Generally his nurse rather worried him by breaking his slumbers1, coming in and “setting things to rights,” as she called it. Now the dust lay thick upon chairs and tables; there was no harsh voice heard to scold him for not getting up immediately, which, I am sorry to say, this boy did not always do. For he so enjoyed lying still, and thinking lazily about everything or nothing, that, if he had not tried hard against it, he would certainly have become like those celebrated2
“Two little men
Who lay in their bed till the clock struck ten.”
It was striking ten now, and still no nurse was to be seen. He was rather relieved at first, for he felt so tired; and besides, when he stretched out his arm, he found to his dismay that he had gone to bed in his clothes.
Very uncomfortable he felt, of course; and just a little frightened. Especially when he began to call and call again, but nobody answered. Often he used to think how nice it would be to get rid of his nurse and live in this tower all by himself—like a sort of monarch3 able to do everything he liked, and leave undone4 all that he did not want to do; but now that this seemed really to have happened, he did not like it at all.
“Nurse,—dear nurse,—please come back!” he called out. “Come back, and I will be the best boy in all the land.”
And when she did not come back, and nothing but silence answered his lamentable6 call, he very nearly began to cry.
“This won't do,” he said at last, dashing the tears from his eyes. “It's just like a baby, and I'm a big boy—shall be a man some day. What has happened, I wonder? I'll go and see.”
He sprang out of bed,—not to his feet, alas7! but to his poor little weak knees, and crawled on them from room to room. All the four chambers8 were deserted—not forlorn or untidy, for everything seemed to have been done for his comfort—the breakfast and dinner things were laid, the food spread in order. He might live “like a prince,” as the proverb is, for several days. But the place was entirely9 forsaken11—there was evidently not a creature but himself in the solitary12 tower.
A great fear came upon the poor boy. Lonely as his life had been, he had never known what it was to be absolutely alone. A kind of despair seized him—no violent anger or terror, but a sort of patient desolation.
“What in the world am I to do?” thought he, and sat down in the middle of the floor, half inclined to believe that it would be better to give up entirely, lay himself down, and die.
This feeling, however, did not last long, for he was young and strong, and, I said before, by nature a very courageous13 boy. There came into his head, somehow or other, a proverb that his nurse had taught him—the people of Nomansland were very fond of proverbs:
“For every evil under the sun
There is a remedy, or there's none;
If there is one, try to find it—
If there isn't, never mind it.”
“I wonder is there a remedy now, and could I find it?” cried the Prince, jumping up and looking out of the window.
No help there. He only saw the broad, bleak14, sunshiny plain—that is, at first. But by and by, in the circle of mud that surrounded the base of the tower, he perceived distinctly the marks of a horse's feet, and just in the spot where the deaf-mute was accustomed to tie up his great black charger, while he himself ascended15, there lay the remains16 of a bundle of hay and a feed of corn.
“Yes, that's it. He has come and gone, taking nurse away with him. Poor nurse! how glad she would be to go!”
That was Prince Dolor's first thought. His second—wasn't it natural?—was a passionate17 indignation at her cruelty—at the cruelty of all the world toward him, a poor little helpless boy. Then he determined18, forsaken as he was, to try and hold on to the last, and not to die as long as he could possibly help it.
Anyhow, it would be easier to die here than out in the world, among the terrible doings which he had just beheld—from the midst of which, it suddenly struck him, the deaf-mute had come, contriving19 somehow to make the nurse understand that the king was dead, and she need have no fear in going back to the capital, where there was a grand revolution, and everything turned upside down. So, of course, she had gone. “I hope she'll enjoy it, miserable20 woman—if they don't cut off her head too.”
And then a kind of remorse21 smote22 him for feeling so bitterly toward her, after all the years she had taken care of him—grudgingly, perhaps, and coldly; still she had taken care of him, and that even to the last: for, as I have said, all his four rooms were as tidy as possible, and his meals laid out, that he might have no more trouble than could be helped.
“Possibly she did not mean to be cruel. I won't judge her,” said he. And afterward23 he was very glad that he had so determined.
For the second time he tried to dress himself, and then to do everything he could for himself—even to sweeping24 up the hearth25 and putting on more coals. “It's a funny thing for a prince to have to do,” said he, laughing. “But my godmother once said princes need never mind doing anything.”
And then he thought a little of his godmother. Not of summoning her, or asking her to help him,—she had evidently left him to help himself, and he was determined to try his best to do it, being a very proud and independent boy,—but he remembered her tenderly and regret-fully26, as if even she had been a little hard upon him—poor, forlorn boy that he was. But he seemed to have seen and learned so much within the last few days that he scarcely felt like a boy, but a man—until he went to bed at night.
When I was a child, I used often to think how nice it would be to live in a little house all by my own self—a house built high up in a tree, or far away in a forest, or halfway27 up a hillside so deliciously alone and independent. Not a lesson to learn—but no! I always liked learning my lessons. Anyhow, to choose the lessons I liked best, to have as many books to read and dolls to play with as ever I wanted: above all, to be free and at rest, with nobody to tease or trouble or scold me, would be charming. For I was a lonely little thing, who liked quietness—as many children do; which other children, and sometimes grown-up people even, cannot understand. And so I can understand Prince Dolor.
