by A. A. Milne
CHAPTER I
THE KING OF EURALIA HAS A VISITOR TO BREAKFAST
_He was a Man of Simple Tastes_]
King Merriwig of Euralia sat at breakfast on his castle walls. Helifted the gold cover from the gold dish in front of him, selected atrout and conveyed it carefully to his gold plate. He was a man ofsimple tastes, but when you have an aunt with the newly acquired giftof turning anything she touches to gold, you must let her practisesometimes. In another age it might have been fretwork.
"Ah," said the King, "here you are, my dear." He searched for hisnapkin, but the Princess had already kissed him lightly on the top ofthe head, and was sitting in her place opposite to him.
"Good morning, Father," she said; "I'm a little late, aren't I? I'vebeen riding in the forest."
"Any adventures?" asked the King casually.
"Nothing, except it's a beautiful morning."
"Ah, well, perhaps the country isn't what it was. Now when I was ayoung man, you simply couldn't go into the forest without an adventureof some sort. The extraordinary things one encountered! Witches,giants, dwarfs----. It was there that I first met your mother," headded thoughtfully.
"I wish I remembered my mother," said Hyacinth.
The King coughed and looked at her a little nervously.
"Seventeen years ago she died, Hyacinth, when you were only six monthsold. I have been wondering lately whether I haven't been a littleremiss in leaving you motherless so long."
The Princess looked puzzled. "But it wasn't your fault, dear, thatmother died."
"Oh, no, no, I'm not saying that. As you know, a dragon carried heroff and--well, there it was. But supposing"--he looked at hershyly--"I had married again."
The Princess was startled.
"Who?" she asked.
The King peered into his flagon. "Well," he said, "there _are_people."
"If it had been somebody _very_ nice," said the Princess wistfully,"it might have been rather lovely."
The King gazed earnestly at the outside of his flagon.
"Why 'might have been?'" he said.
The Princess was still puzzled. "But I'm grown up," she said; "Idon't want a mother so much now."
The King turned his flagon round and studied the other side of it.
"A mother's--er--tender hand," he said, "is--er--never----" and thenthe outrageous thing happened.
It was all because of a birthday present to the King of Barodia, andthe present was nothing less than a pair of seven-league boots. TheKing being a busy man, it was a week or more before he had anopportunity of trying those boots. Meanwhile he used to talk aboutthem at meals, and he would polish them up every night before he wentto bed. When the great day came for the first trial of them to bemade, he took a patronising farewell of his wife and family, ignoredthe many eager noses pressed against the upper windows of the Palace,and sailed off. The motion, as perhaps you know, is a littledisquieting at first, but one soon gets used to it. After that it isfascinating. He had gone some two thousand miles before he realisedthat there might be a difficulty about finding his way back. Thedifficulty proved at least as great as he had anticipated. For therest of that day he toured backwards and forwards across the country;and it was by the merest accident that a very angry King shot inthrough an open pantry window in the early hours of the morning. Heremoved his boots and went softly to bed. . . .
It was, of course, a lesson to him. He decided that in the future hemust proceed by a recognised route, sailing lightly from landmark tolandmark. Such a route his Geographers prepared for him--an earlymorning constitutional, of three hundred miles or so, to be taken tentimes before breakfast. He gave himself a week in which to recoverhis nerve and then started out on the first of them.
_"Most extraordinary," said the King_]
Now the Kingdom of Euralia adjoined that of Barodia, but whereasBarodia was a flat country, Euralia was a land of hills. It wasnatural then that the Court Geographers, in search of landmarks,should have looked towards Euralia; and over Euralia accordingly,about the time when cottage and castle alike were breakfasting, theKing of Barodia soared and dipped and soared and dipped again.
* * * * *
"A mother's tender hand," said the King of Euralia,"is--er--never--good gracious! What's that?"
There was a sudden rush of air; something came for a moment betweenhis Majesty and the sun; and then all was quiet again.
"What was it?" asked Hyacinth, slightly alarmed.
"Most extraordinary," said the King. "It left in my mind animpression of ginger whiskers and large boots. Do we know anybodylike that?"
"The King of Barodia," said Hyacinth, "has red whiskers, but I don'tknow about his boots."
"But what could he have been doing up there? Unless----"
There was another rush of wind in the opposite direction; once morethe sun was obscured, and this time, plain for a moment for all tosee, appeared the rapidly dwindling back view of the King of Barodiaon his way home to breakfast.
Merriwig rose with dignity.
"You're quite right, Hyacinth," he said sternly; "it _was_ the King ofBarodia."
Hyacinth looked troubled.
"He oughtn't to come over anybody's breakfast table quite so quicklyas that. Ought he, Father?"
"A lamentable display of manners, my dear. I shall withdraw now andcompose a stiff note to him. The amenities must be observed."
Looking as severe as a naturally jovial face would permit him, andwondering a little if he had pronounced "amenities" right, he strodeto the library.
The library was his Majesty's favourite apartment. Here in themornings he would discuss affairs of state with his Chancellor, orreceive any distinguished visitors who were to come to his kingdom insearch of adventure. Here in the afternoon, with a copy of _What tosay to a Wizard_ or some such book taken at random from the shelves,he would give himself up to meditation.
