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THE THREE CITRONS
at the sight of a crow instead of the dove that had been
promised him—“upon my word, this is too much. I knew
that my son was mad, but I did not know that he was
blind. Is this the spotless lily that he has been to the end
of the world to seek? Is this the rose fresher than the
morning dew, the miracle of beauty that has come from the
rind of a citron? Does he think that I will bear this new
insult to my gray hairs? Does he think that I will leave
to mulatto children the empire of the Vermilion Towers,
the glorious inheritance of my ancestors? This baboon
shall never enter my palace.”
The prince fell at his father’s feet and tried to move him.
The prime minister, a man of great experience, remon¬
strated with his master that, at court, black often becomes
white and white black in the space of twenty-four hours;
and that there was no reason to be astonished at such a
very natural metamorphosis. What was the king of
the Vermilion Towers to do? He was a king and a father,
and by this double title always accustomed to do the will
of others. He yielded and consented with a bad grace to
this strange union. The court gazette announced to the
whole kingdom the happy choice that the prince had made,
and ordered the people to rejoice. The wedding was post¬
poned for a week; it was impossible to make the prepara¬
tions for the ceremony in less time than this.
The negress was lodged in a magnificent suite of apart¬
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