We shall now witness Three Events in the Life of the Princess Moss-Rose. These take place in the hall of her father’s castle. Besides the Princess herself her parents, the King and Queen, will assist at the Events, also the Court: the Lord High Chancellor, the Royal Nurse, Governess, Butler, Cook, Gardener, and Lords and Ladies of Quality. Huntsmen, Pages and Lackeys, too, will come and go as they are needed. Then there is a Frog of high degree in Frogdom, who will receive the knightly accolade, thereafter being known as Sir Amphibious Batrachian, with the right also to call himself Baron Freshwater. Two Tadpoles who grow up into rather grouchy, rheumatic elderly Frogs are of his retinue. The Three Fates and Destiny have inconspicuous, but important parts in the Events. Then we shall also see several Fragments of Kings’ Sons who have perished in their quest for the fabled Moss-Rose, and, accompanied by his tutor, Mentor, the victorous King’s Son, Prince Charming. Sixteen years divide the Second Event from the first, and one hundred years the Third from the Second. These passages of time, however, touch our royal friends but lightly, and do not cause their royal clothes to wear out, or their royal furniture to become shabby in the least. The scene is laid in the hall of the King’s castle, an apartment of suitable magnificence. Entrances lead to banqueting-hall, servants’ offices, and other parts of the establishment. Windows overlook the attractive grounds with a glimpse of the forest beyond.
THE FIRST EVENT
shows a pleasant morning in summer. The King and his Huntsmen are assembled in the hall, singing a jovial hunting-chorus, while without the Dogs bay, and the Horses champ with proper impatience for the start.
[At the close of the Hunting Song the King and his suite are about to go when the Lord High Chancellor enters with as much haste as his girth and dignity allow.]
The Chancellor.
The King, the King, where is the King!... Oh, Sire, I feared I should be too late! Her Majesty the Queen begs you to forego your day’s hunting, as she has a piece of news of the utmost importance to communicate to you!
The King.
My dear Lord High Chancellor, I am always most anxious to please the Queen, as well you know, but as you can see and hear for yourself, the nettlesome steeds are saddled, and are champing and pawing the ground, the hounds are baying, and all the wild animals in the royal forest are gnashing their teeth and growling fearsomely, impatient for the day’s sport to begin!
The Chancellor.
Nevertheless, Sire, under the circumstances ... the extraordinary circumstances....
The King.
Does the Queen’s news concern itself with house-cleaning the castle? Or is Her Majesty desirous of purchasing a new crown? If so, can’t you suggest to her to get the old one turned and made over? The jewels in it are not in the least shabby; they are as good as new, in fact!
The Chancellor.
Sire, this is more important even than a crown! Here comes the Queen herself to tell you all about it!
[The Queen enters to a flourish of trumpets, attended by her Ladies. Following these comes the Royal Nurse bearing a tiny infant, wrapped in a magnificent silken coverlet. The Nurse stands in the background, with the Ladies, while the Queen converses with the King.]
The Queen.
Oh, my dear, what luck to have caught you!
The King.
How can I serve my gracious consort?
The Queen.
[About to tell him the news.] Listen, then, and I’ll begin at the beginning.
The King.
As you please! Hark! What noise is that!
[He listens, while a slight wail issues from the bundle the Nurse carries.]
The Queen.
Guess!
The King.
If it is the throne-room door that is screaking it had better be oiled!
[Protesting exclamations rise from all the Ladies and the Nurse at this prosaic idea.]
The Queen.
[Amused, as if it were a game.] Oh, cold, cold!
The King.
If any of the Dukes have on new boots that creak they must be banished from Court for a while. Boots should be seen but not heard!
The Queen and the Ladies.
Boots, indeed! Cold, cold!
The King.
There it goes again. Sounds like a kitten, or a little squealing pig!
[The Queen, Nurse and Ladies protest violently.]
The Chancellor.
Warm—in the temperate zone!
The King.
I have it. It’s a mechanical toy. One of those dolls from Paris that say “Papa, Mama,” when you pinch them!
[All laugh at this.]
The Queen.
Hot! Getting hot! My dear, suppose it were a doll, what should we wish for?
The King.
I don’t know, I’m sure! Is it a doll?
The Queen.
It most certainly is not!
The King.
Then what is the use of wishing anything, or of guessing what we should wish for, if it were a doll!... Mayn’t I go hunting now?
