“DEAR KING,—Pray do whatever you like with my poor
little present. I had quite forgotten it, but I am
pleased to think that you have treasured my humble
keepsake all these years.
“Your affectionate godmother,
“FORTUNA F.”
So the King unlocked his gold safe with the seven diamond-handled keys
that hung at his girdle, and took out the wish and gave it to his
daughter.
And Melisande said: “Father, I will wish that all your subjects should
be quite happy.”
But they were that already, because the King and Queen were so good. So
the wish did not go off.
So then she said: “Then I wish them all to be good.”
But they were that already, because they were happy. So again the wish
hung fire.
Then the Queen said: “Dearest, for my sake, wish what I tell you.”
“Why, of course I will,” said Melisande. The Queen whispered in her
ear, and Melisande nodded. Then she said, aloud—
“I wish I had golden hair a yard long, and that it would grow an inch
every day, and grow twice as fast every time it was cut, and——”
“Stop,” cried the King. And the wish went off, and the next moment the
Princess stood smiling at him through a shower of golden hair.
“Oh, how lovely,” said the Queen. “What a pity you interrupted her,
dear; she hadn’t finished.”
“What was the end?” asked the King.
“Oh,” said Melisande, “I was only going to say, ‘and twice as thick.’”
“It’s a very good thing you didn’t,” said the King. “You’ve done about
enough.” For he had a mathematical mind, and could do the sums about
the grains of wheat on the chess-board, and the nails in the horse’s
shoes, in his Royal head without any trouble at all.
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the Queen.
“You’ll know soon enough,” said the King. “Come, let’s be happy while
we may. Give me a kiss, little Melisande, and then go to nurse and ask
her to teach you how to comb your hair.”
“I know,” said Melisande, “I’ve often combed mother’s.”
“Your mother has beautiful hair,” said the King; “but I fancy you will
find your own less easy to manage.”
And, indeed, it was so. The Princess’s hair began by being a yard long,
and it grew an inch every night. If you know anything at all about the
simplest sums you will see that in about five weeks her hair was about
two yards long. This is a very inconvenient length. It trails on the
floor and sweeps up all the dust, and though in palaces, of course, it
is all gold-dust, still it is not nice to have it in your hair. And
the Princess’s hair was growing an inch every night. When it was three
yards long the Princess could not bear it any longer—it was so heavy
and so hot—so she borrowed nurse’s cutting-out scissors and cut it all
off, and then for a few hours she was comfortable. But the hair went on
growing, and now it grew twice as fast as before; so that in thirty-six
days it was as long as ever. The poor Princess cried with tiredness;
when she couldn’t bear it any more she cut her hair and was comfortable
for a very little time. For the hair now grew four times as fast as
at first, and in eighteen days it was as long as before, and she had
to have it cut. Then it grew eight inches a day, and the next time it
was cut it grew sixteen inches a day, and then thirty-two inches and
sixty-four inches and a hundred and twenty-eight inches a day, and so
on, growing twice as fast after each cutting, till the Princess would
go to bed at night with her hair clipped short, and wake up in the
morning with yards and yards and yards of golden hair flowing all about
the room, so that she could not move without pulling her own hair, and
nurse had to come and cut the hair off before she could get out of bed.
“I wish I was bald again,” sighed poor Melisande, looking at the
little green caps she used to wear, and she cried herself to sleep o’
nights between the golden billows of the golden hair. But she never let
her mother see her cry, because it was the Queen’s fault, and Melisande
did not want to seem to reproach her.
When first the Princess’s hair grew her mother sent locks of it to all
her Royal relations, who had them set in rings and brooches. Later,
the Queen was able to send enough for bracelets and girdles. But
presently so much hair was cut off that they had to burn it. Then when
autumn came all the crops failed; it seemed as though all the gold of
harvest had gone into the Princess’s hair. And there was a famine. Then
Melisande said—
“It seems a pity to waste all my hair; it does grow so very fast.
Couldn’t we stuff things with it, or something, and sell them, to feed
the people?”
So the King called a council of merchants, and they sent out samples
of the Princess’s hair, and soon orders came pouring in; and the
Princess’s hair became the staple export of that country. They stuffed
pillows with it, and they stuffed beds with it. They made ropes of it
for sailors to use, and curtains for hanging in Kings’ palaces. They
made haircloth of it, for hermits, and other people who wished to be
uncomfy. But it was so soft and silky that it only made them happy and
warm, which they did not wish to be. So the hermits gave up wearing
it, and, instead, mothers bought it for their little babies, and all
well-born infants wore little shirts of Princess-haircloth.
And still the hair grew and grew. And the people were fed and the
famine came to an end.
Then the King said: “It was all very well while the famine lasted—but
now I shall write to my fairy godmother and see if something cannot be
done.”
So he wrote and sent the letter by a skylark, and by return of bird
came this answer—
“Why not advertise for a competent Prince? Offer the usual reward.”
So the King sent out his heralds all over the world to proclaim that
any respectable Prince with proper references should marry the Princess
Melisande if he could stop her hair growing.
