CHAPTER VII
"Happy as a king." How far kings are happy I cannot say, no more thancould Prince Dolor, though he had once been a king himself. But heremembered nothing about it, and there was nobody to tell him, excepthis nurse, who had been forbidden upon pain of death to let him knowanything about his dead parents, or the king his uncle, or indeed anypart of his own history.
Sometimes he speculated about himself, whether he had had a father andmother as other little boys had what they had been like, and why hehad never seen them. But, knowing nothing about them, he did not missthem--only once or twice, reading pretty stories about little childrenand their mothers, who helped them when they were in difficulty andcomforted them when they were sick, he feeling ill and dull and lonely,wondered what had become of his mother and why she never came to seehim.
Then, in his history lessons, of course he read about kings and princes,and the governments of different countries, and the events that happenedthere. And though he but faintly took in all this, still he did takeit in a little, and worried his young brain about it, and perplexedhis nurse with questions, to which she returned sharp and mysteriousanswers, which only set him thinking the more.
He had plenty of time for thinking. After his last journey in thetraveling-cloak, the journey which had given him so much pain, hisdesire to see the world somehow faded away. He contented himself withreading his books, and looking out of the tower windows, and listeningto his beloved little lark, which had come home with him that day, andnever left him again.
True, it kept out of the way; and though his nurse sometimes dimly heardit, and said "What is that horrid noise outside?" she never got thefaintest chance of making it into a lark pie. Prince Dolor had his petall to himself, and though he seldom saw it, he knew it was near him,and he caught continually, at odd hours of the day, and even in thenight, fragments of its delicious song.
All during the winter--so far as there ever was any difference betweensummer and winter in Hopeless Tower--the little bird cheered and amusedhim. He scarcely needed anything more--not even his traveling-cloak,which lay bundled up unnoticed in a corner, tied up in its innumerableknots.
Nor did his godmother come near him. It seemed as if she had given thesetreasures and left him alone--to use them or lose them, apply them ormisapply them, according to his own choice. That is all we can do withchildren when they grow into big children old enough to distinguishbetween right and wrong, and too old to be forced to do either.
Prince Dolor was now quite a big boy. Not tall--alas! he never could bethat, with his poor little shrunken legs, which were of no use, only anencumbrance. But he was stout and strong, with great sturdy shoulders,and muscular arms, upon which he could swing himself about almost likea monkey. As if in compensation for his useless lower limbs, Naturehad given to these extra strength and activity. His face, too, was veryhandsome; thinner, firmer, more manly; but still the sweet face of hischildhood--his mother's own face.
How his mother would have liked to look at him! Perhaps she did--whoknows?
The boy was not a stupid boy either. He could learn almost anything hechose--and he did choose, which was more than half the battle. He nevergave up his lessons till he had learned them all--never thought it apunishment that he had to work at them, and that they cost him a deal oftrouble sometimes.
"But," thought he, "men work, and it must be so grand to be a man--aprince too; and I fancy princes work harder than anybody--except kings.The princes I read about generally turn into kings. I wonder"--theboy was always wondering--"Nurse,"--and one day he startled her with asudden question,--"tell me--shall I ever be a king?"
The woman stood, perplexed beyond expression. So long a time had passedby since her crime--if it were a crime--and her sentence, that she nowseldom thought of either. Even her punishment--to be shut up for life inHopeless Tower--she had gradually got used to. Used also to the littlelame Prince, her charge--whom at first she had hated, though shecarefully did everything to keep him alive, since upon him her own lifehung.
But latterly she had ceased to hate him, and, in a sort of way, almostloved him--at least, enough to be sorry for him--an innocent child,imprisoned here till he grew into an old man, and became a dull,worn-out creature like herself. Sometimes, watching him, she felt moresorry for him than even for herself; and then, seeing she looked a lessmiserable and ugly woman, he did not shrink from her as usual.
He did not now. "Nurse--dear nurse," said he, "I don't mean to vex you,but tell me what is a king? shall I ever be one?"
