Theyalwaysdidwhenhegotthenewbookswhich,justtorelievehisconscience,theKingofNomanslandregularlysenttohisnephew;withmanynewtoysalso,thoughthelatterweredisregardednow.
“Toys,indeed!whenI’mabigboy,”saidthePrince,withdisdain,andwouldscarcelycondescendtomountarocking-horsewhichhadcome,somehoworother,—Ican’tbeexpectedtoexplainthingsveryexactly,—packedonthebackoftheother,thegreatblackhorse,whichstoodandfedcontentedlyatthebottomofthetower.
PrinceDolorleanedoverandlookedatit,andthoughthowgranditmustbetogetuponitsback—thisgrandlivesteed—andrideaway,likethepicturesofknights.
Buthekeptallthesethoughtstohimself,andjustsatstill,devouringhisnewbookstillhehadcometotheendofthemall.
ItwasarepastnotunliketheBarmecide’sfeastwhichyoureadofinthe“ArabianNights,”whichconsistedofveryelegantbutemptydishes,orthatsupperofSanchoPanzain“DonQuixote,”where,theminutethesmokingdishescameonthetable,thephysicianwavedhishandandtheywerealltakenaway.
Thusalmostalltheordinarydelightsofboy-lifehadbeentakenawayfrom,orrathernevergiventothispoorlittleprince.
“Iwonder,”hewouldsometimesthink—“Iwonderwhatitfeelsliketobeonthebackofahorse,gallopingaway,orholdingthereinsinacarriage,andtearingacrossthecountry,orjumpingaditch,orrunningarace,suchasIreadoforseeinpictures.
Thisdaytheknotsthattieduphistraveling-cloakweremorethanusuallytroublesome,andhewasafullhalf-hourbeforehegotoutintotheopenair,andfoundhimselffloatingmerrilyoverthetopofthetower.
Hitherto,inallhisjourneys,hehadneverlethimselfgooutofsightofhome,forthedrearybuilding,afterall,washome—herememberednoother;butnowhefeltsickoftheverylookofhistower,withitsroundsmoothwallsandlevelbattlements.
“Offwego!”criedhe,whenthecloakstirreditselfwithaslight,slowmotion,asifwaitinghisorders.“Anywhereanywhere,sothatIamawayfromhere,andoutintotheworld.”
Ashespoke,thecloak,asifseizedsuddenlywithanewidea,boundedforwardandwentskimmingthroughtheair,fasterthantheveryfastestrailwaytrain.
Andhepattedthecloakasifithadbeenahorse—thatis,inthewayhesupposedhorsesoughttobepatted—andtossedhisheadbacktomeetthefreshbreeze,andpulledhiscoatcollarupandhishatdownashefeltthewindgrowkeenerandcolder—colderthananythinghehadeverknown.
Still,forallhisgoodwill,byandby,hebegantoshiverexceedingly;also,hehadcomeawaywithouthisdinner,andhegrewfrightfullyhungry.
Andtoaddtoeverything,thesunshinydaychangedintorain,andbeinghighup,intheverymidstoftheclouds,hegotsoakedthroughandthroughinaveryfewminutes.
ifIhadbuttheshabbiestoldrugtosheltermefromtherain,orthedriestmorselofbreadandcheese,justtokeepmefromstarving!
Itwasamostcuriouscircumstance,butnosoonerhadhesaidthisthanhefeltstealingoverhiskneessomethingwarmandsoft;infact,amostbeautifulbearskin,whichfoldeditselfroundhimquitenaturally,andcuddledhimupascloselyasifhehadbeenthecubofthekindoldmother-bearthatonceownedit.
Thenfeelinginhispocket,whichsuddenlystuckoutinamarvelousway,hefound,notexactlybreadandcheese,norevensandwiches,butapacketofthemostdeliciousfoodhehadevertasted.
AllthewaterwhichsuppliedHopelessTowerwaspumpedupwithdifficultyfromadeepartesianwell—thereweresuchthingsknowninNomansland—whichhadbeenmadeatthefootofit.
Heforgotonething—therain.Whilehespoke,itcameoninanotherwildburst,asifthecloudshadpouredthemselvesoutinapassionofcrying,wettinghimcertainly,butleavingbehind,inalargeglassvesselwhichhehadnevernoticedbefore,enoughwatertoquenchthethirstoftwoorthreeboysatleast.