Then from far and near came trains of Princes anxious to try their
luck, and they brought all sorts of nasty things with them in
bottles and round wooden boxes. The Princess tried all the remedies,
but she did not like any of them, and she did not like any of the
Princes, so in her heart she was rather glad that none of the nasty
things in bottles and boxes made the least difference to her hair.
[Illustration: TRAINS OF PRINCES BRINGING NASTY THINGS IN BOTTLES AND
ROUND WOODEN BOXES.]
The Princess had to sleep in the great Throne Room now, because no
other room was big enough to hold her and her hair. When she woke in
the morning the long high room would be quite full of her golden hair,
packed tight and thick like wool in a barn. And every night when she
had had the hair cut close to her head she would sit in her green silk
gown by the window and cry, and kiss the little green caps she used to
wear, and wish herself bald again.
It was as she sat crying there on Midsummer Eve that she first saw
Prince Florizel.
He had come to the palace that evening, but he would not appear in
her presence with the dust of travel on him, and she had retired with
her hair borne by twenty pages before he had bathed and changed his
garments and entered the reception-room.
Now he was walking in the garden in the moonlight, and he looked up
and she looked down, and for the first time Melisande, looking on
a Prince, wished that he might have the power to stop her hair from
growing. As for the Prince, he wished many things, and the first was
granted him. For he said—
“You are Melisande?”
“And you are Florizel?”
“There are many roses round your window,” said he to her, “and none
down here.”
She threw him one of three white roses she held in her hand. Then he
said—
“White rose trees are strong. May I climb up to you?”
“Surely,” said the Princess.
So he climbed up to the window.
“Now,” said he, “if I can do what your father asks, will you marry me?”
“My father has promised that I shall,” said Melisande, playing with the
white roses in her hand.
“Dear Princess,” said he, “your father’s promise is nothing to me. I
want yours. Will you give it to me?”
“Yes,” said she, and gave him the second rose.
“I want your hand.”
“Yes,” she said.
“And your heart with it.”
“Yes,” said the Princess, and she gave him the third rose.
“And a kiss to seal the promise.”
“Yes,” said she.
“And a kiss to go with the hand.”
“Yes,” she said.
“And a kiss to bring the heart.”
“Yes,” said the Princess, and she gave him the three kisses.
“Now,” said he, when he had given them back to her, “to-night do not go
to bed. Stay by your window, and I will stay down here in the garden
and watch. And when your hair has grown to the filling of your room
call to me, and then do as I tell you.”
“I will,” said the Princess.
So at dewy sunrise the Prince, lying on the turf beside the sun-dial,
heard her voice—
“Florizel! Florizel! My hair has grown so long that it is pushing me
out of the window.”
“Get out on to the window-sill,” said he, “and twist your hair three
times round the great iron hook that is there.”
And she did.
Then the Prince climbed up the rose bush with his naked sword in his
teeth, and he took the Princess’s hair in his hand about a yard from
her head and said—
“Jump!”
The Princess jumped, and screamed, for there she was hanging from the
hook by a yard and a half of her bright hair; the Prince tightened his
grasp of the hair and drew his sword across it.
Then he let her down gently by her hair till her feet were on the
grass, and jumped down after her.
They stayed talking in the garden till all the shadows had crept under
their proper trees and the sun-dial said it was breakfast time.
Then they went in to breakfast, and all the Court crowded round to
wonder and admire. For the Princess’s hair had not grown.
“How did you do it?” asked the King, shaking Florizel warmly by the
hand.
“The simplest thing in the world,” said Florizel, modestly. “You have
always cut the hair off the Princess. _I_ just cut the Princess off the
hair.”
“Humph!” said the King, who had a logical mind. And during breakfast he
more than once looked anxiously at his daughter. When they got up from
breakfast the Princess rose with the rest, but she rose and rose and
rose, till it seemed as though there would never be an end of it. The
Princess was nine feet high.
“I feared as much,” said the King, sadly. “I wonder what will be the
rate of progression. You see,” he said to poor Florizel, “when we cut
the hair off _it_ grows—when we cut the Princess off _she_ grows. I
wish you had happened to think of that!”
The Princess went on growing. By dinner-time she was so large that she
had to have her dinner brought out into the garden because she was
too large to get indoors. But she was too unhappy to be able to eat
anything. And she cried so much that there was quite a pool in the
garden, and several pages were nearly drowned. So she remembered her
“Alice in Wonderland,” and stopped crying at once. But she did not stop
growing. She grew bigger and bigger and bigger, till she had to go
outside the palace gardens and sit on the common, and even that was too
small to hold her comfortably, for every hour she grew twice as much as
she had done the hour before. And nobody knew what to do, nor where the
Princess was to sleep. Fortunately, her clothes had grown with her, or
she would have been very cold indeed, and now she sat on the common
in her green gown, embroidered with gold, looking like a great hill
covered with gorse in flower.
You cannot possibly imagine how large the Princess was growing, and her
mother stood wringing her hands on the castle tower, and the Prince
Florizel looked on broken-hearted to see his Princess snatched from his
arms and turned into a lady as big as a mountain.
