CHAPTER III
And what of the little lame Prince, whom everybody seemed so easily tohave forgotten?
Not everybody. There were a few kind souls, mothers of families, who hadheard his sad story, and some servants about the palace, who had beenfamiliar with his sweet ways--these many a time sighed and said, "PoorPrince Dolor!" Or, looking at the Beautiful Mountains, which werevisible all over Nomansland, though few people ever visited them, "Well,perhaps his Royal Highness is better where he is than even there."
They did not know--indeed, hardly anybody did know--that beyond themountains, between them and the sea, lay a tract of country, barren,level, bare, except for short, stunted grass, and here and there a patchof tiny flowers. Not a bush--not a tree not a resting place for bird orbeast was in that dreary plain. In summer the sunshine fell upon it hourafter hour with a blinding glare; in winter the winds and rains sweptover it unhindered, and the snow came down steadily, noiselessly,covering it from end to end in one great white sheet, which lay for daysand weeks unmarked by a single footprint.
Not a pleasant place to live in--and nobody did live there, apparently.The only sign that human creatures had ever been near the spot was onelarge round tower which rose up in the center of the plain, and mightbe seen all over it--if there had been anybody to see, which there neverwas. Rose right up out of the ground, as if it had grown of itself, likea mushroom. But it was not at all mushroom-like; on the contrary, it wasvery solidly built. In form it resembled the Irish round towers, whichhave puzzled people for so long, nobody being able to find out when,or by whom, or for what purpose they were made; seemingly for no useat all, like this tower. It was circular, of very firm brickwork, withneither doors nor windows, until near the top, when you could perceivesome slits in the wall through which one might possibly creep in or lookout. Its height was nearly a hundred feet, and it had a battlementedparapet showing sharp against the sky.
As the plain was quite desolate--almost like a desert, only withoutsand, and led to nowhere except the still more desolate seacoast--nobodyever crossed it. Whatever mystery there was about the tower, it and thesky and the plain kept their secret to themselves.
It was a very great secret indeed,--a state secret,--which none but soclever a man as the present King of Nomansland would ever have thoughtof. How he carried it out, undiscovered, I cannot tell. People said,long afterward, that it was by means of a gang of condemned criminals,who were set to work, and executed immediately after they had done, sothat nobody knew anything, or in the least suspected the real fact.
And what was the fact? Why, that this tower, which seemed a mere massof masonry, utterly forsaken and uninhabited, was not so at all. Withintwenty feet of the top some ingenious architect had planned a perfectlittle house, divided into four rooms--as by drawing a cross within acircle you will see might easily be done. By making skylights, and afew slits in the walls for windows, and raising a peaked roof which washidden by the parapet, here was a dwelling complete, eighty feet fromthe ground, and as inaccessible as a rook's nest on the top of a tree.
A charming place to live in! if you once got up there,--and never wantedto come down again.
Inside--though nobody could have looked inside except a bird, and hardlyeven a bird flew past that lonely tower--inside it was furnished withall the comfort and elegance imaginable; with lots of books and toys,and everything that the heart of a child could desire. For its onlyinhabitant, except a nurse of course, was a poor solitary child.
One winter night, when all the plain was white with moonlight, there wasseen crossing it a great tall black horse, ridden by a man also big andequally black, carrying before him on the saddle a woman and a child.The woman--she had a sad, fierce look, and no wonder, for she was acriminal under sentence of death, but her sentence had been changed toalmost as severe a punishment. She was to inhabit the lonely towerwith the child, and was allowed to live as long as the child lived--nolonger. This in order that she might take the utmost care of him; forthose who put him there were equally afraid of his dying and of hisliving.
Yet he was only a little gentle boy, with a sweet, sleepy smile--he hadbeen very tired with his long journey--and clinging arms, which heldtight to the man's neck, for he was rather frightened, and the face,black as it was, looked kindly at him. And he was very helpless, withhis poor, small shriveled legs, which could neither stand nor runaway--for the little forlorn boy was Prince Dolor.
He had not been dead at all--or buried either. His grand funeral hadbeen a mere pretense: a wax figure having been put in his place, whilehe himself was spirited away under charge of these two, the condemnedwoman and the black man. The latter was deaf and dumb, so could neithertell nor repeat anything.
When they reached the foot of the tower, there was light enough to seea huge chain dangling from the parapet, but dangling only halfway. Thedeaf-mute took from his saddle-wallet a sort of ladder, arranged inpieces like a puzzle, fitted it together, and lifted it up to meet thechain. Then he mounted to the top of the tower, and slung from it a sortof chair, in which the woman and the child placed themselves and weredrawn up, never to come down again as long as they lived. Leaving themthere, the man descended the ladder, took it to pieces again and packedit in his pack, mounted the horse and disappeared across the plain.
