THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY
[Illustration]
_VOLUME ONE_
THE BROWN OWL
[Illustration]
_THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY._
THE BROWN OWL.
THE CHINA CUP, AND OTHER STORIES.
STORIES FROM FAIRYLAND.
[Illustration]
THE
BROWN OWL
A Fairy Story
BY
FORD H. MADOX HUEFFER
_TWO ILLUSTRATIONS BY
F. MADOX BROWN_
NEW YORK
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY
104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE
1892
THIRD EDITION
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE BROWN OWL
ONCE upon a time, a long while ago—in fact long before Egypt had risen
to power and before Rome or Greece had ever been heard of—and that was
some time before you were born, you know—there was a king who reigned
over a very large and powerful kingdom.
Now this king was rather old, he had founded his kingdom himself, and
he had reigned over it nine hundred and ninety-nine and a half years
already. As I have said before, it was a very large kingdom, for it
contained, among other things, the whole of the western half of the
world. The rest of the world was divided into smaller kingdoms, and
each kingdom was ruled over by separate princes, who, however, were
none of them so old as Intafernes, as he was called.
Now King Intafernes was an exceedingly powerful magician—that was
why he had remained so long on the throne; for you must know that in
this country the people were divided into two classes—those who were
magicians, and those who weren’t. The magicians called themselves
Aristocrats, and the others called themselves what they liked; also in
this country, as in all other countries, the rich magicians had the
upper hand over the rest, but still the others did not grumble, for
they were not badly treated on the whole. Now of all the magicians in
the country the King was the greatest, and no one approached him in
magic power but the Chancellor, who was called Merrymineral, and he
even was no match for the King.
Among other things King Intafernes had a daughter, who was exceedingly
beautiful—as indeed all princesses are or ought to be. She had a very
fair face, and a wealth of golden hair that fell over her shoulders,
like a shining waterfall falling in ripples to her waist.
Now in the thousandth year of her father’s reign the Princess was
eighteen, and in that country she was already of age. Three days before
her nineteenth birthday, however, her father fell sick and gradually
weakened, until at last he had only strength left to lie in his royal
bed. Still, however, he retained his faculties, and on the Princess’s
birthday he made all the magicians file before his bed and swear to be
faithful for ever to the Princess. Last of all came the Chancellor, the
pious Merrymineral, and as he took the oath the King looked at him with
a loving glance and said:
‘Ah! my dear Merrymineral, in truth there was no need for thee to have
taken the oath, for it is thy nature to be faithful; and it being thy
nature, thou couldst not but be faithful.’
To which the pious Merrymineral answered:
‘To such a master and to such a mistress how could I but be faithful?’
and to this noble sentiment the three hundred and forty-seven magicians
could not help according unanimous applause.
When they were quiet again the King said:
‘So be it, good Merrymineral, do thou always act up to thy words. But
now leave, good men all, for I am near my end, and would fain spend my
last moments with my daughter here.’
Sorrowfully, one by one, the courtiers left, wishing him their last
adieux. He had been a good king to all, all through his long reign, and
they were sorry that he had to leave them at last.
Soon they were all gone except the good Merrymineral, and at last he
too went, his whole frame shaking with suppressed sobs; his body seemed
powerless with grief, and his limbs seemed to refuse their functions.
The King looked after him, carefully noticing whether the door was
shut. Then he spoke:
‘My dear daughter,’ he said, ‘when I am gone be kind to every one, and,
above all, cherish the Owl—do cherish the Owl—promise me to cherish the
Owl.’
‘But how can I cherish the Owl?’ cried the poor Princess; ‘how can I,
unless I know who he is?’
But the King only answered:
‘Dear Ismara, do promise to cherish the Owl!’
And he said nothing else for a long time, until at last the Princess
saw that the only way to let him rest in peace was to promise, and she
said:
‘I promise, dear father, but still I do wish I knew who or what the
Owl is that I am to cherish.’
‘You will see that in good time,’ answered the King. ‘Now, my dear
Ismara, I shall die happy, and you will be safe. If you had not
promised—however, we will let that rest unsaid. Now wheel the bed to
where I can see out of the window.’
The Princess did as she was told. Now from this you must not imagine
that she was a very strong princess—for she was no stronger than most
princesses of her age; but the old King, who was a very powerful
magician, as I have told you already, made the bed easy for her to
move. He might have made it move of its own accord, but he knew that it
would please his daughter to be of service to him, and so he let her
move it.
The view from the window was very fine. A dark wood grew in the
foreground, and far away over the tree-tops were the blue hills, behind
which the sun was just preparing to retire. And it seemed angry, the
sun, for its face was dark and clouded, and its beams smote fiercely
on everything, and gilded the tops of the autumn trees with a purer
gold than their natural tint. But overhead the clouds spread darkly,
and they reached in a black pall to the verge of the horizon, forming
a black frame to the red-gold sunset; for only the extreme west was
bright with the waning light.
The Princess sat on the bed beside the King, and the dying sun lit them
both and fell with a ruddy glare on the King’s hard countenance, as if
it knew that his work on earth for the day, and for ever, was done.
