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The Little Lame Prince
CHAPTER IX
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WHEN
Prince Dolor sat up in bed, trying to remember where he was, whither he had
been, and what he had seen the day before, he perceived that his room was empty.
Generally his nurse rather worried him by
breaking his slumbers, coming in and ``setting things to rights,'' as she called
it. Now the dust lay thick upon chairs and tables; there was no harsh voice
heard to scold him for not getting up immediately, which, I am sorry to say,
this boy did not always do. For he so enjoyed lying still, and thinking lazily
about everything or nothing, that, if he had not tried hard against it, he would
certainly have become like those celebrated
``Two little men
Who lay in their bed till the clock struck ten.''
It was striking ten now, and still no nurse
was to be seen. He was rather relieved at first, for he felt so tired; and besides,
when he stretched out his arm, he found to his dismay that he had gone to bed
in his clothes.
Very uncomfortable he felt, of course; and
just a little frightened. Especially when he began to call and call again, but
nobody answered. Often he used to think how nice it would be to get rid of his
nurse and live in this tower all by himself -- like a sort of monarch able to
do everything he liked, and leave undone all that he did not want to do; but
now that this seemed really to have happened, he did not like it at all.
``Nurse, -- dear nurse, -- please come back!''
he called out. ``Come back, and I will be the best boy in all the land.''
And when she did not come back, and nothing
but silence answered his lamentable call, he very nearly began to cry.
``This won't do,'' he said at last, dashing
the tears from his eyes. ``It's just like a baby, and I'm a big boy -- shall
be a man some day. What has happened, I wonder? I'll go and see.''
He sprang out of bed, -- not to his feet,
alas! but to his poor little weak knees, and crawled on them from room to room.
All the four chambers were deserted -- not forlorn or untidy, for everything
seemed to have been done for his comfort -- the breakfast and dinner things
were laid, the food spread in order. He might live ``like a prince,'' as the
proverb is, for several days. But the place was entirely forsaken -- there was
evidently not a creature but himself in the solitary tower.
A great fear came upon the poor boy. Lonely
as his life had been, he had never known what it was to be absolutely alone.
A kind of despair seized him -- no violent anger or terror, but a sort of patient
desolation.
``What in the world am I to do?'' thought
he, and sat down in the middle of the floor, half inclined to believe that it
would be better to give up entirely, lay himself down, and die.
This feeling, however, did not last long,
for he was young and strong, and, I said before, by nature a very courageous
boy. There came into his head, somehow or other, a proverb that his nurse had
taught him -- the people of Nomansland were very fond of proverbs:
``For every evil under the sun
There is a remedy, or there's none;
If there is one, try to find it --
If there isn't, never mind it.''
``I wonder is there a remedy now, and could
I find it?'' cried the Prince, jumping up and looking out of the window.
No help there. He only saw the broad, bleak,
sunshiny plain -- that is, at first. But by and by, in the circle of mud that
surrounded the base of the tower, he perceived distinctly the marks of a horse's
feet, and just in the spot where the deaf-mute was accustomed to tie up his
great black charger, while he himself ascended, there lay the remains of a bundle
of hay and a feed of corn.
``Yes, that's it. He has come and gone, taking
nurse away with him. Poor nurse! how glad she would be to go!''
That was Prince Dolor's first thought. His
second -- wasn't it natural? -- was a passionate indignation at her cruelty
-- at the cruelty of all the world toward him, a poor little helpless boy. Then
he determined, forsaken as he was, to try and hold on to the last, and not to
die as long as he could possibly help it.
Anyhow, it would be easier to die here than
out in the world, among the terrible doings which he had just beheld -- from
the midst of which, it suddenly struck him, the deaf-mute had come, contriving
somehow to make the nurse understand that the king was dead, and she need have
no fear in going back to the capital, where there was a grand revolution, and
everything turned upside down. So, of course, she had
gone. ``I hope she'll enjoy it, miserable woman -- if they don't cut off her
head too.''
