English
What,Iwonder,wouldbepeople’sideaofaking?WhatwasPrinceDolor’s?
Perhapsaverysplendidpersonage,withacrownonhisheadandascepterinhishand,sittingonathroneandjudgingthepeople.
Alwaysdoingright,andneverwrong—”Thekingcandonowrong”wasalawlaiddowninoldentimes.
Nevercross,ortired,orsick,orsuffering;perfectlyhandsomeandwelldressed,calmandgood-tempered,readytoseeandheareverybody,anddiscourteoustonobody;allthingsalwaysgoingwellwithhim,andnothingunpleasanteverhappening.
This,probably,waswhatPrinceDolorexpectedtosee.Andwhatdidhesee?ButImusttellyouhowhesawit.
“Ah,”saidthemagpie,“noleveeto-day.
TheKingisill,thoughhisMajestydoesnotwishittobegenerallyknown—itwouldbesoveryinconvenient.
Hecan’tseeyou,butperhapsyoumightliketogoandtakealookathiminawayIoftendo?Itissoveryamusing.”
Amusing,indeed!
Theprincewasjustnowtoomuchexcitedtotalkmuch.
Washenotgoingtoseethekinghisuncle,whohadsucceededhisfatheranddethronedhimself;hadsteppedintoallthepleasantthingsthathe,PrinceDolor,oughttohavehad,andshuthimupinadesolatetower?
Whatwashelike,thisgreat,bad,cleverman?
Hadhegotallthethingshewanted,whichanotheroughttohavehad?Anddidheenjoythem?
“Nobodyknows,”answeredthemagpie,justasifshehadbeensittinginsidetheprince’sheart,insteadofonthetopofhisshoulder.“Heisaking,andthat’senough.Fortherestnobodyknows.”
Asshespoke,Magflewdownontothepalaceroof,wherethecloakhadrested,settlingdownbetweenthegreatstacksofchimneysascomfortablyasifontheground.
Shepeckedatthetileswithherbeak—trulyshewasawonderfulbird—andimmediatelyalittleholeopened,asortofdoor,throughwhichcouldbeseendistinctlythechamberbelow.
“Nowlookin,myPrince.Makehaste,forImustsoonshutitupagain.”
Buttheboyhesitated.“Isn’titrude?—won’ttheythinkusintruding?”
“Oh,dearno!there’saholelikethisineverypalace;dozensofholes,indeed.
Everybodyknowsit,butnobodyspeaksofit.Intrusion!
Why,thoughtheroyalfamilyaresupposedtoliveshutupbehindstonewallseversothick,alltheworldknowsthattheyliveinaglasshousewhereeverybodycanseethemandthrowastoneatthem.
Nowpopdownonyourknees,andtakeapeepathisMajesty.”
HisMajesty!
ThePrincegazedeagerlydownintoalargeroom,thelargestroomhehadeverbeheld,withfurnitureandhangingsgranderthananythinghecouldhaveeverimagined.
Astraysunbeam,comingthroughacreviceofthedarkenedwindows,struckacrossthecarpet,anditwastheloveliestcarpeteverwoven—justlikeabedofflowerstowalkover;onlynobodywalkedoverit,theroombeingperfectlyemptyandsilent.
“WhereistheKing?”askedthepuzzledboy.
“There,”saidMag,pointingwithonewrinkledclawtoamagnificentbed,largeenoughtocontainsixpeople.
Inthecenterofit,justvisibleunderthesilkencounterpane,—quitestraightandstill,—withitsheadonthelacepillow,layasmallfigure,somethinglikewax-work,fastasleep—veryfastasleep!
Therewasanumberofsparklingringsonthetinyyellowhands,thatwerecurledalittle,helplessly,likeababy’s,outsidethecoverlet;theeyeswereshut,thenoselookedsharpandthin,andthelonggraybeardhidthemouthandlayoverthebreast.
Asightnotuglynorfrightening,onlysolemnandquiet.
Andsoverysilent—twolittlefliesbuzzingaboutthecurtainsofthebedbeingtheonlyaudiblesound.
“IsthattheKing?”whisperedPrinceDolor.
“Yes,”repliedthebird.
Hehadbeenangry—furiouslyangry—eversinceheknewhowhisunclehadtakenthecrown,andsenthim,apoorlittlehelplesschild,tobeshutupforlife,justasifhehadbeendead.
Manytimestheboyhadfeltasif,kingashewas,heshouldliketostrikehim,thisgreat,strong,wickedman.
Why,youmightaswellhavestruckababy!Howhelplesshelay,withhiseyesshut,andhisidlehandsfolded:theyhadnomoreworktodo,badorgood.
“Whatisthematterwithhim?”askedthePrince.
“Heisdead,”saidtheMagpie,withacroak.
No,therewasnottheleastuseinbeingangrywithhimnow.