Anditwassofresh,sopure—aswaterfromthecloudsalwaysiswhenitdoesnotcatchthesootfromcitychimneysandotherdefilements—thathedrankit,everydrop,withthegreatestdelightandcontent.
Also,assoonasitwasemptytherainfilleditagain,sothathewasabletowashhisfaceandhandsandrefreshhimselfexceedingly.
Afterthathecurledhimselfupunderthebear-skinrug,andthoughhedeterminedtobethemostwide-awakeboyimaginable,beingsoexceedinglysnugandwarmandcomfortable,PrinceDolorcondescendedtoshuthiseyesjustforoneminute.Thenextminutehewassoundasleep.
Yetitwasnothingbutwhatmostofyouchildrenseeeverydayandnevernoticeit—aprettycountrylandscape,likeEngland,Scotland,France,oranyotherlandyouchoosetoname.
Ithadnoparticularfeatures—nothinginitgrandorlovely—wassimplypretty,nothingmore;yettoPrinceDolor,whohadnevergonebeyondhislonelytowerandlevelplain,itappearedthemostcharmingsightimaginable.
First,therewasariver.Itcametumblingdownthehillside,frothingandfoaming,playingathide-and-seekamongtherocks,thenburstingoutinnoisyfunlikeachild,toburyitselfindeep,stillpools.
Afterwarditwentsteadilyonforawhile,likeagoodgrown-upperson,tillitcametoanotherbigrock,whereitmisbehaveditselfextremely.
Itturnedintoacataract,andwenttumblingoverandover,afterafashionthatmadetheprince—whohadneverseenwaterbefore,exceptinhisbathorhisdrinking-cup—claphishandswithdelight.
criedhe,andwatcheditshimmeringanddancing,whirlingandleaping,till,afterafewwindingsandvagaries,itsettledintoarespectablestream.
Afterthatitwentalong,deepandquiet,butflowingsteadilyon,tillitreachedalargelake,intowhichitslippedandsoendeditscourse.
Hesawalsoasinapicture,beautifulbutsilent,manyotherthingswhichstruckhimwithwonder,especiallyagroveoftrees.
Onlythink,tohavelivedtohisage(whichhehimselfdidnotknow,ashedidnotknowhisownbirthday)andnevertohaveseentrees!
“IfIcouldonlygetnearer,soastotouchthem,”saidhe,andimmediatelytheobedientcloakduckeddown;PrinceDolormadeasnatchatthetopmosttwigofthetallesttree,andcaughtabunchofleavesinhishand.
Justabunchofgreenleaves—suchasweseeinmyriads;watchingthembud,grow,fall,andthenkickingthemalongonthegroundasiftheywereworthnothing.
Idon’tsupposeyoucouldeverfindtwoleavesexactlyalikeinform,color,andsize—nomorethanyoucouldfindtwofacesalike,ortwocharactersexactlythesame.
PrinceDolorexaminedhisleaveswiththegreatestcuriosity—andalsoalittlecaterpillarthathefoundwalkingoveroneofthem.
Hecoaxedittotakeanadditionalwalkoverhisfinger,whichitdidwiththegreatestdignityanddecorum,asifit,Mr.Caterpillar,werethemostimportantindividualinexistence.
Itamusedhimforalongtime;andwhenasuddengustofwindblewitoverboard,leavesandall,hefeltquitedisconsolate.
Thecloakgavealittledipdown,asiftosay“Allright,myPrince,”andborehimacrosstheoakforesttoalongfertilevalley—calledinScotlandastrathandinEnglandaweald,butwhattheycallitinthetongueofNomanslandIdonotknow.
Cowsandhorses,lambsandsheep,fedinthemeadows;pigsandfowlswalkedaboutthefarm-yards;andinlonelierplacesharesscudded,rabbitsburrowed,andpheasantsandpartridges,withmanyothersmallerbirds,inhabitedthefieldsandwoods.
ThroughhiswonderfulspectaclesthePrincecouldseeeverything;but,asIsaid,itwasasilentpicture;hewastoohighuptocatchanythingexceptafaintmurmur,whichonlyarousedhisanxietytohearmore.
Scarcelyhadhespokenthanhefoundlyingonhislapthemostcuriouslittleparcel,alldoneupinsilverypaper.Anditcontained—whatdoyouthink?
