At luncheon one day many months after the dismissal of the discontented
suitors, the prime minister entered the dining-room and announced to the
king that a man had been found within the palace gates without a royal
permit, and had been immediately put in the dungeon. He was a handsome
fellow, the prime minister said, but very poorly clad. He made no
resistance when he was taken prisoner, but earnestly requested that his
trial might come off as soon as possible, as he rather wanted to make a
sketch of the palace and gardens, and he couldn't see very well from the
slit in the top of the dungeon; but he begged them not to put themselves
nor the king to any inconvenience, as he could just as well remain where
he was and write poems.
"In sooth, your Majesty," said the prime minister, in conclusion, "from
all we have heard and seen, it seemeth that at last we have found a
contented man."
As soon as the king finished his royal repast he disguised himself in
the long cloak and hat of a soldier and went with the prime minister and
the turnkey to catch a glimpse of the prisoner. As they approached the
dungeon they heard a rich bass voice singing:
"Let the world slide, let the world go!
A fig for care, and a fig for woe.
If I must stay, why, I can't go,
And love makes equal the high and low."
The king drew nearer, stooped, and peeped through the keyhole. Just
opposite the door, on a three-legged stool, sat the prisoner. His head
was thrown back and he was looking at the sky through the bars in the
top of his cell. The song had ceased and he was talking softly to
himself. The king, in a whisper, told the prime minister to bring the
princess and have her remain hidden just outside the door. Then he
motioned to the turnkey to throw back the bolts, and he entered the
dungeon alone.
"Why are you talking to yourself, man?" he asked. The man answered:
"Because, soldier, I like to talk to a sensible man, and I like to hear
a sensible man talk."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the king. "Pretty good, pret-ty good! They tell me
that all things please you. Is it true?"
"I think I can safely say yes, soldier."
"But why are you so poorly clad?"
"The care of fine clothes is too much of a burden--I have long ago
refused to be fashion's slave."
"But where are your friends?"
"Of those that I have had, the good are dead, and happier so than here;
the evil ones have left me and are befriending some one else, for which
I say, 'Joy go with them.'"
"And is there nothing that you want?" As the king asked this question he
looked at the man in a peculiarly eager way, nor did the answer
disappoint him.
"I have all of the necessities of life and many of the luxuries. I am
perfectly content. I know I have neither land nor money, but is not the
whole world mine? Can even the king himself take from me my delight in
the green trees and the greener fields, in that dainty little cloud
flecking heaven's blue up yonder like a bit of foam on a sunlit sea? Oh,
no! I am rich enough, for all nature is mine--"
"And _I_ am yours," said a sweet young voice. The man looked up in
surprise, and there before him, holding out her pretty hands toward him,
stood the Princess Madge, who had slipped into the cell unnoticed.
The man sprang to his feet, clasped the little hands in his, and said:
"I know not what you mean, sweet lady, when you say that you are mine;
but oh, you are passing beautiful!"
"Papa," called the princess, "this is quite dreadful. Quick, take off
that ugly soldier's coat and tell him who we are and all about it!"
The king, starting as if from a dream, threw off the rough coat and hat
and stepped forth into the beam of sunlight, resplendent in gold and
ermine.
"Thou dost not know me, my man? I am the king. Hast thou not read our
last proclamation?"
"No, your Majesty; I never do read proclamations."
[Illustration: I am Perfectly Content]
"Then thou didst not know that the hand of the princess is offered to
the first contented man who enters the palace?"
"No, your Majesty; I knew it not."
"Then know it now, and know, too, that thou art the man. To thee I give
my daughter, together with half my kingdom. No, no--not a word. Thou
deservest her. May you be happy!"
The prisoner, almost dumb with astonishment, almost dazed with joy,
knelt and kissed the princess's white hands, then looked into her eyes
and said:
"Ah, well it is for me that I saw you not until now, for I should have
been miserably discontented until you were mine!"