‘Is it not grand?’ cried the old King, as if the glorious sight warmed
his blood again and made him once more young. ‘And is it not grand
to think of the power that thou hast, my daughter? If thou but raise
thy little finger armies will move from world’s end to world’s end.
Fleets come daily from every land for thee alone; all that thou seest
is thine, and utterly within thy power. Think of the power, the grand
power, of swaying the world.’
But long before he had got thus far, the Princess was weeping
bitterly—partly at the overwhelming prospect, and partly from her great
grief. She seized her father’s hand and kissed it passionately.
‘My father, my father,’ she cried, ‘say not so; they are all thine, not
mine, for thou livest still, and all is yet well.’
But the old King cut her short:
‘Dost thou see the sun? Look, its lower rim is already cut by the
mountains. When its disc is hidden I too shall have joined the
majority, and my soul will have left my body, and the power will be
thine. But above all cherish the Owl. Never go out of its sight, for if
thou do, some harm will happen.’
As he stopped speaking a flash of lightning lit up the sky, and the
sullen roar of distant thunder followed.
From every church in the land the passing bell tolled forth and the
solemn sounds came swelling on the breeze. Again came the flash of
lightning, and again the thunder, and now the splash of falling rain
accompanied and almost drowned the thunder. The sun’s rim was now
almost down.
For the last time the old King kissed his daughter, as she hung weeping
on his neck. Again the lightning came, but this time the thunder was
drowned in a more fearful sound. Never before had the sound been heard,
except at the death of the Princess’s mother. It was the passing bell
of the cathedral of the town. And as its sound went forth throughout
the whole land men shook their heads in sorrow, for they knew that the
soul of the good King had left his body. Through the whole land the
news was known—to every one except to the Princess.
For she lay on the bed passionately kissing the dead face—not yet cold
in death—and calling on his name in vain; for the ears of the dead are
closed ‘to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.’
Gradually the voice of the Princess died away into low sobs and her
breathing came more regularly, and in spite of the tolling of the
death-bell she slept, worn out by her grief. No one came near her, for
at the Court no one was allowed to enter the royal presence without
a command, whatever happened. So for a time the Princess slept on,
clasping the still face to her warm cheek. But at last the death-cold
of the face wakened her once more to the death-cold of the world. For
a time her wakening dreams refused to let her believe the worst, but
the stern reality forced itself on her. She raised herself on her two
arms and gazed through the darkness at the white face that made her
shudder when her longing eyes at last traced out its lines as a flash
of lightning lit it up. She sprang off the bed with a wild impulse of
calling for help.
But no sooner had she got to the door and had given the call than she
once more fainted and seemed for a time lifeless.
When she came to herself again she was in bed in her own room. It was
still night, and at the side of her bed a night-light was burning in a
glass shade. She could not understand what it all meant; but her head
did ache so, and she could not tell why they were making such a noise
at the far end of the room. For you see she was lying on her back low
down in the pillows, and so she could not see beyond the foot of the
bed. However, she raised herself on her elbow and looked. For a short
time she could see nothing, for the room was somewhat dark, as the
night-light gave but little light But at the other end of the room a
large fire was burning, and by its light the Princess saw a strange
scene.
For in the middle of the floor she could make out a group of three
ladies-in-waiting, who were struggling with a large black object—what
it was the Princess could not see, but it seemed to be attempting
to attack the Court doctor, who was huddled up in a corner with his
umbrella spread out before him, and he was gradually sinking down
behind it, giving vent to the most horrible groans and shrieks for
mercy, and calling to the ladies to keep it off. However, in spite of
their efforts, the ‘thing’ was gradually drawing them nearer and nearer
to the poor doctor.
But the strangest thing of all was that the doctor’s face was lit up by
two distinct rounds of light. It was just as if some one had turned the
light of a bull’s-eye lantern on him, and this the Princess could not
understand at all. However, she lay still and watched.
The doctor got farther and farther behind the umbrella until only his
head appeared over the top of it. At last he shrieked:
‘Send for a regiment of Lifeguards—let them shoot the Owl—it is
necessary for the health of the Princess. Owls are very bad things
to have in bedrooms—they bring scarlatina, and they always carry the
influenza epidemic. Lifeguards, I tell you, send for them.’ But still
the ‘thing’ came nearer, and with an agonised shriek of ‘The Owl!’ he
sank altogether under the rim.
This loud cry of ‘The Owl’ roused the Princess, and she remembered her
promise to cherish the Owl. So she called to the ladies-in-waiting, and
they, astonished, let go the thing, and the Owl immediately flew at
the umbrella, underneath which the doctor was coiled up, and perched
on the top. The Princess, however, thought it was rather rash to have
promised to cherish the Owl if it was going to eat up her physicians
in that reckless manner. However, the Owl did not seem aggressive, and
only seemed as if it were waiting for further orders. The Princess
determined to see if it would come when it was called, like a dog. So
she called in a sweet, persuasive voice:
‘Come here, good Owl.’
Immediately the dark shape of the Owl flitted noiselessly to her side
as she sat on the bed. The wind of its flight blew out the flickering
night-light in spite of the glass shade. But the glittering eyes of the
Owl lit up the whole room, so that there was no need of light. As it
alighted on the bed it turned its eyes on the Princess as much as to
say, ‘What shall I do now?’