Actuallyapairofsilverears,which,whenhetriedthemon,fittedsoexactlyoverhisownthathehardlyfeltthem,exceptforthedifferencetheymadeinhishearing.
Iamquiteunconsciouslywritingrhyme),withthevariouscriesofbirdsandbeasts,—lowingcattle,bleatingsheep,gruntingpigs,andcacklinghens,—alltheinfinitediscordsthatsomehoworothermakeabeautifulharmony.
Wehearthis,andaresoaccustomedtoitthatwethinknothingofit;butPrinceDolor,whohadlivedallhisdaysinthedeadsilenceofHopelessTower,hearditforthefirsttime.Andoh!ifyouhadseenhisface.
Aboveall,themotionoftheanimalsdelightedhim:cowswalking,horsesgalloping,littlelambsandcalvesrunningracesacrossthemeadows,weresuchatreatforhimtowatch—hethatwasalwayssoquiet.
Still,byandby,afterthefashionofchildren,—andIfear,ofmanybigpeopletoo,—hebegantowantsomethingmorethanhehad,somethingfreshandnew.
“Godmother,”hesaid,havingnowbeguntobelievethat,whetherhesawherornot,hecouldalwaysspeaktoherwithfullconfidencethatshewouldhearhim—“Godmother,allthesecreaturesIlikeexceedingly;butIshouldlikebettertoseeacreaturelikemyself.
Therewasasighbehindhim,—itmighthavebeenonlythewind,—andthecloakremainedsolongbalancedmotionlessinairthathewashalfafraidhisgodmotherhadforgottenhim,orwasoffendedwithhimforaskingtoomuch.
Suddenlyashrillwhistlestartledhim,eventhroughhissilverears,andlookingdownward,hesawstartupfrombehindabushonacommon,something——
Notthathewasanuglyboy—thoughhisfacewasalmostasredashishands,andhisshaggyhairmattedlikethebacksofhisownsheep.
Hewasratheranice-lookinglad;andseemedsobrightandhealthyandgood-tempered—“jolly”wouldbetheword,onlyIamnotsureiftheyhavesuchaoneintheelegantlanguageofNomansland—thatthelittlePrincewatchedhimwithgreatadmiration.
“Mighthecomeandplaywithme?Iwoulddropdowntothegroundtohim,orfetchhimuptomehere.Oh,howniceitwouldbeifIonlyhadalittleboytoplaywithme.”
Theshepherd-ladevidentlytookitforalargebird,and,shadinghiseyes,lookedupatit,makingthePrince’sheartbeatfast.
However,nothingensued.Theboyturnedround,withalong,loudwhistle—seeminglyhisusualandonlywayofexpressinghisfeelings.
Hecouldnotmakethethingoutexactly—itwasarathermysteriousaffair,butitdidnottroublehimmuch—hewasnotan“examining”boy.
Then,stretchinghimself,forhehadbeenevidentlyhalfasleep,hebeganfloppinghisshoulderswithhisarmstowakeandwarmhimself;whilehisdog,aroughcollie,whohadbeenguardingthesheepmeanwhile,begantojumpuponhim,barkingwithdelight.
“Down,Snap,down:Stopthat,orI’llthrashyou,”thePrinceheardhimsay;thoughwithsucharough,hardvoiceandqueerpronunciationthatitwasdifficulttomakethewordsout.“Hollo!Let’swarmourselvesbyarace.”
Theystartedofftogether,boyanddog—barkingandshouting,tillitwasdoubtfulwhichmadethemorenoiseorranthefaster.
Aregularsteeplechaseitwas:firstacrossthelevelcommon,greatlydisturbingthequietsheep;andthentearingawayacrosscountry,scramblingthroughhedgesandleapingditches,andtumblingupanddownoverplowedfields.
Howheskimmedalongovertheground—hischeeksglowing,andhishairflying,andhislegs—oh,whatapairoflegshehad!
PrinceDolorwatchedhimwithgreatintentness,andinastateofexcitementalmostequaltothatoftherunnerhimself—forawhile.
“Howniceitmustbetorunlikethat!”hesaidsoftly,thinkingthatnever—no,neverinthisworld—wouldhebeabletodothesame.
Nowheunderstoodwhathisgodmotherhadmeantwhenshegavehimhistraveling-cloak,andwhyhehadheardthatsigh—hewassureitwashers—whenhehadaskedtosee“justonelittleboy.”
