Meantime, notwithstanding awkward occurrences, and griefs that she
brought upon her parents, the little princess laughed and grew--not
fat, but plump and tall. She reached the age of seventeen, without
having fallen into any worse scrape than a chimney; by rescuing her
from which, a little bird-nesting urchin got fame and a black face.
Nor, thoughtless as she was, had she committed anything worse than
laughter at everybody and everything that came in her way. When she was
told, for the sake of experiment, that General Clanrunfort was cut to
pieces with all his troops, she laughed; when she heard that the enemy
was on his way to besiege her papa's capital, she laughed hugely; but
when she was told that the city would certainly be abandoned to the
mercy of the enemy's soldiery--why, then she laughed immoderately. She
never could be brought to see the serious side of anything. When her
mother cried, she said,--
"What queer faces mamma makes! And she squeezes water out of her
cheeks? Funny mamma!"
And when her papa stormed at her, she laughed, and danced round and
round him, clapping her hands, and crying,--
"Do it again, papa. Do it again! It's such fun! Dear, funny papa!"
And if he tried to catch her, she glided from him in an instant, not in
the least afraid of him, but thinking it part of the game not to be
caught. With one push of her foot, she would be floating in the air
above his head; or she would go dancing backwards and forwards and
sideways, like a great butterfly. It happened several times, when her
father and mother were holding a consultation about her in private,
that they were interrupted by vainly repressed outbursts of laughter
over their heads; and looking up with indignation, saw her floating at
full length in the air above them, whence she regarded them with the
most comical appreciation of the position.
One day an awkward accident happened. The princess had come out upon
the lawn with one of her attendants, who held her by the hand. Spying
her father at the other side of the lawn, she snatched her hand from
the maid's, and sped across to him. Now when she wanted to run alone,
her custom was to catch up a stone in each hand, so that she might come
down again after a bound. Whatever she wore as part of her attire had
no effect in this way: even gold, when it thus became as it were a part
of herself, lost all its weight for the time. But whatever she only
held in her hands retained its downward tendency. On this occasion she
could see nothing to catch up but a huge toad, that was walking across
the lawn as if he had a hundred years to do it in. Not knowing what
disgust meant, for this was one of her peculiarities, she snatched up
the toad and bounded away. She had almost reached her father, and he
was holding out his arms to receive her, and take from her lips the
kiss which hovered on them like a butterfly on a rosebud, when a puff
of wind blew her aside into the arms of a young page, who had just been
receiving a message from his Majesty. Now it was no great peculiarity
in the princess that, once she was set agoing, it always cost her time
and trouble to check herself. On this occasion there was no time. She
_must_ kiss--and she kissed the page. She did not mind it much; for she
had no shyness in her composition; and she knew, besides, that she
could not help it. So she only laughed, like a musical box. The poor
page fared the worst. For the princess, trying to correct the
unfortunate tendency of the kiss, put out her hands to keep her off the
page; so that, along with the kiss, he received, on the other cheek, a
slap with the huge black toad, which she poked right into his eye. He
tried to laugh, too, but the attempt resulted in such an odd contortion
of countenance, as showed that there was no danger of his pluming
himself on the kiss. As for the king, his dignity was greatly hurt, and
he did not speak to the page for a whole month.
I may here remark that it was very amusing to see her run, if her mode
of progression could properly be called running. For first she would
make a bound; then, having alighted, she would run a few steps, and
make another bound. Sometimes she would fancy she had reached the
ground before she actually had, and her feet would go backwards and
forwards, running upon nothing at all, like those of a chicken on its
back. Then she would laugh like the very spirit of fun; only in her
laugh there was something missing. What it was, I find myself unable to
describe. I think it was a certain tone, depending upon the possibility
of sorrow--_morbidezza_, perhaps. She never smiled.