But the fierce light of the eyes was softened as it turned to her, as
if the Owl feared to hurt her with the blinding rays.
‘Cherished Owl,’ said the Princess, ‘why didst thou hurt the physician?’
The Owl shook his head; but the Princess could not understand whether
he meant that he did not know why he had hurt him, or if he meant he
had not hurt him. So the Princess told one of the ladies-in-waiting to
remove the umbrella from over the doctor. But this was not so easy as
it sounded, for the doctor held firmly on to the handle, and in spite
of the united efforts of the three ladies-in-waiting he managed to hold
on. At last the Princess lost patience.
‘Go and help them, good Owl,’ she said; and the Owl, overjoyed, flew
to the doctor, and seizing the top of the umbrella flew with it up to
the ceiling, and as the doctor still held on, he flew round and round,
until the doctor, hitting the top of a cupboard, let go, and fell in
a heap in the middle of the floor, where he lay half unconscious,
repeating as he sat:
‘Orange juice for influenza; try a seidlitz powder and a blue pill, and
keep the owls out of the room and take a warm bath, and—send for the
Lifeguards.’
But the Princess did not seem inclined to send for them; and in truth
it would have been rather awkward for the horses to get in, as the room
was on the second floor.
So the Princess told the ladies-in-waiting to drag him out of the room,
and they obeyed; but as he went he said: ‘Sleeping in unaired sheets
causes rheumatism, sciatica, pleurisy, pneumonia and—owls;’ and as the
door closed they heard him say, ‘Gregory powder and Epsom salts.’
The poor Princess, however, began to weep again, and the Owl sat
perched on the bed-post at her feet, watching her with his bright eyes.
However, after she had cried thus for a long time, she thought it
would be better to stop her tears, for they were all in vain, as she
knew but too well.
So she rose from her bed; for you must know she had only been laid on
her bed when she had fainted, and so she still had all her clothes on.
Through the window-blinds the light of dawn was already beginning to
show itself. So the Princess went to the window and drew back the
curtains, and let the bright sunlight shine into the room. A beautiful
day was dawning after the last night’s rain, and the sun was rising
brightly over the edge of the blue sea. For a moment, as she looked
out, everything was quiet except the shrill chirp of a solitary sparrow
that seemed to have awakened too early. From the chimneys of the
red-roofed town below her no smoke was rising, for all in the town were
asleep still.
Suddenly, with a rush, the morning breeze came from over the land
behind her, and with the rustle of the wind everything seemed to wake
and come to life once more. The solitary chirp of the sparrow was
drowned in the flood of song that poured forth from the trees in the
palace garden, and with the birds the rest of the living animals awoke,
and from far inland the lowing of the cows was borne on the breeze,
and now and again came the joyful bark of the shepherd’s dog as it
recognised its master’s whistle as he called it to work again among the
sheep, whose plaintive bleating came softly, as if from a distance, to
the Princess’s ear.
Everything seemed joyful at the sight of the beautiful morning except
the Princess, and she felt oh so lonely, for it seemed as if her only
friend had gone from her for ever. And at the thought her tears began
to flow afresh, for she felt very lonely, while everything else seemed
to rejoice. But as she leant thus against the window-sill, with a
great lump in her throat and the hot tears in her eyes, she suddenly
felt a weight on her shoulder and a rushing wind waved her hair, and
as she turned her head to see what it was, her face was covered in the
soft brown feathers of the Owl, who had perched on her shoulder.
The touch of the Owl seemed to have driven away her grief, and she felt
quite light and joyful in the beautiful sunshine. For it seemed as if
the Owl had become a companion to her that would take the place of her
father; so she leaned her head against the Owl, and her golden hair
mixed with the dusky brown feathers, till each streak of golden hair
shone again in the bright sunlight. And the Owl too seemed very happy.
So for a time the Princess stood looking over the deep-blue sea.
Suddenly, however, a footstep sounded in the courtyard below, and the
Princess drew back from the window, for a thought suddenly came into
her head:
‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘I have been crying such a lot that my eyes must
be quite red, and my hair is all ruffled. This will never do.’ And as
she looked in the glass she said, ‘Ah, just as I thought. Come, my
cherished Owl, sit there on the crown on the top of the looking-glass
frame and wait while I wash my hands and face and make myself tidy.’
The Owl did as he was told, and the Princess began to wash in cold
water—a thing she had never done before—but she did not like to call to
her ladies-in-waiting, lest they should see how red her eyes were. So
she had to put up with the cold water, and very pleasant she found it,
for it cleared the tear-mist out of her eyes and made her feel quite
happy and cheerful again: ‘And I have heard,’ she thought to herself,
‘that washing in cold water is matchless for the complexion.’
When she had finished washing she went and combed her hair before the
glass. For she was a very artistic Princess, and liked looking at
beautiful things, and so she liked sometimes to look at herself in the
glass. Not that she was in the least conceited.
So she combed her hair with a gold comb, and when she had finished
combing it, she put on her gold circlet as a sign of her rank, and
then she said to the Owl, who had been sitting patiently on the
looking-glass blinking at her as if he quite enjoyed himself:
‘Now, cherished Owl, you may sit on my shoulder again.’
