The fourth day it happened that the deaf-mute paid his accustomed visit,
after which Prince Dolor's spirits rose. They always did when he got the
new books which, just to relieve his conscience, the King of Nomansland
regularly sent to his nephew; with many new toys also, though the latter
were disregarded now.
“Toys, indeed! when I'm a big boy,” said the Prince, with disdain,
and would scarcely condescend to mount a rocking-horse which had
come, somehow or other,--I can't be expected to explain things very
exactly,--packed on the back of the other, the great black horse, which
stood and fed contentedly at the bottom of the tower.
Prince Dolor leaned over and looked at it, and thought how grand it must
be to get upon its back--this grand live steed--and ride away, like the
pictures of knights.
“Suppose I was a knight,” he said to himself; “then I should be obliged
to ride out and see the world.”
But he kept all these thoughts to himself, and just sat still, devouring
his new books till he had come to the end of them all. It was a repast
not unlike the Barmecide's feast which you read of in the “Arabian
Nights,” which consisted of very elegant but empty dishes, or that
supper of Sancho Panza in “Don Quixote,” where, the minute the smoking
dishes came on the table, the physician waved his hand and they were all
taken away.
Thus almost all the ordinary delights of boy-life had been taken away
from, or rather never given to this poor little prince.
“I wonder,” he would sometimes think--“I wonder what it feels like to
be on the back of a horse, galloping away, or holding the reins in a
carriage, and tearing across the country, or jumping a ditch, or running
a race, such as I read of or see in pictures. What a lot of things there
are that I should like to do! But first I should like to go and see the
world. I'll try.”
Apparently it was his godmother's plan always to let him try, and try
hard, before he gained anything. This day the knots that tied up his
traveling-cloak were more than usually troublesome, and he was a
full half-hour before he got out into the open air, and found himself
floating merrily over the top of the tower.
Hitherto, in all his journeys, he had never let himself go out of sight
of home, for the dreary building, after all, was home--he remembered
no other; but now he felt sick of the very look of his tower, with its
round smooth walls and level battlements.
“Off we go!” cried he, when the cloak stirred itself with a slight, slow
motion, as if waiting his orders. “Anywhere anywhere, so that I am away
from here, and out into the world.”
As he spoke, the cloak, as if seized suddenly with a new idea, bounded
forward and went skimming through the air, faster than the very fastest
railway train.
“Gee-up! gee-up!” cried Prince Dolor in great excitement. “This is as
good as riding a race.”
And he patted the cloak as if it had been a horse--that is, in the way
he supposed horses ought to be patted--and tossed his head back to meet
the fresh breeze, and pulled his coat collar up and his hat down as he
felt the wind grow keener and colder--colder than anything he had ever
known.
“What does it matter, though?” said he. “I'm a boy, and boys ought not
to mind anything.”
Still, for all his good-will, by and by, he began to shiver exceedingly;
also, he had come away without his dinner, and he grew frightfully
hungry. And to add to everything, the sunshiny day changed into rain,
and being high up, in the very midst of the clouds, he got soaked
through and through in a very few minutes.
“Shall I turn back?” meditated he. “Suppose I say 'Abracadabra?'”
Here he stopped, for already the cloak gave an obedient lurch, as if it
were expecting to be sent home immediately.
“No--I can't--I can't go back! I must go forward and see the world. But
oh! if I had but the shabbiest old rug to shelter me from the rain, or
the driest morsel of bread and cheese, just to keep me from starving!
Still, I don't much mind; I'm a prince, and ought to be able to stand
anything. Hold on, cloak, we'll make the best of it.”
It was a most curious circumstance, but no sooner had he said this than
he felt stealing over his knees something warm and soft; in fact, a most
beautiful bearskin, which folded itself round him quite naturally, and
cuddled him up as closely as if he had been the cub of the kind old
mother-bear that once owned it. Then feeling in his pocket, which
suddenly stuck out in a marvelous way, he found, not exactly bread and
cheese, nor even sandwiches, but a packet of the most delicious food
he had ever tasted. It was not meat, nor pudding, but a combination of
both, and it served him excellently for both. He ate his dinner with the
greatest gusto imaginable, till he grew so thirsty he did not know what
to do.
“Couldn't I have just one drop of water, if it didn't trouble you too
much, kindest of godmothers?”
For he really thought this want was beyond her power to supply. All the
water which supplied Hopeless Tower was pumped up with difficulty from
a deep artesian well--there were such things known in Nomansland--which
had been made at the foot of it. But around, for miles upon miles, the
desolate plain was perfectly dry. And above it, high in the air, how
could he expect to find a well, or to get even a drop of water?