After his first despair, he was not merely comfortable, but actually happy in his solitude29, doing everything for himself, and enjoying everything by himself—until bedtime. Then he did not like it at all. No more, I suppose, than other children would have liked my imaginary house in a tree when they had had sufficient of their own company.
But the Prince had to bear it—and he did bear it, like a prince—for fully five days. All that time he got up in the morning and went to bed at night without having spoken to a creature, or, indeed, heard a single sound. For even his little lark31 was silent; and as for his traveling-cloak, either he never thought about it, or else it had been spirited away—for he made no use of it, nor attempted to do so.
A very strange existence it was, those five lonely days. He never entirely forgot it. It threw him back upon himself, and into himself—in a way that all of us have to learn when we grow up, and are the better for it; but it is somewhat hard learning.
On the sixth day Prince Dolor had a strange composure in his look, but he was very grave and thin and white. He had nearly come to the end of his provisions—and what was to happen next? Get out of the tower he could not: the ladder the deaf-mute used was always carried away again; and if it had not been, how could the poor boy have used it? And even if he slung32 or flung himself down, and by miraculous33 chance came alive to the foot of the tower, how could he run away?
Fate had been very hard to him, or so it seemed.
He made up his mind to die. Not that he wished to die; on the contrary, there was a great deal that he wished to live to do; but if he must die, he must. Dying did not seem so very dreadful; not even to lie quiet like his uncle, whom he had entirely forgiven now, and neither be miserable nor naughty any more, and escape all those horrible things that he had seen going on outside the palace, in that awful place which was called “the world.”
“It's a great deal nicer here,” said the poor little Prince, and collected all his pretty things round him: his favorite pictures, which he thought he should like to have near him when he died; his books and toys—no, he had ceased to care for toys now; he only liked them because he had done so as a child. And there he sat very calm and patient, like a king in his castle, waiting for the end.
“Still, I wish I had done something first—something worth doing, that somebody might remember me by,” thought he. “Suppose I had grown a man, and had had work to do, and people to care for, and was so useful and busy that they liked me, and perhaps even forgot I was lame5? Then it would have been nice to live, I think.”
A tear came into the little fellow's eyes, and he listened intently through the dead silence for some hopeful sound.
Was there one?—was it his little lark, whom he had almost forgotten? No, nothing half so sweet. But it really was something—something which came nearer and nearer, so that there was no mistaking it. It was the sound of a trumpet34, one of the great silver trumpets35 so admired in Nomansland. Not pleasant music, but very bold, grand, and inspiring.
As he listened to it the boy seemed to recall many things which had slipped his memory for years, and to nerve himself for whatever might be going to happen.
What had happened was this.
The poor condemned36 woman had not been such a wicked woman after all. Perhaps her courage was not wholly disinterested37, but she had done a very heroic thing. As soon as she heard of the death and burial of the King and of the changes that were taking place in the country, a daring idea came into her head—to set upon the throne of Nomansland its rightful heir. Thereupon she persuaded the deaf-mute to take her away with him, and they galloped38 like the wind from city to city, spreading everywhere the news that Prince Dolor's death and burial had been an invention concocted39 by his wicked uncle that he was alive and well, and the noblest young prince that ever was born.
It was a bold stroke, but it succeeded. The country, weary perhaps of the late King's harsh rule, and yet glad to save itself from the horrors of the last few days, and the still further horrors of no rule at all, and having no particular interest in the other young princes, jumped at the idea of this Prince, who was the son of their late good King and the beloved Queen Dolorez.
“Hurrah for Prince Dolor! Let Prince Dolor be our sovereign!” rang from end to end of the kingdom. Everybody tried to remember what a dear baby he once was—how like his mother, who had been so sweet and kind, and his father, the finest-looking king that ever reigned41. Nobody remembered his lameness42—or, if they did, they passed it over as a matter of no consequence. They were determined to have him reign40 over them, boy as he was—perhaps just because he was a boy, since in that case the great nobles thought they should be able to do as they liked with the country.
Accordingly, with a fickleness43 not confined to the people of Nomansland, no sooner was the late King laid in his grave than they pronounced him to have been a usurper44; turned all his family out of the palace, and left it empty for the reception of the new sovereign, whom they went to fetch with great rejoicing, a select body of lords, gentlemen, and soldiers traveling night and day in solemn procession through the country until they reached Hopeless Tower.
There they found the Prince, sitting calmly on the floor—deadly pale, indeed, for he expected a quite different end from this, and was resolved, if he had to die, to die courageously45, like a Prince and a King.
But when they hailed him as Prince and King, and explained to him how matters stood, and went down on their knees before him, offering the crown (on a velvet46 cushion, with four golden tassels47, each nearly as big as his head),—small though he was and lame, which lameness the courtiers pretended not to notice,—there came such a glow into his face, such a dignity into his demeanor48, that he became beautiful, king-like.
