PRINCE MATHIAS
Sailing from Trieste to Ragusa, the _Spera in Dio_ was becalmed just
in front of Lissa; for days and days she lay there on that rippleless
sea, looking like "a painted ship upon a painted ocean."
It was towards the middle of spring, in that season of the year
called by the Dalmatians the _venturini_, or fortunate months, on
account of the shoals of sardines, anchovies, and mackerel, which
swim up the Adriatic, and towards that eastern part of its shores,
affording the people--whose barren land affords them but scanty
food--the main source of their sustenance.
At last a faint breeze began to blow; it brought with it the sweet
scent of thyme and sage from the rocky coast only a few miles off,
and made the flabby sails flap gently against the masts, still,
without swelling them at all. Everyone on board the _Spera in Dio_
was in hopes that the wind would increase when the moon rose, but the
sun went down far away in the offing, all shorn of its rays, and like
a huge ball of fire; then a slight haze arose, dimming the brightness
of the stars, casting over nature a faint, phosphorescent glimmer;
then they knew that the wind would not rise, for "the mist leaves the
weather as it finds it;" at least, the proverb says so.
Already that afternoon the crew of the _Spera in Dio_ had seen the
waters of the sea--as far as eye could reach--bickering and
simmering; still, they knew that the slight shivering of the waters
was not produced by any ruffling wind, but by the glittering silver
scales of myriads of fish swimming on the surface of the smooth
waters. In fact, a flock of gulls was soon hovering and wheeling over
the main, uttering shrill cries of delight every time they dipped
within the brine and snatched an easy prey; then a number of dolphins
appeared from underneath, and began to plunge and gambol amidst the
shoal, feasting upon the fry. The fish, in a body, made for the
shore, hoping to find protection in shallower waters. Alas! a far
more powerful enemy was waiting for them there.
Night came on; the fishermen lighted their resinous torches on the
prows of the boats, and the fish, attracted by the sheen, which
reflected itself down in the deep, dark water, were lured within the
double net spread out to catch them.
When the shoal began to follow the deceptive light, the quiet waters
were struck with mighty, resounding thuds, and the terror-stricken
sardines swam hither and thither, helter-skelter, entangling
themselves within the meshes of that wall of netting spread out to
capture them.
Thus the whole of that balmy summer night was passed in decoying and
frightening the shoal, in gathering it together, then in driving it
into the inlet where the nets were spread.
At last, at early dawn, the long-awaited moment came. Every
fisherman, dumb with expectation, grasped the ropes of the net and
tugged with lusty sinews and a rare good-will. For the father, the
sustenance of his children at home lay in those nets; for the lover,
the produce of that first night's fishery would enable him to say
whether he could wed the girl he loves that year, or if the marriage
would have to be postponed till more propitious times.
The strong men groaned under the weight they were heaving, but not a
word was spoken. Finally, the dripping nets were uplifted out of the
water. It was a rare sight to see the fish glistening like a mass of
molten silver within the brown meshes, just when the first
hyacinthine beams of the dawning sun fell upon their glossy, nacreous
scales.
The captain and his two mates, the _pobratim_, rowed on shore and
took part in the general rejoicings, for nothing gladdens the heart
of man as abundance; moreover, they made a very good stroke of
business, for, having ready-money, they bought up, and thus secured,
part of their cargo for their return voyage.
On the morrow, a fresh and steady breeze having begun to blow, the
lazy sails swelled out, the ship flew on the rippling waters, like a
white swan, and that very evening they dropped the anchor at Gravosa,
the port of Ragusa.
How often the letter we have been so anxiously expecting only comes
to disappoint us, making us feel our sorrow more deeply.
As soon as the post-office was opened, the _pobratim_ hurried there
to ask for letters. They both received several from their parents.
Uros read, with a sinking heart, what we already know, that Radonic
had killed Vranic, and that Milena was dangerously ill. Milenko
received a letter in a handwriting new to him. With a trembling hand
he tore open the envelope, unfolded the sheet of pale blue Bath
paper, containing an ounce of gold dust in it, and read the following
lines:--
"Honoured Sir,--I take up my pen to keep the promise I so imprudently
made of writing to you, but this, which is the first, must also be
the last letter I ever pen.
