English
AndwhatofthelittlelamePrince,whomeverybodyseemedsoeasilytohaveforgotten?
Noteverybody.Therewereafewkindsouls,mothersoffamilies,whohadheardhissadstory,andsomeservantsaboutthepalace,whohadbeenfamiliarwithhissweetways—thesemanyatimesighedandsaid,“PoorPrinceDolor!”
Or,lookingattheBeautifulMountains,whichwerevisiblealloverNomansland,thoughfewpeopleevervisitedthem,“Well,perhapshisRoyalHighnessisbetterwhereheisthaneventhere.”
Theydidnotknow—indeed,hardlyanybodydidknow—thatbeyondthemountains,betweenthemandthesea,layatractofcountry,barren,level,bare,exceptforshort,stuntedgrass,andhereandthereapatchoftinyflowers.
Notabush—notatreenotarestingplaceforbirdorbeastwasinthatdrearyplain.
Insummerthesunshinefelluponithourafterhourwithablindingglare;inwinterthewindsandrainssweptoveritunhindered,andthesnowcamedownsteadily,noiselessly,coveringitfromendtoendinonegreatwhitesheet,whichlayfordaysandweeksunmarkedbyasinglefootprint.
Notapleasantplacetolivein—andnobodydidlivethere,apparently.
Theonlysignthathumancreatureshadeverbeennearthespotwasonelargeroundtowerwhichroseupinthecenteroftheplain,andmightbeseenalloverit—iftherehadbeenanybodytosee,whichthereneverwas.
Roserightupoutoftheground,asifithadgrownofitself,likeamushroom.
Butitwasnotatallmushroom-like;onthecontrary,itwasverysolidlybuilt.
InformitresembledtheIrishroundtowers,whichhavepuzzledpeopleforsolong,nobodybeingabletofindoutwhen,orbywhom,orforwhatpurposetheyweremade;seeminglyfornouseatall,likethistower.
Itwascircular,ofveryfirmbrickwork,withneitherdoorsnorwindows,untilnearthetop,whenyoucouldperceivesomeslitsinthewallthroughwhichonemightpossiblycreepinorlookout.
Itsheightwasnearlyahundredfeet,andithadabattlementedparapetshowingsharpagainstthesky.
Astheplainwasquitedesolate—almostlikeadesert,onlywithoutsand,andledtonowhereexceptthestillmoredesolateseacoast—nobodyevercrossedit.
Whatevermysterytherewasaboutthetower,itandtheskyandtheplainkepttheirsecrettothemselves.
Itwasaverygreatsecretindeed,—astatesecret,—whichnonebutsocleveramanasthepresentKingofNomanslandwouldeverhavethoughtof.
Howhecarrieditout,undiscovered,Icannottell.
Peoplesaid,longafterward,thatitwasbymeansofagangofcondemnedcriminals,whoweresettowork,andexecutedimmediatelyaftertheyhaddone,sothatnobodyknewanything,orintheleastsuspectedtherealfact.
Andwhatwasthefact?Why,thatthistower,whichseemedameremassofmasonry,utterlyforsakenanduninhabited,wasnotsoatall.
Withintwentyfeetofthetopsomeingeniousarchitecthadplannedaperfectlittlehouse,dividedintofourrooms—asbydrawingacrosswithinacircleyouwillseemighteasilybedone.
Bymakingskylights,andafewslitsinthewallsforwindows,andraisingapeakedroofwhichwashiddenbytheparapet,herewasadwellingcomplete,eightyfeetfromtheground,andasinaccessibleasarook’snestonthetopofatree.
Acharmingplacetolivein!ifyouoncegotupthere,—andneverwantedtocomedownagain.
Inside—thoughnobodycouldhavelookedinsideexceptabird,andhardlyevenabirdflewpastthatlonelytower—insideitwasfurnishedwithallthecomfortandeleganceimaginable;withlotsofbooksandtoys,andeverythingthattheheartofachildcoulddesire.
Foritsonlyinhabitant,exceptanurseofcourse,wasapoorsolitarychild.
Onewinternight,whenalltheplainwaswhitewithmoonlight,therewasseencrossingitagreattallblackhorse,riddenbyamanalsobigandequallyblack,carryingbeforehimonthesaddleawomanandachild.
Thewoman—shehadasad,fiercelook,andnowonder,forshewasacriminalundersentenceofdeath,buthersentencehadbeenchangedtoalmostassevereapunishment.
Shewastoinhabitthelonelytowerwiththechild,andwasallowedtoliveaslongasthechildlived—nolonger.
