The King made a proclamation that if the descendant of the old dynasty came to the palace, he would marry his daughter and be heir to the throne; but no one ever came forward to claim the hand of the Princess, which showed that the Faery Rosina spoke truly when she said the exiled Prince knew nothing about his royal blood. The Princess was christened Rose by the Queen, because she really was the offspring of the white rose tree, but her complexion was so delicate, and her love for roses so great, that every one called her the Rose-Princess instead of the Princess Rose. Now, on the seventeenth birthday of the Rose-Princess, there was a mighty revolution in the city of Buss, and a great multitude of men and women marched to the palace in order to dethrone the King. He was not a bad King as kings go, but, not knowing how to govern, he did nothing but amuse himself with balls and fêtes, letting his courtiers govern as they pleased. As the courtiers were all very greedy, and wanted money, they put such heavy taxes on the people, that at last the King’s subjects could stand it no longer, and while a ball was taking place in the great hall of the palace, in honour of the Rose-Princess’s birthday, the doors were burst open, and the mob rushed in. The ball was being given in the day-time, so that the Rose-Princess could attend, because, of course, she could not dance when changed into a flower. The music was sounding most beautifully, the King and Queen sat on their thrones with golden crowns, and the Rose-Princess was dancing gaily, when the noisy crowd of ragged men and women rushed into the beautiful palace. [Illustration] Oh, it was really a terrible scene! All the gaily dressed lords and ladies were seized by the dirty hands of the people, and stripped of their beautiful jewels. The great mirrors were all smashed, the lovely blue hangings torn down and trampled on by the mob, the gorgeous gardens were all destroyed, and these rioters, breaking into the King’s wine-cellars, began to drink the fine wine of which he was so proud. All the women of the city collected a lot of velvet couches, gorgeous dresses, and rich curtains into a heap in the garden, and, setting fire to it, danced about in a ring, singing loudly— “High to low Down must go; Low to high Now must fly. All the lords and ladies dead, Let us eat their costly bread, While beneath our feet we tread Every proud and haughty head.”