"Perhaps you will be angry with me, and think me inconstant, but
alas! this is not the case. Henceforth, I must never think of you, or
at least, only as a friend. It is not fated that we be man and wife,
and, as marriages are made in heaven, we must submit to what has been
decreed.
"You must not think me heartless if I write to you in this way, but
the fact is, my father had--even before my birth--promised me in
marriage to the son of one of his friends, and this young man happens
to be your own friend and brother Uros. My only hope now is, that he,
as you hinted, being in love with someone else, will not insist upon
marrying me, or else I shall be the most wretched woman that ever
lived in this world.
"My father, who is delighted with the marriage, for he has always
mistaken you for Uros, has already written to his old friend Bellacic
to remind him of his plighted word. Perhaps your friend will get his
father to write to mine, and explain the real state of things to him;
if not, I shall dearly regret the day you saved me from certain
death.
"But why do I write all this to you. Perhaps, as the saying is: 'Far
from the eyes, far from the heart.' You have already forgotten the
wretched girl who owes her life to you, and must therefore love,
cherish, and ever be your most obedient servant, "IVANKA."
As poor Milenko read this letter, his cheeks grew pale, his heart
seemed to stop, he almost gasped for breath. He looked around; the
sky seemed to have grown dark, the world dreary, life a burden. Could
it be possible that, when the cup of happiness had touched his lips,
it would be snatched away from him and dashed down?
The letter which he had read seemed to have muddled his brain. Was it
possible that the girl he loved so dearly was to marry his friend,
who did not care about her? and if she loved him, would she yield
tamely to her father's wish? Alas! what proper girl ever rebelled
against her father's decree?
Milenko felt as if a hand of steel had been thrust within his breast,
gripped his heart and crushed it.
All at once he was seized by a dreadful doubt. Did Uros know nothing
about all this, or was he conniving with his father to rob him of his
bride? He looked up at his friend, who was reading the letters he had
just received. The tidings they contained must have been far worse
than his own, for Uros' face was the very picture of despair.
"What is the matter?" said Milenko; "bad news from home?"
For all answer Uros handed the letter he had just been reading to his
friend; it was as follows:--
"My dear Son,--The present lines are to inform you that we are both
well, your mother and myself, though, indeed, I have been suffering
with rheumatic pains in my right shoulder and in my left leg, as well
as occasional cramps in my stomach, for which the barber has cupped
me several times. As for your mother, she always suffers with sore
eyes, and though she tries to cure herself with vine-water and the
dew which the flowers distil on St. John's Eve, which is a specific,
as you know, still, it has not afforded her great relief. She is also
often ailing with a pain in her side; but these are only trifles.
Therefore, I hope that this letter will find you, Milenko and the
captain in as good health as that which we at present enjoy, and that
you have had a good and prosperous voyage. Here, at Budua, things are
always about the same. The weather has hitherto been very favourable
to the crops, and, with God's help, we must hope for a good harvest,
though the wind having blown down almost all the blossoms of the
almond-trees, there will be but little fruit. As for the vines,
little can be said as yet; whilst having had a good crop of olives
last year, we cannot expect much this autumn.
"Our town is always very quiet. A fire only broke out here not long
ago, and it burnt down a few houses. As it was believed to have been
caused on account of a _karvarina_, bloodshed, as usual, ensued.
Another fact, which somewhat upset our town, was the death of Vranic,
who was found murdered in Radonic's house whilst Milena was spending
the evening with us. You may well understand how astonished every one
was, for Radonic and Vranic had been friends from their youth.
Although no one was ever very fond of Radonic, still nobody regretted
Vranic, who, as you know, was gifted with the evil eye; and although
I myself, not being superstitious, do not believe that persons can
harm you simply by looking at you, still it is useless to go against
facts. Poor Milena, who was the first to enter the house after the
murder--although your mother had accompanied her thither--was seized
by such a terrible fright that she remained soulless for many hours,
and has been ill ever since, though with care and good food we hope
to bring her round.
"I was marvelled to hear how you fell in with the Giulianics, and
that your ship saved them from death. It is certainly a dispensation
of Providence, and--not being an infidel Turk--I do not see _Kismet_
in everything that happens; still, the hand of the Almighty God is
clearly visible in all this.
"Giulianic and I were friends when he, Markovic and myself were poor
folk, struggling hard to live and to put by a penny for a rainy day.