When the Owl was again in his place he blinked in the glass at his own
reflection as if the light were too strong for him, and he shut his
eyes and drew in his neck and lifted up one foot into his feathers, as
if he felt quite happy and comfortable, and the Princess smiled at his
happy look, for she seemed quite to have forgotten her sorrow in the
company of the Owl.
So she, with the Owl on her shoulder, went to the window. Here in the
courtyard already a large crowd had collected to catch a glimpse of the
Princess if possible, so that it fell about that when they saw her they
raised a mighty shout of joy and pity:
‘The King is dead,’ they cried. ‘Long live the Queen!’ And throughout
the city far and wide echoed and re-echoed the cry:
‘Long live the Queen’; and it seemed as if the waves of the sea
murmured the sound.
The Princess, however, held out her little hand to still the tumult,
and as if by magic the cries stopped.
‘Good people all,’ she said in clear ringing tones, ‘I thank you for
your good wishes, and I will try always to be worthy of them as my
father was. For to-day, however, rejoice not; remember that the great
King Intafernes, the founder of the kingdom to which we all belong, has
but just left the earth—sorrow for him but a short time; joy will come
soon enough for all.’
So the crowd, silent and pensive for a time, dispersed in groups.
More than one of them asked what had been perched on the Princess’s
shoulder, and those who had been near enough, said that it was an
owl—though what it meant they knew not.
‘To me it seemed as if the head of the old King were looking over
his daughter’s shoulder,’ said one of the listeners who stood on the
outskirts of the crowd.
But she was only a little hunchback, and the rich citizens laughed
at her, saying: ‘Tush, child—thy fancy is not sound! Or else before
looking at the Princess thou didst look at the fierce sun, and the
sun-spots in thy eyes caused thee to see it thus. It was but an owl.’
But the little hunchback held to her own opinion.
But while the Princess stood watching them depart, a tapping came at
the door, and the Princess cried ‘Come in.’ A page entered and said
that the Chancellor, Merrymineral, was below and requested audience of
the Princess.
‘Let him be shown into the audience chamber to await me there.’
The page bowed and departed on his errand, and the Princess went to
another door in the room and down the staircase that led from it to the
audience chamber, and the Owl remained seated on her shoulder until
they reached the room. When they got there the Chancellor had not yet
entered, for the staircase from the Princess’s bedroom to the audience
chamber was much shorter than that from the entrance hall, and then you
see the Princess was much more nimble than Merrymineral, who was an
old man, and she ran quickly downstairs whilst he walked slowly up.
However at last he entered. As he came in the Princess said:
‘Good morning, dear Merrymineral. How is it you are so late? I shall
have to fine you if you keep me waiting like this again. And now what
do you want with me?’
The good Chancellor received her laughing reproach with his head bowed
down. He heaved a deep sigh, and drew his pocket-handkerchief from his
pocket and applied it to his eyes. As he drew it away the tears could
be seen flowing fast down his withered cheeks.
‘I came,’ he moaned, ‘to console you for your great loss. I too,’ he
continued in a voice choked with sobs, ‘I too am an orphan.’
It seemed funny to the Princess to see him weeping thus, and she could
hardly help laughing at him, but her grief soon came back.
‘Poor Merrymineral,’ she sighed, ‘to you also it must be a sad blow,
for you were always faithful and attached. But it was fated to happen
thus, and you must really try and be comforted, for crying will not
mend matters.’
The Chancellor began again:
‘The beloved King your father’; but his sobs choked him, and he hid his
face.
‘The beloved King your father,’ echoed a loud voice, exactly mimicking
the tones of the Chancellor, but where the voice came from no one could
tell. The Chancellor started.
‘Did you say that?’ said the Princess.
‘Not the second time,’ answered Merrymineral.
‘Who could it be?’ said the Princess; ‘for there is no one in the room
except the cherished Owl; and you can’t speak, can you, Owl dear?’
The Owl shook his head dismally. But the change that came over
Merrymineral was most astonishing as his eye suddenly lit upon the
Owl—for since his entrance he had not raised his eyes from the floor.
He jumped backwards over three rows of seats, for you see the seats
in the audience chamber were arranged in rows, and he alighted in a
sitting posture on the other side. As he sat on the floor he looked up
at the Owl in a terrified manner, then threw up his arms and fainted.
The poor Princess did not know what to do, so she rang a bell that
stood on the table in front of the throne. Several pages at once came
in.
‘Just bring that man to,’ said the Princess.
The pages bowed low, and went and shook the Chancellor violently.
He showed no signs of recovering, so one of the pages turned to the
Princess and said:
‘May it please your Majesty, but the Chancellor refuses to come to, and
we can’t bring him.’
‘So he refuses to obey my orders,’ said the Princess. ‘He must be
punished for this. However, now go and get a bucketful of water and
pour it on him. Perhaps that will bring him to.’
Now when she said he was to be punished, she was only joking, but she
said it very gravely, so that many people might have thought it was
quite in earnest. Meanwhile the pages departed to fetch the water. They
soon came back and brought a large pailful.
‘You had better not throw it all over him,’ said the Princess; ‘just
let it trickle over his face gently.’