Every month they used to watch for him, appearing like a speck in thedistance. He fastened his horse to the foot of the tower, and climbedit, as before, laden with provisions and many other things. He alwayssaw the Prince, so as to make sure that the child was alive and well,and then went away until the following month.
While his first childhood lasted Prince Dolor was happy enough. Hehad every luxury that even a prince could need, and the one thingwanting,--love,--never having known, he did not miss. His nurse was verykind to him though she was a wicked woman. But either she had not beenquite so wicked as people said, or she grew better through being shut upcontinually with a little innocent child who was dependent upon her forevery comfort and pleasure of his life.
It was not an unhappy life. There was nobody to tease or ill-use him,and he was never ill. He played about from room to room--there were fourrooms, parlor, kitchen, his nurse's bedroom, and his own; learned tocrawl like a fly, and to jump like a frog, and to run about on all-foursalmost as fast as a puppy. In fact, he was very much like a puppy ora kitten, as thoughtless and as merry--scarcely ever cross, thoughsometimes a little weary.
As he grew older, he occasionally liked to be quiet for a while, andthen he would sit at the slits of windows--which were, however, muchbigger than they looked from the bottom of the tower--and watch thesky above and the ground below, with the storms sweeping over and thesunshine coming and going, and the shadows of the clouds running racesacross the blank plain.
By and by he began to learn lessons--not that his nurse had been orderedto teach him, but she did it partly to amuse herself. She was not astupid woman, and Prince Dolor was by no means a stupid boy; so they goton very well, and his continual entreaty, "What can I do? what can youfind me to do?" was stopped, at least for an hour or two in the day.
It was a dull life, but he had never known any other; anyhow, heremembered no other, and he did not pity himself at all. Not for a longtime, till he grew quite a big little boy, and could read quite easily.Then he suddenly took to books, which the deaf-mute brought him fromtime to time--books which, not being acquainted with the literature ofNomansland, I cannot describe, but no doubt they were very interesting;and they informed him of everything in the outside world, and filled himwith an intense longing to see it.
From this time a change came over the boy. He began to look sad andthin, and to shut himself up for hours without speaking. For his nursehardly spoke, and whatever questions he asked beyond their ordinarydaily life she never answered. She had, indeed, been forbidden, on painof death, to tell him anything about himself, who he was, or what hemight have been.
He knew he was Prince Dolor, because she always addressed him as "MyPrince" and "Y
our Royal Highness," but what a prince was he had notthe least idea. He had no idea of anything in the world, except what hefound in his books.
He sat one day surrounded by them, having built them up round him likea little castle wall. He had been reading them half the day, but feelingall the while that to read about things which you never can see is likehearing about a beautiful dinner while you are starving. For almost thefirst time in his life he grew melancholy; his hands fell on his lap; hesat gazing out of the window-slit upon the view outside--the view hehad looked at every day of his life, and might look at for endless daysmore.
Not a very cheerful view,--just the plain and the sky,--but he liked it.He used to think, if he could only fly out of that window, up to the skyor down to the plain, how nice it would be! Perhaps when he died--hisnurse had told him once in anger that he would never leave the towertill he died--he might be able to do this. Not that he understood muchwhat dying meant, but it must be a change, and any change seemed to hima blessing.
"And I wish I had somebody to tell me all about it--about that and manyother things; somebody that would be fond of me, like my poor whitekitten."
Here the tears came into his eyes, for the boy's one friend, theone interest of his life, had been a little white kitten, which thedeaf-mute, kindly smiling, once took out of his pocket and gave him--theonly living creature Prince Dolor had ever seen.
For four weeks it was his constant plaything and companion, till onemoonlight night it took a fancy for wandering, climbed on to the parapetof the tower, dropped over and disappeared. It was not killed, hehoped, for cats have nine lives; indeed, he almost fancied he saw itpick itself up and scamper away; but he never caught sight of it more.
"Yes, I wish I had something better than a kitten--a person, a reallive person, who would be fond of me and kind to me. Oh, I wantsomebody--dreadfully, dreadfully!"
As he spoke, there sounded behind him a slight tap-tap-tap, as of astick or a cane, and twisting himself round, he saw--what do you thinkhe saw?
Nothing either frightening or ugly, but still exceedingly curious. Alittle woman, no bigger than he might himself have been had his legsgrown like those of other children; but she was not a child--she was anold woman. Her hair was gray, and her dress was gray, and there was agray shadow over her wherever she moved. But she had the sweetest smile,the prettiest hands, and when she spoke it was in the softest voiceimaginable.