All three of us have, thank Heaven, succeeded beyond our
expectations, for I am glad to hear, by your account as well as his
own, that he is in such good circumstances.
"One day--long before you were born--talking together and joking, we
made each other a kind of promise, more for the fun of the thing than
for anything else, that if we should have, the one a son, and the
other a daughter, we should marry them to each other. Not to forget
our promises, we exchanged tobacco-pouches. To tell you the truth,
not having heard of the Giulianics for so many years, I had all but
forgotten my promise, and I daresay he looked at his own pledge as a
kind of joke. On receiving your letter, however, I at once wrote to
this old friend, sending him back his gold-embroidered pouch and
redeeming mine. He at once wrote back a most affectionate letter,
saying that he was but too happy to give his daughter to the young
man who had saved Ivanka's life, but, apparently, had stolen away her
heart. Therefore, my dear son, you may henceforth consider yourself
engaged to the girl of your choice; and may the blessing of God and
of the holy Virgin rest on you both for ever.
"Your mother wishes me to tell you not to forget your prayers morning
and evening, to try and keep all the fasts, and to light a candle to
St. Nicholas whenever you go on shore, so that he may keep you from
storms and shipwrecks. Besides, she bids me tell you, that if you
want more underclothing, to write to her in time, so that she may
prepare everything you need.
"Your loving father,
"Milos Bellacic."
Whilst Milenko was reading this letter, doubt returned several times
within his heart, and began to gnaw at it. As soon as he had
finished, he handed it back to Uros, and seeing his honest eyes fixed
upon him, as if asking for consolation, all doubts were at once
dispelled.
"Well," said Uros, "it isn't enough to think that Milena is ill, but
all this complication must arise."
"As for Milena," replied Milenko, "she is much better; here is a
letter from my mother, written after yours, in which she says that
she is quite out of danger."
Comforted with the idea that the woman he loved was better, Uros
could not help smiling, then almost laughing.
Milenko looked at him, astonished.
"After all, this is your fault," said Uros.
"Mine?"
"Of course; you would insist in allowing old Giulianic to believe you
were myself; now there is only one thing left for you."
"What?"
"To act your part out."
"I don't quite understand."
"Go to Nona, and marry Ivanka at once; when married, Giulianic will
have to give you his blessing."
"Oh! but----"
"But what?"
"I don't think Ivanka will consent."
"If she loves you she will. I wish it was as easy for me to marry
Milena as it is for you to wed Ivanka."
"But wouldn't it be better to get the father's consent?"
"Old people are stubborn; once they get a thing into their heads,
it's difficult to get it out again."
"Yes, but if----"
"With 'buts' and 'ifs' you'll never marry."
"What are you discussing?" said the captain, coming up.
"Oh! I was simply saying that only a daring man deserves to wed the
girl he loves," said Uros.
"Of course; don't you know the story of Prince Mathias?"
"No," replied the young man.
"Well, then, as we have nothing to do just now, listen, and I'll tell
it to you."
Once, in those long bygone times when rats fought with frogs,
tortoises ran races with hares and won them, pussies went about in
boots, and--I was going to add--women wore breeches, but, then, that
would not be such an extraordinary occurrence even now-a-days; well,
in those remote times, there lived a King who had a beautiful
daughter, as fair as the dawning sun, and as wise as an old rabbi
versed in the Kabala. In fact, she was so handsome and so learned
that her reputation had spread far and wide, and many a Prince had
come from far away beyond the sea to offer his hand and heart to this
wonderful Princess. She, however, would have none of them, for she
found that, although they--as a rule--rode like jockeys, drove like
cabmen and swore like carters, they were, on the whole, slow-coaches;
none of them, for instance, were good at repartee, none could discuss
German pessimism, and all--on the contrary--found that life was worth
living; so she would have nothing to do with them.
She, therefore, send heralds to all the Courts of Chivalry to
proclaim that she would only wed the Prince who, for three successive
nights, could sit up and watch in her room, without falling asleep
and allowing her to escape.
Every Prince who heard of the proclamation thought it a good joke,
and the candidates for the Princess's hand greatly increased. A host
of _Durchlauchten_ from the most sacred Protestant empire of Germany,
flocked--_Armen-reisender_ fashion--and offered to sit up in the
Princess's room for three nights, or even more if she desired it.
