THE GOLDEN BRANCH.
Once upon a time there was a king whose austere and melancholy disposition inspired terror rather than love. He rarely suffered himself to be seen, and put his subjects to death on the slightest suspicion. They called him King Brun,[1] because he was always frowning. King Brun had a son who was not in the least like him. Nothing could equal his intelligence, his sweet temper, his liberality, and his general capacity; but he had crooked legs, a hunch on his back which was higher than his head, squinting eyes, a wry mouth, in short, he was a little monster, and never had so beautiful a soul animated so deformed a body. Nevertheless, by a singular fate, he was doted upon by everybody whom he wished to please. He was so superior in mind to all around him, that it was impossible to listen to him with indifference. The queen, his mother, chose that he should be called Torticoli, either because she liked that name, or that the prince being actually all of a twist, she considered that she had hit upon the one most appropriate for him. King Brun, who thought more of the greatness than the happiness of his son, cast his eyes upon the daughter of a powerful sovereign, his near neighbour, and whose dominions joined to
- ↑ "Le Roi Brun." In my Extravaganza, founded on this story, I took the liberty of designating his majesty, King Brown; but though the translation was literal, it did not so completely convey the idea of the author as the other sense in which the word "brun" is used, namely, that of dark, gloomy, dusky, &c. We say, in English, a man "looks black," when he frowns,—not brown. "A brown study," implies deep thought, but not melancholy or anger. For the reasons I have stated in my Preface, I leave this name, as I have other proper names, untranslated.