When she began to think less of herself and more of the child, thewoman's courage increased. The idea came to her--what harm would it be,even if he did know his own history? Perhaps he ought to know it--forthere had been various ups and downs, usurpations, revolutions, andrestorations in Nomansland, as in most other countries. Something mighthappen--who could tell? Changes might occur. Possibly a crown wouldeven yet be set upon those pretty, fair curls--which she began to thinkprettier than ever when she saw the imaginary coronet upon them.
She sat down, considering whether her oath, never to "say a word" toPrince Dolor about himself, would be broken if she were to take apencil and write what was to be told. A mere quibble--a mean, miserablequibble. But then she was a miserable woman, more to be pitied thanscorned.
After long doubt, and with great trepidation, she put her fingers to herlips, and taking the Prince's slate--with the sponge tied to it, readyto rub out the writing in a minute--she wrote:
"You are a king."
Prince Dolor started. His face grew pale, and then flushed all over; heheld himself erect. Lame as he was, anybody could see he was born to bea king.
"Hush!" said the nurse, as he was beginning to speak. And then, terriblyfrightened all the while,--people who have done wrong always arefrightened,--she wrote down in a few hurried sentences his history. Howhis parents had died--his uncle had usurped his throne, and sent him toend his days in this lonely tower.
"I, too," added she, bursting into tears. "Unless, indeed, you could getout into the world, and fight for your rights like a man. And fight forme also, my Prince, that I may not die in this desolate place."
"Poor old nurse!" said the boy compassionately. For somehow, boy as hewas, when he heard he was born to be a king, he felt like a man--like aking--who could afford to be tender because he was strong.
He scarcely slept that night, and even though he heard his little larksinging in the sunrise, he barely listened to it. Things more seriousand important had taken possession of his mind.
"Suppose," thought he, "I were to do as she says, and go out in theworld, no matter how it hurts me--the world of people, active people, asthat boy I saw. They might only laugh at me--poor helpless creature thatI am; but still I might show them I could do something. At any rate, Imight go and see if there were anything for me to do. Godmother, helpme!"
It was so long since he had asked her help that he was hardly surprisedwhen he got no answer--only the little lark outside the window sanglouder and louder, and the sun rose, flooding the room with light.
Prince Dolor sprang out of bed, and began dressing himself, which washard work, for he was not used to it--he had always been accustomed todepend upon his nurse for everything.
"But I must now learn to be independent," thought he. "Fancy a kingbeing dressed like a baby!"
So he did the best he could,--awkwardly but cheerily,--and then heleaped to the corner where lay his traveling-cloak, untied it as before,and watched it unrolling itself--which it did rapidly, with a heartygood-will, as if quite tired of idleness. So was Prince Dolor--or feltas if he were. He jumped into the middle of it, said his charm, and wasout through the skylight immediately.
"Good-by, pretty lark!" he shouted, as he passed it on the wing, stillwarbling its carol to the newly risen sun. "You have been my pleasure,my delight; now I must go and work. Sing to old nurse till I come backagain. Perhaps she'll hear you--perhaps she won't--but it will do hergood all the same. Good-by!"
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But, as the cloak hung irresolute in air, he suddenly remembered that hehad not determined where to go--indeed, he did not know, and there wasnobody to tell him.
"Godmother," he cried, in much perplexity, "you know what I want,--atleast, I hope you do, for I hardly do myself--take me where I ought togo; show me whatever I ought to see--never mind what I like to see,"as a sudden idea came into his mind that he might see many painful anddisagreeable things. But this journey was not for pleasure as before. Hewas not a baby now, to do nothing but play--big boys do not always play.Nor men neither--they work. Thus much Prince Dolor knew--though verylittle more.
As the cloak started off, traveling faster than he had ever known it todo,--through sky-land and cloud land, over freezing mountain-tops, anddesolate stretches of forest, and smiling cultivated plains, and greatlakes that seemed to him almost as shoreless as the sea,--he was oftenrather frightened. But he crouched down, silent and quiet; what was theuse of making a fuss? and, wrapping himself up in his bear-skin, waitedfor what was to happen.