Alas, for the poor Highnesses! every one paid the trial with his
life. The Princess--who knew a thing or two--provided for their
entertainment an unlimited supply of _Lager Bier_, and, moreover--it
was a cruel joke--she had a few pages read to them of the very book
each one had written, for, in those literary times, every Prince was
bound to write a book. At the end of the first chapter every Prince
snored.
It happened that Prince Mathias--the only son and heir of a queen who
reigned in an out-of-the-way island, which was believed by its
inhabitants to be the centre of the world--heard of this strange
proclamation. He was the very flower of chivalry in those days,
strong as a bull, handsome as a stag--though rather inclined to be
corpulent--brave as a falcon, and as amorous as a cat in spring-time.
He at once resolved to risk his head, and go and spend the three
nights in the Princess's bedroom.
His mother--a pious old lady, an excellent housekeeper, much attached
to her domestics, and known throughout the world as an elegant writer
of diaries--did her utmost to dissuade her son from his foolish
project; but all her wise remonstrances were in vain. Prince Mathias,
who was not the most dutiful of sons, allowed his mother to jaw away
till she was purple in the face, but her words went in by one ear and
out by the other; he remained steadfast to his purpose. Seeing at
last that praying and preaching were of no avail, Her Gracious
Majesty consented to her son's departure with royal grace. She doled
out to him a few ducats, stamped with her own effigy, and, knowing
his unthrifty ways, she said to herself: "He'll not go very far with
that." Then she presented him with a shawl to keep him warm at
nights, and she blessed him with her chubby hands, begging him to try
and keep out of mischief now that he had reached the years of
discretion.
Mathias, wrapped up in his shawl, went off to seek his fortune. As he
was tramping along the high-road, he happened to meet a stout,
sleek-headed man who was lounging on the roadside.
The Prince--who was very off-handed in his ways, and not very
particular as to the company he kept, or to the number of his
attachments, as the Opposition papers said--hailed the stout,
sleek-headed man.
"Whither wanderest thou, my friend?" said Mathias to the loafer.
"I tramp about the world in search of happiness," quoth he.
"You're not a German philosopher, I hope?" asked the Prince,
terror-stricken.
"I'm a true-born Dutchman, sir," retorted the loafer, with much
dignity.
"Give us your paw," said His Highness.
The friends shook hands.
"What's your trade, my man?"
"Well, I'm a kind of Jack-of-all-trades, without any trade in
particular--and yours?"
"I'll be a kind of general overseer some day or other."
"Good job?"
"Used to be much better--too many strikes nowadays."
"I see; it ruins the trade, does it?"
"Our trade especially."
"So?"
"But what's your name?" asked the Prince.
"Well, I'm generally known as 'The Big One.' You see, I can stretch
out my stomach to such a pitch that I can shelter a whole regiment of
soldiers in it. Shouldn't you like to see me do the trick?"
"Swell away!" ejaculated the Prince.
The Big One thereupon puffed and puffed himself out, and swelled
himself to such a pitch that he blocked up the highway from one side
to the other.
"Bravo!" cried the Prince; "you're a swell!"
"I'm a sell," said The Big One, smiling modestly.
"A cell, indeed! But, I say, where did you learn that trick?"
"Up in Thibet."
"You're an adept, are you?"
"I am," said the loafer.
Mathias crossed himself devoutly.
"I say, don't you want to accompany me in my wanderings, in a _sans
facon_ way?"
"And take pot-luck with you?" said the adept, with a wink.
Mathias took the hint. He jingled the few dollars he had in his
pocket, counted the six gold ducats his mamma had given him, and
reckoned the enormous amount of food his new friend might consume. On
the other hand, he bethought himself how useful a man who could
swallow a whole regiment might be in case of an insurrection; so he
shrugged his shoulders, and muttered to himself:
"There'll be a row at the next meeting of the Witena-gemote, when my
debts 'll have to be paid; but if they want me to keep up appearances,
they must fork out the tin." Thereupon, turning to The Big One, he
added, magnificently: "It's a bargain."
"You're a brick," said The Big One.
On the morrow they met another tramp, so tall and so thin that he
looked like a huge asparagus, or like a walking minaret. His name was
The Long One; and he could, even without standing on tiptoe, lengthen
himself in such a way as to reach the clouds. Moreover, every step he
made was the distance of a mile.