The King did not weep or look on. He sat down at once and wrote to his
fairy godmother, asking her advice. He sent a weasel with the letter,
and by return of weasel he got his own letter back again, marked “Gone
away. Left no address.”
It was now, when the kingdom was plunged into gloom, that a
neighbouring King took it into his head to send an invading army
against the island where Melisande lived. They came in ships and they
landed in great numbers, and Melisande looking down from her height saw
alien soldiers marching on the sacred soil of her country.
“I don’t mind so much now,” said she, “if I can really be of some use
this size.”
And she picked up the army of the enemy in handfuls and
double-handfuls, and put them back into their ships, and gave a
little flip to each transport ship with her finger and thumb, which
sent the ships off so fast that they never stopped till they reached
their own country, and when they arrived there the whole army to a man
said it would rather be courtmartialled a hundred times over than go
near the place again.
[Illustration: THE PRINCESS GREW SO BIG THAT SHE HAD TO GO AND SIT ON
THE COMMON.]
Meantime Melisande, sitting on the highest hill on the island, felt the
land trembling and shivering under her giant feet.
“I do believe I’m getting too heavy,” she said, and jumped off the
island into the sea, which was just up to her ankles. Just then a great
fleet of warships and gunboats and torpedo boats came in sight, on
their way to attack the island.
Melisande could easily have sunk them all with one kick, but she did
not like to do this because it might have drowned the sailors, and
besides, it might have swamped the island.
So she simply stooped and picked the island as you would pick a
mushroom—for, of course, all islands are supported by a stalk
underneath—and carried it away to another part of the world. So that
when the warships got to where the island was marked on the map they
found nothing but sea, and a very rough sea it was, because the
Princess had churned it all up with her ankles as she walked away
through it with the island.
When Melisande reached a suitable place, very sunny and warm, and with
no sharks in the water, she set down the island; and the people made it
fast with anchors, and then every one went to bed, thanking the kind
fate which had sent them so great a Princess to help them in their
need, and calling her the saviour of her country and the bulwark of the
nation.
But it is poor work being the nation’s bulwark and your country’s
saviour when you are miles high, and have no one to talk to, and when
all you want is to be your humble right size again and to marry your
sweetheart. And when it was dark the Princess came close to the island,
and looked down, from far up, at her palace and her tower and cried,
and cried, and cried. It does not matter how much you cry into the sea,
it hardly makes any difference, however large you may be. Then when
everything was quite dark the Princess looked up at the stars.
“I wonder how soon I shall be big enough to knock my head against
them,” said she.
And as she stood star-gazing she heard a whisper right in her ear. A
very little whisper, but quite plain.
“Cut off your hair!” it said.
Now, everything the Princess was wearing had grown big along with her,
so that now there dangled from her golden girdle a pair of scissors as
big as the Malay Peninsula, together with a pin-cushion the size of the
Isle of Wight, and a yard measure that would have gone round Australia.
And when she heard the little, little voice, she knew it, small as it
was, for the dear voice of Prince Florizel, and she whipped out the
scissors from her gold case and snip, snip, snipped all her hair off,
and it fell into the sea. The coral insects got hold of it at once and
set to work on it, and now they have made it into the biggest coral
reef in the world; but that has nothing to do with the story.
Then the voice said, “Get close to the island,” and the Princess did,
but she could not get very close because she was so large, and she
looked up again at the stars and they seemed to be much farther off.
Then the voice said, “Be ready to swim,” and she felt something climb
out of her ear and clamber down her arm. The stars got farther and
farther away, and next moment the Princess found herself swimming in
the sea, and Prince Florizel swimming beside her.
“I crept on to your hand when you were carrying the island,” he
explained, when their feet touched the sand and they walked in through
the shallow water, “and I got into your ear with an ear-trumpet. You
never noticed me because you were so great then.”
“Oh, my dear Prince,” cried Melisande, falling into his arms, “you have
saved me. I am my proper size again.”
So they went home and told the King and Queen. Both were very, very
happy, but the King rubbed his chin with his hand, and said—
“You’ve certainly had some fun for your money, young man, but don’t
you see that we’re just where we were before? Why, the child’s hair is
growing already.”
And indeed it was.
Then once more the King sent a letter to his godmother. He sent it by a
flying-fish, and by return of fish come the answer—
“Just back from my holidays. Sorry for your troubles. Why not try
scales?”
And on this message the whole Court pondered for weeks.
But the Prince caused a pair of gold scales to be made, and hung them
up in the palace gardens under a big oak tree. And one morning he said
to the Princess—
“My darling Melisande, I must really speak seriously to you. We are
getting on in life. I am nearly twenty: it is time that we thought of
being settled. Will you trust me entirely and get into one of those
gold scales?”
So he took her down into the garden, and helped her into the scale, and
she curled up in it in her green and gold gown, like a little grass
mound with buttercups on it.
“And what is going into the other scale?” asked Melisande.
“Your hair,” said Florizel. “You see, when your hair is cut off you
it grows, and when you are cut off your hair you grow—oh, my heart’s
delight, I can never forget how you grew, never! But if, when your
hair is no more than you, and you are no more than your hair, I snip
the scissors between you and it, then neither you nor your hair can
possibly decide which ought to go on growing.”