He forgot one thing--the rain. While he spoke, it came on in another
wild burst, as if the clouds had poured themselves out in a passion
of crying, wetting him certainly, but leaving behind, in a large glass
vessel which he had never noticed before, enough water to quench the
thirst of two or three boys at least. And it was so fresh, so pure--as
water from the clouds always is when it does not catch the soot from
city chimneys and other defilements--that he drank it, every drop, with
the greatest delight and content.
Also, as soon as it was empty the rain filled it again, so that he was
able to wash his face and hands and refresh himself exceedingly. Then
the sun came out and dried him in no time. After that he curled himself
up under the bear-skin rug, and though he determined to be the most
wide-awake boy imaginable, being so exceedingly snug and warm and
comfortable, Prince Dolor condescended to shut his eyes just for one
minute. The next minute he was sound asleep.
When he awoke, he found himself floating over a country quite unlike
anything he had ever seen before.
Yet it was nothing but what most of you children see every day and never
notice it--a pretty country landscape, like England, Scotland,
France, or any other land you choose to name. It had no particular
features--nothing in it grand or lovely--was simply pretty, nothing
more; yet to Prince Dolor, who had never gone beyond his lonely tower
and level plain, it appeared the most charming sight imaginable.
First, there was a river. It came tumbling down the hillside, frothing
and foaming, playing at hide-and-seek among the rocks, then bursting
out in noisy fun like a child, to bury itself in deep, still pools.
Afterward it went steadily on for a while, like a good grown-up person,
till it came to another big rock, where it misbehaved itself extremely.
It turned into a cataract, and went tumbling over and over, after a
fashion that made the prince--who had never seen water before, except in
his bath or his drinking-cup--clap his hands with delight.
“It is so active, so alive! I like things active and alive!” cried he,
and watched it shimmering and dancing, whirling and leaping, till, after
a few windings and vagaries, it settled into a respectable stream. After
that it went along, deep and quiet, but flowing steadily on, till it
reached a large lake, into which it slipped and so ended its course.
All this the boy saw, either with his own naked eye or through his gold
spectacles. He saw also as in a picture, beautiful but silent, many
other things which struck him with wonder, especially a grove of trees.
Only think, to have lived to his age (which he himself did not know, as
he did not know his own birthday) and never to have seen trees! As
he floated over these oaks, they seemed to him--trunk, branches, and
leaves--the most curious sight imaginable.
“If I could only get nearer, so as to touch them,” said he, and
immediately the obedient cloak ducked down; Prince Dolor made a snatch
at the topmost twig of the tallest tree, and caught a bunch of leaves in
his hand.
Just a bunch of green leaves--such as we see in myriads; watching them
bud, grow, fall, and then kicking them along on the ground as if they
were worth nothing. Yet how wonderful they are--every one of them a
little different. I don't suppose you could ever find two leaves exactly
alike in form, color, and size--no more than you could find two faces
alike, or two characters exactly the same. The plan of this world is
infinite similarity and yet infinite variety.
Prince Dolor examined his leaves with the greatest curiosity--and also a
little caterpillar that he found walking over one of them. He coaxed
it to take an additional walk over his finger, which it did with the
greatest dignity and decorum, as if it, Mr. Caterpillar, were the most
important individual in existence. It amused him for a long time; and
when a sudden gust of wind blew it overboard, leaves and all, he felt
quite disconsolate.
“Still there must be many live creatures in the world besides
caterpillars. I should like to see a few of them.”
The cloak gave a little dip down, as if to say “All right, my Prince,”
and bore him across the oak forest to a long fertile valley--called in
Scotland a strath and in England a weald, but what they call it in
the tongue of Nomansland I do not know. It was made up of cornfields,
pasturefields, lanes, hedges, brooks, and ponds. Also, in it were what
the prince desired to see--a quantity of living creatures, wild and
tame. Cows and horses, lambs and sheep, fed in the meadows; pigs and
fowls walked about the farm-yards; and in lonelier places hares scudded,
rabbits burrowed, and pheasants and partridges, with many other smaller
birds, inhabited the fields and woods.
Through his wonderful spectacles the Prince could see everything; but,
as I said, it was a silent picture; he was too high up to catch anything
except a faint murmur, which only aroused his anxiety to hear more.
“I have as good as two pairs of eyes,” he thought. “I wonder if my
godmother would give me a second pair of ears.”
Scarcely had he spoken than he found lying on his lap the most curious
little parcel, all done up in silvery paper. And it contained--what do
you think? Actually a pair of silver ears, which, when he tried them on,
fitted so exactly over his own that he hardly felt them, except for the
difference they made in his hearing.