As he, too, was seeking his fortune, the Prince took him on in his
suite.
The day after that, as the three were going through a wood, they came
across a man with such flashing eyes that he could light a
conflagration with only one of his glances. Of course, they took him
on with them.
After tramping about for three days, they got to the castle where the
wonderful Princess lived. Mathias held a council with his friends,
and told them of his intentions. Then he changed his gold ducats,
pawned his mother's shawl, bought decent clothes for the tramps, and
made his entrance into the town with all the pomp and splendour due
to his rank.
As he was travelling _incog._, he sent his card--a plain one without
crown or coat-of-arms--to the King of the place, announcing that he
had come with his followers to spend three nights in his daughter's
bedroom.
"Followers not admitted," replied the King.
"All right!" retorted the Prince, ruefully.
"You know the terms, I suppose?"
"Death or victory!"
The King made him a long speech, terse and pithy, as royal speeches
usually are. The Prince, who listened with all attention, tried to
yawn without opening his mouth.
"Yawn like a man!" said the King; "I don't mind it, do you?" said he
to the prime minister, who had written the speech.
"I'm used to it," said the premier.
"Well! do you persist in your intention?" asked the King at the end
of the speech.
"I do!" quoth the Prince.
"Then I'll light you up to my daughter's door."
Having reached the landing of the second floor, the King shook hands
with the Prince and his followers; he wished them good-night; still,
he lingered for a while on the threshold.
Mathias was dazzled with the superhuman beauty of the royal maiden,
who was quite a garden in herself, for she was as lithe as a lily, as
graceful as a waving bough, with a complexion like jasmines and
roses, eyes like forget-me-nots, a mouth like a cherry, breasts like
pomegranates, and as sweet a breath as mignonette.
She could not hide the admiration she felt for Mathias, and
congratulated him especially on never having written a book.
When the old King heard that Mathias was not an author, he was so
sorely troubled that he took up his candle and went off to bed.
No sooner had His Majesty taken himself off than The Big One went and
crouched on the threshold of the door; The Long One made himself
comfortable on one of the window-sills; The Man with the Flashing
Eyes on the other. All three pretended to go off to sleep, but in
reality they were all watching the Princess, who was carrying on a
lively conversation with Mathias.
"Do you like Schopenhauer?" asked the royal maiden, with a smile like
a peach blossom opening its petals to the breeze.
"I like you," said Mathias, looking deep in the eyes of the young
girl, who at once blushed demurely.
"But you don't answer my question," she said.
"Well, no," quoth Mathias; "I don't like Schopenhauer."
"Why not?"
"Because we differ in tastes."
"How so?"
"You see, I'm rather fond of the girls; he isn't."
"Of all girls?" asked the Princess, alarmed.
"All girls in general, but you in particular," added Mathias with a
wink.
The young girl thought it advisable to change the conversation.
After a while the Princess began to yawn.
"Sleepy, eh?" said Mathias, with a smile.
"I feel as if a rain of poppies was weighing down my eyelids."
"Have a snooze, then."
"I'm afraid you'll feel rather lonely, sitting up by yourself all
night."
"Oh! don't mind me," said Mathias; "I never turn in very early;
besides, I'll have a game of _patience_."
"But I've got no cards to offer you," said the Princess.
"I have; I never travel without a pack in my pocket."
"You're sharp."
"Sharper than many who think themselves sharp."
Mathias settled himself comfortably at a table and began to play. The
Princess undressed, said her prayers, then went off to bed.
The Prince played one, two, three games; then he felt his throat
rather dry, and would have given half of his kingdom for a glass of
grog; than he began to wonder if there was any whisky in the house.
Just then, he heard the three men snoring, and the little Princess
purring away like a wee kitten. He stretched his arms and his legs,
for he felt himself getting stiff. He then tried to play another
game, but he could not go on with it; for he kept mistaking the
hearts for the diamonds, and then could no more distinguish the clubs
from the spades. He also began to feel chilly, and was sorry not to
have his mammy's shawl to wrap himself up in. He, therefore, laid his
elbows on the table, and his head between the palms of his hands, and
stared at the Princess, whom he fancied looked very much like the
sleeping beauty at the waxworks.