“Suppose _both_ did,” said the poor Princess, humbly.
“Impossible,” said the Prince, with a shudder; “there are limits even
to Malevola’s malevolence. And, besides, Fortuna said ‘Scales.’ Will
you try it?”
“I will do whatever you wish,” said the poor Princess, “but let me kiss
my father and mother once, and Nurse, and you, too, my dear, in case I
grow large again and can kiss nobody any more.”
So they came one by one and kissed the Princess.
Then the nurse cut off the Princess’s hair, and at once it began to
grow at a frightful rate.
The King and Queen and nurse busily packed it, as it grew, into the
other scale, and gradually the scale went down a little. The Prince
stood waiting between the scales with his drawn sword, and just before
the two were equal he struck. But during the time his sword took to
flash through the air the Princess’s hair grew a yard or two, so that
at the instant when he struck the balance was true.
“You are a young man of sound judgment,” said the King, embracing him,
while the Queen and the nurse ran to help the Princess out of the gold
scale.
The scale full of golden hair bumped down on to the ground as the
Princess stepped out of the other one, and stood there before those
who loved her, laughing and crying with happiness, because she remained
her proper size, and her hair was not growing any more.
[Illustration: THE PRINCESS IN ONE SCALE AND HER HAIR IN THE OTHER.]
She kissed her Prince a hundred times, and the very next day they were
married. Every one remarked on the beauty of the bride, and it was
noticed that her hair was quite short—only five feet five and a quarter
inches long—just down to her pretty ankles. Because the scales had been
ten feet ten and a half inches apart, and the Prince, having a straight
eye, had cut the golden hair exactly in the middle!
_FORTUNATUS REX & CO._
THERE was once a lady who found herself in middle life with but a
slight income. Knowing herself to be insufficiently educated to be
able to practise any other trade or calling, she of course decided,
without hesitation, to enter the profession of teaching. She opened a
very select Boarding School for Young Ladies. The highest references
were given and required. And in order to keep her school as select as
possible, Miss Fitzroy Robinson had a brass plate fastened on to the
door, with an inscription in small polite lettering. (You have, of
course, heard of the “polite letters.” Well, it was with these that
Miss Fitzroy Robinson’s door-plate was engraved.)
“SELECT BOARDING ESTABLISHMENT FOR THE
DAUGHTERS OF RESPECTABLE MONARCHS.”
A great many kings who were not at all respectable would have given
their royal ears to be allowed to send their daughters to this school,
but Miss Fitzroy Robinson was very firm about references, and the
consequence was that all the really high-class kings were only too
pleased to be permitted to pay ten thousand pounds a year for their
daughters’ education. And so Miss Fitzroy Robinson was able to lay
aside a few pounds as a provision for her old age. And all the money
she saved was invested in land.
Only one monarch refused to send his daughter to Miss Fitzroy Robinson,
on the ground that so cheap a school could not be a really select one,
and it was found out afterwards that his references were not at all
satisfactory.
There were only six boarders, and of course the best masters were
engaged to teach the royal pupils everything which their parents wished
them to learn, and as the girls were never asked to do lessons except
when they felt quite inclined, they all said it was the nicest school
in the world, and cried at the very thought of being taken away. Thus
it happened that the six pupils were quite grown up and were just
becoming parlour boarders when events began to occur. Princess Daisy,
the daughter of King Fortunatus, the ruling sovereign, was the only
little girl in the school.
Now it was when she had been at school about a year, that a ring came
at the front door-bell, and the maid-servant came to the schoolroom
with a visiting card held in the corner of her apron—for her hands were
wet because it was washing-day.
“A gentleman to see you, Miss,” she said; and Miss Fitzroy Robinson was
quite fluttered because she thought it might be a respectable monarch,
with a daughter who wanted teaching.
But when she looked at the card she left off fluttering, and said,
“Dear me!” under her breath, because she was very genteel. If she had
been vulgar like some of us she would have said “Bother!” and if she
had been more vulgar than, I hope, any of us are, she might have said
“Drat the man!” The card was large and shiny and had gold letters on
it. Miss Fitzroy Robinson read:—
Chevalier Doloro De Lara
Professor of Magic (white)
and the Black Art.
Pupils instructed at their own residences.
No extras.
Special terms for Schools. Evening Parties
attended.
Miss Fitzroy Robinson laid down her book—she never taught without a
book—smoothed her yellow cap and her grey curls and went into the front
parlour to see her visitor. He bowed low at sight of her. He was very
tall and hungry-looking, with black eyes, and an indescribable mouth.
“It is indeed a pleasure,” said he, smiling so as to show every one of
his thirty-two teeth—a very polite, but very difficult thing to do—“it
is indeed a pleasure to meet once more my old pupil.”
“The pleasure is mutual, I am sure,” said Miss Fitzroy Robinson. If it
is sometimes impossible to be polite and truthful at the same moment,
that is not my fault, nor Miss Fitzroy Robinson’s.