Onthecontrary,thePrincefeltalmostsorryforhim,exceptthathelookedsopeacefulwithallhiscaresatrest.Andthiswasbeingdead?Soevenkingsdied?
“Well,well,hehadn’taneasylife,folksay,forallhisgrandeur.Perhapsheisgladitisover.Good-by,yourMajesty.”
Withanothercheerfultapofherbeak,MistressMagshutdownthelittledoorinthetiles,andPrinceDolor’sfirstandlastsightofhisunclewasended.
Hesatinthecenterofhistraveling-cloak,silentandthoughtful.
“Whatshallwedonow?”saidthemagpie.
“There’snothingmuchmoretobedonewithhismajesty,exceptafinefuneral,whichIshallcertainlygoandsee.Alltheworldwill.
Heinterestedtheworldexceedinglywhenhewasalive,andheoughttodoitnowhe’sdead—justoncemore.
Andsincehecan’thearme,Imayaswellsaythat,onthewhole,hismajestyismuchbetterdeadthanalive—ifwecanonlygetsomebodyinhisplace.
There’llbesucharowinthecitypresently.
Supposewefloatupagainandseeitall—atasafedistance,though.Itwillbesuchfun!”
“Whatwillbefun?”
“Arevolution.”
Whetheranybodyexceptamagpiewouldhavecalledit“fun”Idon’tknow,butitcertainlywasaremarkablescene.
Assoonasthecathedralbellbegantotollandtheminute-gunstofire,announcingtothekingdomthatitwaswithoutaking,thepeoplegatheredincrowds,stoppingatstreetcornerstotalktogether.
Themurmurnowandthenroseintoashout,andtheshoutintoaroar.
WhenPrinceDolor,quietlyfloatinginupperair,caughtthesoundoftheirdifferentandoppositecries,itseemedtohimasifthewholecityhadgonemadtogether.
“Longlivetheking!”
“Thekingisdead—downwiththeking!”
“Downwiththecrown,andthekingtoo!”
“Hurrahfortherepublic!”
“Hurrahfornogovernmentatall!”
Suchweretheshoutswhichtraveleduptothetraveling-cloak.Andthenbegan—oh,whatascene!
Whenyouchildrenaregrownmenandwomen—orbefore—youwillhearandreadinbooksaboutwhatarecalledrevolutions—earnestlyItrustthatneitherInoryoumayeverseeone.
Buttheyhavehappened,andmayhappenagain,inothercountriesbesidesNomansland,whenwickedkingshavehelpedtomaketheirpeoplewickedtoo,oroutofanunrighteousnationhavesprungrulersequallybad;or,withouteitherofthesecauses,whenarestlesscountryhasfanciedanychangebetterthannochangeatall.
Forme,Idon’tlikechanges,unlessprettysurethattheyareforgood.
Andhowgoodcancomeoutofabsoluteevil—thehorribleevilthatwentonthisnightunderPrinceDolor’sveryeyes—soldiersshootingdownpeoplebyhundredsinthestreets,scaffoldserected,andheadsdroppingoff—housesburned,andwomenandchildrenmurdered—thisismorethanIcanunderstand.
Butallthesethingsyouwillfindinhistory,mychildren,andmustbyandbyjudgeforyourselvestherightandwrongofthem,asfarasanybodyevercanjudge.
PrinceDolorsawitall.Thingshappenedsofastoneafteranotherthattheyquiteconfusedhisfaculties.
“Oh,letmegohome,”hecriedatlast,stoppinghisearsandshuttinghiseyes;“onlyletmegohome!”
forevenhislonelytowerseemedhome,anditsdrearinessandsilenceabsoluteparadiseafterallthis.
“Good-bye,then,”saidthemagpie,flappingherwings.
Shehadbeenchattingincessantlyalldayandallnight,foritwasactuallythuslongthatPrinceDolorhadbeenhoveringoverthecity,neithereatingnorsleeping,withalltheseterriblethingshappeningunderhisveryeyes.
“You’vehadenough,Isuppose,ofseeingtheworld?”
“Oh,Ihave—Ihave!”criedtheprince,withashudder.
“Thatis,tillnexttime.Allright,yourroyalhighness.Youdon’tknowme,butIknowyou.Wemaymeetagainsometime.”
Shelookedathimwithherclear,piercingeyes,sharpenoughtoseethrougheverything,anditseemedasiftheychangedfrombird’seyestohumaneyes—theveryeyesofhisgodmother,whomhehadnotseenforeversolong.
Buttheminuteafterwardshebecameonlyabird,andwithascreechandachatter,spreadherwingsandflewaway.
PrinceDolorfellintoakindofswoonofuttermisery,bewilderment,andexhaustion,andwhenheawokehefoundhimselfinhisownroom—aloneandquiet—withthedawnjustbreaking,andthelongrimofyellowlightinthehorizonglimmeringthroughthewindowpanes.
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