"My dear little boy,"--and dropping her cane, the only bright and richthing about her, she laid those two tiny hands on his shoulders,--"myown little boy, I could not come to you until you had said you wantedme; but now you do want me, here I am."
"And you are very welcome, madam," replied the Prince, trying to speakpolitely, as princes always did in books; "and I am exceedingly obligedto you. May I ask who you are? Perhaps my mother?" For he knew thatlittle boys usually had a mother, and had occasionally wondered what hadbecome of his own.
"No," said the visitor, with a tender, half-sad smile, putting back thehair from his forehead, and looking right into his eyes--"no, I am notyour mother, though she was a dear friend of mine; and you are as likeher as ever you can be."
"Will you tell her to come and see me, then?"
"She cannot; but I dare say she knows all about you. And she loves youvery much--and so do I; and I want to help you all I can, my poor littleboy."
"Why do you call me poor?" asked Prince Dolor, in surprise.
The little old woman glanced down on his legs and feet, which he did notknow were different from those of other children, and then at his sweet,bright face, which, though he knew not that either, was exceedinglydifferent from many children's faces, which are often so fretful, cross,sullen. Looking at him, instead of sighing, she smiled. "I beg yourpardon, my Prince," said she.
"Yes, I am a prince, and my name is Dolor; will you tell me yours,madam?"
The little old woman laughed like a chime of silver bells.
"I have not got a name--or, rather, I have so many names that I don'tknow which to choose. However, it was I who gave you yours, and you willbelong to me all your days. I am your godmother."
"Hurrah!" cried the little Prince; "I am glad I belong to you, for Ilike you very much. Will you come and play with me?"
So they sat down together and played. By and by they began to talk.
"Are you very dull here?" asked the little old woman.
"Not particularly, thank you, godmother. I have plenty to eat and drink,and my lessons to do, and my books to read--lots of books."
"And you want nothing?"
"Nothing. Yes--perhaps----If you please, godmother, could you bring mejust one more thing?"
"What sort of thing!"
"A little boy to play with."
The old woman looked very sad. "Just the thing, alas I which I cannotgive you. My child, I cannot alter your lot in any way, but I can helpyou to bear it."
"Thank you. But why do you talk of bearing it? I have nothing to bear."
"My poor little man!" said the old woman in the very tenderest tone ofher tender voice. "Kiss me!"
"What is kissing?" asked the wondering child.
His godmother took him in her arms and embraced him many times. By andby he kissed her back again--at first awkwardly and shyly, then with allthe strength of his warm little heart.
"You are better to cuddle than even my white kitten, I think. Promise methat you will never go away."
"I must; but I will leave a present behind me,--something as good asmyself to amuse you,--something that will take you wherever you want togo, and show you all that you wish to see."
"What is it?"
"A traveling-cloak."
The Prince's countenance fell. "I don't want a cloak, for I never goout. Sometimes nurse hoists me on to the roof, and carries me round bythe parapet; but that is all. I can't walk, you know, as she does."
"The more reason why you should ride; and besides, thistraveling-cloak----"
"Hush!--she's coming."
There sounded outside the room door a heavy step and a grumpy voice, anda rattle of plates and dishes.
"It's my nurse, and she is bringing my dinner; but I don't want dinnerat all--I only want you. Will her coming drive you away, godmother?"
"Perhaps; but only for a little while. Never mind; all the bolts andbars in the world couldn't keep me out. I'd fly in at the window, ordown through the chimney. Only wish for me, and I come."
"Thank you," said Prince Dolor, but almost in a whisper, for he wasvery uneasy at what might happen next. His nurse and his godmother--whatwould they say to one another? how would they look at one another?--twosuch different faces: one harsh-lined, sullen, cross, and sad; the othersweet and bright and calm as a summer evening before the dark begins.
When the door was flung open, Prince Dolor shut his eyes, trembling allover; opening them again, he saw he need fear nothing--his lovely oldgodmother had melted away just like the rainbow out of the sky, as hehad watched it many a time. Nobody but his nurse was in the room.
"What a muddle your Royal Highness is sitting in," said she sharply."Such a heap of untidy books; and what's this rubbish?" knocking alittle bundle that lay beside them.
"Oh, nothing, nothing--give it me!" cried the Prince, and, darting afterit, he hid it under his pinafore, and then pushed it quickly into hispocket. Rubbish as it was, it was left in the place where she sat, andmight be something belonging to her--his dear, kind godmother, whomalready he loved with all his lonely, tender, passionate heart.
It was, though he did not know this, his wonderful traveling-cloak.