“I have been travelling about,” said the Professor, still smiling
immeasurably, “increasing my stock of wisdom. Ah, dear lady—we live and
learn, do we not? And now I am really a far more competent teacher than
when I had the honour of instructing you. May I hope for an engagement
as Professor in your Academy?”
“I have not yet been able to arrange for a regular course of Magic,”
said the schoolmistress; “it is a subject in which parents, especially
royal ones, take but too little interest.”
“It was your favourite study,” said the professor.
“Yes—but—well, no doubt some day——”
“But I want an engagement _now_,” said he, looking hungrier than ever;
“a thousand pounds for thirteen lessons—to _you_, dear lady.”
“It’s quite impossible,” said she, and she spoke firmly, for she knew
from history how dangerous it is for a Magician to be allowed anywhere
near a princess. Some harm almost always comes of it.
“Oh, very well!” said the Professor.
“You see my pupils are all princesses,” she went on, “they don’t
require the use of magic, they can get all they want without it.”
“Then it’s ‘_No_’?” said he.
“It’s ‘No thank you kindly,’” said she.
Then, before she could stop him, he sprang past her out at the door,
and she heard his boots on the oilcloth of the passage. She flew after
him just in time to have the schoolroom door slammed and locked in her
face.
“Well, I never!” said Miss Fitzroy Robinson. She hastened to the top
of the house and hurried down the schoolroom chimney, which had been
made with steps, in case of fire or other emergency. She stepped out of
the grate on to the schoolroom hearthrug just one second too late. The
seven Princesses were all gone, and the Professor of Magic stood alone
among the ink-stained desks, smiling the largest smile Miss Fitzroy
Robinson had seen yet.
“Oh, you naughty, bad, wicked man, you!” said she, shaking the school
ruler at him.
* * * * *
The next day was Saturday, and the King of the country called as usual
to take his daughter Daisy out to spend her half holiday. The servant
who opened the door had a coarse apron on and cinders in her hair,
and the King thought it was sackcloth and ashes, and said so a little
anxiously, but the girl said, “No, I’ve only been a-doing of the
kitchen range—though, for the matter of that—but you’d best see missus
herself.”
So the King was shown into the best parlour where the tasteful
wax-flowers were, and the antimacassars and water-colour drawings
executed by the pupils, and the wool mats which Miss Fitzroy
Robinson’s bed-ridden aunt made so beautifully. A delightful parlour
full of the traces of the refining touch of a woman’s hand.
Miss Fitzroy Robinson came in slowly and sadly. Her gown was neatly
made of sack-cloth—with an ingenious trimming of small cinders sewn on
gold braid—and some larger-sized cinders dangled by silken threads from
the edge of her lace cap.
The King saw at once that she was annoyed about something. “I hope I’m
not too early,” said he.
“Your Majesty,” she answered, “not at all. You are always punctual, as
stated in your references. Something has happened. I will not aggravate
your misfortunes by breaking them to you. Your daughter Daisy, the
pride and treasure of our little circle, has disappeared. Her six royal
companions are with her. For the present all are safe, but at the
moment I am unable to lay my hand on any one of the seven.”
The King sat down heavily on part of the handsome walnut and rep suite
(ladies’ and gentlemen’s easy-chairs, couch and six occasional chairs)
and gasped miserably. He could not find words. But the schoolmistress
had written down what she was going to say on a slate and learned it
off by heart, so she was able to go on fluently.
“Your Majesty, I am not wholly to blame—hang me if I am—I mean hang me
if you must; but first allow me to have the honour of offering to you
one or two explanatory remarks.”
With this she sat down and told him the whole story of the Professor’s
visit, only stopping exactly where I stopped when I was telling it to
you just now.
The King listened, plucking nervously at the fringe of a purple and
crimson antimacassar.
“I never _was_ satisfied with the Professor’s methods,” said Miss
Fitzroy Robinson sadly; “and I always had my doubts as to his moral
character, doubts now set at rest for ever. After concluding my course
of instruction with him some years ago I took a series of lessons from
a far more efficient master, and thanks to those lessons, which were, I
may mention, extremely costly, I was mercifully enabled to put a spoke
in the wheel of the unprincipled ruffian——”
“Did you save the Princesses?” cried the King.
“No; but I can if your Majesty and the other parents will leave the
matter entirely in my hands.”
“It’s rather a serious matter,” said the King; “my poor little Daisy——”
“I would ask you,” said the schoolmistress with dignity, “not to attach
too much importance to this event. Of course it is regrettable, but
unpleasant accidents occur in all schools, and the consequences of them
can usually be averted by the exercise of tact and judgment.”
“I ought to hang you, you know,” said the King doubtfully.
“No doubt,” said Miss Fitzroy Robinson, “and if you do you’ll never
see your Daisy again. Your duty as a parent—yes—and your duty to
me—conflicting duties are very painful things.”
“But can I trust you?”
“I may remind you,” said she, drawing herself up so that the cinders
rattled again, “that we exchanged satisfactory references at the
commencement of our business relations.”