So one of the pages began to do as he was told, but somehow—either he
had a sudden push, or, as he said afterwards, the Owl looked at him,
and startled him—he let the pail go, and all the water and the pail too
fell over the unlucky Chancellor. This really did bring him very much
to—much too much to, in fact—for he sprang up in such a rage that the
Princess really wished herself out of the room.
‘You jackanapes,’ he screamed at the unfortunate page; ‘you ape, you
boar, you cow, you clumsy monkey, I’ll be revenged on you.’
But the Princess, who had gained courage while he was screaming, said:
‘You will not be revenged on him.’
‘But I shall,’ he said.
‘Indeed you will not,’ said the Princess, ‘for he did it by my orders.’
‘Oh! he did it by your orders,’ said the Chancellor; ‘then I’ll be
revenged on you too,’ and he began to move uncomfortably near to the
Princess. But the three pages threw themselves on him and tried to drag
him back, but he turned suddenly on them.
‘What,’ he said scornfully, ‘you try to stop me—ye frogs! Ah! a
good idea—by virtue of my magic power I command you to turn into
water-rats; then perhaps the Owl there will eat you up.’
No sooner said than done, and the three pages instantly became
water-rats, squattering in the water that was still in a pool on the
floor.
Somehow the Princess did not seem to be at all frightened at this; she
was only very angry.
‘I thought I told you not to hurt those pages.’
‘Who cares what you say?’
‘Dear me,’ thought the Princess, ‘he is getting excessively insolent—I
shall have to be severe with him in a moment.’ So she said:
‘Turn those pages back again.’
‘I shall not.’
‘Then leave the room.’
‘I shall not.’
The Princess did not know what to do; he was really very rude, and he
was walking towards her evidently intending to attack her. When he was
within ten feet of her he stopped, and though he tried to get nearer
he could not.
‘Ha! ha!’ he cried; ‘you think to keep me off by magic, but it is not
so easy, I can tell you. By virtue of my magic power I command you to
turn into a mouse.’
But the Princess, leaning her head against the soft feathers of the
Owl, only smiled, and did not turn into a mouse at all.
The Chancellor seemed perplexed.
‘Is that not enough for you?’ he said; ‘I thought I told you to turn
into a mouse.’
But the Princess smiled calmly and said:
‘Do you suppose I am going to do anything of the sort—you have
forgotten your manners to speak to your Queen thus. I believe there is
a fine of five shillings for any one who speaks to the King or Queen
without saying “Your Majesty.” You had better pay it, Sir Chancellor,
and turn those pages back again, or I shall have you turned out of the
kingdom.’
But the Chancellor laughed. ‘You can’t send me out if you wanted to.
Meanwhile I shall not turn those rats back, for if I am not much
mistaken your Owl there will carry them off.’
It really seemed as if the Owl were going to obey him, for greatly
to the Princess’s surprise it sprang off her shoulder and seized the
three rats, one in each claw, and one in its beak—but it returned at
once to her and laid them squeaking on the table in front of her—but no
sooner did they touch the table than they turned into men again just as
quickly as they had become rats. When Merrymineral saw this he became
perfectly frantic, and tried in vain to get at the Princess—he even
went back a little and tried to run at her—but it was no use, for no
sooner did he reach a certain spot than he was suddenly stopped, just
as if he had run against a wall. At last he became so frantic that the
Princess could stand it no longer. So she said:
‘Will you be quiet, you naughty old man?—leave the room or I will send
for the police.’
But Merrymineral answered:
‘Oh, send for the police and the soldiers and sailors and
candlestick-makers.’
So the Princess rang the bell that stood on the table: a page at once
appeared at the door.
‘Send for a policeman and ask him to step this way.’
The page looked astonished, but he saluted and left the room. Almost
immediately a policeman came in—for you see there was one always on the
palace steps. He entered the room with a low bow.
‘Take the Chancellor out of the room,’ said the Princess, ‘and put him
in prison for three days.’
But the policeman shook his head.
‘Excuse me, mum—I mean your most gracious Majesty—but it is against the
law to imprison a member of Parliament, much less a chancellor.’
The Chancellor laughed sarcastically.
‘Oh, is it?’ said the Princess; ‘never mind, take him into custody; I
depose him—he is no longer Chancellor.’
Merrymineral looked astonished, but the policeman cleared his throat
and said:
‘Come, I say, young fellow; will you go quietly, or shall I make you?’
‘Oh, make me, by all means,’ answered Merrymineral.
So the policeman advanced and held out his hand to take him by the
collar, but had no sooner touched Merrymineral than he fell to the
ground as if he had been thunderstruck.
The Chancellor smiled. ‘I told you so,’ he said.
The Princess was now thoroughly nonplussed. However, she rang the bell
again. Again the page appeared.
‘Summon the Lords of the Council; let them come here at once.’
Almost immediately afterwards the lords appeared. As they came in each
one bowed profoundly to the Princess. But in spite of their grave
appearance they could not help looking astonished at the policeman, who
was lying on the floor, and at the three pages who were still sitting
on the table—for as they had not yet been told to go they could not
depart.
But each one took his seat without questioning. Last of all came the
Court doctor, who looked in an alarmed manner at the Owl—nevertheless
he took his seat.
When all was quiet the Princess began to speak.