After some time he heard a murmur in the distance, increasing moreand more till it grew like the hum of a gigantic hive of bees. And,stretching his chin over the rim of his cloak, Prince Dolor saw--far,far below him, yet, with his gold spectacles and silver ears on, hecould distinctly hear and see--what?
Most of us have some time or other visited a great metropolis--havewandered through its network of streets--lost ourselves in its crowdsof people--looked up at its tall rows of houses, its grand publicbuildings, churches, and squares. Also, perhaps, we have peeped into itsmiserable little back alleys, where dirty children play in gutters allday and half the night--even young boys go about picking pockets, withnobody to tell them it is wrong except the policeman, and he simplytakes them off to prison. And all this wretchedness is close behind thegrandeur--like the two sides of the leaf of a book.
An awful sight is a large city, seen any how from any where. But,suppose you were to see it from the upper air, where, with your eyesand ears open, you could take in everything at once? What would it looklike? How would you feel about it? I hardly know myself. Do you?
Prince Dolor had need to be a king--that is, a boy with a kinglynature--to be able to stand such a sight without being utterly overcome.But he was very much bewildered--as bewildered as a blind person who issuddenly made to see.
He gazed down on the city below him, and then put his hand over hiseyes.
"I can't bear to look at it, it is so beautiful--so dreadful. And Idon't understand it--not one bit. There is nobody to tell me about it. Iwish I had somebody to speak to."
"Do you? Then pray speak to me. I was always considered good atconversation."
The voice that squeaked out this reply was an excellent imitation of thehuman one, though it came only from a bird. No lark this time, however,but a great black and white creature that flew into the cloak, and beganwalking round and round on the edge of it with a dignified stride, onefoot before the other, like any unfeathered biped you could name.
"I haven't the honor of your acquaintance, sir," said the boy politely.
"Ma'am, if you please. I am a mother bird, and my name is Mag, and Ishall be happy to tell you everything you want to know. For I know agreat deal; and I enjoy talking. My family is of great antiquity; wehave built in this palace for hundreds--that is to say, dozens of years.I am intimately acquainted with the king, the queen, and the littleprinces and princesses--also the maids of honor, and all the inhabitantsof the city. I talk a good deal, but I always talk sense, and I daresayI should be exceedingly useful to a poor little ignorant boy like you."
"I am a prince," said the other gently.
"All right. And I am a magpie. You will find me a most respectablebird."
"I have no doubt of it," was the polite answer--though he thought in hisown mind that Mag must have a very good opinion of herself. But she wasa lady and a stranger, so of course he was civil to her.
She settled herself at his elbow, and began to chatter away, pointingout with one skinny claw, while she balanced herself on the other, everyobject of interest, evidently believing, as no doubt all its inhabitantsdid, that there was no capital in the world like the great metropolis ofNomansland.
I have not seen it, and therefore cannot describe it, so we will justtake it upon trust, and suppose it to be, like every other fine city,the finest city that ever was built. Mag said so--and of course sheknew.
Nevertheless, there were a few things in it which surprised PrinceDolor--and, as he had said, he could not understand them at all. Onehalf the people seemed so happy and busy--hurrying up and down the fullstreets, or driving lazily along the parks in their grand carriages,while the other half were so wretched and miserable.
"Can't the world be made a little more level? I would try to do it if Iwere a king."
"But you're not the king: only a little goose of a boy," returned themagpie loftily. "And I'm here not to explain things, only to show them.Shall I show you the royal palace?"
It was a very magnificent palace. It had terraces and gardens,battlements and towers. It extended over acres of ground, and had init rooms enough to accommodate half the city. Its windows looked in alldirections, but none of them had any particular view--except a smallone, high up toward the roof, which looked out on the BeautifulMountains. But since the queen died there it had been closed, boardedup, indeed, the magpie said. It was so little and inconvenient thatnobody cared to live in it. Besides, the lower apartments, which had noview, were magnificent--worthy of being inhabited by the king.
"I should like to see the king," said Prince Dolor.