There is something which we listen to daily and never notice. I mean
the sounds of the visible world, animate and inanimate. Winds blowing,
waters flowing, trees stirring, insects whirring (dear me! I am quite
unconsciously writing rhyme), with the various cries of birds and
beasts,--lowing cattle, bleating sheep, grunting pigs, and cackling
hens,--all the infinite discords that somehow or other make a beautiful
harmony.
We hear this, and are so accustomed to it that we think nothing of it;
but Prince Dolor, who had lived all his days in the dead silence of
Hopeless Tower, heard it for the first time. And oh! if you had seen his
face.
He listened, listened, as if he could never have done listening. And he
looked and looked, as if he could not gaze enough. Above all, the motion
of the animals delighted him: cows walking, horses galloping, little
lambs and calves running races across the meadows, were such a treat for
him to watch--he that was always so quiet. But, these creatures having
four legs, and he only two, the difference did not strike him painfully.
Still, by and by, after the fashion of children,--and I fear, of many
big people too,--he began to want something more than he had, something
fresh and new.
“Godmother,” he said, having now begun to believe that, whether he saw
her or not, he could always speak to her with full confidence that she
would hear him--“Godmother, all these creatures I like exceedingly; but
I should like better to see a creature like myself. Couldn't you show me
just one little boy?”
There was a sigh behind him,--it might have been only the wind,--and
the cloak remained so long balanced motionless in air that he was half
afraid his godmother had forgotten him, or was offended with him for
asking too much. Suddenly a shrill whistle startled him, even through
his silver ears, and looking downward, he saw start up from behind a
bush on a common, something----
Neither a sheep nor a horse nor a cow--nothing upon four legs. This
creature had only two; but they were long, straight, and strong. And it
had a lithe, active body, and a curly head of black hair set upon
its shoulders. It was a boy, a shepherd-boy, about the Prince's own
age--but, oh! so different.
Not that he was an ugly boy--though his face was almost as red as his
hands, and his shaggy hair matted like the backs of his own sheep. He
was rather a nice-looking lad; and seemed so bright and healthy and
good-tempered--“jolly” would be the word, only I am not sure if they
have such a one in the elegant language of Nomansland--that the little
Prince watched him with great admiration.
“Might he come and play with me? I would drop down to the ground to him,
or fetch him up to me here. Oh, how nice it would be if I only had a
little boy to play with me.”
But the cloak, usually so obedient to his wishes, disobeyed him now.
There were evidently some things which his godmother either could
not or would not give. The cloak hung stationary, high in air, never
attempting to descend. The shepherd-lad evidently took it for a large
bird, and, shading his eyes, looked up at it, making the Prince's heart
beat fast.
However, nothing ensued. The boy turned round, with a long, loud
whistle--seemingly his usual and only way of expressing his feelings. He
could not make the thing out exactly--it was a rather mysterious affair,
but it did not trouble him much--he was not an “examining” boy.
Then, stretching himself, for he had been evidently half asleep, he
began flopping his shoulders with his arms to wake and warm himself;
while his dog, a rough collie, who had been guarding the sheep
meanwhile, began to jump upon him, barking with delight.
“Down, Snap, down: Stop that, or I'll thrash you,” the Prince heard him
say; though with such a rough, hard voice and queer pronunciation that
it was difficult to make the words out. “Hollo! Let's warm ourselves by
a race.”
They started off together, boy and dog--barking and shouting, till it
was doubtful which made the more noise or ran the faster. A regular
steeplechase it was: first across the level common, greatly disturbing
the quiet sheep; and then tearing away across country, scrambling
through hedges and leaping ditches, and tumbling up and down over plowed
fields. They did not seem to have anything to run for--but as if they
did it, both of them, for the mere pleasure of motion.
And what a pleasure that seemed! To the dog of course, but scarcely less
so to the boy. How he skimmed along over the ground--his cheeks glowing,
and his hair flying, and his legs--oh, what a pair of legs he had!
Prince Dolor watched him with great intentness, and in a state of
excitement almost equal to that of the runner himself--for a while. Then
the sweet, pale face grew a trifle paler, the lips began to quiver, and
the eyes to fill.
“How nice it must be to run like that!” he said softly, thinking that
never--no, never in this world--would he be able to do the same.
Now he understood what his godmother had meant when she gave him his
traveling-cloak, and why he had heard that sigh--he was sure it was
hers--when he had asked to see “just one little boy.”
“I think I had rather not look at him again,” said the poor little
Prince, drawing himself back into the center of his cloak, and resuming
his favorite posture, sitting like a Turk, with his arms wrapped round
his feeble, useless legs.