The Queen.
No! You darling stupid, I shall have to tell you! But let me begin at the beginning.
The King.
[With resignation.] As you please! Only that Bengalese tiger does so hate to be kept waiting.! [All sit.]
The Queen.
This morning I went into the garden to watch the gardener set out the rose bed, and while sitting there beside the fountain a great big frog jumped out of the basin, and spoke to me. It is true that he splashed me a wee bit, but he apologised so prettily I didn’t really mind! “Good morning, fair Queen,” said he. “I know wherefore you are sad!”
The King.
Oh! But were you sad?
The Queen.
No! But that’s what he said! “Cease weeping and dry your lovely eyes,” he then went on!
The King.
But were you weeping, and did you dry your lovely eyes?
The Queen.
No, I can’t say I was or did! However that’s what he said!
The Chancellor.
[Explains.] Queens and princesses generally weep beside a fountain, Sire! You’ll find it here in the “Book of Royal Etiquette”! [He turns over the leaves of a huge volume.] It is customary for them accidentally to drop a precious ring into its green depths, and then to shed tears over it!
The King.
I see! Go on, my love!
The Queen.
The frog continued, “It is your birthday!” “Oh,” I replied, “I know that! And I’m sure the dear King is going to surprise me with a beautiful present!”
The King.
Of course! I was just on my way to inquire why it has not been sent!
The Queen.
But it has been sent! It is here! That is the great news! That is what the frog told me! “Go home,” said he, “and look in your work-basket, and see what you will find all rolled up in the red and yellow comforter you are knitting for a surprise for the King on his birthday!” And there indeed I found it! And, oh, nothing else in all the world could have given me one millionth part of the pleasure!
The King.
I thought you’d like it. Is it becoming? Does it fit?
The Queen.
Eh?
The King.
I told them to send the very latest style, but you can have it changed if it isn’t the right size!
The Queen.
It is perfect in every respect, absolutely perfect! Eh, my Ladies?
The Ladies.
[Enthusiastically.] Yes, indeed, Your Majesty!
The King.
Good!... Whatever is that queer noise?
The Queen.
Why, didn’t you know it could do that?
The King.
It sounded very different in the shop! But we can get the piano-tuner to attend to it!
The Chancellor.
His Majesty is so full of humour!
The Queen.
Come and have a peep at it!
[The Nurse approaches with her precious bundle, but the King draws back.]
The King.
Those little kinds are so snappish! Did they send the collar and the chain?
The Queen.
Now, my love, I know you are very absent-minded! Last year when I wanted a diamond bracelet you got me a silver thimble, but when it comes to a little daughter ... a sweet little baby daughter...!
The King.
Bless my soul ... a daughter! To be sure! I hope they packed her carefully!
The Ladies.
Her Royal Highness is perfect! Absolutely the loveliest baby that ever was!
The King.
[Looking at the baby which is now presented for his closer inspection.] As babies go she really is ... well, she is a baby! My Lord High Chancellor, what does one say to them?
The Chancellor.
I have been looking that up, Sire, and I find that “Diddums wasms” is not unacceptable in the earlier stages of conversation with little Royal Highnesses!
The King.
[As if learning a lesson.] Diddums wasms! Wasms Diddums! I never shall remember that!
The Chancellor.
How about simple Duckums, or Ooo-galloo-galloo?
The King.
[Experiments with these.] That’s better. [He turns again to the group.] Now what shall we do to celebrate this joyful occasion? Suppose I go a-hunting and bring in a pretty spotted leopard, a great, big, huggy bear, or a gaudy tiger with orange stripes to play with the little one!
The Chancellor.
The usual thing, Sire, is to hold a feast ... a christening feast!
The Queen.
Yes, my dear; our child must have a name! Now what shall it be?
The Chancellor.
Why not call the Princess after Your Majesties?
The King.
Too commonplace. I am King Johannes, Ivor, Ivan, Ian, Giovanni, Juan, John! And the Queen is Marietta, Marina, Marequita, Marioletta, Polyanthus Mary! No; we want something more distinguished! Now who has something to suggest? Begin with A.
The ladies.
[One after another.] Abel, Abraham, Apple-dumpling, Andalusia, Artichoke.
The King.
Artichoke! That’s a good name for a baby!
The Chancellor.
That’s a boy’s name, Sire!
The King.
