[Illustration: An illustration of an elderly, bald man with a long white
beard and glasses, leaning on a cane while wearing a fur-trimmed cloak.]
Once upon a time there was a King who had no children. Sometimes he
would say to the Queen, “If only we had a son!” and the Queen would
answer, “If only we had!” And then on another day he would say, “If only
we had a daughter!” and the Queen would sigh and answer, “Yes, even if
we had a daughter, that would be something.” But they had no children at
all.
As the years went on, and there were still no children in the Royal
Palace, the people began to ask each other who would be the next King to
reign over them. And some said that perhaps it would be the Chancellor,
which was a pity, as nobody liked him very much; and others said that
there would be no King at all, but that everybody would be equal. Those
who were lowest of all thought that this would be a satisfactory ending
of the matter; but those who were higher up felt that, though in some
respects it would be a good thing, yet in other respects it would be an
ill-advised state of affairs; and they hoped, therefore, that a young
Prince would be born in the Palace. But no Prince was born.
One day, when the Chancellor was in audience with the King, it seemed
well to him to speak what was in the people’s minds.
“Your Majesty,” he said; and then stopped, wondering how best to put it.
“Well?” said the King.
“Have I your Majesty’s permission to speak my mind?”
“So far; yes,” said the King.
Encouraged by this, the Chancellor resolved to put the matter plainly.
“In the event of your Majesty’s death——” He coughed and began again. “If
your Majesty ever _should_ die,” he said, “which in any case will not be
for many years—if ever—as, I need hardly say, your Majesty’s loyal
subjects earnestly hope—I mean they hope it will be never. But assuming
for the moment—making the sad assumption——”
“You said you wanted to speak your mind,” interrupted the King. “Is this
it?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Then I don’t think much of it.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.”
“What you are trying to say is, Who will be the next King?”
“Quite so, your Majesty.”
“Ah!” The King was silent for a little. Then he said, “I can tell you
who won’t be.”
The Chancellor did not seek for information on this point, feeling that
in the circumstances the answer was obvious.
“What do you suggest yourself?”
“That your Majesty choose a successor from among the young and the
highly-born of the country, putting him to whatever test seems good to
your Majesty.”
The King pulled at his beard and frowned.
“There must be not one test, but many tests. Let all, who will, offer
themselves, provided only that they are under the age of twenty and are
well-born. See to it.”
He waved his hand in dismissal, and with an accuracy established by long
practice the Chancellor retired backwards out of the Palace.
On the following morning, therefore, it was announced that all those who
were ambitious to be appointed the King’s successor, and who were of
high birth and not yet come to the age of twenty, should present
themselves a week later for the tests to which His Majesty desired to
put them, the first of which was to be a running race. Whereat the
people rejoiced, for they wished to be ruled by one to whom they could
look up, and running was much esteemed in that country.
On the appointed day the excitement was great. All along the course,
which was once round the castle, large crowds were massed, and at the
finishing point the King and Queen themselves were seated in a specially
erected pavilion. And to this pavilion the competitors were brought to
be introduced to their Majesties. And there were nine young nobles,
well-built, and handsome, and (it was thought) intelligent, who were
competitors. And there was also one Rabbit.
The Chancellor had first noticed the Rabbit when he was lining up the
competitors, pinning numbers on their backs so that the people should
identify them, and giving them such instructions as seemed necessary to
him. “Now, now, be off with you,” he had said. “Competitors only, this
way.” And he had made a motion of impatient dismissal with his foot.
[Illustration: A line drawing of a king with a yellow crown sitting on
an ornate throne, looking down at a small rabbit sitting on the floor.]
“I _am_ a competitor,” said the Rabbit. “And I don’t think it is usual,”
he added with dignity, “for the starter to kick one of the competitors
just at the beginning of an important foot-race. It looks like
favouritism.”
“_You_ can’t be a competitor,” laughed all the young nobles.
“Why not? Read the rules.”