And then a kind of remorse smote him for
feeling so bitterly toward her, after all the years she had taken care of him
-- grudgingly, perhaps, and coldly; still she had taken care of him, and that
even to the last: for, as I have said, all his four rooms were as tidy as possible,
and his meals laid out, that he might have no more trouble than could be helped.
``Possibly she did not mean to be cruel.
I won't judge her,'' said he. And afterward he was very glad that he had so
determined.
For the second time he tried to dress himself,
and then to do everything he could for himself -- even to sweeping up the hearth
and putting on more coals. ``It's a funny thing for a prince to have to do,''
said he, laughing. ``But my godmother once said princes need never mind doing
anything.''
And then he thought a little of his godmother.
Not of summoning her, or asking her to help him, -- she had evidently left him
to help himself, and he was determined to try his best to do it, being a very
proud and independent boy, -- but he remembered her tenderly and regretfully,
as if even she had been a little hard upon him -- poor, forlorn boy that he
was. But he seemed to have seen and learned so much within the last few days
that he scarcely felt like a boy, but a man -- until he went to bed at night.
When I was a child, I used often to think
how nice it would be to live in a little house all by my own self -- a house
built high up in a tree, or far away in a forest, or halfway up a hillside so
deliciously alone and independent. Not a lesson to learn -- but no! I always
liked learning my lessons. Anyhow, to choose the lessons I liked best, to have
as many books to read and dolls to play with as ever I wanted: above all, to
be free and at rest, with nobody to tease or trouble or scold me, would be charming.
For I was a lonely little thing, who liked quietness -- as many children do;
which other children, and sometimes grown-up people even, cannot understand.
And so I can understand Prince Dolor.
After his first despair, he was not merely
comfortable, but actually happy in his solitude, doing everything for himself,
and enjoying everything by himself -- until bedtime. Then he did not like it
at all. No more, I suppose, than other children would have liked my imaginary
house in a tree when they had had sufficient of their own company.
But the Prince had to bear it -- and he did
bear it, like a prince -- for fully five days. All that time he got up in the
morning and went to bed at night without having spoken to a creature, or, indeed,
heard a single sound. For even his little lark was silent; and as for his traveling-cloak,
either he never thought about it, or else it had been spirited away -- for he
made no use of it, nor attempted to do so.
A very strange existence it was, those five
lonely days. He never entirely forgot it. It threw him back upon himself, and
into himself -- in a way that all of us have to learn when we grow up, and are
the better for it; but it is somewhat hard learning.
On the sixth day Prince Dolor had a strange
composure in his look, but he was very grave and thin and white. He had nearly
come to the end of his provisions -- and what was to happen next? Get out of
the tower he could not: the ladder the deaf-mute used was always carried away
again; and if it had not been, how could the poor boy have used it? And even
if he slung or flung himself down, and by miraculous chance came alive to the
foot of the tower, how could he run away?
Fate had been very hard to him, or so it
seemed.
He made up his mind to die. Not that he wished
to die; on the contrary, there was a great deal that he wished to live to do;
but if he must die, he must. Dying did not seem so very dreadful; not even to
lie quiet like his uncle, whom he had entirely forgiven now, and neither be
miserable nor naughty any more, and escape all those horrible things that he
had seen going on outside the palace, in that awful place which was called ``the
world.''
``It's a great deal nicer here,'' said the
poor little Prince, and collected all his pretty things round him: his favorite
pictures, which he thought he should like to have near him when he died; his
books and toys -- no, he had ceased to care for toys now; he only liked them
because he had done so as a child. And there he sat very calm and patient, like
a king in his castle, waiting for the end.
``Still, I wish I had done something first
-- something worth doing, that somebody might remember me by,'' thought he.
``Suppose I had grown a man, and had had work to do, and
people to care for, and was so useful and busy that they liked me, and perhaps
even forgot I was lame? Then it would have been nice to live, I think.''