The King rose. “Well, Miss Fitzroy Robinson,” he said, “I have been
entirely satisfied with Daisy’s progress since she has been in your
charge, and I feel I cannot do better than leave this matter entirely
in your able hands.”
The schoolmistress made him a curtsey, and he went back to his marble
palace a broken-hearted monarch, with his crown all on one side and his
poor, dear nose red with weeping.
The select boarding establishment was shut up.
Time went on and no news came of the lost Princesses.
The King found but little comfort in the fact that his other child,
Prince Denis, was still spared to him. Denis was all very well and a
nice little boy in his way, but a boy is not a girl.
The Queen was much more broken-hearted than the King, but of course
she had the housekeeping to see to and the making of the pickles and
preserves and the young Prince’s stockings to knit, so she had not much
time for weeping, and after a year she said to the King—
“My dear, you ought to do something to distract your mind. It’s
unkinglike to sit and cry all day. Now, do make an effort; do something
useful, if it’s only opening a bazaar or laying a foundation stone.”
“I am frightened of bazaars,” said the King; “they are like bees—they
buzz and worry; but foundation stones——” And after that he began to sit
and think sometimes, without crying, and to make notes on the backs of
old envelopes. So the Queen felt that she had not spoken quite in vain.
A month later the suggestion of foundation stones bore fruit.
The King floated a company, and Fortunatus Rex & Co. became almost at
once the largest speculative builders in the world.
Perhaps you do not know what a speculative builder is. I’ll tell you
what the King and his Co. did, and then you will know.
They bought all the pretty woods and fields they could get and cut them
up into squares, and grubbed up the trees and the grass and put streets
there and lamp-posts and ugly little yellow brick houses, in the hopes
that people would want to live in them. And curiously enough people
did. So the King and his Co. made quite a lot of money.
It is curious that nearly all the great fortunes are made by turning
beautiful things into ugly ones. Making beauty out of ugliness is very
ill-paid work.
The ugly little streets crawled further and further out of the town,
eating up the green country like greedy yellow caterpillars, but at
the foot of the Clover Hill they had to stop. For the owner of Clover
Hill would not sell any land at all—for any price that Fortunatus Rex
& Co. could offer. In vain the solicitors of the Company called on
the solicitors of the owner, wearing their best cloaks and swords and
shields, and took them out to lunch and gave them nice things to eat
and drink. Clover Hill was not for sale.
At last, however, a little old woman all in grey called at the
Company’s shining brass and mahogany offices and had a private
interview with the King himself.
“I am the owner of Clover Hill,” said she, “and you may build on all
its acres except the seven at the top and the fifteen acres that go
round that seven, and you must build me a high wall round the seven
acres and another round the fifteen—of _red_ brick, mind; none of your
cheap yellow stuff—and you must make a brand new law that any one who
steals my fruit is to be hanged from the tree he stole it from. That’s
all. What do you say?”
The King said “Yes,” because since his trouble he cared for nothing but
building, and his royal soul longed to see the green Clover Hill eaten
up by yellow brick caterpillars with slate tops. He did not at all like
building the two red brick walls, but he did it.
Now, the old woman wanted the walls and the acres to be this sort of
shape—
[Illustration]
But it was such a bother getting the exact amount of ground into the
two circles that all the surveyors tore out their hair by handfuls, and
at last the King said, “Oh bother! Do it this way,” and drew a plan on
the back of an old Act of Parliament. So they did, and it was like
this—
+---+---+
| 1 | 2 |
+---+---+---+---+---+
| 13| 14| 15| I | 3 |
+---+---+---+---+---+
| 12| II|III| IV| 4 |
+---+---+---+---+---+
| 11| V | VI|VII| 5 |
+---+---+---+---+---+
| 10| 9 | 8 | 7 | 6 |
+---+---+---+---+---+
[Illustration]
The old lady was very vexed when she found that there was only one
wall between her orchard and the world, as you see was the case at the
corner where the two 1’s and the 15 meet; but the King said he couldn’t
afford to build it all over again and that she’d got her two walls as
she had said. So she had to put up with it. Only she insisted on the
King’s getting her a fierce bull-dog to fly at the throat of any one
who should come over the wall at that weak point where the two 1’s join
on to the 15. So he got her a stout bull-dog whose name was Martha, and
brought it himself in a jewelled leash.
“Martha will fly at any one who is not of kingly blood,” said he. “Of
course she wouldn’t dream of biting a royal person; but, then, on the
other hand, royal people don’t rob orchards.”
So the old woman had to be contented. She tied Martha up in the
unprotected corner of her inner enclosure and then she planted little
baby apple trees and had a house built and sat down in it and waited.
And the King was almost happy. The creepy, crawly yellow caterpillars
ate up Clover Hill—all except the little green crown on the top, where
the apple trees were and the two red brick walls and the little house
and the old woman.
The poor Queen went on seeing to the jam and the pickles and the
blanket washing and the spring cleaning, and every now and then she
would say to her husband—
“Fortunatus, my love, do you _really_ think Miss Fitzroy Robinson is
trustworthy? Shall we ever see our Daisy again?”
