprising that not one detail was out of place. Zelindor threw himself at Hawthorn’s feet; she raised him up with great tenderness and gave him her lovely hand.
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  The wedding was celebrated with royal grandeur, and the happy couple, enchanted with one another, lived together in such harmony and with such mutual affection that those coarse people who believe marriage to be the tomb of love ought to die of shame at the very thought.

  In less than two years, King Zelindor and Queen Hawthorn had two sons as charming as themselves.

  While all this was going on, Rhinoceros had continued to look for Hawthorn and torment poor Corianda, whom he accused of having helped the princess to escape. When he returned from his forays, he beat her almost to death, but she was so devoted to her mistress that she would much rather have suffered the worst the ogre’s rage could visit on her than learn that the monster had caught Hawthorn.

  His searches were thorough, however, and he eventually discovered that the princess was in the Kingdom of Felicity and had married its king. This news made him so furious that he would have devoured Corianda on the spot had he not decided that it would be too pleasant for her to die quickly. He told her that he knew where Hawthorn was, and with the most horribly blasphemous oaths he swore that he would have his revenge. He took Corianda and tied her to the sails of a windmill; he told her that she could go round and round like that until he came back, then he would eat her, together with her mistress, after roasting them over a slow fire.

  He was not aware that the good Fairy Medlar was protecting Corianda too. Knowing her devotion to Hawthorn, she put the ogre’s eyes under a spell, so that, when he thought he was beating Corianda, he was really only beating a sack of oats, and it was this same sack that he tied to the windmill.

  He set out at last in his seven-league boots and soon arrived in the Kingdom of Felicity. When people told him how happy the queen was, he felt as if he would go mad with fury. He restrained himself, however, and found lodgings in one of the suburbs of the capital. He hit upon the idea of disguising himself as a seller of distaffs so he could get into the palace without being recognised by the queen. He strode up and down the streets near the palace, crying at the top of his voice: Gold distaffs! Silver spindles! Come and buy!