And it was the distinguished visitors of the morning who gave him mostto think about in the afternoon. There were at this moment no fewerthan seven different Princes engaged upon seven different enterprises,to whom, in the event of a successful conclusion, he had promised thehand of Hyacinth and half his kingdom. No wonder he felt that sheneeded the guiding hand of a mother.
The stiff note to Barodia was not destined to be written. He wasstill hesitating between two different kinds of nib, when the door wasflung open and the fateful name of the Countess Belvane was announced.
The Countess Belvane! What can I say which will bring home to youthat wonderful, terrible, fascinating woman? Mastered as she was byoverweening ambition, utterly unscrupulous in her methods of achievingher purpose, none the less her adorable humanity betrayed itself in apassion for diary-keeping and a devotion to the simpler forms oflyrical verse. That she is the villain of the piece I know well; inhis _Euralia Past and Present_ the eminent historian, RogerScurvilegs, does not spare her; but that she had her great qualities Ishould be the last to deny.
She had been writing poetry that morning, and she wore green. Shealways wore green when the Muse was upon her: a pleasing habit which,whether as a warning or an inspiration, modern poets might do well toimitate. She carried an enormous diary under her arm; and in her mindseveral alternative ways of putting down her reflections on her way tothe Palace.
"Good morning, dear Countess," said the King, rising only too gladlyfrom his nibs; "an early visit."
"You don't mind, your Majesty?" said the Countess anxiously. "Therewas a point in our conversation yesterday about which I was not quitecertain----"
"What _were_ we talking about yesterday?"
"Oh, your Majesty," said the Countess, "affairs of state," and shegave him that wicked, innocent, impudent, and entirely scandalous lookwhich he never could resist, and you couldn't either for that matter.
"Affairs of state, of course," smiled the King.
"Why, I made a special note of it in my diary."
She laid down the enormous volu
me and turned lightly over the pages.
"Here we are! '_Thursday._ His Majesty did me the honour to consultme about the future of his daughter, the Princess Hyacinth. Remainedto tea and was very----' I can't quite make this word out."
"Let _me_ look," said the King, his rubicund face becoming yet morerubicund. "It looks like 'charming,'" he said casually.
"Fancy!" said Belvane. "Fancy my writing that! I put down just whatcomes into my head at the time, you know." She made a gesture withher hand indicative of some one who puts down just what comes into herhead at the time, and returned to her diary. "'Remained to tea, andwas very charming. Mused afterwards on the mutability of life!'" Shelooked up at him with wide-open eyes. "I often muse when I'm alone,"she said.
The King still hovered over the diary.
"Have you any more entries like--like that last one? May I look?"
"Oh, your Majesty! I'm afraid it's _quite_ private." She closed thebook quickly.
"I just thought I saw some poetry," said the King.
"Just a little ode to a favourite linnet. It wouldn't interest yourMajesty."
"I adore poetry," said the King, who had himself written a rhymedcouplet which could be said either forwards or backwards, and in thelatter position was useful for removing enchantments. According tothe eminent historian, Roger Scurvilegs, it had some vogue in Euraliaand went like this:
"_Bo, boll, bill, bole._ _Wo, woll, will, wole._"
A pleasing idea, temperately expressed.
The Countess, of course, was only pretending. Really she was longingto read it. "It's quite a little thing," she said.
"_Hail to thee, blithe linnet,_ _Bird thou clearly art,_ _That from bush or in it_ _Pourest thy full heart!_ _And leads the feathered choir in song_ _Taking the treble part._"
"Beautiful," said the King, and one must agree with him. Many yearsafter, another poet called Shelley plagiarised the idea, but handledit in a more artificial, and, to my way of thinking, decidedlyinferior manner.
"Was it a real bird?" said the King.
"An old favourite."
"Was it pleased about it?"
"Alas, your Majesty, it died without hearing it."
"Poor bird!" said his Majesty; "I think it would have liked it."
Meanwhile Hyacinth, innocent of the nearness of a mother, remained onthe castle walls and tried to get on with her breakfast. But she madelittle progress with it. After all, it _is_ annoying continually tolook up from your bacon, or whatever it is, and see a foreign monarchpassing overhead. Eighteen more times the King of Barodia tookHyacinth in his stride. At the end of the performance, feeling rathergiddy, she went down to her father.
She found him alone in the library, a foolish smile upon his face, butno sign of a letter to Barodia in front of him.
"Have you sent the Note yet?" she asked.
"Note? Note?" he said, bewildered, "what--oh, you mean the Stiff Noteto the King of Barodia? I'm just planning it, my love. The exactshade of stiffness, combined with courtesy, is a little difficult tohit."
"I shouldn't be too courteous," said Hyacinth; "he came over eighteenmore times after you'd gone."
"Eighteen, eighteen, eight--my dear, it's outrageous."
"I've never had such a crowded breakfast before."
"It's positively insulting, Hyacinth. This is no occasion for Notes.We will talk to him in a language that he will understand."
And he went out to speak to the Captain of his Archers.