‘My lords,’ she said, ‘I have been obliged to assemble you on the first
day of my reign; but the matter is a very grave one. I have found it
necessary to dismiss the Chancellor, for these reasons: first, he
attacked these three pages who were executing my bidding; next, he
attacked me; and lastly, he attacked the law, in the person of the
policeman there, whom he knocked down. Now I ask your advice as to how
I am to get rid of him, for he refuses to leave the room at my command.’
So spoke the Princess, but before any one could answer Merrymineral
spoke:
‘My lords,’ he said, ‘are we, we, the lords of the kingdom, to be
governed by this schoolgirl, who is not even a magician as we are? What
good has she ever done us? What power is to keep us from deposing her
and electing as a ruler one of ourselves?’——but before he could finish
a perfect uproar of shouts of rage interrupted him.
The Princess put her fingers in her ears to keep out the sound, and
when the lords saw that the noise was annoying her they stopped at
once. When they were quiet the Princess spoke again:
‘What he has just said is right,’ she said; ‘I have no right to reign
over you, for I am but a girl. Do ye therefore elect a ruler.’
For a moment all was silence in the Council, but all eyes were turned
on a lord who stood next to Merrymineral in rank. He was a portly man,
and a great magician too, though his power was not quite so great as
Merrymineral’s. When therefore he saw that all eyes were turned on him,
Lord Licec, for so he was called, rose.
‘Your most gracious Majesty,’ he began, ‘although you had no need
to command us to elect a ruler, we are of course bound to obey your
commands, whatever they are. I therefore speak, giving my vote, and I
believe the vote of all the rest of the assembly, that you shall be our
ruler according to the oath which we sware to your father.’
And then turning to the rest of the assembly he said:
‘Am I not right, my lords?’ and with one voice they answered:
‘We will die for our Queen Ismara.’
Only one voice objected, but as that was Merrymineral, no one noticed
him.
So the Princess rose and thanked them for their confidence in her,
though, to tell the truth, she had known all along what they would say.
That done she said:
‘And now what are we to do about turning this man out? for he refuses
to go of his own accord.’
No one could suggest anything better than to send for the Lifeguards
and let them carry him off. But before this was done they decided to
try to persuade him to go. But it was of no use, for he stood on the
spot where he had stopped, with his arms folded and his hat on, looking
down at the ground in a brown study, and he took no notice of anything
they could do, even though they rang the bell close to his ear. Now
he did no particular harm as he stood there, but you see no one could
tell whom he might attack next. So they determined to send for the
Lifeguards as a last resource.
So they were sent for, and in a short time they came, although they
left their horses outside in the courtyard. Fifty of them were then
marched into the hall and they were ordered to move the man out. So
they divided into two parties of twenty-five each, and they put a rope
round him, and each body of twenty-five took an end of the rope and
pulled, but it was no good, for he took no more notice of the pulling
than if he had been Samson or any other strong man. So the fifty gave
up the attempt in despair; the only thing to do seemed to be to cut him
to pieces. So they drew their swords and hacked at him, but it was
no use: the swords bent or broke just as if they had been bulrushes
or paper, and still Merrymineral took no notice in particular. So
they gave up the attempt in despair when they had broken up all their
swords. However, they did not give in, for they called in the best
horseman in the regiment and told him to charge on horseback with
his lance in rest. So the soldier rode in on his horse; this was not
so difficult as it may seem, for the council chamber was on a level
with the ground, and a lane was opened in between the chairs to where
Merrymineral still stood with his arms folded.
At the word of command the soldier rode at full speed towards
Merrymineral, aiming his lance at the centre of his face—that is his
nose. His aim was true, and the lance hit fair, but it might just as
well have been made of macaroni, for it crumbled just as a stick of
that delightful eatable would do if you ran it against a wall. The
horse, however, swerved just in time, although it pushed against him in
going by; but even this made no difference to Merrymineral. As a last
resource they suggested putting a lighted match under his nose. Whether
this would have succeeded or not I can’t say. But just at this moment
Merrymineral seemed to wake up again.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I see you have not yet managed to get me out of the
room. However, as your soldiers have been practising on me for some
time past, I think it only right that I should try my hand on them a
little. I used to be thought rather strong in the arms at one time, and
I have cut down a good many trees in my time. Just see how you like
that,’ he said to the man on the horse as he swung his umbrella round
his head and brought it down with a tremendous thwack on the horse’s
side. In fact he hit so hard that the horse and man were knocked right
through the window into the courtyard below. With three more blows he
knocked twenty more of the men through the same window, and the rest
made their escape as fast as they could by the door.
‘I see I have not quite forgotten how to clear a room yet,’ he said,
as he once more folded his arms in the same attitude and relapsed into
silence.
‘What _am_ I to do?’ said the poor Princess, wringing her hands and
almost crying with vexation.
A voice came from the far end of the room, and every one turned to see
who it might be. And all saw it was the Court physician who spoke. ‘If
I might be allowed to make a suggestion,’ he said, ‘I would say that
the best thing your Majesty could do would be to request that gentleman
who is sitting on your shoulder to turn him out. From my own experience
I should say he was very competent to perform such a task. And if I
might be allowed to add yet another suggestion it would be, “to be well
shaken before taken,” as they say in prescriptions.’
