CHAPTER X
Did Prince Dolar become a great king? Was he, though little more than aboy, "the father of his people," as all kings ought to be? Did his reignlast long--long and happy? and what were the principal events of it, aschronicled in the history of Nomansland?
Why, if I were to answer all these questions I should have to writeanother book. And I'm tired, children, tired--as grown-up peoplesometimes are, though not always with play. (Besides, I have a smallperson belonging to me, who, though she likes extremely to listen to theword-of-mouth story of this book, grumbles much at the writing of it,and has run about the house clapping her hands with joy when mamma toldher that it was nearly finished. But that is neither here nor there.)
I have related as well as I could the history of Prince Dolor, but withthe history of Nomansland I am as yet unacquainted. If anybody knowsit, perhaps he or she will kindly write it all down in another book. Butmine is done.
However, of this I am sure, that Prince Dolor made an excellent king.Nobody ever does anything less well, not even the commonest duty ofcommon daily life, for having such a godmother as the little old womanclothed in gray, whose name is--well, I leave you to guess. Nor, Ithink, is anybody less good, less capable of both work and enjoyment inafter-life, for having been a little unhappy in his youth, as the princehad been.
I cannot take upon myself to say that he was always happy now--whois?--or that he had no cares; just show me the person who is quite freefrom them! But whenever people worried and bothered him--as they didsometimes, with state etiquette, state squabbles, and the like, settingup themselves and pulling down their neighbors--he would take refuge inthat upper room which looked out on the Beautiful Mountains, and, layinghis head on his godmother's shoulder, become calmed and at rest.
Also, she helped him out of any difficulty which now and thenoccurred--for there never was such a wise old woman. When the people ofNomansland raised the alarm--as sometimes they did--for what people canexist without a little fault-finding?--and began to cry out, "Un-happyis the nation whose king is a child," she would say to him gently, "Youare a child. Accept the fact. Be humble--be teachable. Lean upon thewisdom of others till you have gained your own."
He did so. He learned how to take advice before attempting to give it,to obey before he could righteously command. He assembled round him allthe good and wise of his kingdom--laid all its affairs before them, andwas guided by their opinions until he had maturely formed his own.
This he did sooner than anybody would have imagined who did not knowof his godmother and his traveling-cloak--two secret blessings, which,though many guessed at, nobody quite understood. Nor did they understandwhy he loved so the little upper room, except that it had been hismother's room, from the window of which, as people remembered now, shehad used to sit for hours watching the Beautiful Mountains.
Out of that window he used to fly--not very often; as he grew older, thelabors of state prevented the frequent use of his traveling-cloak; stillhe did use it sometimes. Only now it was less for his own pleasure andamusement than to see something or investigate something for the goodof the country. But he prized his godmother's gift as dearly as ever.It was a comfort to him in all his vexations, an enhancement of all hisjoys. It made him almost forget his lameness--which was never cured.
However, the cruel things which had been once foreboded of him did nothappen. His misfortune was not such a heavy one, after all. It proved tobe of much less inconvenience, even to himself, than had been feared.A council of eminent surgeons and mechanicians invented for him awonderful pair of crutches, with the help of which, though he neverwalked easily or gracefully, he did manage to walk so as to be quiteindependent. And such was the love his people bore him that they neverheard the sound of his crutches on the marble palace floors without aleap of the heart, for they knew that good was coming to them wheneverhe approached.
Thus, though he never walked in processions, never reviewed his troopsmounted on a magnificent charger, nor did any of the things which makea show monarch so much appreciated, he was able for all the duties anda great many of the pleasures of his rank. When he held his levees,not standing, but seated on a throne ingeniously contrived to hide hisinfirmity, the people thronged to greet him; when he drove outthrough the city streets, shouts followed him wherever he went--everycountenance brightened as he passed, and his own, perhaps, was thebrightest of all.
First, because, accepting his affliction as inevitable, he took itpatiently; second, because, being a brave man, he bore it bravely,trying to forget himself, and live out of himself, and in and for otherpeople. Therefore other people grew to love him so well that I thinkhundreds of his subjects might have been found who were almost ready todie for their poor lame king.
He never gave them a queen. When they implored him to choose one, hereplied that his country was his bride, and he desired no other. Butperhaps the real reason was that he shrank from any change; and that nowife in all the world would have been found so perfect, so lovable, sotender to him in all his weaknesses as his beautiful old godmother.
His twenty-four other godfathers and godmothers, or as many of them aswere still alive, crowded round him as soon as he ascended the throne.He was very civil to them all, but adopted none of the names they hadgiven him, keeping to the one by which he had been always known, thoughit had now almost lost its meaning; for King Dolor was one of thehappiest and cheerfulest men alive.
He did a good many things, however, unlike most men and most kings,which a little astonished his subjects. First, he pardoned the condemnedwoman who had been his nurse, and ordained that from henceforth thereshould be no such thing as the punishment of death in Nomansland. Allcapital criminals were to be sent to perpetual imprisonment in HopelessTower and the plain round about it, where they could do no harm toanybody, and might in time do a little good, as the woman had done.