Little by little his eyelids waxed heavy, his pupils got to be
smaller and smaller, his sight grew blurred, and then everything in
front of him disappeared. Prince Mathias was snoring majestically.
"It took him a long time to drop off, but he's asleep at last," said
the Princess, with a sigh.
She thereupon changed herself into the likeness of a dove, and flew
out of the window where The Long One was asleep. Only, on making her
escape, she happened to graze the sleeping man's hair. He forthwith
started up, and, seeing that the Princess's bed was empty, he at once
gave the alarm, and woke The Man with the Flashing Eyes, who cast a
long look in the darkness outside. That burning glance falling upon
the dove's wings singed them in such a way that she was obliged to
take shelter in a neighbouring tree. The Man with the Flashing Eyes
kept a sharp watch, and the splendour of his pupils, shining on the
bird, were like the revolving rays of a lighthouse. The Long One
thereupon put his head out of the window, stretched out his hand a
mile off, grasped the dove, and quietly handed her to Mathias.
No sooner had Mathias pressed the dove to his heart than, lo and
behold! he found that he was clasping in his arms, not a bird, but
the Princess herself.
Mathias could not help uttering a loud exclamation of surprise; the
three men uttered the selfsame exclamation. All at once the door of
the Princess's bedroom flew open with a bang. The old King appeared
on the threshold, with a dip in his hand. His Majesty looked very
much put out.
"I say, what's all this row about?" said he; "billing and cooing at
this time of the night, eh?" Thereupon His Majesty frowned.
The Princess nestled in Mathias's arms, blushing like a peony, for
she saw that the flowing sleeves of her nightgown were dreadfully
singed, and she knew that the colour would never go off in the wash.
The King, casting a stealthy look round the room, saw the cards on
the little table by the Princess's bed, and pointing them out to
Mathias with a jerk of his thumb:
"I see your little tricks, sir, and with your own cards, too;
gambling again, eh?"
Mathis looked as sheepish as a child caught with his finger in a
jam-pot. The King thereupon snuffed the wick of his candle with his
own royal fingers, picked up the ermine-bordered train of his
night-gown and stalked off to bed, without even saying good-night
again.
"Your father's put out," said Mathias to the Princess.
"He's thinking of the expense you'll be putting him to, you and your
suite."
"What! is he going to ask us to dinner?"
"Can't help it, can he?" and the Princess chuckled.
On the second night the Princess flew away in the likeness of a fly;
but she was soon brought back. On the third night she transformed
herself into a little fish, and gave the three men no end of trouble
to fish her out of the pond in which she had plunged.
At last the Princess confessed herself vanquished. Mathias had been
the only one of all her suitors who had managed to get her back every
time she had escaped; moreover, she had been quite smitten by his
jovial character and convivial ways.
The old King, however, strenuously disapproved of his daughter's
choice. Mathias was not a _Durchlaucht_, he had never written a book,
and, moreover, he played _patience_ with his own pack of cards. He,
therefore, resolved to oppose his daughter's marriage, and, being an
autocrat, his will was law in his own country.
Mathias, however, presented the King with a packet of photographs
that he happened to have about him; they were all respectable ladies
of his acquaintance, belonging to different _corps de ballet_. So
while the King was trying to find out, with a magnifying-glass, what
Miss Mome Fromage had done with her other leg--like the tin soldier
in Andersen's tale--Mathias ran off with the Princess.
Then the King got dreadfully angry and ordered his guards to run
after the fugitives.
The Princess, hearing the tramp of horses' feet, asked The Man with
the Flashing Eyes to look round and see who was pursuing them.
"I see a squadron of cavalry riding full speed," said The Man with
the Flashing Eyes.
"It's my father's body-guard."
"Hadn't we better hide in a bush, and leave them to ride on?" asked
Mathias.
"No," replied the Princess.
Seeing the horsemen approach, she took off the long veil she wore at
the back of her head, and threw it at them.
"As many threads as there are in this veil, may as many trees arise
between us."
In a twinkling, a dense forest arose, like a drop-scene, between the
fugitives and the guards.
Mathias and his bride had not gone very far, when they heard again
the sound of horses.
The Man with the Flashing Eyes looked round and saw again the King's
body-guard galloping after them.
"Can you dodge them again?" asked Mathias.
The Princess, for an answer, dropped a tear, and then bade it swell
into a deep river between them and their pursuers.