As he said this an extraordinary change came over Merrymineral. He
pressed his hat on his head, put his umbrella under his arm, and began
to put on his gloves in such a hurry that he mistook the left for the
right hand. As he did so he said:
‘Do you know, I can’t stop any longer; so sorry, but I have an
engagement and I am rather in a hurry. Good-day.’ And he began to walk
quickly towards the door. But the Princess had already whispered to the
Owl, ‘Catch him, dear Owl.’
And however fast he went the Owl caught him up, and taking him by the
middle of his coat-tails—and I am bound to say some of his skin too—he
shook him violently, and flew round and round the room banging him
violently against any high piece of furniture that was convenient.
‘O-o-o-h,’ shrieked the wretched man, ‘I say, do you know you’re
tearing my best coat, and your beak is awfully sharp? O-o-ouch,’ and he
filled the room with his shrieks. After they had continued like that
for some minutes the Princess said:
‘I think he has been punished enough now, cherished Owl, so let him
down.’
The Owl did as he was told, not, however, without giving him a sly
tweak with his bill that must have hurt him a good deal.
‘I’ll be revenged on you,’ roared Merrymineral; ‘you’ve spoilt my
Sunday coat, and I shan’t be able to afford another for I don’t
know how long. I’ll be revenged on you.’ And he took out a red
pocket-handkerchief and began to suage the blood that was coming
from the bite, all the while abusing the Owl and the Princess and
threatening to be revenged.
‘You had better be quiet and go,’ she said.
‘I shall not.’
‘Oh, very well,’ she answered, perhaps you would like to try the Owl
again.’
At the same time the Owl gave him such a look from its gleaming eyes
that he turned first red and then white with fright. He made a dash for
the window, and he was in such a hurry that he left his umbrella and
one of his gloves behind him.
He jumped right through the window high into the air, and as soon as he
got outside, strange to say, he began to burn furiously, and he went
gradually up into the sky like a fire-balloon—just as when a piece of
tissue paper is put on the fire, if you are not careful, it will fly
blazing up the chimney.
They watched him out of sight, and then the Princess said with a little
sigh of relief:
‘That’s an end of him at last.’
But the Owl shook his head—he knew better.
When he was thus at last got rid off the Princess said to the physician:
‘How can we ever thank thee enough, good doctor, for thy timely
suggestion!’
‘Oh, your Majesty,’ said the blushing doctor, ‘experience does it; and
I had plenty of that this morning. Do you know, I think I shall never
be free again from pain—although I have bathed in opodeldoc and arnica,
and I am clothed from head to foot in Court plaster.’
The Princess smiled and said:
‘I am afraid the Owl is a little over-vigorous in such matters;
however, I will give orders to the Court apothecary to supply you with
remedies at my expense until you shall be cured.’ She then said to the
three pages who still sat on the table:
‘I must ask you to depart now as Parliament cannot carry on business
with strangers in the house. However, ye are, I believe, pages; I will
turn over a new leaf and will advance you each a step in rank. Now,
however, go.’
Thanking her profusely they went. When they had gone the Princess
turned to the Councillors and said:
‘As there seems no further need to keep you, I will detain you no
longer.’
Having her permission the Councillors left the hall. Last of all was
Lord Licec, and he remained as if hesitating whether to go, or to stay
and speak to the Princess. She, noticing his hesitation, said:
‘Ah, Lord Licec, hast thou something to ask me?’
The old lord made answer:
‘I would ask your Majesty’s permission to enter the room of the late
King, your Majesty’s father, for, as you are aware, it is against the
law to enter the royal presence without the royal permission.’
‘You have my permission of course; but ought not some preparations to
be made for the funeral?’
Lord Licec answered:
‘They are already made. For as the late King had announced his
intention of dying yesterday at half-past six P.M., there was ample
time.’
‘Let us then go together to the room, my lord,’ said the Princess.
So they went together, the Princess leaning on Licec’s arm, and the Owl
sitting on her shoulder.
[Illustration]
The guards of the room saluted as they passed in, but what was their
astonishment on entering to find that the King had disappeared. When
they asked the guards who had come into the room during the day, they
replied that no one had been near the room during their watch, and the
guards of the watch before said exactly the same thing. All over the
palace inquiries were made, but to no purpose, and the rumour gradually
spread to the town, and throngs of anxious citizens flocked about
the palace gates to ask, but neither they nor any one else ever heard
what had become of him, and it is my opinion that the King himself is
the only person who knew anything about it. It came out in the course
of inquiries that when the attendants had rushed in on hearing the
Princess’s call for assistance the night before, they had not seen the
King on the bed, but in his place had sat an enormous owl, and this owl
had insisted on accompanying the Princess wherever she went.
This was the first time that the Princess had heard of how the Owl had
come to her, but still she had known all along that the Owl was the one
her father had made her promise to cherish. But there were ill-natured
people who said that it was not so very unlikely that the Owl had eaten
the King up, but the Princess only laughed and said:
‘How could the Owl eat a king up when the poor thing has so little
appetite that it only eats very small pieces of meat off my golden fork
at dinner?’
And so the Owl remained with the Princess: during the day it always sat
on her shoulder, or took short flights round her head, and at night it
slept on the foot of her bed.
