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LITTLE LAME PRINCE.
[Illustration: "I SWEAR TO PERFORM MY DUTIES AS REGENT, AND TO TAKE
CARE OF HIS MAJESTY." [PAGE 11.]]
THE
PLEASANT HOUR SERIES
THE
LITTLE LAME PRINCE
_By_ DINAH MARIA MULOCK
REWRITTEN FOR YOUNG READERS BY
MARGARET WATERS
ILLUSTRATED BY
HUGO VON HOFSTEN
NEW YORK
BARSE & HOPKINS
PUBLISHERS
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
I SWEAR TO PERFORM MY DUTIES AS REGENT, AND TO TAKE
CARE OF HIS MAJESTY Frontispiece
"I MUST KISS HIM, I AM HIS GOD MOTHER" 8
AND TWISTING HIMSELF AROUND, WHAT DO YOU THINK HE SAW? 16
PRINCE DOLOR MADE A SNATCH AT THE TOPMOST TWIG OF
THE TALLEST TREE 24
THE PRINCE GAZED EARNESTLY DOWN INTO THE LARGEST
ROOM HE HAD EVER BEHELD 32
HE LIFTED UP HIS THIN, SLENDER HAND, AND THERE CAME
A SILENCE OVER THE VAST CROWD IMMEDIATELY 40
THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE
CHAPTER I.
He was the most beautiful prince that ever was born.
Being a prince, people said this; and it was true. When he looked at the
candle, his eyes had an earnest expression quite startling in a new-born
baby. His nose was aquiline; his complexion was healthy; he was round,
fat, and straight-limbed--a splendid baby.
His father and mother, King and Queen of Nomansland, and their subjects
were proud and happy, having waited ten years for an heir. The only
person not quite happy was the king's brother, who would have been king
had the baby not been born, but his Majesty was very kind to him, and
gave him a Dukedom as large as a country.
The Prince's christening was to be a grand affair; there were chosen for
him four and twenty godfathers and godmothers, who each had to give him
a name, and promise to do their utmost for him. When he came of age, he
himself had to choose the name--and the godfather or godmother--that he
liked best.
All was rejoicing and the rich gave dinners and feasts for the poor.
The only quiet place in the Palace was the room, which though the prince
was six weeks old, his mother, the Queen, had not quitted. Nobody
thought she was ill as she said nothing about it herself, but lay pale
and placid, giving no trouble to anybody.
Christening day came at last and it was as lovely as the Prince himself.
All the people in the Palace were beautifully dressed in the clothes
which the Queen had given them.
By six in the morning all the royal household had dressed itself in its
very best; and then the little Prince was dressed in his magnificent
christening robe; which he did not like at all, but kicked and screamed
like any common baby. When he had calmed down, they carried him to the
bed where the Queen lay.
She kissed and blessed him, and then she gave him up with a gentle
smile, saying she "hoped he would be very good, that it would be a very
nice christening, and all the guests would enjoy themselves," and turned
peacefully over on her bed. She was a very uncomplaining person--the
Queen, and her name was Dolorez.
Everything went on as if she had been present. All, even the King
himself, had grown used to her absence, for she was not strong, and for
years had not joined in the gaieties. The noble company arrived from
many countries; also the four-and-twenty godfathers and godmothers, who
had been chosen with care, as the people who would be most useful to his
Royal Highness should he ever want friends.
They came, walking two and two, with their coronets on their
heads--dukes and duchesses, princes and princesses; they all kissed the
child and pronounced the name which each had given him. Then the
four-and-twenty names were shouted out, one after another, and written
down, to be kept in the state records.
Everybody was satisfied except the little Prince, who moaned faintly
under his christening robes, which nearly smothered him.
Though very few knew it, the Prince in coming to the chapel had met with
an accident. A young lady of rank, whose duty it was to carry him to and
from the chapel, had been so busy arranging her train with one hand,
that she stumbled and let him fall. She picked him up--the accident was
so slight it seemed hardly worth speaking of. The baby had turned pale,
but did not cry. No one knew that anything was wrong. Even if he had
moaned, the silver trumpets were loud enough to drown his voice. It
would have been a pity to let anything trouble such a day.
Such a procession! Heralds in blue and silver; pages in crimson and
gold; and a troop of little girls in dazzling white, carrying baskets of
flowers, which they strewed all the way before the child and the
nurse,--finally the four and twenty godfathers and godmothers, splendid
to look at.
The prince was a mere heap of lace and muslin, and had it not been for a
canopy of white satin and ostrich feathers, which was held over him
whenever he was carried, his presence would have been unnoticed.
"It is just like fairyland," said one little flower-girl to another,
"and I think the only thing the Prince wants now is a fairy godmother."
"Does he?" said a shrill, but soft and not unpleasant voice, and a
person no larger than a child was seen.
She was a pleasant little, old, grey-haired, grey-eyed woman, dressed
all in grey.
"Take care and don't let the baby fall again."
The grand nurse started, flushing angrily.
"Old woman, you will be kind enough not to say, 'the baby,' but 'the
Prince.' Keep away; his Royal Highness is just going to sleep."
"I must kiss him, I am his godmother."
"You!" cried the elegant lady-nurse.
"You!!" cried all the Court and the heralds began to blow the silver
trumpets, to stop the conversation.
As the procession formed to return, the old woman stood on the topmost
step, and stretched herself on tiptoe by the help of her stick, and gave
the little Prince three kisses.
"Take yourself out of the way," cried the nurse, "or the king shall be
informed immediately."
"The King knows nothing of me," replied the old woman, with an
indifferent air. "My friend in the palace is the King's wife. I know her
Majesty well, and I love her and her child. And since you dropped him on
the marble stairs I choose to take him for my own. I am his godmother,
ready to help him whenever he wants me."
"You help him!" cried the group laughing. The little old woman paid no
attention and her soft grey eyes were fixed on the Prince, who smiled
back at her.
"His Majesty shall hear of this," said a gentleman-in-waiting.
"His Majesty will hear quite enough news in a minute or two," said the
old woman sadly, kissing the little Prince on the forehead. "Be Prince
Dolor, in memory of your mother Dolorez." Everybody started.
"Old woman, you are exceedingly ill-bred," cried a lady-in-waiting.
"Even if you did know, how dared you presume to hint that her most
gracious Majesty is called Dolorez?"
"Was called Dolorez," said the old woman with a tender solemnity.
The first gentleman, called the Gold-stick-in-waiting, raised the stick
to strike her, and all the rest stretched out their hands to seize her;
but the gray mantle melted from between their fingers; and there came a
heavy, muffled sound.
The great bell of the palace--the bell which was only heard on the
death of some of the Royal family, and for as many times as he or
she was years old--began to toll. They listened. Some one counted:
"one-two-three-four"--up to nine and twenty--just the Queen's age.
The Queen, her Majesty, was dead. In the midst of the festivities she
had passed away. When the little prince was carried back to his mother's
room, there was no mother to kiss him.
As for his godmother--the little old woman in grey, nobody knew what
became of her.
[Illustration: "I MUST KISS HIM, I AM HIS GODMOTHER." [PAGE 7.]]