Never has there been a gayer Court. Twenty delightful
kings did everything they could think of to make
themselves agreeable, and after having spent ever so
much money in giving a single entertainment thought
themselves very lucky if the Princess said "That's pretty."

All this admiration vastly pleased the Queen. Not a
day passed but she received seven or eight thousand
sonnets, and as many elegies, madrigals, and songs, which
were sent her by all the poets in the world. All the prose
and the poetry that was written just then was about
Bellissima--for that was the Princess's name--and all the
bonfires that they had were made of these verses, which
crackled and sparkled better than any other sort of wood.

Bellissima was already fifteen years old, and every one
of the Princes wished to marry her, but not one dared to
say so. How could they when they knew that any of
them might have cut off his head five or six times a day
just to please her, and she would have thought it a mere
trifle, so little did she care? You may imagine how
hard-hearted her lovers thought her; and the Queen, who
wished to see her married, did not know how to persuade
her to think of it seriously.

"Bellissima," she said, "I do wish you would not be so
proud. What makes you despise all these nice kings? I
wish you to marry one of them, and you do not try to
please me."