THE SEVENTEEN VOLUMES GO BACK AGAIN
King Merriwig of Eastern Euralia sat at breakfast on his castle walls.
He lifted the gold cover from the gold dish in front of him, selected
a trout, and conveyed it carefully to his gold plate. When you have
an aunt---- But I need not say that again.
King Coronel of Western Euralia sat at breakfast on _his_ castle
walls. He lifted the gold cover from the gold dish in front of him,
selected a trout, and conveyed it carefully to his gold plate. When
your wife's father has an aunt----
Prince Udo of Araby sat at breakfast---- But one must draw the line
somewhere. I refuse to follow Udo through any more meals. Indeed, I
think there has been quite enough eating and drinking in this book
already. Quite enough of everything in fact; but the time has nearly
come to say good-bye.
Let us speed the Prince of Araby first. His departure from Euralia
was sudden; five minutes' conversation with Coronel convinced him that
there had been a mistake about Belvane's feelings for him, and that he
could leave for Araby in perfect safety.
"You must come and see us again," said Merriwig heartily, as he shook
him by the hand.
"Yes, do," said Hyacinth.
There are two ways of saying this sort of thing, and theirs was the
second way. So was Udo's, when he answered that he would be
delighted.
It was just a week later that the famous double wedding was celebrated
in Euralia. As an occasion for speech-making by King Merriwig and
largesse-throwing by Queen Belvane it demanded and (got) a whole
chapter to itself in Roger's History. I have Roger on my side at
last. The virtues he denied to the Countess he cannot but allow to
the Queen.
Nor could Hyacinth resist her any longer. Belvane upon her palfrey,
laughter in her eyes and roses in her cheeks, her lips slightly parted
with eagerness as she flings her silver to the crowd, adorably
conscious of her childishness and yet glorifying in it, could have no
enemies that day.
"She is a dear," said Hyacinth to Coronel. "She will make a wonderful
Queen."
"I know a Queen worth two of her," said Coronel.
"But you do admire her, don't you?"
"Not particularly."
"Oh, Coronel, you must," said Hyacinth, but she felt very happy all
the same.
They rode off the next day to their kingdom. The Chancellor had had
an exciting week; for seven successive evenings he had been extremely
mysterious and reserved to his wife, but now his business was finished
and King Merriwig reigned over Eastern Euralia and King Coronel over
the West.
Let us just take a look at Belvane's diary before we move on to the
last scene.
"_Thursday, September 15th_," it says. "_Became good._"
Now for the last scene.
King Merriwig sat in Belvane's garden. They had spent the morning
revising their joint book of poetry for publication. The first set of
verses was entirely Merriwig's own. It went like this:
_Bo, boll, bill, bole._
_Wo, woll, will, wole._
A note by the authors called attention to the fact that it could be
begun from either end. The rest of the poems were mainly by Belvane,
Merriwig's share in them consisting of a "Capital," or an "I like
that," when they were read out to him; but an epic commonly attributed
to Charlotte Patacake had crept in somehow.
"A person to see your Majesty," said a flunkey, appearing suddenly.
"What sort of person?" asked Merriwig.
"A sort of person, your Majesty."
"See him here, dear," said Belvane, as she got up. "I have things to
do in the Palace."
She left him; and by and by the flunkey returned with the stranger.
He was a pleasant-looking person with a round clean-shaven face;
something in the agricultural way, to judge from his clothes.
"Well?" said Merriwig.
"I desire to be your Majesty's swineherd," said the other.
"What do you know of swineherding?"
"I have a sort of natural aptitude for it, your Majesty, although I
have never actually been one."
"My own case exactly. Now then, let me see--how would you----"
The stranger took out a large red handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"You propose to ask me a few questions, your Majesty?"
"Well, naturally, I----"
"Let me beg of you not to. By all you hold sacred let me implore you
not to confuse me with questions." He drew himself up and thumped his
chest with his fist. "I have a feeling for swineherding; it is
enough."
Merriwig began to like the man; it was just how he felt about the
thing himself.
"I once carried on a long technical conversation with a swineherd," he
said reminiscently, "and we found we had much in common. It is an
inspiring life."
"It was in just that way," said the stranger, "that I discovered my
own natural bent towards it."
"How very odd! Do you know, there's something about your face that I
seem to recognise?"
The stranger decided to be frank.
"I owe this face to you," he said simply.
Merriwig looked startled.
"In short," said the other, "I am the late King of Barodia."
Merriwig gripped his hand.
[Illustration: _He was a pleasant-looking person, with a round
clean-shaven face_]
"My dear fellow," he said. "My very dear fellow, of course you are.