Thisinorderthatshemighttaketheutmostcareofhim;forthosewhoputhimtherewereequallyafraidofhisdyingandofhisliving.
Yethewasonlyalittlegentleboy,withasweet,sleepysmile—hehadbeenverytiredwithhislongjourney—andclingingarms,whichheldtighttotheman’sneck,forhewasratherfrightened,andtheface,blackasitwas,lookedkindlyathim.
Andhewasveryhelpless,withhispoor,smallshriveledlegs,whichcouldneitherstandnorrunaway—forthelittleforlornboywasPrinceDolor.
Hehadnotbeendeadatall—orburiedeither.
Hisgrandfuneralhadbeenamerepretense:awaxfigurehavingbeenputinhisplace,whilehehimselfwasspiritedawayunderchargeofthesetwo,thecondemnedwomanandtheblackman.
Thelatterwasdeafanddumb,socouldneithertellnorrepeatanything.
Whentheyreachedthefootofthetower,therewaslightenoughtoseeahugechaindanglingfromtheparapet,butdanglingonlyhalfway.
Thedeaf-mutetookfromhissaddle-walletasortofladder,arrangedinpieceslikeapuzzle,fittedittogether,andliftedituptomeetthechain.
Thenhemountedtothetopofthetower,andslungfromitasortofchair,inwhichthewomanandthechildplacedthemselvesandweredrawnup,nevertocomedownagainaslongastheylived.
Leavingthemthere,themandescendedtheladder,tookittopiecesagainandpackeditinhispack,mountedthehorseanddisappearedacrosstheplain.
Everymonththeyusedtowatchforhim,appearinglikeaspeckinthedistance.
Hefastenedhishorsetothefootofthetower,andclimbedit,asbefore,ladenwithprovisionsandmanyotherthings.
HealwayssawthePrince,soastomakesurethatthechildwasaliveandwell,andthenwentawayuntilthefollowingmonth.
WhilehisfirstchildhoodlastedPrinceDolorwashappyenough.
Hehadeveryluxurythatevenaprincecouldneed,andtheonethingwanting,—love,—neverhavingknown,hedidnotmiss.
Hisnursewasverykindtohimthoughshewasawickedwoman.
Buteithershehadnotbeenquitesowickedaspeoplesaid,orshegrewbetterthroughbeingshutupcontinuallywithalittleinnocentchildwhowasdependentuponherforeverycomfortandpleasureofhislife.
Itwasnotanunhappylife.Therewasnobodytoteaseorill-usehim,andhewasneverill.
Heplayedaboutfromroomtoroom—therewerefourrooms,parlor,kitchen,hisnurse’sbedroom,andhisown;learnedtocrawllikeafly,andtojumplikeafrog,andtorunaboutonall-foursalmostasfastasapuppy.
Infact,hewasverymuchlikeapuppyorakitten,asthoughtlessandasmerry—scarcelyevercross,thoughsometimesalittleweary.
Ashegrewolder,heoccasionallylikedtobequietforawhile,andthenhewouldsitattheslitsofwindows—whichwere,however,muchbiggerthantheylookedfromthebottomofthetower—andwatchtheskyaboveandthegroundbelow,withthestormssweepingoverandthesunshinecomingandgoing,andtheshadowsofthecloudsrunningracesacrosstheblankplain.
Byandbyhebegantolearnlessons—notthathisnursehadbeenorderedtoteachhim,butshediditpartlytoamuseherself.
Shewasnotastupidwoman,andPrinceDolorwasbynomeansastupidboy;sotheygotonverywell,andhiscontinualentreaty,“WhatcanIdo?whatcanyoufindmetodo?”
wasstopped,atleastforanhourortwointheday.
Itwasadulllife,buthehadneverknownanyother;anyhow,herememberednoother,andhedidnotpityhimselfatall.
Notforalongtime,tillhegrewquiteabiglittleboy,andcouldreadquiteeasily.
Thenhesuddenlytooktobooks,whichthedeaf-mutebroughthimfromtimetotime—bookswhich,notbeingacquaintedwiththeliteratureofNomansland,Icannotdescribe,butnodoubttheywereveryinteresting;andtheyinformedhimofeverythingintheoutsideworld,andfilledhimwithanintenselongingtoseeit.
Fromthistimeachangecameovertheboy.
Hebegantolooksadandthin,andtoshuthimselfupforhourswithoutspeaking.
Forhisnursehardlyspoke,andwhateverquestionsheaskedbeyondtheirordinarydailylifesheneveranswered.