The Chancellor, feeling rather hot suddenly, read the rules. The Rabbit
was certainly under twenty; he had a pedigree which showed that he was
of the highest birth; and——
“And,” said the Rabbit, “I am ambitious to be appointed the King’s
successor. Those were all the conditions. Now let’s get on with the
race.”
But first came the introduction to the King. One by one the competitors
came up ... and at the end——
“This,” said the Chancellor, as airily as he could, “is Rabbit.”
Rabbit bowed in the most graceful manner possible; first to the King and
then to the Queen. But the King only stared at him. Then he turned to
the Chancellor.
“Well?”
The Chancellor shrugged his shoulders.
“His entry does not appear to lack validity,” he said.
“He means, your Majesty, that it is all right,” explained Rabbit.
The King laughed suddenly. “Go on,” he said. “We can always have a race
for a new Chancellor afterwards.”
So the race was started. And the young Lord Calomel was much cheered on
coming in second; not only by their Majesties, but also by Rabbit, who
had finished the course some time before, and was now lounging in the
Royal Pavilion.
“A very good style, your Majesty,” said Rabbit, turning to the King.
“Altogether he seems to be a most promising youth.”
“Most,” said the King grimly. “So much so that I do not propose to
trouble the rest of the competitors. The next test shall take place
between you and him.”
“Not racing again, please, your Majesty. That would hardly be fair to
his lordship.”
“No, not racing; fighting.”
“Ah! What sort of fighting?”
“With swords,” said the King.
“I am a little rusty with swords, but I daresay in a day or two——”
“It will be now,” said the King.
“You mean, your Majesty, as soon as Lord Calomel has recovered his
breath?”
The King answered nothing, but turned to his Chancellor.
“Tell the young Lord Calomel that in half an hour I desire him to fight
with this Rabbit——”
“The young Lord Rabbit,” murmured the other competitor to the
Chancellor.
“To fight with him for my kingdom.”
“_And_ borrow me a sword, will you?” said Rabbit. “Quite a small one. I
don’t want to hurt him.”
So, half an hour later, on a level patch of grass in front of the
pavilion, the fight began. It was a short, but exciting, struggle.
Calomel, whirling his long sword in his strong right arm, dashed upon
Rabbit, and Rabbit, carrying his short sword in his teeth, dodged
between Calomel’s legs and brought him toppling. And when it was seen
that the young Lord rose from the ground with a broken arm, and that
with the utmost gallantry he had now taken his sword in his left hand,
the people cheered. And Rabbit, dropping his sword for a moment, cheered
too; and then he picked it up and got it entangled in his adversary’s
legs again, so that again the young Lord Calomel crashed to the ground,
this time with a sprained ankle. And there he lay.
Rabbit trotted into the Royal Pavilion, and dropped his sword in the
Chancellor’s lap.
“Thank you so much,” he said. “Have I won?”
And the King frowned and pulled at his beard.
“There are other tests,” he muttered.
But what were they to be? It was plain that Lord Calomel was in no
condition for another physical test. What, then, of an intellectual
test?
“After all,” said the King to the Queen that night, “intelligence is a
quality not without value to a ruler.”
“Is it?” asked the Queen doubtfully.
[Illustration:
Calomel dashed upon Rabbit.
]
“I have found it so,” said the King, a little haughtily.
“Oh,” said the Queen.
“There is a riddle, of which my father was fond, the answer to which has
never been revealed save to the Royal House. We might make this the
final test between them.”
“What is the riddle?”
“I fancy it goes like this.” He thought for a moment, and then recited
it, beating time with his hand.
“My _first_ I do for your delight,
Although ’tis neither black nor white.
My _second_ looks the other way,
Yet always goes to bed by day.
My _whole_ can fly, and climb a tree,
And sometimes swims upon the sea.”
“What is the answer?” asked the Queen.
“As far as I remember,” said His Majesty, “it is either _Dormouse_ or
_Raspberry_.”