And the King would rumple his fair hair with his hands till it stuck
out like cheese straws under his crown, and answer—
“My dear, you must be patient; you know we had the very highest
references.”
Now one day the new yellow brick town the King had built had a
delightful experience. Six handsome Princes on beautiful white horses
came riding through the dusty little streets. The housings of their
chargers shone with silver embroidery and gleaming glowing jewels, and
their gold armour flashed so gloriously in the sun that all the little
children clapped their hands, and the Princes’ faces were so young and
kind and handsome that all the old women said: “Bless their pretty
hearts!”
Now, of course, you will not need to be told that these six Princes
were looking for the six grown-up Princesses who had been so happy at
the Select Boarding Establishment. Their six Royal fathers, who lived
many years’ journey away on the other side of the world, and had not
yet heard that the Princesses were mislaid, had given Miss Fitzroy
Robinson’s address to these Princes, and instructed them to marry the
six Princesses without delay, and bring them home.
But when they got to the Select Boarding Establishment for the
Daughters of Respectable Monarchs, the house was closed, and a card was
in the window, saying that this desirable villa residence was to be
let on moderate terms, furnished or otherwise. The wax fruit under the
glass shade still showed attractively through the dusty panes. The six
Princes looked through the window by turns. They were charmed with the
furniture, and the refining touch of a woman’s hand drew them like a
magnet. They took the house, but they had their meals at the Palace by
the King’s special invitation.
King Fortunatus told the Princes the dreadful story of the
disappearance of the entire Select School; and each Prince swore by
his sword-hilt and his honour that he would find out the particular
Princess that he was to marry, or perish in the attempt. For, of
course, each Prince was to marry one Princess, mentioned by name in his
instructions, and not one of the others.
The first night that the Princes spent in the furnished house passed
quietly enough, so did the second and the third and the fourth, fifth
and sixth, but on the seventh night, as the Princes sat playing
spilikins in the schoolroom, they suddenly heard a voice that was not
any of theirs. It said, “Open up Africa!”
The Princes looked here, there, and everywhere—but they could see no
one. They had not been brought up to the exploring trade, and could not
have opened up Africa if they had wanted to.
“Or cut through the Isthmus of Panama,” said the voice again.
Now, as it happened, none of the six Princes were engineers. They
confessed as much.
“Cut up China, then!” said the voice, desperately.
“It’s like the ghost of a Tory newspaper,” said one of the Princes.
And then suddenly they knew that the voice came from one of the pair of
globes which hung in frames at the end of the schoolroom. It was the
terrestrial globe.
“I’m inside,” said the voice; “I can’t get out. Oh, cut the
globe—anywhere—and let me out. But the African route is most
convenient.”
Prince Primus opened up Africa with his sword, and out tumbled half a
Professor of Magic.
“My other half’s in there,” he said, pointing to the Celestial globe.
“Let my legs out, do——”
But Prince Secundus said, “Not so fast,” and Prince Tertius said, “Why
were you shut up?”
“I was shut up for as pretty a bit of parlour-magic as ever you saw in
all your born days,” said the top half of the Professor of Magic.
“Oh, you were, were you?” said Prince Quartus; “well, your legs aren’t
coming out just yet. We want to engage a competent magician. You’ll do.”
“But I’m not all here,” said the Professor.
“Quite enough of you,” said Prince Quintus.
“Now look here,” said Prince Sextus; “we want to find our six
Princesses. We can give a very good guess as to how they were lost; but
we’ll let bygones be bygones. You tell us how to find them, and after
our weddings we’ll restore your legs to the light of day.”
“This half of me feels so faint,” said the half Professor of Magic.
“What are we to do?” said all the Princes, threateningly; “if you don’t
tell us, you shall never have a leg to stand on.”
“Steal apples,” said the half Professor, hoarsely, and fainted away.
They left him lying on the bare boards between the inkstained desks,
and off they went to steal apples. But this was not so easy. Because
Fortunatus Rex & Co. had built, and built, and built, and apples do not
grow freely in those parts of the country which have been “opened up”
by speculative builders.
So at last they asked the little Prince Denis where he went for apples
when he wanted them. And Denis said—
“The old woman at the top of Clover Hill has apples in her seven acres,
and in her fifteen acres, but there’s a fierce bulldog in the seven
acres, and I’ve stolen all the apples in the fifteen acres myself.”
“We’ll try the seven acres,” said the Princes.
“Very well,” said Denis; “You’ll be hanged if you’re caught. So, as I
put you up to it, I’m coming too, and if you won’t take me, I’ll tell.
So there!”
For Denis was a most honourable little Prince, and felt that you must
not send others into danger unless you go yourself, and he would never
have stolen apples if it had not been quite as dangerous as leading
armies.
So the Princes had to agree, and the very next night Denis let himself
down out of his window by a knotted rope made of all the stockings his
mother had knitted for him, and the grown-up Princes were waiting under
the window, and off they all went to the orchard on the top of Clover
Hill.
They climbed the wall at the proper corner, and Martha, the bulldog,
who was very wellbred, and knew a Prince when she saw one, wagged her
kinked tail respectfully and wished them good luck.