A tear came into the little fellow's eyes,
and he listened intently through the dead silence for some hopeful sound.
Was there one? -- was it his little lark,
whom he had almost forgotten? No, nothing half so sweet. But it really was something
-- something which came nearer and nearer, so that there was no mistaking it.
It was the sound of a trumpet, one of the great silver trumpets so admired in
Nomansland. Not pleasant music, but very bold, grand, and inspiring.
As he listened to it the boy seemed to recall
many things which had slipped his memory for years, and to nerve himself for
whatever might be going to happen.
What had happened was this.
The poor condemned woman had not been such
a wicked woman after all. Perhaps her courage was not wholly disinterested,
but she had done a very heroic thing. As soon as she heard of the death and
burial of the King and of the changes that were taking place in the country,
a daring idea came into her head -- to set upon the throne of Nomansland its
rightful heir. Thereupon she persuaded the deaf-mute to take her away with him,
and they galloped like the wind from city to city, spreading everywhere the
news that Prince Dolor's death and burial had been an invention concocted by
his wicked uncle that he was alive and well, and the noblest young prince that
ever was born.
It was a bold stroke, but it succeeded. The
country, weary perhaps of the late King's harsh rule, and yet glad to save itself
from the horrors of the last few days, and the still further horrors of no rule
at all, and having no particular interest in the other young princes, jumped
at the idea of this Prince, who was the son of their late good King and the
beloved Queen Dolorez.
``Hurrah for Prince Dolor! Let Prince
Dolor be our sovereign!'' rang from end to end of the kingdom.
Everybody tried to remember what a dear baby he once was -- how like his
mother, who had been so sweet and kind, and his father, the finest-looking
king that ever reigned. Nobody remembered his lameness -- or, if they did,
they passed it over as a matter of no consequence. -- |
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They were determined to have him reign over them, boy
as he was perhaps just because he was a boy, since in
that case the great nobles thought they should be able to do as they liked with
the country.
Accordingly, with a fickleness not confined
to the people of Nomansland, no sooner was the late King laid in his grave than
they pronounced him to have been a usurper; turned all his family out of the
palace, and left it empty for the reception of the new sovereign, whom they
went to fetch with great rejoicing, a select body of lords, gentlemen, and soldiers
traveling night and day in solemn procession through the country until they
reached Hopeless Tower.
| There they found the Prince, sitting calmly
on the floor -- deadly pale, indeed, for he expected a quite different end
from this, and was resolved, if he had to die, to die courageously, like
a Prince and a King. |
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But when they hailed him as Prince and King,
and explained to him how matters stood, and went down on their knees before
him, offering the crown (on a velvet cushion, with four golden tassels, each
nearly as big as his head), -- small though he was and lame, which lameness
the courtiers pretended not to notice, -- there came such a glow into his face,
such a dignity into his demeanor, that he became beautiful, king-like.
``Yes,'' he said, ``if you desire it, I will
be your king. And I will do my best to make my people happy.''
Then there arose, from inside and outside
the tower, such a shout as never yet was heard across the lonely plain.
Prince Dolor shrank a little from the deafening
sound. ``How shall I be able to rule all this great people? You forget, my lords,
that I am only a little boy still.''
``Not so very little,'' was the respectful
answer. ``We have searched in the records, and found that your Royal Highness
-- your Majesty, I mean -- is fifteen years old.''
``Am I?'' said Prince Dolor; and his first
thought was a thoroughly childish pleasure that he should now have a birthday,
with a whole nation to keep it. Then he remembered that his childish days were
done. He was a monarch now. Even his nurse, to whom, the moment he saw her,
he had held out his hand, kissed it reverently, and called him ceremoniously
``his Majesty the King.''
``A king must be always a king, I suppose,''
said he half-sadly, when, the ceremonies over, he had been left to himself for
just ten minutes, to put off his boy's clothes and be reattired in magnificent
robes, before he was conveyed away from his tower to the royal palace.