“‘Dormouse’ doesn’t make sense,” objected the Queen.
“Neither does ‘raspberry,’” pointed out the King.
“Then how can they guess it?”
“They can’t. But my idea is that young Calomel should be secretly told
beforehand what the answer is, so that he may win the competition.”
“Is that fair?” asked the Queen doubtfully.
“Yes,” said the King. “Certainly. Or I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
So it was duly announced by the Chancellor that the final test between
the young Lord Calomel and Rabbit would be the solving of an ancient
riddle-me-ree, which in the past had baffled all save those of Royal
blood. Copies of the riddle had been sent to the competitors, and in a
week from that day they would be called upon to give their answers
before their Majesties and the full Court. And with Lord Calomel’s copy
went a message, which said this:
“_From a Friend._ The answer is _Dormouse_. BURN THIS.”
The day came round; and Calomel and Rabbit were brought before their
Majesties; and they bowed to their Majesties, and were ordered to be
seated, for Calomel’s ankle was still painful to him. And when the
Chancellor had called for silence, the King addressed those present,
explaining the conditions of the test to them.
“And the answer to the riddle,” he said, “is in this sealed paper, which
I now hand to my Chancellor, in order that he shall open it, as soon as
the competitors have told us what they know of the matter.”
The people, being uncertain what else to do, cheered slightly.
“I will ask Lord Calomel first,” His Majesty went on. He looked at his
lordship, and his lordship nodded slightly. And Rabbit, noticing that
nod, smiled suddenly to himself.
“Lord Calomel,” said the King, “what do you consider to be the best
answer to this riddle-me-ree?”
The young Lord Calomel tried to look very wise, and he said:
“There are many possible answers to this riddle-me-ree, but the best
answer seems to me to be _Dormouse_.”
“Let someone take a note of that answer,” said the King; whereupon the
Chief Secretary wrote down: “LORD CALOMEL—_Dormouse_.”
“Now,” said the King to Rabbit, “what suggestion have you to make in
this matter?”
Rabbit, who had spent an anxious week inventing answers each more
impossible than the last, looked down modestly.
“Well?” said the King.
“Your Majesty,” said Rabbit with some apparent hesitation, “I have a
great respect for the intelligence of the young Lord Calomel, but I
think that in this matter he is mistaken. The answer is not, as he
suggests, _wood-louse_, but _dormouse_.”
“I _said_ ‘dormouse,’” cried Calomel indignantly.
“I thought you said ‘wood-louse,’” said Rabbit in surprise.
“He certainly said ‘dormouse,’” said the King coldly.
“‘Wood-louse,’ I _think_,” said Rabbit.
“Lord Calomel—‘_Dormouse_,’” read out the Chief Secretary.
“There you are,” said Calomel. “I did say ‘dormouse.’”
“My apologies,” said Rabbit, with a bow. “Then we are both right, for
_dormouse_ it certainly is.”
The Chancellor broke open the sealed paper, and to the amazement of
nearly all present read out “Dormouse.”
“Apparently, your Majesty,” he said in some surprise, “they are both
equally correct.”
The King scowled. In some way, which he didn’t quite understand, he had
been tricked.
“May I suggest, your Majesty,” the Chancellor went on, “that they be
asked now some question of a different order, such as can be answered,
after not more than a few minutes’ thought, here in your Majesty’s
presence. Some problem in the higher mathematics, for instance, such as
might be profitable for a future King to know.”
“What question?” asked His Majesty, a little nervously.
“Well, as an example—what is seven times six?” And, behind his hand, he
whispered to the King, “Forty-two.”
[Illustration: Full-length historical illustration of a man in a red
tunic and blue breeches, making a counting gesture with his hands
against a white background.]
Not a muscle of the King’s face moved, but he looked thoughtfully at the
Lord Calomel. Supposing his lordship did not know!
“Well?” he said reluctantly. “What is the answer?”
The young Lord Calomel thought for some time, and then said,
“Fifty-four.”