“You're no good to me,” he said, patting them mournfully. “You never
will be any good to me. I wonder why I had you at all. I wonder why I
was born at all, since I was not to grow up like other boys. Why not?”
A question so strange, so sad, yet so often occurring in some form
or other in this world--as you will find, my children, when you are
older--that even if he had put it to his mother she could only have
answered it, as we have to answer many as difficult things, by simply
saying, “I don't know.” There is much that we do not know and cannot
understand--we big folks no more than you little ones. We have to accept
it all just as you have to accept anything which your parents may
tell you, even though you don't as yet see the reason of it. You may
sometime, if you do exactly as they tell you, and are content to wait.
Prince Dolor sat a good while thus, or it appeared to him a good while,
so many thoughts came and went through his poor young mind--thoughts of
great bitterness, which, little though he was, seemed to make him grow
years older in a few minutes.
Then he fancied the cloak began to rock gently to and fro, with a
soothing kind of motion, as if he were in somebody's arms: somebody who
did not speak, but loved him and comforted him without need of words;
not by deceiving him with false encouragement or hope, but by making
him see the plain, hard truth in all its hardness, and thus letting him
quietly face it, till it grew softened down, and did not seem nearly so
dreadful after all.
Through the dreary silence and blankness, for he had placed himself so
that he could see nothing but the sky, and had taken off his silver ears
as well as his gold spectacles--what was the use of either when he had
no legs with which to walk or run?--up from below there rose a delicious
sound.
You have heard it hundreds of times, my children, and so have I. When I
was a child I thought there was nothing so sweet; and I think so still.
It was just the song of a skylark, mounting higher and higher from the
ground, till it came so close that Prince Dolor could distinguish his
quivering wings and tiny body, almost too tiny to contain such a gush of
music.
“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful bird!” cried he; “I should dearly like to
take you in and cuddle you. That is, if I could--if I dared.”
But he hesitated. The little brown creature with its loud heavenly voice
almost made him afraid. Nevertheless, it also made him happy; and he
watched and listened--so absorbed that he forgot all regret and pain,
forgot everything in the world except the little lark.
It soared and soared, and he was just wondering if it would soar out
of sight, and what in the world he should do when it was gone, when it
suddenly closed its wings, as larks do when they mean to drop to the
ground. But, instead of dropping to the ground, it dropped right into
the little boy's breast.
What felicity! If it would only stay! A tiny, soft thing to fondle and
kiss, to sing to him all day long, and be his playfellow and companion,
tame and tender, while to the rest of the world it was a wild bird of
the air. What a pride, what a delight! To have something that nobody
else had--something all his own. As the traveling-cloak traveled on,
he little heeded where, and the lark still stayed, nestled down in his
bosom, hopped from his hand to his shoulder, and kissed him with its
dainty beak, as if it loved him, Prince Dolor forgot all his grief, and
was entirely happy.
But when he got in sight of Hopeless Tower a painful thought struck him.
“My pretty bird, what am I to do with you? If I take you into my room
and shut you up there, you, a wild skylark of the air, what will become
of you? I am used to this, but you are not. You will be so miserable;
and suppose my nurse should find you--she who can't bear the sound of
singing? Besides, I remember her once telling me that the nicest thing
she ever ate in her life was lark pie!”
The little boy shivered all over at the thought. And, though the merry
lark immediately broke into the loudest carol, as if saying derisively
that he defied anybody to eat him, still, Prince Dolor was very uneasy.
In another minute he had made up his mind.
“No, my bird, nothing so dreadful shall happen to you if I can help it;
I would rather do without you altogether. Yes, I'll try. Fly away, my
darling, my beautiful! Good-by, my merry, merry bird.”
Opening his two caressing hands, in which, as if for protection, he had
folded it, he let the lark go. It lingered a minute, perching on the rim
of the cloak, and looking at him with eyes of almost human tenderness;
then away it flew, far up into the blue sky. It was only a bird.
But some time after, when Prince Dolor had eaten his supper--somewhat
drearily, except for the thought that he could not possibly sup off lark
pie now--and gone quietly to bed, the old familiar little bed, where he
was accustomed to sleep, or lie awake contentedly thinking--suddenly
he heard outside the window a little faint carol--faint but
cheerful--cheerful even though it was the middle of the night.
The dear little lark! it had not flown away, after all. And it was
truly the most extraordinary bird, for, unlike ordinary larks, it kept
hovering about the tower in the silence and darkness of the night,
outside the window or over the roof. Whenever he listened for a moment,
he heard it singing still.
He went to sleep as happy as a king.