By Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy

Once upon a time there was a king who had been at war for a long time with his neighbours. When his capital was besieged, he feared for the safety of the queen, and implored her to take refuge in a stronghold far away. The queen cried to be allowed to remain at his side, and share his fate, but the king placed her in a carriage and sent her away under escort. The castle was a long way off, in the midst of a dense forest, and only those with a thorough knowledge of the roads could possibly reach it.

The queen was broken hearted at having to leave her husband and though she made her journey by easy stages, she was downcast and miserable when at length she reached the castle. In the weeks following, she made excursions into the country round about, but found nothing to amuse or distract her.

“How different from my old home!” she exclaimed, as she gloomily surveyed the scene. “What have I done that the king should exile me? He must wish me, I suppose, to feel the bitterness of separation to the utmost, since he banishes me to this hateful castle.”

Though the king wrote often with good news, she became more and more unhappy. At last she determined that she would go back to him, but knowing that her attendants had been forbidden to let her return, except under special orders from the king, she kept her intention to herself. On the pretext of wishing to join the hunt, she ordered a small chariot, capable of accommodating one person only, to be built for her. This she drove herself, and used to keep up with the hounds so closely that she would leave the rest of the hunt behind. The chariot being in her sole control, gave her the opportunity to escape whenever she liked, and the only obstacle was her lack of familiarity with the roads through the forest.

One day, she gave orders for a great hunt to be held, and asked that every one should attend. She took her chariot, and proposed that every follower of the chase should choose a different path. The arrangements were carried out according to the queen’s plan. Confident that she would soon see her husband again, she donned her most becoming attire. Her hat was trimmed with feathers of different colours, the front of her dress with a number of precious stones.

When the excitement of the chase was at its height she gave rein to her horses, urging them on with voice and whip, until their pace quickened to a gallop. They sped onwards so fast that presently the chariot seemed to be borne upon the wind, and to be travelling faster than the eye could follow. Too late the queen repented of her rashness. “What possessed me,” she cried, “to think that I could manage such wild and fiery horses? What will become of me! What would the king do if he knew of my great peril? He only sent me away because he loves me dearly, and wished me to be in greater safety and this is the way I repay his tender care!”

Suddenly, over went the chariot. She lacked the strength to jump clear quickly enough, and it was only by a miracle that she was not killed. She fell on the ground wounded, at the foot of a tree, with her heart scarcely beating.

At last she opened her eyes and saw, standing beside her, a woman of gigantic

Tstature dressed in a lion’s skin; her arms and legs were bare, and her hair was tied up with a dried snake’s skin, the head of which dangled over her shoulder. In her hand she carried, for walking-stick, a stone club, and a quiver full of arrows hung at her side.

This extraordinary sight convinced the queen that she was dead, and indeed it seemed impossible that she could have survived so terrible a disaster. “No wonder death needs resolution,” she murmured, “since sights so terrible await one in the other world.”

The giantess heard these words, and laughed. “Take courage,” she said; “you are still in the land of the living, though your lot is not improved. I am the Lion-Witch. My dwelling is near by; you must come and live with me.”

“If you would be so kind, good Lion-Witch, to take me back to my castle, the king, who loves me dearly, will not refuse you any ransom you demand, though it were the half of his kingdom.”

“I will not do that,” replied the giantess, “for I have wealth enough already. Moreover, I am tired of living alone, and as you have your wits about you it is possible you may be able to amuse me.”

With these words she assumed the shape of a lioness, and taking the queen on her back, bore her off into the depths of a cavern. There she anointed the queen’s wounds with an essence which quickly healed them. he approach to the cavern was by ten thousand steps, which led downward to the centre of the earth, and the only light was that which came from a number of lofty lamps, reflected in a lake of quicksilver. This lake teemed with monsters, each of which was hideous enough to have terrified one far less timid than the queen. Ravens, screechowls, and many another birds of evil omen filled the air with harsh cries. Far off could be espied a mountain, from the slopes of which there flowed the tears of all hapless lovers. Its sluggish stream was fed by every ill-starred love. The trees had neither leaves nor fruit, and the ground was cumbered with briars, nettles, and rank weeds. The food, too, was such as might be expected in such a horrid place. A few dried roots, horse-chestnuts, and thorn-apples.

When the queen was well enough to be set to work, the Witch told her she might build herself a hut, since she was fated to remain in her company for the rest of her life. On hearing this the queen burst into tears. “What have I done that you should keep me here?” she cried. “If my death will cause you any pleasure, then I implore you to kill me. But do not condemn me to the sadness of a life-long separation from my husband.” But the Lion-Witch merely laughed at her, bidding her dry her tears, if she would be wise, and do her part to please her. Otherwise, she declared, her lot would be the most miserable in the world. “And what must I do to soften your heart?” replied the queen. “I have a liking for fly-pastries,” said the Lion-Witch; “and you must contrive to catch enough flies to make me a large and tasty one.”

“But there are no flies here,” said the queen; “and even if there were there is not enough light to catch them by. Moreover, supposing I caught some, I have never in my life made pastry. You are therefore giving me orders which I cannot possibly carry out.”

“I don’t care,” said the Lion-Witch; “what I want I will have!” She took her chariot and escaped To be continued…