Shehad,indeed,beenforbidden,onpainofdeath,totellhimanythingabouthimself,whohewas,orwhathemighthavebeen.
HeknewhewasPrinceDolor,becauseshealwaysaddressedhimas“MyPrince”and“YourRoyalHighness,”butwhataprincewashehadnottheleastidea.
Hehadnoideaofanythingintheworld,exceptwhathefoundinhisbooks.
Hesatonedaysurroundedbythem,havingbuiltthemuproundhimlikealittlecastlewall.
Hehadbeenreadingthemhalftheday,butfeelingallthewhilethattoreadaboutthingswhichyounevercanseeislikehearingaboutabeautifuldinnerwhileyouarestarving.
Foralmostthefirsttimeinhislifehegrewmelancholy;hishandsfellonhislap;hesatgazingoutofthewindow-slitupontheviewoutside—theviewhehadlookedateverydayofhislife,andmightlookatforendlessdaysmore.
Notaverycheerfulview,—justtheplainandthesky,—buthelikedit.
Heusedtothink,ifhecouldonlyflyoutofthatwindow,uptotheskyordowntotheplain,howniceitwouldbe!
Perhapswhenhedied—hisnursehadtoldhimonceinangerthathewouldneverleavethetowertillhedied—hemightbeabletodothis.
Notthatheunderstoodmuchwhatdyingmeant,butitmustbeachange,andanychangeseemedtohimablessing.
“AndIwishIhadsomebodytotellmeallaboutit—aboutthatandmanyotherthings;somebodythatwouldbefondofme,likemypoorwhitekitten.”
Herethetearscameintohiseyes,fortheboy’sonefriend,theoneinterestofhislife,hadbeenalittlewhitekitten,whichthedeaf-mute,kindlysmiling,oncetookoutofhispocketandgavehim—theonlylivingcreaturePrinceDolorhadeverseen.
Forfourweeksitwashisconstantplaythingandcompanion,tillonemoonlitnightittookafancyforwandering,climbedontotheparapetofthetower,droppedoveranddisappeared.
Itwasnotkilled,hehoped,forcatshaveninelives;indeed,healmostfanciedhesawitpickitselfupandscamperaway;buthenevercaughtsightofitmore.
“Yes,IwishIhadsomethingbetterthanakitten—aperson,arealliveperson,whowouldbefondofmeandkindtome.Oh,Iwantsomebody—dreadfully,dreadfully!”
Ashespoke,theresoundedbehindhimaslighttap-tap-tap,asofastickoracane,andtwistinghimselfround,hesaw—whatdoyouthinkhesaw?
Nothingeitherfrighteningorugly,butstillexceedinglycurious.
Alittlewoman,nobiggerthanhemighthimselfhavebeenhadhislegsgrownlikethoseofotherchildren;butshewasnotachild—shewasanoldwoman.
Herhairwasgray,andherdresswasgray,andtherewasagrayshadowoverherwherevershemoved.
Butshehadthesweetestsmile,theprettiesthands,andwhenshespokeitwasinthesoftestvoiceimaginable.
“Mydearlittleboy,”—anddroppinghercane,theonlybrightandrichthingabouther,shelaidthosetwotinyhandsonhisshoulders,—“myownlittleboy,Icouldnotcometoyouuntilyouhadsaidyouwantedme;butnowyoudowantme,hereIam.”
“Andyouareverywelcome,madam,”repliedthePrince,tryingtospeakpolitely,asprincesalwaysdidinbooks;“andIamexceedinglyobligedtoyou.MayIaskwhoyouare?Perhapsmymother?”
Forheknewthatlittleboysusuallyhadamother,andhadoccasionallywonderedwhathadbecomeofhisown.
“No,”saidthevisitor,withatender,half-sadsmile,puttingbackthehairfromhisforehead,andlookingrightintohiseyes—“no,Iamnotyourmother,thoughshewasadearfriendofmine;andyouareaslikeheraseveryoucanbe.”
“Willyoutellhertocomeandseeme,then?”
“Shecannot;butIdaresaysheknowsallaboutyou.Andshelovesyouverymuch—andsodoI;andIwanttohelpyouallIcan,mypoorlittleboy.”
“Whydoyoucallmepoor?”askedPrinceDolor,insurprise.
Thelittleoldwomanglanceddownonhislegsandfeet,whichhedidnotknowweredifferentfromthoseofotherchildren,andthenathissweet,brightface,which,thoughheknewnotthateither,wasexceedinglydifferentfrommanychildren’sfaces,whichareoftensofretful,cross,sullen.