“IthinkIhadrathernotlookathimagain,”saidthepoorlittlePrince,drawinghimselfbackintothecenterofhiscloak,andresuminghisfavoriteposture,sittinglikeaTurk,withhisarmswrappedroundhisfeeble,uselesslegs.
Aquestionsostrange,sosad,yetsooftenoccurringinsomeformorotherinthisworld—asyouwillfind,mychildren,whenyouareolder—thatevenifhehadputittohismothershecouldonlyhaveansweredit,aswehavetoanswermanyasdifficultthings,bysimplysaying,“Idon’tknow.”
Wehavetoacceptitalljustasyouhavetoacceptanythingwhichyourparentsmaytellyou,eventhoughyoudon’tasyetseethereasonofit.
PrinceDolorsatagoodwhilethus,oritappearedtohimagoodwhile,somanythoughtscameandwentthroughhispooryoungmind—thoughtsofgreatbitterness,which,littlethoughhewas,seemedtomakehimgrowyearsolderinafewminutes.
Thenhefanciedthecloakbegantorockgentlytoandfro,withasoothingkindofmotion,asifhewereinsomebody’sarms:somebodywhodidnotspeak,butlovedhimandcomfortedhimwithoutneedofwords;notbydeceivinghimwithfalseencouragementorhope,butbymakinghimseetheplain,hardtruthinallitshardness,andthuslettinghimquietlyfaceit,tillitgrewsofteneddown,anddidnotseemnearlysodreadfulafterall.
Throughthedrearysilenceandblankness,forhehadplacedhimselfsothathecouldseenothingbutthesky,andhadtakenoffhissilverearsaswellashisgoldspectacles—whatwastheuseofeitherwhenhehadnolegswithwhichtowalkorrun?
Itwasjustthesongofaskylark,mountinghigherandhigherfromtheground,tillitcamesoclosethatPrinceDolorcoulddistinguishhisquiveringwingsandtinybody,almosttootinytocontainsuchagushofmusic.
“Oh,youbeautiful,beautifulbird!”criedhe;“Ishoulddearlyliketotakeyouinandcuddleyou.Thatis,ifIcould—ifIdared.”
Nevertheless,italsomadehimhappy;andhewatchedandlistened—soabsorbedthatheforgotallregretandpain,forgoteverythingintheworldexceptthelittlelark.
Itsoaredandsoared,andhewasjustwonderingifitwouldsoaroutofsight,andwhatintheworldheshoulddowhenitwasgone,whenitsuddenlycloseditswings,aslarksdowhentheymeantodroptotheground.
Atiny,softthingtofondleandkiss,tosingtohimalldaylong,andbehisplayfellowandcompanion,tameandtender,whiletotherestoftheworlditwasawildbirdoftheair.Whatapride,whatadelight!
Asthetraveling-cloaktraveledon,helittleheededwhere,andthelarkstillstayed,nestleddowninhisbosom,hoppedfromhishandtohisshoulder,andkissedhimwithitsdaintybeak,asifitlovedhim,PrinceDolorforgotallhisgrief,andwasentirelyhappy.
IfItakeyouintomyroomandshutyouupthere,you,awildskylarkoftheair,whatwillbecomeofyou?Iamusedtothis,butyouarenot.
And,thoughthemerrylarkimmediatelybrokeintotheloudestcarol,asifsayingderisivelythathedefiedanybodytoeathim,still,PrinceDolorwasveryuneasy.
“No,mybird,nothingsodreadfulshallhappentoyouifIcanhelpit;Iwouldratherdowithoutyoualtogether.Yes,I’lltry.Flyaway,mydarling,mybeautiful!Good-by,mymerry,merrybird.”
Itlingeredaminute,perchingontherimofthecloak,andlookingathimwitheyesofalmosthumantenderness;thenawayitflew,farupintothebluesky.Itwasonlyabird.
Butsometimeafter,whenPrinceDolorhadeatenhissupper—somewhatdrearily,exceptforthethoughtthathecouldnotpossiblysupofflarkpienow—andgonequietlytobed,theoldfamiliarlittlebed,wherehewasaccustomedtosleep,orlieawakecontentedlythinking—suddenlyheheardoutsidethewindowalittlefaintcarol—faintbutcheerful—cheerfuleventhoughitwasthemiddleofthenight.
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