The Princes stole over the dewy orchard grass and looked at tree after
tree: there were no apples on any of them.
Only at last, in the very middle of the orchard there was a tree with a
copper trunk and brass branches, and leaves of silver. And on it hung
seven beautiful golden apples.
So each Prince took one of the golden apples, very quietly, and off
they went, anxious to get back to the half-Professor of Magic, and
learn what to do next. No one had any doubt as to the half-Professor
having told the truth; for when your legs depend on your speaking the
truth you will not willingly tell a falsehood.
They stole away as quietly as they could, each with a gold apple in
his hand, but as they went Prince Denis could not resist his longing
to take a bite out of his apple. He opened his mouth very wide so as
to get a good bite, and the next moment he howled aloud, for the apple
was as hard as stone, and the poor little boy had broken nearly all his
first teeth.
He flung the apple away in a rage, and the next moment the old woman
rushed out of her house. She screamed. Martha barked. Prince Denis
howled. The whole town was aroused, and the six Princes were arrested,
and taken under a strong guard to the Tower. Denis was let off, on the
ground of his youth, and, besides, he had lost most of his teeth, which
is a severe punishment, even for stealing apples.
The King sat in his Hall of Justice next morning, and the old woman and
the Princes came before him. When the story had been told, he said—
“My dear fellows, I hope you’ll excuse me—the laws of hospitality are
strict—but business is business after all. I should not like to have
any constitutional unpleasantness over a little thing like this; you
must all be hanged to-morrow morning.”
The Princes were extremely vexed, but they did not make a fuss. They
asked to see Denis, and told him what to do.
So Denis went to the furnished house which had once been a Select
Boarding Establishment for the Daughters of Respectable Monarchs. The
door was locked, but Denis knew a way in, because his sister had told
him all about it one holiday. He got up on the roof and walked down
the schoolroom chimney.
There, on the schoolroom floor, lay half a Professor of Magic,
struggling feebly, and uttering sad, faint squeals.
“What are we to do now?” said Denis.
“Steal apples,” said the half-Professor in a weak whisper. “Do let my
legs out. Slice up the Great Bear—or the Milky Way would be a good one
for them to come out by.”
But Denis knew better.
“Not till we get the lost Princesses,” said he, “now, what’s to be
done?”
“Steal apples I tell you,” said the half-Professor, crossly; “seven
apples—there—seven kisses. Cut them down. Oh go along with you, do.
Leave me to die, you heartless boy. I’ve got pins and needles in my
legs.”
Then off ran Denis to the Seven Acre Orchard at the top of Clover Hill,
and there were the six Princes hanging to the apple-tree, and the
hangman had gone home to his dinner, and there was no one else about.
And the Princes were not dead.
Denis climbed up the tree and cut the Princes down with the penknife of
the gardener’s boy. (You will often find this penknife mentioned in
your German exercises; now you know why so much fuss is made about it.)
The Princes fell to the ground, and when they recovered their wits
Denis told them what he had done.
“Oh why did you cut us down?” said the Princes, “we were having such
happy dreams.”
“Well,” said Denis, shutting up the penknife of the gardener’s boy,
“of all the ungrateful chaps!” And he turned his back and marched off.
But they ran quickly after him and thanked him and told him how they
had been dreaming of walking arm in arm with the most dear and lovely
Princesses in the world.
“Well,” said Denis, “it’s no use dreaming about _them_. You’ve got your
own registered Princesses to find, and the half-Professor says, ‘Steal
apples.’”
“There aren’t any more to steal,” said the Princes—but when they
looked, there were the gold apples back on the tree just as before.
So once again they each picked one. Denis chose a different one this
time. He thought it might be softer. The last time he had chosen the
biggest apple—but now he took the littlest apple of all.
“Seven kisses!” he cried, and began to kiss the little gold apple.
Each Prince kissed the apple he held, till the sound of kisses was like
the whisper of the evening wind in leafy trees. And, of course, at the
seventh kiss each Prince found that he had in his hand not an apple,
but the fingers of a lovely Princess. As for Denis, he had got his
little sister Daisy, and he was so glad he promised at once to give her
his guinea-pigs and his whole collection of foreign postage stamps.
“What is your name, dear and lovely lady?” asked Prince Primus.
“Sexta,” said his Princess. And then it turned out that every single
one of the Princes had picked the wrong apple, so that each one had a
Princess who was not the one mentioned in his letter of instructions.
Secundus had plucked the apple that held Quinta, and Tertius held
Quarta, and so on—and everything was as criss-cross-crooked as it
possibly could be.
And yet nobody wanted to change.
Then the old woman came out of her house and looked at them and
chuckled, and she said—
“You must be contented with what you have.”
“We _are_,” said all twelve of them, “but what about our parents?”
“They must put up with your choice,” said the old woman, “it’s the
common lot of parents.”
“I think you ought to sort yourselves out properly,” said Denis; “I’m
the only one who’s got his right Princess—because I wasn’t greedy. I
took the smallest.”
The tallest Princess showed him a red mark on her arm, where his little
teeth had been two nights before, and everybody laughed.