Part 1

[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]

THE BOOK OF PRINCES AND PRINCESSES

THE FAIRY BOOK SERIES

EDITED BY ANDREW LANG

_Crown 8vo, gilt edges._

THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK. With 138 Illustrations. $2.00. THE RED FAIRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. $2.00. THE GREEN FAIRY BOOK. With 99 Illustrations. $2.00. THE GREY FAIRY BOOK. With 65 Illustrations. $2.00. THE YELLOW FAIRY BOOK. With 104 Illustrations. $2.00. THE PINK FAIRY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations. $2.00. THE VIOLET FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 54 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. THE CRIMSON FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 45 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. THE ORANGE FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 50 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. THE BROWN FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 42 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. THE OLIVE FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 43 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. THE BOOK OF PRINCES AND PRINCESSES. With 8 Coloured Plates and 45 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. THE BLUE POETRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. $2.00. THE TRUE STORY BOOK. With 66 Illustrations. $2.00. THE RED TRUE STORY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. $2.00. THE ANIMAL STORY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations. $2.00. THE RED BOOK OF ANIMAL STORIES. With 65 Illustrations. $2.00. THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS. With 66 Illustrations. $2.00. THE BOOK OF ROMANCE. With 8 Coloured Plates and 44 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. THE RED ROMANCE BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and many other Illustrations by H. J. Ford. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75.

Longmans, Green, and Co., New York.

THE BOOK OF PRINCES AND PRINCESSES

BY

MRS. LANG

EDITED BY ANDREW LANG

_WITH EIGHT COLOURED PLATES AND NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. J. FORD_

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK LONDON, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA

1908

COPYRIGHT, 1908 BY LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

_All rights reserved_

_The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A._

DEDICATED TO ELIZABETH ANGELA MARGARET BOWES LYON

BY

THE AUTHORESS

_PREFACE_

ALL the stories about Princes and Princesses in this book are true stories, and were written by Mrs. Lang, out of old books of history. There are some children who make life difficult by saying, first that stories about fairies are true, and that they like fairies; and next that they do not like true stories about real people, who lived long ago. I am quite ready to grant that there really are such things as fairies, because, though I never saw a fairy, any more than I have seen the little animals which lecturers call _molecules_ and _ions_, still I have seen people who have seen fairies—truthful people. Now I never knew a lecturer who ventured to say that he had seen an ion or a molecule. It is well known, and written in a true book, that the godmother of Joan of Arc had seen fairies, and nobody can suppose that such a good woman would tell her godchild what was not true—for example, that the squire of the parish was in love with a fairy and used to meet her in the moonlight beneath a beautiful tree. In fact, if we did not believe in fairy stories, who would care to read them? Yet only too many children dislike to read true stories, because the people in them were real, and the things actually happened. Is not this very strange? And grown-ups are not much wiser. They would rather read a novel than Professor Mommsen's 'History of Rome'!

How are we to explain this reluctance to read true stories? Is it because children are _obliged_, whether they like it or not, to learn lessons which, to be sure, are often dry and disagreeable, and history books are among their lessons. Now Nature, for some wise purpose probably, made most children very greatly dislike lesson books. When I was about eight years old I was always reading a book of true stories called 'The Tales of a Grandfather': no book could be more pleasant. It was in little dumpy volumes that one could carry in his pocket. But when I was sent to school they used this book as a school book, in one large ugly volume, and at school I never read it at all, and could not answer questions in it, but made guesses, which were not often right. The truth seems to be that we hate doing what we _must_ do; and Sir Walter Scott himself, who wrote the book, particularly detested reading or writing what he was obliged to read or write, and always wanted to be doing something else.

This book about Princes and Princesses is not one which a child is _obliged_ to read. Indeed the stories are not put in order, beginning with the princes who lived longest ago and coming down gradually to people who lived nearest our own time. The book opens with the great Napoleon Bonaparte, who died when some very old people still living were alive. Napoleon was not born a prince, far from it; his father was only a poor gentleman on a wild rough little island. But he made himself not merely a king, but the greatest of all emperors and generals in war. He is not held up as a person whom every boy should try to imitate, but it is a truth that Napoleon always remained a boy in his heart. He liked to make up stories of himself, doing wonderful things which even he was unable to do. When he was a boy he played at being a general, making snow fortresses and besieging them, just as many boys do. And when he was a man he dreamed of conquering all the East, Asia, and India, and Australia; and he tried to do all that, but it was too much even for him.