“And you?” said the King to Rabbit.
Rabbit wondered what to say. As long as he gave the same answers as
Calomel, he could not lose in the encounter, yet in this case
“Forty-two” was the right answer. But the King, who could do no wrong,
even in arithmetic might decide, for the purposes of the competition,
that “fifty-four” was an answer more becoming to the future ruler of the
country. Was it, then, safe to say “Forty-two”?
“Your Majesty,” he said, “there are several possible answers to this
extraordinarily novel conundrum. At first sight the obvious solution
would appear to be ‘forty-two.’ The objection to this solution is that
it lacks originality. I have long felt that a progressive country such
as ours might well strike out a new line in the matter. Let us agree
that in future seven sixes are fifty-four. In that case the answer, as
Lord Calomel has pointed out, _is_ ‘fifty-four.’ But if your Majesty
would prefer to cling to the old style of counting, then your Majesty
and your Majesty’s Chancellor would make the answer ‘forty-two.’”
After saying which, Rabbit bowed gracefully, both to their Majesties and
to his opponent, and sat down again.
The King scratched his head in a puzzled sort of way.
[Illustration: Simple, dotted black ink line drawing of a rabbit sitting
down, viewed from behind with its head turned to the right.]
“The correct answer,” he said, “is, or will be in the future,
‘fifty-four.’”
“Make a note of that,” whispered the Chancellor to the Chief Secretary.
“Lord Calomel guessed this at his first attempt; Rabbit at his second
attempt. I therefore declare Lord Calomel the winner.”
“Shame!” said Rabbit.
“Who said that?” cried the King furiously.
Rabbit looked over his shoulder, with the object of identifying the
culprit, but was apparently unsuccessful.
“However,” went on the King, “in order that there should be no doubt in
the minds of my people as to the absolute fairness with which this
competition is being conducted, there will be one further test. It
happens that a King is often called upon to make speeches and
exhortations to his people, and for this purpose the ability to stand
evenly upon two legs for a considerable length of time is of much value
to him. The next test, therefore, will be——”
But at this point Lord Calomel cleared his throat so loudly that the
King had to stop and listen to him.
“Quite so,” said the King. “The next test, therefore, will be held in a
month’s time, when his lordship’s ankle is healed, and it will be a test
to see who can balance himself longest upon two legs only.”
Rabbit lolloped back to his home in the wood, pondering deeply.
[Illustration: A whimsical historical illustration of a person with a
tall, pointed red-and-blue hat shrugging their shoulders at a small
rabbit sitting before them.]
Now there was an enchanter who lived in the wood, a man of many magical
gifts. He could (it was averred by the countryside) extract coloured
ribbons from his mouth, cook plum-puddings in a hat, and produce as many
as ten silk handkerchiefs, knotted together, from a twist of paper. And
that night, after a simple dinner of salad, Rabbit called upon him.
“Can you,” he said, “turn a rabbit into a man?”
The enchanter considered this carefully.
“I can,” he said at last, “turn a plum-pudding into a rabbit.”
“That,” said Rabbit, “to be quite frank, would not be a helpful
operation.”
“I can turn almost anything into a rabbit,” said the enchanter with
growing enthusiasm. “In fact, I like doing it.”
Then Rabbit had an idea.
“Can you turn a man into a rabbit?”
“I did once. At least I turned a baby into a baby rabbit.”
“When was that?”
“Eighteen years ago. At the court of King Nicodemus. I was giving an
exhibition of my powers to him and his good Queen. I asked one of the
company to lend me a baby, never thinking for a moment that——The young
Prince was handed up. I put a red silk handkerchief over him, and waved
my hands. Then I took the handkerchief away.... The Queen was very much
distressed. I tried everything I could, but it was useless. The King was
most generous about it. He said that I could keep the rabbit. I carried
it about with me for some weeks, but one day it escaped. Dear, dear!” He
wiped his eyes gently with a red silk handkerchief.