Lookingathim,insteadofsighing,shesmiled.
“Ibegyourpardon,myPrince,”saidshe.
“Yes,Iamaprince,andmynameisDolor;willyoutellmeyours,madam?”
Thelittleoldwomanlaughedlikeachimeofsilverbells.
“Ihavenotgotaname—or,rather,IhavesomanynamesthatIdon’tknowwhichtochoose.However,itwasIwhogaveyouyours,andyouwillbelongtomeallyourdays.Iamyourgodmother.”
“Hurrah!”criedthelittlePrince;“IamgladIbelongtoyou,forIlikeyouverymuch.Willyoucomeandplaywithme?”
Sotheysatdowntogetherandplayed.Byandbytheybegantotalk.
“Areyouverydullhere?”askedthelittleoldwoman.
“Notparticularly,thankyou,godmother.Ihaveplentytoeatanddrink,andmylessonstodo,andmybookstoread—lotsofbooks.”
“Andyouwantnothing?”
“Nothing.Yes—perhaps——Ifyouplease,godmother,couldyoubringmejustonemorething?”
“Whatsortofthing!”
“Alittleboytoplaywith.”
Theoldwomanlookedverysad.“Justthething,alasIwhichIcannotgiveyou.Mychild,Icannotalteryourlotinanyway,butIcanhelpyoutobearit.”
“Thankyou.Butwhydoyoutalkofbearingit?Ihavenothingtobear.”
“Mypoorlittleman!”saidtheoldwomanintheverytenderesttoneofhertendervoice.“Kissme!”
“Whatiskissing?”askedthewonderingchild.
Hisgodmothertookhiminherarmsandembracedhimmanytimes.Byandbyhekissedherbackagain—atfirstawkwardlyandshyly,thenwithallthestrengthofhiswarmlittleheart.
“Youarebettertocuddlethanevenmywhitekitten,Ithink.Promisemethatyouwillnevergoaway.”
“Imust;butIwillleaveapresentbehindme,—somethingasgoodasmyselftoamuseyou,—somethingthatwilltakeyouwhereveryouwanttogo,andshowyouallthatyouwishtosee.”
“Whatisit?”
“Atraveling-cloak.”
ThePrince’scountenancefell.“Idon’twantacloak,forInevergoout.
Sometimesnursehoistsmeontotheroof,andcarriesmeroundbytheparapet;butthatisall.Ican’twalk,youknow,asshedoes.”
“Themorereasonwhyyoushouldride;andbesides,thistraveling-cloak——”
“Hush!—she’scoming.”
Theresoundedoutsidetheroomdooraheavystepandagrumpyvoice,andarattleofplatesanddishes.
“It’smynurse,andsheisbringingmydinner;butIdon’twantdinneratall—Ionlywantyou.Willhercomingdriveyouaway,godmother?”
“Perhaps;butonlyforalittlewhile.Nevermind;alltheboltsandbarsintheworldcouldn’tkeepmeout.I’dflyinatthewindow,ordownthroughthechimney.Onlywishforme,andIcome.”
“Thankyou,”saidPrinceDolor,butalmostinawhisper,forhewasveryuneasyatwhatmighthappennext.
Hisnurseandhisgodmother—whatwouldtheysaytooneanother?howwouldtheylookatoneanother?
—twosuchdifferentfaces:oneharsh-lined,sullen,cross,andsad;theothersweetandbrightandcalmasasummereveningbeforethedarkbegins.
Whenthedoorwasflungopen,PrinceDolorshuthiseyes,tremblingallover;openingthemagain,hesawheneedfearnothing—hislovelyoldgodmotherhadmeltedawayjustliketherainbowoutofthesky,ashehadwatcheditmanyatime.Nobodybuthisnursewasintheroom.
“WhatamuddleyourRoyalHighnessissittingin,”saidshesharply.“Suchaheapofuntidybooks;andwhat’sthisrubbish?”knockingalittlebundlethatlaybesidethem.
“Oh,nothing,nothing—giveitme!”criedthePrince,and,dartingafterit,hehiditunderhispinafore,andthenpusheditquicklyintohispocket.
Rubbishasitwas,itwasleftintheplacewhereshesat,andmightbesomethingbelongingtoher—hisdear,kindgodmother,whomalreadyhelovedwithallhislonely,tender,passionateheart.
Itwas,thoughhedidnotknowthis,hiswonderfultraveling-cloak.
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