“Yes,” he said, “if you desire it, I will be your king. And I will do my best to make my people happy.”
Then there arose, from inside and outside the tower, such a shout as never yet was heard across the lonely plain.
Prince Dolor shrank a little from the deafening49 sound. “How shall I be able to rule all this great people? You forget, my lords, that I am only a little boy still.”
“Not so very little,” was the respectful answer. “We have searched in the records, and found that your Royal Highness—your Majesty50, I mean—is fifteen years old.”
“Am I?” said Prince Dolor; and his first thought was a thoroughly51 childish pleasure that he should now have a birthday, with a whole nation to keep it. Then he remembered that his childish days were done. He was a monarch now. Even his nurse, to whom, the moment he saw her, he had held out his hand, kissed it reverently52, and called him ceremoniously “his Majesty the King.”
“A king must be always a king, I suppose,” said he half-sadly, when, the ceremonies over, he had been left to himself for just ten minutes, to put off his boy's clothes and be reattired in magnificent robes, before he was conveyed away from his tower to the royal palace.
He could take nothing with him; indeed, he soon saw that, however politely they spoke30, they would not allow him to take anything. If he was to be their king, he must give up his old life forever. So he looked with tender farewell on his old books, old toys, the furniture he knew so well, and the familiar plain in all its levelness—ugly yet pleasant, simply because it was familiar.
“It will be a new life in a new world,” said he to himself; “but I'll remember the old things still. And, oh! if before I go I could but once see my dear old godmother.”
While he spoke he had laid himself down on the bed for a minute or two, rather tired with his grandeur53, and confused by the noise of the trumpets which kept playing incessantly54 down below. He gazed, half sadly, up to the skylight, whence there came pouring a stream of sunrays, with innumerable motes55 floating there, like a bridge thrown between heaven and earth. Sliding down it, as if she had been made of air, came the little old woman in gray.
So beautiful looked she—old as she was—that Prince Dolor was at first quite startled by the apparition56. Then he held out his arms in eager delight.
“Oh, godmother, you have not forsaken me!”
“Not at all, my son. You may not have seen me, but I have seen you many a time.”
“How?”
“Oh, never mind. I can turn into anything I please, you know. And I have been a bearskin rug, and a crystal goblet—and sometimes I have changed from inanimate to animate57 nature, put on feathers, and made myself very comfortable as a bird.”
“Ha!” laughed the prince, a new light breaking in upon him as he caught the infection of her tone, lively and mischievous58. “Ha! ha! a lark, for instance?”
“Or a magpie,” answered she, with a capital imitation of Mistress Mag's croaky voice. “Do you suppose I am always sentimental59, and never funny? If anything makes you happy, gay, or grave, don't you think it is more than likely to come through your old godmother?”
“I believe that,” said the boy tenderly, holding out his arms. They clasped one another in a close embrace.
Suddenly Prince Dolor looked very anxious. “You will not leave me now that I am a king? Otherwise I had rather not be a king at all. Promise never to forsake10 me!”
The little old woman laughed gayly. “Forsake you? that is impossible. But it is just possible you may forsake me. Not probable though. Your mother never did, and she was a queen. The sweetest queen in all the world was the Lady Dolorez.”
“Tell me about her,” said the boy eagerly. “As I get older I think I can understand more. Do tell me.”
“Not now. You couldn't hear me for the trumpets and the shouting. But when you are come to the palace, ask for a long-closed upper room, which looks out upon the Beautiful Mountains; open it and take it for your own. Whenever you go there you will always find me, and we will talk together about all sorts of things.”
“And about my mother?”
The little old woman nodded—and kept nodding and smiling to herself many times, as the boy repeated over and over again the sweet words he had never known or understood—“my mother—my mother.”
“Now I must go,” said she, as the trumpets blared louder and louder, and the shouts of the people showed that they would not endure any delay. “Good-by, good-by! Open the window and out I fly.”
Prince Dolor repeated gayly the musical rhyme—but all the while tried to hold his godmother fast.
Vain, vain! for the moment that a knocking was heard at his door the sun went behind a cloud, the bright stream of dancing motes vanished, and the little old woman with them—he knew not where.
So Prince Dolor quitted his tower—which he had entered so mournfully and ignominiously60 as a little helpless baby carried in the deaf-mute's arms—quitted it as the great King of Nomansland.
The only thing he took away with him was something so insignificant61 that none of the lords, gentlemen, and soldiers who escorted him with such triumphant62 splendor63 could possibly notice it—a tiny bundle, which he had found lying on the floor just where the bridge of sunbeams had rested. At once he had pounced64 upon it, and thrust it secretly into his bosom65, where it dwindled66 into such small proportions that it might have been taken for a mere28 chest-comforter, a bit of flannel67, or an old pocket-handkerchief. It was his traveling-cloak!
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1
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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6
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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7
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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8
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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10
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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15
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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18
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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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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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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lameness
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| n. 跛, 瘸, 残废 | |
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fickleness
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| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
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usurper
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| n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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50
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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54
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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58
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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59
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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60
ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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61
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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62
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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63
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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64
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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65
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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66
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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