He could take nothing with him; indeed, he
soon saw that, however politely they spoke, they would not allow him to take
anything. If he was to be their king, he must give up his old life forever.
So he looked with tender farewell on his old books, old toys, the furniture
he knew so well, and the familiar plain in all its levelness -- ugly yet pleasant,
simply because it was familiar.
``It will be a new life in a new world,''
said he to himself; ``but I'll remember the old things still. And, oh! if before
I go I could but once see my dear old godmother.''
While he spoke he had laid himself down on
the bed for a minute or two, rather tired with his grandeur, and confused by
the noise of the trumpets which kept playing incessantly down below. He gazed,
half sadly, up to the skylight, whence there came pouring a stream of sunrays,
with innumerable motes floating there, like a bridge thrown between heaven and
earth. Sliding down it, as if she had been made of air, came the little old
woman in gray.
So beautiful looked she -- old as she was
-- that Prince Dolor was at first quite startled by the apparition. Then he
held out his arms in eager delight.
``Oh, godmother, you have not forsaken me!''
``Not at all, my son. You may not have seen
me, but I have seen you many a time.''
``How?''
``Oh, never mind. I can turn into anything
I please, you know. And I have been a bearskin rug, and a crystal goblet --
and sometimes I have changed from inanimate to animate nature, put on feathers,
and made myself very comfortable as a bird.''
``Ha!'' laughed the prince, a new light breaking
in upon him as he caught the inflection of her tone, lively and mischievous.
``Ha! ha! a lark, for instance?''
``Or a magpie,'' answered she, with a capital
imitation of Mistress Mag's croaky voice. ``Do you suppose I am always sentimental,
and never funny? If anything makes you happy, gay, or grave, don't you think
it is more than likely to come through your old godmother?''
``I believe that,'' said the boy tenderly,
holding out his arms. They clasped one another in a close embrace.
Suddenly Prince Dolor looked very anxious.
``You will not leave me now that I am a king? Otherwise I had rather not be
a king at all. Promise never to forsake me!''
The little old woman laughed gayly. ``Forsake
you? that is impossible. But it is just possible you may forsake me. Not probable
though. Your mother never did, and she was a queen. The sweetest queen in all
the world was the Lady Dolorez.''
``Tell me about her,'' said the boy eagerly.
``As I get older I think I can understand more. Do tell me.''
``Not now. You couldn't hear me for the trumpets
and the shouting. But when you are come to the palace, ask for a long-closed
upper room, which looks out upon the Beautiful Mountains; open it and take it
for your own. Whenever you go there you will always find me, and we will talk
together about all sorts of things.''
``And about my mother?''
The little old woman nodded -- and kept nodding
and smiling to herself many times, as the boy repeated over and over again the
sweet words he had never known or understood -- ``my mother -- my mother.''
``Now I must go,'' said she, as the trumpets
blared louder and louder, and the shouts of the people showed that they would
not endure any delay. ``Good-by, good-by! Open the window and out I fly.''
Prince Dolor repeated gayly the musical rhyme
-- but all the while tried to hold his godmother fast.
Vain, vain! for the moment that a knocking
was heard at his door the sun went behind a cloud, the bright stream of dancing
motes vanished, and the little old woman with them -- he knew not where.
So Prince Dolor quitted his tower -- which
he had entered so mournfully and ignominiously as a little helpless baby carried
in the deaf-mute's arms -- quitted it as the great King of Nomansland.
The only thing he took away with him was
something so insignificant that none of the lords, gentlemen, and soldiers who
escorted him with such triumphant splendor could possibly notice it -- a tiny
bundle, which he had found lying on the floor just where the bridge of sunbeams
had rested. At once he had pounced upon it, and thrust it secretly into his
bosom, where it dwindled into such small proportions that it might have been
taken for a mere chest-comforter, a bit of flannel, or an old pocket-handkerchief.
It was his traveling-cloak!
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