Perhaps a very splendid personage, with a crown on his head and a scepter in his hand, sitting on a throne and judging the people. Always doing right, and never wrong—“The king can do no wrong” was a law laid down in olden times. Never cross, or tired, or sick, or suffering; perfectly1 handsome and well dressed, calm and good-tempered, ready to see and hear everybody, and discourteous2 to nobody; all things always going well with him, and nothing unpleasant ever happening.
This, probably, was what Prince Dolor expected to see. And what did he see? But I must tell you how he saw it.
“Ah,” said the magpie3, “no levee to-day. The King is ill, though his Majesty4 does not wish it to be generally known—it would be so very inconvenient5. He can't see you, but perhaps you might like to go and take a look at him in a way I often do? It is so very amusing.”
Amusing, indeed!
The prince was just now too much excited to talk much. Was he not going to see the king his uncle, who had succeeded his father and dethroned himself; had stepped into all the pleasant things that he, Prince Dolor, ought to have had, and shut him up in a desolate6 tower? What was he like, this great, bad, clever man? Had he got all the things he wanted, which another ought to have had? And did he enjoy them?
“Nobody knows,” answered the magpie, just as if she had been sitting inside the prince's heart, instead of on the top of his shoulder. “He is a king, and that's enough. For the rest nobody knows.”
As she spoke7, Mag flew down on to the palace roof, where the cloak had rested, settling down between the great stacks of chimneys as comfortably as if on the ground. She pecked at the tiles with her beak8—truly she was a wonderful bird—and immediately a little hole opened, a sort of door, through which could be seen distinctly the chamber9 below.
“Now look in, my Prince. Make haste, for I must soon shut it up again.”
“Oh, dear no! there's a hole like this in every palace; dozens of holes, indeed. Everybody knows it, but nobody speaks of it. Intrusion! Why, though the royal family are supposed to live shut up behind stone walls ever so thick, all the world knows that they live in a glass house where everybody can see them and throw a stone at them. Now pop down on your knees, and take a peep at his Majesty.”
His Majesty!
The Prince gazed eagerly down into a large room, the largest room he had ever beheld11, with furniture and hangings grander than anything he could have ever imagined. A stray sunbeam, coming through a crevice12 of the darkened windows, struck across the carpet, and it was the loveliest carpet ever woven—just like a bed of flowers to walk over; only nobody walked over it, the room being perfectly empty and silent.
“Where is the King?” asked the puzzled boy.
“There,” said Mag, pointing with one wrinkled claw to a magnificent bed, large enough to contain six people. In the center of it, just visible under the silken counterpane,—quite straight and still,—with its head on the lace pillow, lay a small figure, something like wax-work, fast asleep—very fast asleep! There was a number of sparkling rings on the tiny yellow hands, that were curled a little, helplessly, like a baby's, outside the coverlet; the eyes were shut, the nose looked sharp and thin, and the long gray beard hid the mouth and lay over the breast. A sight not ugly nor frightening, only solemn and quiet. And so very silent—two little flies buzzing about the curtains of the bed being the only audible sound.
“Is that the King?” whispered Prince Dolor.
“Yes,” replied the bird.
He had been angry—furiously angry—ever since he knew how his uncle had taken the crown, and sent him, a poor little helpless child, to be shut up for life, just as if he had been dead. Many times the boy had felt as if, king as he was, he should like to strike him, this great, strong, wicked man.
Why, you might as well have struck a baby! How helpless he lay, with his eyes shut, and his idle hands folded: they had no more work to do, bad or good.
“What is the matter with him?” asked the Prince.
No, there was not the least use in being angry with him now. On the contrary, the Prince felt almost sorry for him, except that he looked so peaceful with all his cares at rest. And this was being dead? So even kings died?
“Well, well, he hadn't an easy life, folk say, for all his grandeur14. Perhaps he is glad it is over. Good-by, your Majesty.”
With another cheerful tap of her beak, Mistress Mag shut down the little door in the tiles, and Prince Dolor's first and last sight of his uncle was ended.
He sat in the center of his traveling-cloak, silent and thoughtful.
“What shall we do now?” said the magpie. “There's nothing much more to be done with his majesty, except a fine funeral, which I shall certainly go and see. All the world will. He interested the world exceedingly when he was alive, and he ought to do it now he's dead—just once more. And since he can't hear me, I may as well say that, on the whole, his majesty is much better dead than alive—if we can only get somebody in his place. There'll be such a row in the city presently. Suppose we float up again and see it all—at a safe distance, though. It will be such fun!”
“What will be fun?”
“A revolution.”
Whether anybody except a magpie would have called it “fun” I don't know, but it certainly was a remarkable15 scene.
As soon as the cathedral bell began to toll16 and the minute-guns to fire, announcing to the kingdom that it was without a king, the people gathered in crowds, stopping at street corners to talk together. The murmur17 now and then rose into a shout, and the shout into a roar. When Prince Dolor, quietly floating in upper air, caught the sound of their different and opposite cries, it seemed to him as if the whole city had gone mad together.
“Long live the king!” “The king is dead—down with the king!” “Down with the crown, and the king too!” “Hurrah for the republic!” “Hurrah for no government at all!”
Such were the shouts which traveled up to the traveling-cloak. And then began—oh, what a scene!
When you children are grown men and women—or before—you will hear and read in books about what are called revolutions—earnestly I trust that neither I nor you may ever see one. But they have happened, and may happen again, in other countries besides Nomansland, when wicked kings have helped to make their people wicked too, or out of an unrighteous nation have sprung rulers equally bad; or, without either of these causes, when a restless country has fancied any change better than no change at all.
For me, I don't like changes, unless pretty sure that they are for good. And how good can come out of absolute evil—the horrible evil that went on this night under Prince Dolor's very eyes—soldiers shooting down people by hundreds in the streets, scaffolds erected18, and heads dropping off—houses burned, and women and children murdered—this is more than I can understand.
But all these things you will find in history, my children, and must by and by judge for yourselves the right and wrong of them, as far as anybody ever can judge.
Prince Dolor saw it all. Things happened so fast one after another that they quite confused his faculties19.
“Oh, let me go home,” he cried at last, stopping his ears and shutting his eyes; “only let me go home!” for even his lonely tower seemed home, and its dreariness20 and silence absolute paradise after all this.
“Good-by, then,” said the magpie, flapping her wings. She had been chatting incessantly21 all day and all night, for it was actually thus long that Prince Dolor had been hovering22 over the city, neither eating nor sleeping, with all these terrible things happening under his very eyes. “You've had enough, I suppose, of seeing the world?”
“That is, till next time. All right, your royal highness. You don't know me, but I know you. We may meet again some time.”
She looked at him with her clear, piercing eyes, sharp enough to see through everything, and it seemed as if they changed from bird's eyes to human eyes—the very eyes of his godmother, whom he had not seen for ever so long. But the minute afterward24 she became only a bird, and with a screech25 and a chatter26, spread her wings and flew away.
Prince Dolor fell into a kind of swoon of utter misery27, bewilderment, and exhaustion28, and when he awoke he found himself in his own room—alone and quiet—with the dawn just breaking, and the long rim29 of yellow light in the horizon glimmering30 through the window-panes.
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1
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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magpie
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| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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6
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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7
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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8
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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9
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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10
intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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11
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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12
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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13
croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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14
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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15
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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18
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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19
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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20
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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21
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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22
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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23
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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24
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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27
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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28
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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29
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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30
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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