Once upon a time there lived in a very large and important kingdom a Princess called Moonflower; she was thus named on account of her golden hair, which was two yards and a half in length and shone like the moon. The weight of this marvellous adornment was so very great that she was obliged to have a dwarf, who followed her wherever she went, and who carried it as though it had been the train of her gown. The dwarf, who was French, was called Grimaçon; he was so clever that there was hardly an accomplishment suitable to his position in which he was not perfect. He could dance in a manner which caused those who beheld him to insist upon the performance being repeated again and again; he could cook the most delicate ragoûts and pasties; he could make such unrivalled grimaces that all who saw them were transfixed—in short, he was everything that a dwarf should be. He had lived in all the most celebrated capitals in Europe, and was acquainted with the manners and customs of every country, and, while at Berlin, had learnt to play the German bagpipe in the most accomplished manner. The parents of Princess Moonflower were both dead, and the kingdom was being governed by the sister of the deceased king until the Princess should come of age and take the management of affairs, which she was to do at the age of seventeen. But, if before her seventeenth birthday she were to die, the kingdom was to go to her aunt. Now the Princess’s aunt was very ambitious and proud, and could not look upon the idea of giving it up to her niece without dismay. “What!” she exclaimed, “is this little wretch to supplant me? Am I, with all my wisdom, to be set aside with ignominy for a little fool who has no recommendation but her paltry beauty?” And she began to think of every means in her power by which she could get rid of the Princess. So she determined that she must never be allowed to see her seventeenth birthday, and at last made up her mind to kill her, though she disliked the job, and put off doing it from day to day. Now, there lived in that country a very wicked Prince called Blackwig, with whom the cruel old woman consulted. “Tell me, my good Blackwig,” said she, “how I am to get rid of this tiresome Moonflower? Bethink thyself, and I will give thee a box of pearls, a pair of puce-coloured silk hose, and a dancing ape. And, moreover, if thy counsel please me, thou shalt also have an excellent recipe for a pâté of spiced dolphin’s liver, which was given me by my sister, who learned cooking in Paris.” “Madam,” replied Blackwig, who was fond of good living, “I desire nothing but to please you; but, as you are so liberal in your offers, I will be the same with my advice. Listen to me. Give me the hand of your niece in marriage, and you shall not be troubled with her long, for I know of a poison which I will put into her soup and which will cause her to expire without anyone’s knowing the reason—and all I will ask for this is two thousand ducats!”