He used to think that he would write a new religious book, like Mahomet, and ride on a dromedary to conquer India, with his own book in his hand. Can anything be more like a boy's fancy? He even set out in the direction of India, but he stopped to besiege a little weak ruinous town called Acre, in the Holy Land, and the Turks and English, under Sir Sidney Smith, defeated him, and made him turn back, so that, later, he never came nearer India than Moscow, whence he was driven back to France by the snow and frost and the Russian army. After that he never had much luck, though he had won so many battles, and made himself an Emperor, and married an Emperor's daughter, like a poor young man in a fairy tale. I am sure that no fairy prince ever did such extraordinary things of all sorts as Napoleon; but another story shows how his only son was very unfortunate, and had a very short and unhappy life, always longing to be like his famous father. No doubt he might have been happy and fortunate if Napoleon—like the great boy he was—had not tried to do more than was possible even for himself. It was like a great boy to take no trouble to learn difficult languages, and to write such a bad hand that his marshals and generals could not read his notes written on the battlefield, and could not be certain what he wanted them to do. Now the Duke of Wellington, though not so wonderful a general as Napoleon, wrote a very good hand, when shot and shell were falling all round him, and there could be no mistake as to what he meant.

In fairy stories the princes and princesses are not always fortunate and happy, though they are always brave, good, beautiful, and deserving. If they were always happy and fortunate, nobody would care to read about them; the stories would be very dull. For example, Prince Meritorio was the eldest son of Meritorio III., King of Pacifica. He was born healthy, brave, and clever. At the age of twenty-one years, all of them spent serenely in learning his lessons, including fencing and fortification, Prince Meritorio married the eldest daughter of King Benevolo, of the happy island of Crete. The two kingdoms were always at peace; on the death of Meritorio III. and Benevolo II. Prince Meritorio came to the throne of both countries. He had eleven sons, who used to play the Eleven of the island of Crete and beat them; and when Prince Meritorio died, at a great age, beloved by all his subjects, he was succeeded by his eldest son, Prince Sereno.

No doubt Prince Meritorio was happy and fortunate, but as he never had any troubles or sorrows, as he married his first and only love with the full consent of the dear and royal parents of both, never was changed into a rabbit by a wicked magician, never had to fight a dragon or giant, never was a starving, banished man, but continually had his regular meals, why, the Life of Prince Meritorio is not worth reading. Nobody cares a penny about him, any more than they care about George II., who was a brave man, and as fortunate as a king can be, and yet we prefer to read about Prince Charlie, who was nearly as unfortunate as King George was lucky.

Even Napoleon himself, with all his wonderful victories, is more interesting because he was defeated at last, and died like an imprisoned eagle, a captive on a little island, than he would be if he had been constantly fortunate and enormously fat.

It cannot be said that the princes and princesses in this book were too happy. The Princess Jeanne was perhaps the luckiest, and she had troubles enough while still a little girl, with being nearly forced to marry a prince whom she did not want. Indeed all young princesses and princes were much to be pitied, when they were being vexed with marrying before they were out of the nursery or the school room. They were obliged to marry first, and fall in love afterwards if they could, which is quite the wrong arrangement. Think of King Hacon's mother, too, who was obliged to prove that she was good by carrying a red-hot iron in her hands without being burned. The best little girl now alive will be wise not to try this experiment, if she is accused of breaking anything which she did not break. Then poor Marie Louise was obliged to marry a king who was little better than an idiot; and no amount of diamonds, nor all the gold of Peru, could console her for living such a strange life as hers was in a foreign country with such a very foolish king. However, he was fond of her, at least, whereas Henry VIII. was not fond of his many wives for more than a very short time, and then he cut their heads off, or sent them away. It was a wise princess who said, when he asked her to marry him, that if she had two heads he would be welcome to one of them, but as she had only one she would prefer some other monarch. The Princess Henriette, too, after all her wanderings, when she was as poor as a goose girl in a fairy tale, found a very unsatisfactory prince to marry her at last, and perhaps was not sorry to die young. Truly they all had strange adventures enough; even Henry VII., though, when once he was king, he took good care to have no more adventures.

The story of Mary, Queen of Scots, who had so much unhappiness, is not told here, because very little is known of her childhood. But there are two tales of her childhood worth remembering. When she was a very little girl in Scotland, the Governor of the country was Cardinal Beaton. He was a Catholic, and Henry VIII., being a Protestant, was always at war with Scotland, and often tried to seize Mary when she was a little child. Now she had been told a fairy tale about the Red Etin of Ireland, a kind of red ogre, who stole a king's daughter, 'the flower of fair Scotland,' and beat her every day. So when Mary, being about three years old, first saw Cardinal Beaton in all his scarlet clothes, she thought that _he_ was the Red Etin of Ireland, and was terribly frightened, crying, 'Kill Red Etin! Kill Red Etin!' They _did_ kill him, presently, but not because of her command.