“Most interesting,” said Rabbit. “Well, this is what I want you to do.”
And they discussed the matter from the beginning.
A month later the great Standing Competition was to take place. When all
was ready, the King rose to make his opening remarks.
“We are now,” he began, “to make one of the most interesting tests
between our two candidates for the throne. At the word ‘Go!’ they
will——” And then he stopped suddenly. “Why, what’s this?” he said,
putting on his spectacles. “Where is the young Lord Calomel? And what is
that second rabbit doing? There was no need to bring your brother,” he
added severely to Rabbit.
“I am Lord Calomel,” said the second rabbit meekly.
“Oh!” said the King.
“Go!” said the Chancellor, who was a little deaf.
Rabbit, who had been practising for a month, jumped on his back paws and
remained there. Lord Calomel, who had no practice at all, remained on
all fours. In the crowd at the back the enchanter chuckled to himself.
“How long do I stay like this?” asked Rabbit.
“This is all very awkward and distressing,” said the King.
“May I get down?” said Rabbit.
“There is no doubt that the Rabbit has won,” said the Chancellor.
“Which rabbit?” cried the King crossly. “They’re both rabbits.”
“The one with the white spots behind the ears,” said Rabbit helpfully.
“May I get down?”
There was a sudden cry from the back of the hall.
“Your Majesty?”
“Well, well, what is it?”
The enchanter pushed his way forward.
“May I look, your Majesty?” he said in a trembling voice. “White spots
behind the ears? Dear, dear! Allow me!” He seized Rabbit’s ears, and
bent them this way and that.
“Ow!” said Rabbit.
“It is! Your Majesty, it is!”
“Is what?”
“The son of the late King Nicodemus, whose country is now joined to your
own. Prince Silvio.”
“Quite so,” said Rabbit airily, hiding his surprise. “Didn’t any of you
recognize me?”
“Nicodemus only had one son,” said the Chancellor, “and he died as a
baby.”
“Not died,” said the enchanter, and forthwith explained the whole sad
story.
“I see,” said the King, when the story was ended. “But of course that is
neither here nor there. A competition like this must be conducted with
absolute impartiality.” He turned to the Chancellor. “Which of them won
that last test?”
“Prince Silvio,” said the Chancellor.
“Then, my dear Prince Silvio——”
“One moment,” interrupted the enchanter excitedly. “I’ve just thought of
the words. I _knew_ there were some words you had to say.”
He threw his red silk handkerchief over Rabbit, and cried “Hey presto!”
And the handkerchief rose and rose and rose....
And there was Prince Silvio!
You can imagine how loudly the people cheered. But the King appeared not
to notice that anything surprising had happened.
“Then, my dear Prince Silvio,” he went on, “as the winner of this most
interesting series of contests, you are appointed successor to our
throne.”
“Your Majesty,” said Silvio, “this is too much.” And he turned to the
enchanter and said, “May I borrow your handkerchief for a moment? My
emotion has overcome me.”
So on the following day, Prince Rabbit was duly proclaimed heir to the
throne before all the people. But not until the ceremony was over did he
return the enchanter’s red handkerchief.
“And now,” he said to the enchanter, “you may restore Lord Calomel to
his proper shape.”
And the enchanter placed his handkerchief on Lord Calomel’s head, and
said “Hey presto!” and Lord Calomel stretched himself and said “Thanks
very much.” But he said it rather coldly, as if he were not really very
grateful.
So they all lived happily for a long time. And Prince Rabbit married the
most beautiful Princess of those parts; and when a son was born to them
there was much feasting and jollification. And the King gave a great
party, whereat minstrels, tumblers, jugglers and suchlike were present
in large quantities to give pleasure to the company. But in spite of a
suggestion made by the Princess, the enchanter was not present.
“But I hear he is so clever,” said the Princess to her husband.
“He has many amusing inventions,” replied the Prince, “but some of them
are not in the best of taste.”
“Very well, dear,” said the Princess.