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, whohad heard his sad story, and some servants about the palace, who hadbeen familiar with his sweet ways--these many a time sighed and said,"Poor Prince Dolor!" Or, looking at the Beautiful Mountains, whichwere visible all over Nomansland, though few people ever visited them,"Well, perhaps his Royal Highness is better where he is than eventhere."
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 apatch of tiny flowers. Not a bush--not a tree--not a resting-place forbird or beast was in that dreary plain. In summer, the sunshine fellupon it hour after hour with a blinding glare; in winter, the windsand rains swept over it unhindered, and the snow came down, steadily,noiselessly, covering it from end to end in one great white sheet,which lay for days and weeks unmarked by a single footprint.
"_One large round tower which rose up in the center ofthe plain._"]
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, wasone large round tower which rose up in the centre of the plain, andmight be seen all over it--if there had been anybody to see, whichthere never was. Rose, right up out of the ground, as if it had grownof itself, like a mushroom. But it was not at all mushroom-like; on thecontrary, it was very solidly built. In form, it resembled the Irishround towers, which have puzzled people for so long, nobody beingable to find out when, or by whom, or for what purpose they were made;seemingly for no use at all, like this tower. It was circular, of veryfirm brickwork, with neither doors nor windows, until near the top,when you could perceive some slits in the wall, through which one mightpossibly creep in or look out. Its height was nearly a hundred feethigh, and it had a battlemented parapet, showing sharp against the sky.
As the plain was quite desolate--almost like a desert, onlywithout sand, and led to nowhere except the still more desolatesea-coast--nobody ever crossed it. Whatever mystery there was about thetower, it and the sky 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 afterwards, 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, andhardly even a bird flew past that lonely tower--inside it was furnishedwith all the comfort and elegance imaginable; with lots of books andtoys, and everything that the heart of a child could desire. For itsonly inhabitant, except a nurse of course, was a poor little solitarychild.
One winter night, when all the plain was white with moonlight, therewas seen crossing it a great tall black horse, ridden by a man alsobig and equally black, carrying before him on the saddle a woman anda child. The woman--she had a sad, fierce look, and no wonder, forshe was a criminal under sentence of death, but her sentence had beenchanged to almost as severe a punishment. She was to inhabit the lonelytower with the child, and was allowed to live as long as the childlived--no longer. This, in order that she might take the utmost careof him; for those who put him there were equally afraid of his dyingand of his living. And yet he was only a little gentle boy, with asweet sleepy smile--he had been very tired with his long journey--andclinging arms, which held tight to the man's neck, for he was ratherfrightened, and the face, black as it was, looked kindly at him. Andhe was very helpless, with his poor small shrivelled legs, which couldneither stand nor run away--for the little forlorn boy was Prince Dolor.
"_He was rather frightened, and the face, black as itwas, looked kindly at him._"]
He had not been dead at all--or buried either. His grand funeral hadbeen a mere pretence: 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 half way.The deaf-mute took from his saddle-wallet a sort of ladder, arrangedin pieces like a puzzle, fitted it together and lifted it up to meetthe chain. Then he mounted to the top of the tower, and slung from it asort of chair, in which the woman and the child placed themselves andwere drawn up, never to come down again as long as they lived. Leavingthem there, the man descended the ladder, took it to pieces again andpacked it in his pack, mounted the horse, and disappeared across theplain.
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 shutup continually with a little innocent child, who was dependent upon herfor every 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 werefour rooms--parlour, kitchen, his nurse's bed-room, and his own; learntto crawl like a fly, and to jump like a frog, and to run about onall-fours almost as fast as a puppy. In fact, he was very much like apuppy or a kitten, as thoughtless and as merry--scarcely ever cross,though sometimes a little weary. As he grew older, he occasionallyliked to be quiet for awhile, and then he would sit at the slits ofwindows, which were, however, much bigger than they looked from thebottom of the tower,--and watch the sky above and the ground below,with the storms sweeping over and the sunshine coming and going, andthe shadows of the clouds running races across the blank plain.
By-and-by he began to learn lessons--not that his nurse had beenordered to teach him, but she did it partly to amuse herself. She wasnot a stupid woman, and Prince Dolor was by no means a stupid boy; sothey got on very well, and his continual entreaty "What can I do? whatcan you find me to do?" was stopped; at least for an hour or two in theday.
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 to be quite a big little boy, and could read 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 filledhim with 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, onpain of death, to tell him anything about himself, who he was, or whathe might have been. He knew he was Prince Dolor, because she alwaysaddressed him as "my prince," and "your royal highness," but what aprince was he had not the least idea. He had no idea of any thing inthe world, except what he found in his books.
He sat one day surrounded by them, having built them up round himlike a little castle wall. He had been reading them half the day, butfeeling all the while that to read about things which you never cansee is like hearing about a beautiful dinner while you are starving.For almost the first time in his life he grew melancholy: his handsfell on his lap; he sat gazing out of the window-slit upon the viewoutside--the view he had looked at every day of his life, and mightlook at for endless days more.
Not a very cheerful view--just the plain and the sky--but he likedit. He used to think, if he could only fly out of that window, up tothe sky or down to the plain, how nice it would be! Perhaps when hedied--his nurse had told him once in anger that he would never leavethe tower till he died--he might be able to do this. Not that heunderstood much what dying meant, but it must be a change, and anychange seemed to him a 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 gavehim--the only living creature Prince Dolor had ever seen. For fourweeks it was his constant plaything and companion, till one moonlightnight it took a fancy for wandering, climbed on to the parapet of thetower, dropped over and disappeared. It was not killed, he hoped, forcats have nine lives; indeed, he almost fancied he saw it pick itselfup 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 wasan old woman. Her hair was grey, and her dress was grey, and there wasa grey shadow over her whereever she moved. But she had the sweetestsmile, the prettiest hands, and when she spoke it was in the softestvoice imaginable.
"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."
"_She laid those two tiny hands on his shoulders--'Myown little boy, I could not come to you until you had said you wantedme.'_"]
"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 whathad become 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 lovesyou very much--and so do I; and I want to help you all I can, my poorlittle boy."
"Why do you call me poor?" asked Prince Dolor in surprise.
The little old woman glanced down on his legs and feet, which he didnot know were different from those of other children, and then athis sweet, bright face, which, though he knew not that either, wasexceedingly different from many children's faces, which are often sofretful, cross, sullen. Looking at him, instead of sighing, she smiled."I beg your pardon, 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 youwill belong 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 anddrink, 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, 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 havenothing 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-and-by he kissed her back again--at first awkwardly and shyly, thenwith all the strength of his warm little heart.
"You are better to cuddle than even my white kitten, I think. Promiseme that 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 travelling-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, thistravelling-cloak----"
"Hush!--she's coming."
There sounded outside the room door a heavy step and a grumpy voice,and a 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. Never mind; all the bolts and barsin the world couldn't keep me out. I'd fly in at the window, or downthrough the chimney. Only wish for me, and I come."
"Thank you," said Prince Dolor, but almost in a whisper, for hewas very uneasy at what might happen next. His nurse and hisgodmother--what would they say to one another? how would they lookat one another?--two such different faces: one, harsh-lined, sullen,cross, and sad; the other, sweet and bright and calm as a summerevening 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?" kicking 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 had sat,and might 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 travelling-cloak.