The other story is merely that when she was about ten years old, or not so much, she was taken across the sea with her four little friends, the four Maries, to France, to marry the king's son. They had a very stormy voyage, and she was the only one of the company who was not sea-sick. So she was very merry at the expense of all the others. No doubt a saintly little princess would have been sorry for their sufferings; still, perhaps many little girls would have laughed. Many princes have had disagreeable uncles, like Crookedback Richard; indeed one might think, like a little girl who had read history books, that 'all uncles are _villains_.' But perhaps no prince ever had such a terrible ogre of a father as Prince Frederick of Prussia, who became the great king and general. Though his father was very particular about making Frederick clean and neat, we do not find that he ever had a bath, or did more than wash his hands and face. Indeed Frederick's father was a horrible ogre in every way, though perhaps it was not unnatural that he did not like the prince to be perpetually playing the flute, even when out hunting!

After all, when a child thinks of his own father and mother, and his excellent uncles and aunts, he may be glad that he was not born to be a prince, and be hidden from his enemies in a bundle of hay, like Duke Richard, or dressed as a little boy, when she is a little girl; or locked up for a year in a cold sanctuary; or be smothered in the Tower; or run all the many uncomfortable risks of all these poor royal children. The greater a man or woman is, the more terrible are the falls from greatness, as in the case of the most unhappy of all queens, Marie Antoinette. To be a good king a man must be far better and wiser than other men, far more clever too; if he is not, he does more mischief, and probably has to bear more misfortunes, like Richard II., than any ordinary person. When we read about kings like Charles II., who only lived to amuse himself; or Charles VII. of France, who was little better—and not nearly so amusing—and think how many people far fitter to be kings died for these unworthy princes, we begin to wonder at kingship, at making a man king merely because he is his father's son. However, to consider thus is to consider too curiously, and certainly the lives of princes and princesses have been full of great adventures, and are rather more interesting to read about than the lives of the sons and daughters of the Presidents of Republics. Nobody tries to run away with them; they have not to be dressed up as beggar boys, or hidden in bundles of hay, and their fathers never burn their books, break their flutes, shut them up in prison, and threaten to cut their heads off.

Thus we learn that there is a good side to everything, if we know where to look for it, which is a very comforting reflection. But only a truly sagacious person knows where to look for it, if the misfortune happens to himself.

Meanwhile let British children remember that their forefathers were loyal even to kings not of the best—"at least, as far as they were able"—and that we have in our time been blessed with the best Queen who ever lived. So, as the old song says:

_Here's a health unto his Majesty! And he who will not drink his health, We wish him neither wit nor wealth, But only a rope to hang himself!_

_CONTENTS_

PAGE _Napoleon_ 1 _His Majesty the King of Rome_ 28 _The Princess Jeanne_ 56 _Hacon the King_ 79 _Mi Reina! Mi Reina!_ 99 _Henriette the Siege Baby_ 129 _The Red Rose_ 157 _The White Rose_ 172 _Richard the Fearless_ 198 _Frederick and Wilhelmine_ 214 _Une Reine Malheureuse_ 249 _The 'Little Queen'_ 275 _Two Little Girls and their Mother_ 311 _The Troubles of the Princess Elizabeth_ 328

_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_

_COLOURED PLATES_

(_Engraved by Messrs. André & Sleigh, Ltd., Bushey_)

_Camilla tells her Tale_ (_p._ 4.) _Frontispiece_ _The Oubliettes_ _to face p._ 58 _Inga trusts the Baby to Erlend_ " 80 _Marie Louise makes her Petition to the King_ " 104 _The Red Rose for Lancaster, the White Rose for York_ " 158 _'You are the first King who has entered Sanctuary'_ " 176 _William Longsword is proud of his Son Richard_ " 200 _Isabel 'in the dark evenings'_ " 276

_FULL-PAGE PLATES_

_'Why did they ever let these beasts enter?'_ _to face p._ 20 _'Open, I want Papa.' 'Sire, I must not let in your Majesty'_ " 34 _Inga endures the Ordeal of the Hot Iron_ " 92 _Richard's last Charge on Bosworth Field_ " 168 _Frederick practises his Flute even when out Hunting_ " 224 _Frederick bids farewell to Katte_ " 240 _Marie Antoinette and Mozart_ " 250 _'Led by the King and the Dauphin'_ " 262 _Marie Antoinette goes Hunting with the Dauphin_ " 270

_ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT_

PAGE _Bonaparte commands his first Army_ 9 _Bonaparte hears the 'Marseillaise' for the first time_ 18 _Bonaparte in the Battery of the Fearless_ 26 _Feeding the Gazelles with Tobacco_ 31 _Napoleon shows the Portrait to the Generals_ 39 _Jeanne and the King_ 63 _Jeanne's rudeness to the Duke of Clèves_ 70 _The Cardinal reads the King's Letter to Jeanne_ 74 _'To make him grow taller'_ 84 _Marie Louise receives the Visits of Condolence_ 102 _Two Spanish Gentlemen rescue the Queen_ 116 _The Camarera Mayor gets her Ears boxed!_ 120 _The Queen envies the Flemish Skaters_ 127 _'If capture is sure blow up the vessel,' she said_ 131 _Lady Dalkeith's Journey to Dover_ 135 _'She only waved him out of her path'_ 143 _'Here, Madame,' said Mazarin, 'are the prizes for a lottery'_ 149 _Herbert brings little Henry to his Wife's Tent_ 161 _The King shows Elizabeth her Map of Destiny_ 178 _'Desolate and dismayed'_ 187 _The Queen entrusts little Richard to the Cardinal_ 191 _'Elizabeth goes to the inn to meet the conspirators'_ 195 _The Truss of Hay_ 209 _The Wig-inspector at Work_ 215 _'Good gracious, what a figure! Why, she looks like a little dwarf'_ 220 _'He stamped it down with his heavy boot'_ 229 _Brother and Sister meet again_ 248 _She delighted in her Dancing Lessons_ 257 _The Swiss Guard present Arms to Marie Antoinette_ 267 _'Look, look!' she cried to her brothers and sisters_ 278 _Richard and Isabel come to London_ 284 _The King stops the Duel_ 290 _Richard's last Farewell to Isabel_ 295 _King Richard, Duke Henry and Math the Greyhound_ 298

_NAPOLEON_

IF you look out of your window in a clear dawn on the French Riviera you may, if you are fortunate, see, far away to the south, a faint mountain range hanging on the sea, and if you _do_ see it, it is a sight so beautiful that you will never forget it. The mountain range belongs to Corsica, and under its shadow was born the most wonderful man the world has ever seen—Napoleon.

In the year 1769 two babies were born in widely distant places, both destined to spend the best years of their lives in a life and death struggle with each other. The birthday of Arthur Wellesley, afterwards Duke of Wellington, was on May 1, and his home was an Irish castle; while Napoleon Buonaparte saw the light in a small house in the little town of Ajaccio, in Corsica. Napoleon's ancestors came over from Tuscany early in the sixteenth century, and found in the island a large number of colonists like themselves, some Italian and some Greek, but all of them seeking refuge from the foreign armies which for fifty years had been trying to parcel out Italy among themselves. Though distant only a few hours' sail from its coasts, the inhabitants of the island were as different from those of the mainland as if the whole world lay between them. In Italy men were lazy, yet impulsive, lovers of beauty, of art, of literature, and of luxury; in Corsica they were gloomy, silent, watchful, living hardly, careless of everything which had not to do with their daily lives.

Their hatreds were not only deep and strong, but lasting. As in old Rome, it was the rule that he 'who slew the slayer' should himself be slain, and these blood feuds never died out. No wonder that a traveller was struck with the sight of nearly the whole population wearing mourning. Almost everyone was related to the rest, and in almost every family one of its members had recently fallen a victim to a _vendetta_—what we call a 'blood feud.' Periods of mourning were long, too, often lasting for ten years, sometimes for life. So the country was dismal to look at, with the high bare mountains shadowing all. While in Italy things moved fast, and new customs seemed best, in Corsica they seldom altered. The father was in some ways as absolute over his wife and children as in ancient Rome. He gave his orders and they were obeyed, no matter how hard they might be or how much disliked. His wife was not expected or wished to be a companion to her husband or a teacher to her children. Even if a lady by birth, like the mother of Napoleon, she worked as hard as any servant, for there was little money in Corsica, and people cultivated their ground so that they might have produce to exchange with their neighbours—olive oil for wine, chestnuts for corn, fish for garments woven by the women, from the hair of the mountain sheep or goats.