Dear me, how it brings it all back. And--may I say--what an
improvement. Really, I'm delighted to see you. You must tell me all
about it. But first some refreshment."
At the word "refreshment" the late King of Barodia broke down
altogether, and it was only Merriwig's hummings and hawings and
thumpings on the back and (later on) the refreshment itself which kept
him from bursting into tears.
"My dear friend," he said, as he wiped his mouth for the last time,
"you have saved me."
"But what does it all mean?" asked Merriwig in bewilderment.
"Listen and I will tell you,"
He told himself of the great resolution to which he had come on that
famous morning when he awoke to find himself whiskerless. Barodia had
no more use for him now as a King, and he on his side was eager to
carve out for himself a new life as a swineherd.
"I had a natural gift," he said plaintively, "an instinctive feeling
for it. I know I had. Whatever they said about it afterwards--and
they said many hard things--I was certain that I had that feeling. I
had proved it, you know; there couldn't be any mistake."
"Well?"
"Ah, but they laughed at me. They asked me confusing questions;
niggling little questions about the things swine ate and--and things
like that. The great principles of swineherding, the--what I may call
the art of herding swine, the whole theory of shepherding pigs in a
broad-minded way, all this they ignored. They laughed at me and
turned me out with jeers and blows--to starve."
Merriwig patted him sympathetically, and pressed some more food on
him.
"I ranged over the whole of Barodia. Nobody would take me in. It is
a terrible thing, my dear Merriwig, to begin to lose faith in
yourself. I had to tell myself at last that perhaps there was
something about Barodian swine which made them different from those of
any other country. As a last hope I came to Euralia; if here too I
was spurned, then I should know that----"
"Just a moment," said Merriwig, breaking in eagerly. "Who was this
swineherd that you talked to----"
"I talked to so many," said the other sadly. "They all scoffed at
me."
"No, but the first one; the one that showed you that you had a bent
towards it. Didn't you say that----"
"Oh, that one. That was at the beginning of our war. Do you remember
telling me that your swineherd had an invisible cloak? It was he
that----"
Merriwig looked at him sadly and shook his head.
"My poor friend," he said, "it was me."
They gazed at each other earnestly. Each of them was going over in
his mind the exact details of that famous meeting.
"Yes," they murmured together, "it was us."
The King of Barodia's mind raced on through all the bitter months that
had followed; he shivered as he thought of the things he had said; the
things that had been said to him seemed of small account now.
"Not even a swineherd!" he remarked.
"Come, come," said Merriwig, "look on the bright side; you can always
be a King again."
The late King of Barodia shook his head.
"It's a come down to a man with any pride," he said. "No, I'll stick
to my own job. After all, I've been learning these last weeks; at any
rate I know that what I do know isn't worth knowing, and that's
something."
"Then stay with me," said Merriwig heartily. "My swineherd will teach
you your work, and when he retires you can take it on."
"Do you mean it?"
"Of course I do. I shall be glad to have you about the place. In the
evening, when the pigs are asleep, you can come in and have a chat
with us."
"Bless you," said the new apprentice; "bless you, your Majesty."
They shook hands on it.
"My dear," said Merriwig to Belvane that evening, "you haven't married
a very clever fellow. I discovered this afternoon that I'm not even
as clever as I thought I was."
"You don't want cleverness in a King," said Belvane, smiling lovingly
at him, "or in a husband."
"What do you want then?"
"Just dearness," said Belvane.
And now my story is done. With a sigh I unload the seventeen volumes
of Euralian History from my desk, carrying them one by one across the
library and placing them carefully in the shelf which has been built
for them. For some months they have stood a rampart between me and
the world, behind which I have lived in far-off days with Merriwig and
Hyacinth and my Lady Belvane. The rampart is gone, and in the bright
light of to-day which streams on to my desk the vision slowly fades.
Once on a time . .
Yet I see one figure clearly still. He is tall and thin, with a white
peaked face of which the long inquisitive nose is the outstanding
feature. His hair is lank and uncared for; his russet smock, tied in
at the waist, wants brushing; his untidy cross-gartered hose shows up
the meagerness of his legs. No knightly figure this, yet I look upon
him very tenderly. For it is Roger Scurvilegs on his way to the
Palace for news.
To Roger too I must say good-bye. I say it not without remorse, for I
feel that I have been hard upon the man to whom I owe so much.
Perhaps it will not be altogether good-bye; in his seventeen volumes
there are many other tales to be found. Next time (if there be a next
time) I owe it to Roger to stand aside and let him tell the story more
in his own way. I think he would like that.
But it shall not be a story about Belvane. I saw Belvane (or some one
like her) at a country house in Shropshire last summer, and I know
that Roger can never do her justice.
[Illustration: _Roger Scurvilegs_]