The Little Lame Prince

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

  CHAPTER VII.

  After this journey which had given the Prince so much pain, his desireto see the world had 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, andhad never left him again.

  True, it kept out of the way; but though his nurse sometimes faintlyheard it, and said, "What is that horrid noise outside?" she never gotthe faintest chance to make the lark into a pie.

  All during the winter the little bird cheered and amused him. Hescarcely needed anything more--not even his traveling cloak, which laybundled unnoticed in a corner, tied up in its many knots.

  Prince Dolor was now a big boy. Not tall--alas! he never could be that,with his poor little shrunken legs. But he was stout and strong, withgreat sturdy shoulders, and muscular arms, upon which he could swinghimself about almost as well as a monkey. His face, too, was veryhandsome; thinner, firmer, more manly; but still the sweet face of hischildhood--his mother's own face.

  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 until 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"--the boywas always wondering--"Nurse"--and one day he startled her with a suddenquestion--"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. She had even grown used to her punishment. Andthe little prince whom she at first hated, she had learned to love--atleast, enough to feel sorry for him.

  The Prince noticed that her feeling toward him was changing and did notshrink from her.

  "Nurse--dear nurse," said he, one day, "I don't mean to vex you, buttell me--what is a king? Shall I ever be one?"

  Then the idea came to her--what harm would it be, even if he did knowhis own history? Perhaps he ought to know it--for there had been manychanges in Nomansland, as in most other countries. Something mighthappen--who could tell? Possibly a crown would yet be set upon thosepretty, fair curls--which she began to think prettier than ever when shesaw the imaginary crown 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. It was a miserable deception. Butthen, she was an unhappy woman, more to be pitied than scorned.

  After long doubt, she put her finger to her lips, and taking thePrince's slate--with a sponge tied to it, ready to rub out the writingin a minute--she wrote:

  "You are a king."

  Prince Dolor started. His face grew pale and then flushed all over; hiseyes glistened; he held himself erect. Lame as he was, anybody could seehe was born to be a king.

  "Hush!" said the nurse, as he was beginning to speak. And then,terribly frightened all the while, she wrote down in a few sentences,his history. How his parents had died, how his uncle had stolen thethrone, and sent him to end 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 tenderly. For somehow, boy as he was,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 barely listened to the singing of thelark. Things more important were in his mind.

  "Suppose," thought he, "I were to go into the world, no matter how ithurts me. The people might only laugh at me, but still I might show themI could do something. At any rate, I might go and see if there wasanything for me to do. Godmother, help me!"

  It was so long since he had asked for help, that he was hardly surprisedwhen he got no answer. He sprang out of bed, dressed himself, and leapedto the corner where lay his traveling-cloak and unrolled it.

  Then he jumped into the middle of it, said his charm, and was outthrough the skylight immediately.

  "Good-bye, pretty lark!" he shouted, as he passed it on the wing. "Youhave been my pleasure, now I must go and work. Sing to old nurse until Icome back again. Good-bye!"

  But as the cloak hung motionless in air, he suddenly remembered that hehad not made up his mind where to go--indeed, he did not know, and therewas nobody to tell him.

  "Godmother," he cried, "you know what I want. Tell me where I ought togo; show me whatever I ought to see--never mind what I like."

  This journey was not for pleasure as before. He was not a baby now, todo nothing but play. Men work, this much Prince Dolor knew. As the cloakstarted off, over freezing mountain tops, and desolate forests, smilingplains and great lakes, he was often rather frightened. But he croucheddown, and wrapping himself up in his bearskin waited for what was tohappen.

  After some time he heard a murmur in the distance, and stretching hischin over the edge of the cloak, Prince Dolor saw--far, far below him,yet with his gold spectacles and silver ears on he could distinctly hearand see--a great city!

  Suppose you were to see a large city from the upper air; where, withyour ears and eyes open, you could take in everything at once. Whatwould it look like? How would you feel about it? I hardly know myself.Do you?

  Prince Dolor was as bewildered as a blind person who is suddenly made tosee.

  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. I wish I had some one to tell me aboutit."

  "Do you? Then pray speak to me."

  The voice that squeaked out this reply came from a great black and whitebird that flew into the cloak and began walking round and round on theedge of it with a dignified stride.

  "I haven't the honor of your acquaintance," said the boy politely.