So six weeks glided peacefully away, and everything prospered; but one
day a terrified messenger rode into the city at full speed, and the
message that he brought was this.
Merrymineral, who, as the Owl had said, was by no means done with,
had been inciting the people of far-off lands such as Mesopotamia and
Padan-Aram and Ireland to rebel, and he was now marching against the
Princess at the head of an immense army, laying waste the country for
miles around. At the rate he was coming, however, it would take him
a fortnight to get near the country round. So you see there was no
immediate danger; still an enemy’s army could not be allowed to remain
in the country unopposed. So the Princess gave Lord Licec the order to
assemble the army, and, as you may imagine, it was an immense one when
it did assemble. I can’t say how large it was, but if you could have
stood on a hill in the centre of the town you would have seen nothing
for miles around but shining silk banners and glistening helmets and
lances. Never before had the world held such an army, and it never will
again. Yet this army even was hardly as large as that of the enemy. The
command of the army was given to Lord Licec, for he was well known to
be the most prudent man in the kingdom.
Three days passed till the last of the army had started, and all the
while the Princess stood at the window and watched them march along the
winding street below, and the knights and men-at-arms were inspired
with fresh courage at the sight of such a princess as they had to
defend, and they cheered so loud and long that it seemed like the
continual roar of the sea beating on a rocky shore, sometimes rising,
sometimes falling, but always sounding.
The Princess indeed felt quite lonely when they had all gone, even
though their shouts did make her head ache. However, she consoled
herself by riding all day towards the army, and returning at night to
the lonely town. So she occupied three days; and the Owl always flew
over her head, protecting her from the sun when it was too hot, or else
sitting on her shoulder, or on the horse’s head, although the horse did
not like it at all.
For three days no news came, but on the fourth as the Princess was
riding out with her ladies-in-waiting she saw at a great distance in
front of her along the straight white road a cloud of dust that was
coming swiftly towards her. As it came nearer she could see the glint
of armour, and soon she could plainly see the form of an armed knight
galloping at full speed towards them. He came so fast that they had
to rein their horses to one side that they might not be run down. At
first he did not seem to know who the Princess was, or perhaps he was
going so furiously that he could not see; at any rate he had almost got
past them before he recognised her. As soon as he did, however, he drew
up, but so sudden was the action that the horse first sank back on his
haunches, and then bounded so high into the air that the marks that
his hoofs made when he alighted on the ground again, were a foot deep
in the hard road. As soon as the plunging of the horse stopped and the
Princess could make herself heard she said:
‘What news, Sir Knight, from the front, that thou ridest in such haste?’
‘But bad news, I fear,’ answered the knight.
‘What say you?’ said the Princess; ‘bad news, and with such an army as
ye had? has some fresh rebellion broken out among the men?’
‘No rebellion, but plain fighting has beaten us—but what can we do
against such foes? This Merrymineral, alone, rides on a green dragon,
and with one stroke of his sword he kills a hundred men. Myself I
charged him with my lance, but as it struck his shield it broke in
pieces as if it had been made of glass; and it was fortunate for me
that my horse carried me past him before he could strike me, for I
saw him myself cut the Knight of Pendred in half, as you would cut a
radish. And if we slay a thousand men during the day he restores them
in the night. So we have gradually been driven back, till after three
days’ fighting the army remains at Arecarp. Thence I started at eight
this morning to hurry the reinforcements from Britain and Gaul.’
‘Alas! they are still at three days’ march from here, though they
are marching night and day. But thou saidst the army was at Arecarp,
and that thou didst start to-day at eight in the morning. That is
impossible. Arecarp is twenty-four hours’ journey for a fast horse,
and it is now but twelve o’clock. Not even the horse that I ride could
go faster than that, though he is said to be the fastest horse in the
world, except Selim, the horse of the Prince of India. However, no time
is to be lost. Sir Knight, will you escort these ladies back to the
town, and rest for a while?’
‘But what will you do, your Majesty?’
‘I must ride forward to Arecarp.’
‘To Arecarp! Your Majesty, what will you do there? The battlefield is
no place for a girl.’
‘Nevertheless I must go, for my place is with the army.’
‘But if you are killed what will happen to your people without their
Queen?’
‘What do they do now without their Queen? Besides once before the
cherished Owl has defeated this man and he may do it again. If he does
not, no power on earth could save me from death, for the army is being
gradually defeated.’
‘But your Majesty could send the Owl in a cage against the enemy.’
‘I promised my father never to go out of its sight—no, I must go.’
‘I beseech you then, your Majesty, to allow me to accompany you, for
the road to the camp is full of danger.’
‘But your horse is tired, and even if he were not he could never keep
up with me.’
‘But if you will excuse the contradiction, I think I shall.’
‘Well then, have your own way, but mark me, if you lag behind I shall
not stop. However, we are losing time. Let us go.’
And they set off—the Princess ignoring the entreaties of the ladies
that she should not go.
The Princess immediately started at the full speed of her horse,
expecting that the knight would soon fall behind; but no, he galloped
at her side as if the speed were not more than usual, and his great
black charger seemed to enjoy the exercise as though he had not already
galloped over a hundred miles that morning.