The river rolled its massy waters through the plain, while Mathias
and his bride strolled away unmolested.
Again they heard the sound of horses' hoofs; again the guards were
about to seize the runaways; again the Princess, drawing herself up
in all the majesty of her little person, stretched out her arm
threateningly, and ordered the darkness of the night to wrap them up
as with a deep shroud.
At these words, The Long One grew longer and ever longer, until he
reached the clouds; then, taking off his cap, he deftly clapped it on
half of the sun's disc, leaving the royal guards quite in the shade.
When Mathias and his bride were about ten miles off, The Long One
strode away and caught up with them after ten steps.
Mathias was already in sight of his own castellated towers, when the
clatter of horses was again heard close behind them.
"There'll be bloodshed soon," said the Prince to his bride.
"Oh! now leave them all to me," said The Big One; "it's my turn now."
The lovers, followed by The Long One and The Man with the Flashing
Eyes, entered the city by a postern, whilst The Big One squatted
himself down at the principal gate and puffed himself out; then he
opened his mouth as wide as the gate itself, so that it looked like a
barbican. Thus he waited for the dauntless life-guards, who, in fact,
came riding within his mouth as wildly as the noble six hundred had
ridden within the jaws of death.
When the last one had disappeared, The Big One rose quietly, but at
the same time with some difficulty, and tottered right through the
town. It was an amusing sight to see his huge bloated paunch flap
hither and thither at every step he made. Having reached the opposite
gate, he again crouched down, opened his capacious mouth and spouted
out all the life-guards, horses and all; and it was funny to see them
ride off in a contrary direction, evidently hoping to overtake the
fugitives soon, whilst the Prince, his bride and his suite were on
the battlements, splitting with laughter at the trick played on their
pursuers.
The old Queen was rejoiced to see her truant son come back so soon,
and, moreover, not looking at all as seedy as he usually did after his
little escapades. Still, she could not help showing her
dissatisfaction about two things. The first was that Mathias had
pawned her parting gift; the second that the Princess had come
without a veil.
This last circumstance was, however, easily explained; and then Her
Most Gracious Majesty allowed the light of her countenance to shine
on her future daughter-in-law.
The Long One was forthwith sent back to the old King, asking him, by
means of a parchment letter, to come and assist at his daughter's
wedding. His Majesty, hearing who Mathias really was, hastened to
accept the invitation. He donned his crown, took a few valuables with
him in a carpet-bag, fuming and fretting all the time at having to
start--like a tailless fox--without his body-guard. Just as he was
setting out, The Long One, stretching his neck a few miles above the
watch tower and looking round, saw the horsemen riding back full
speed towards the castle. The old King hearing this news, shook his
head, very much puzzled, for he could not understand how the
horsemen, who had ridden out by one gate, could be coming back by the
other. The Long One explained to the King (what they never would have
been able to explain themselves) that they had simply ridden round
the world and come back the other side. His Majesty, who would
otherwise have had all his guards put to death, forgave them right
graciously, and to show Mathias that he bore him no ill-will, he
presented him, as a wedding gift, with a valuable shawl he had just
got second-hand at a pawnbroker's. That gift quite mollified the old
Queen, and forthwith, as by enchantment, all the clouds looming on
the political horizon disappeared, and the nuptials of Mathias and
the Princess took place with unusual splendour.
The Princess gave up her freaks of disappearing in the middle of the
night, Mathias never played _patience_ with his own cards any more,
and both set their people an example of conjugal virtue.
High posts at Court were created for the Prince's three friends, and
they, indeed, often showed themselves remarkably useful. For
instance, if a Prime Minister ever showed himself obstreperous, The
Long One would stretch out his arm, catch him by the collar of his
coat, and put him for a few days on some dark cloud under which the
thunder was rumbling. If a meddling editor ever wrote an article
against the prevailing state of things, The Man with the Flashing
Eyes cast a look at his papers, and the fire brigade had a great ado
to put out the conflagration that ensued. If the people, dissatisfied
with peace and plenty, met in the parks to sing the Marseillaise, The
Big One had only to open his mouth and they at once all went off as
quietly as Sunday-school children, and all fell to singing the
National Anthem. Anarchy, therefore, was unknown in a land so well
governed, and flowing with milk and honey.