  "My name is Mag and I shall be happy to tell you everything you want toknow. My family is very old; we have builded in this palace for manyyears. I am well acquainted with the King, the Queen, and the littleprinces and princesses--also the maids of honor, and all theinhabitants of the city. I talk a great deal, but I always talk sense,and I dare say I shall be very useful to a poor, little, ignorant boylike you."

  "I am a prince," said the other gently.

  "All right. And I am a magpie."

  She settled herself at his elbow and began to chatter away, pointing outwith one skinny claw every object of interest, evidently believing, asno doubt all its inhabitants did, that there was no city in the worldlike the great capital of Nomansland.

  Mag said that it was the finest city in the world but there were a fewthings in it that surprised Prince Dolor. One half the people seemed sohappy and contented and the other half were so poor and miserable. "Iwould try to make it a little more equal if I were king," he said.

  "But you're not the king," returned the magpie loftily. "Shall I showyou the royal palace?"

  It was a magnificent palace covering many acres of ground. It hadterraces and gardens; battlements and towers. But since the Queen diedthe windows through which she looked at the Beautiful Mountains, hadbeen closed and boarded up. The room was so little that no one cared touse it.

  "I should like to see the King," said Prince Dolor, and as he spoke Magflew down to the palace roof, where the cloak rested, settling downbetween the great stocks of chimneys as comfortably as if on the ground.Mag pecked at the tiles with her beak and immediately a little holeopened, a sort of door, through which could be seen distinctly thechamber below.

  "Now pop down on your knees and take a pe
ep at his Majesty."

  HE LIFTED UP HIS THIN, SLENDER HAND, AND THERE CAME ASILENCE OVER THE VAST CROWD IMMEDIATELY. [PAGE 47.]]

  The Prince gazed eagerly down, into a large room, the largest room hehad ever beheld, with furniture and hangings grander than anything hecould have ever imagined. A sunbeam struck across the carpet and itlooked like a bed of flowers.

  "Where is the King?" asked the puzzled boy.

  "There," said Mag, pointing with one wrinkled claw to a magnificent bed,large enough to contain six people. In the centre of it quite straightand still with its head on the lace pillow lay a small figure, somethinglike waxwork, fast asleep. There were a number of sparkling rings on thetiny yellow hands; the eyes were shut, and the nose looked sharp andthin, and the long grey beard hid the mouth, and lay over the breast.Two little flies buzzing about the curtains of the bed was the onlyaudible sound.

  "Is that the King?" whispered Prince Dolor.

  "Yes," replied the bird.

  He had been angry ever since he learned how his uncle had taken thecrown and had felt as if, king as he was, he should like to strike him,this great, strong wicked man.

  Why, you might as well have struck a baby! How helpless he lay! with hiseyes shut, and his idle hands folded; they had no more work to do, bador good.

  "What is the matter with him?" asked the Prince.

  "He is dead," said the magpie with a croak.

  No, there was not the least use in being angry with him now. On thecontrary, the Prince felt almost sorry for him.

  "What shall we do now?" asked the magpie. "There's nothing much more tobe done with his Majesty, except a funeral. Suppose we float up again ata safe distance and see it all. It will be such fun. There will be agreat row in the city and I wonder who we shall have in his place?"

  "What will be fun?"

  "A Revolution."

  As soon as the Cathedral bell began to toll, and the minute guns tofire, announcing to the Kingdom that it was without a king, the peoplegathered in crowds. The murmur now and then rose into a shout, and theshout into a roar. When Prince Dolor, quietly floating in the upper air,caught the sound of their different and opposite cries, it seemed to himas if the whole city had gone mad together.

  "Long live the King!" "The King is dead--down with the King!" "Down withthe crown and the King too!" "Hurrah for the Republic!" "Hurrah for nogovernment at all."

  Such were the shouts which came up to him and then began, oh! what ascene! The country was in a revolution. Soldiers were shooting downpeople by hundreds in the streets, scaffolds were being erected, headsdropping off, houses burned, and women and children murdered.

  Prince Dolor saw it all. Things happened so fast after one another thathe nearly lost his senses.

  "Oh, let me go home," he cried at last, stopping his ears and shuttinghis eyes, "only let me go home!" for even his lonely tower and itsdreariness and silence, was absolute paradise after this.

  Prince Dolor fell into a kind of swoon and when he awoke he foundhimself in his own room.