Another surprise he shortly afterward gave the nation. He recalled hisuncle's family, who had fled away in terror to another country, andrestored them to all their honors in their own. By and by he chose theeldest son of his eldest cousin (who had been dead a year), and had himeducated in the royal palace, as the heir to the throne. This littleprince was a quiet, unobtrusive boy, so that everybody wondered at theKing's choosing him when there were so many more; but as he grew into afine young fellow, good and brave, they agreed that the King judged morewisely than they.
"Not a lame prince, either," his Majesty observed one day, watchinghim affectionately; for he was the best runner, the highest leaper, thekeenest and most active sportsman in the country. "One cannot make one'sself, but one can sometimes help a little in the making of somebodyelse. It is well."
This was said, not to any of his great lords and ladies, but to a goodold woman--his first homely nurse whom he had sought for far and wide,and at last found in her cottage among the Beautiful Mountains. He sentfor her to visit him once a year, and treated her with great honor untilshe died. He was equally kind, though somewhat less tender, to his othernurse, who, after receiving her pardon, returned to her native town andgrew into a great lady, and I hope a good one. But as she was so grand apersonage now, any little faults she had did not show.
Thus King Dolor's reign passed year after year, long and prosperous.Whether he were happy--"as happy as a king"--is a question no humanbeing can decide. But I think he was, because he had the power of makingeverybody about him happy, and did it too; also because he was hisgodmother's godson, and could shut himself up with her whenever heliked, in that quiet little room in view of the Beautiful Mountains,which nobody else ever saw or cared to see. They were too far off, andthe city lay so low. But there they were, all the time. No change evercame to them; and I think, at any day throughout his long reign, theKing would sooner have lost his crown than have lost sight of theBeautiful Mountains.
In course of time, when the little Prince, his cousin, was grown into atall young man, capable of all the duties of a man, his Majesty did oneof the most extraordinary acts ever
known in a sovereign beloved byhis people and prosperous in his reign. He announced that he wished toinvest his heir with the royal purple--at any rate, for a time--while hehimself went away on a distant journey, whither he had long desired togo.
Everybody marveled, but nobody opposed him. Who could oppose the goodKing, who was not a young king now? And besides, the nation had a greatadmiration for the young regent--and possibly a lurking pleasure inchange.
So there was a fixed day when all the people whom it would holdassembled in the great square of the capital, to see the young princeinstalled solemnly in his new duties, and undertaking his new vows. Hewas a very fine young fellow; tall and straight as a poplar tree, with afrank, handsome face--a great deal handsomer than the king, some peoplesaid, but others thought differently. However, as his Majesty sat on histhrone, with his gray hair falling from underneath his crown, and a fewwrinkles showing in spite of his smile, there was something about hiscountenance which made his people, even while they shouted, regard himwith a tenderness mixed with awe.
He lifted up his thin, slender hand, and there came a silence over thevast crowd immediately. Then he spoke, in his own accustomed way, usingno grand words, but saying what he had to say in the simplest fashion,though with a clearness that struck their ears like the first song of abird in the dusk of the morning.
"My people, I am tired: I want to rest. I have had a long reign, anddone much work--at least, as much as I was able to do. Many might havedone it better than I--but none with a better will. Now I leave it toothers; I am tired, very tired. Let me go home."
There arose a murmur--of content or discontent none could well tell;then it died down again, and the assembly listened silently once more.
"I am not anxious about you, my people--my children," continued theKing. "You are prosperous and at peace. I leave you in good hands. ThePrince Regent will be a fitter king for you than I."
"No, no, no!" rose the universal shout--and those who had sometimesfound fault with him shouted louder than anybody. But he seemed as if heheard them not.
"Yes, yes," said he, as soon as the tumult had a little subsided: andhis voice sounded firm and clear; and some very old people, who boastedof having seen him as a child, declared that his face took a suddenchange, and grew as young and sweet as that of the little Prince Dolor."Yes, I must go. It is time for me to go. Remember me sometimes, mypeople, for I have loved you well. And I am going a long way, and I donot think I shall come back any more."
He drew a little bundle out of his breast pocket--a bundle that nobodyhad ever seen before. It was small and shabby-looking, and tied upwith many knots, which untied themselves in an instant. With a joyfulcountenance, he muttered over it a few half-intelligible words. Then,so suddenly that even those nearest to his Majesty could not tell how itcame about, the King was away--away--floating right up in the air--uponsomething, they knew not what, except that it appeared to be as safe andpleasant as the wings of a bird.
And after him sprang a bird--a dear little lark, rising from whenceno one could say, since larks do not usually build their nests in thepavement of city squares. But there it was, a real lark, singing farover their heads, louder and clearer and more joyful as it vanishedfurther into the blue sky.
Shading their eyes, and straining their ears, the astonished peoplestood until the whole vision disappeared like a speck in the clouds--therosy clouds that overhung the Beautiful Mountains.
King Dolor was never again beheld or heard of in his own country. Butthe good he had done there lasted for years and years; he was longmissed and deeply mourned--at least, so far as anybody could mourn onewho was gone on such a happy journey.
Whither he went, or who went with him, it is impossible to say. But Imyself believe that his godmother took him on his traveling-cloak tothe Beautiful Mountains. What he did there, or where he is now, who cantell? I cannot. But one thing I am quite sure of, that, wherever he is,he is perfectly happy.
And so, when I think of him, am I.