Why not Asparagus—Gussie for short?
The Chancellor.
Too kitchen-gardeny!
The King.
Well, let’s try B. Benjamin, Bohemia, Bank-account, Bootblack, Baronet....
The Chancellor.
Too masculine!
The King.
Well, then, go on with C.
The Ladies.
[Suggesting in turn.] Calico, Caramel.... That’s a sweet one! Crystal-gazer, Caraway-seed....
The Queen.
My dear, why not name her after a flower?
The King.
Good! What flower begins with C? I have it: Cauliflower! Or Castor-Oil bean! Columbine!
The Queen.
No, no! Let us call her after the queen of flowers, rose! And as the gardener was just setting out one when the frog accosted me, why not Moss-Rose?
All.
Oh, yes; Moss-Rose! Princess Moss-Rose!
The King.
I like that! There’s something soft and tender about it! It moves me to tears, or at least to a tear! That is, if the Lord High Chancellor has no objection, and I can find my pocket-handkerchief!
The Chancellor.
Tears on the part of Your Majesty are quite appropriate! Let the Court Chronicler note that the King shed tears!
The King.
A tear ... a single one! I insist that history shall not be falsified!
The Chancellor.
A single tear.... Really, Sire, it is never done! Try and screw out another, I beg!
The King.
Oh, have it your own way, then! Tears! [He wipes his eyes, and the Court Chronicler records the episode.]
The Chancellor.
[Considering.] Moss-Rose. And for extra names without which, of course, no person of royal birth should be, the Princess can have the botanical terms, Rosa Centifolia, Rosaceæ!
The Queen.
I don’t think I want my baby called that!
The Chancellor.
Madam, no one would ever think of using these! But Royal Persons have to own them!
The Queen.
Oh, then, it is all right! Now we must choose godparents! For godmothers I want all the wise women and good fairies in the kingdom! Because instead of the usual commonplace sterling silver mug they will bestow on our child blessings: virtues and talents!
The King.
A capital idea! Have we their names, my Lord High Chancellor?
The Chancellor.
[Referring to a volume.] The latest census gives the list: Fairy Good-Looks, Fairy Good-Heart, Fairy Good-Temper, and Fairy Good-Manners!
The King and Queen.
Excellent!
The Chancellor.
Then there are the Wise Women: Dame Honesty, Dame Diligence, Dame Order and Dame Thrift. Then there’s Lady Generosity and Countess Courage!
The Queen.
Oh, we must have them all, every one!
The King.
[Agreeing.] Surely! Every blessed one!
The Chancellor.
Then there are those two old-fashioned gentlewomen whom everybody respects, the Sisters Purity and Piety!
The Queen.
Oh, these above all!
The King.
By all means! Let Heralds be sent forth north, south, east and west, inviting them! What about the godfather?
The Chancellor.
Some neighbouring potentate. Some reigning monarch!
The King.
[Demurring.] Um-m-m! They’re all so uneducated! They only talk foreign languages. And I never can feel sociable with people through an interpreter!
The Queen.
My dear, I have a suggestion. I know you’ll think it odd, but why not that dear, delightful frog who brought me the joyful news?
The King.
Hm! A frog for godfather. Is that ever done, my Lord High Chancellor?
The Chancellor.
I can’t at this moment recall an instance, Sire, but I’ll look it up!
[He consults a volume.]
The Queen.
He has charming manners. And he would not mind being splashed if he held the baby at the font!
The King.
I wonder if it would be considered anarchistic by the populace?
The Chancellor.
You could bestow a title on him. Puss-In-Boots was knighted, I find!
The King.
I wonder how he would mix in with the rest of the company. For example, however would he sit down to table?
The Queen.
Why not have a large finger-bowl, or a sitz-bath, placed on a chair for him?
The Chancellor.
A very happy suggestion on the part of Your Majesty! But....
The Queen.
And what a figure he would make at the Court ball! I’m sure he can do the latest dances beautifully!
The King.
I’ll take it under consideration. It is not a matter in which to act hastily!... Whatever noise is that? Surely not another birthday present!
[The Frog is heard approaching with a measured ker-plunk.]
The Chancellor.
[Looking down the corridor.] Why, speak of a distinguished visitor, and here he comes!
The Herald.
[Blows a blast.]
The Butler.
[Announces.] The Honorable Mr. Frog of Frog-Pond!
[The Frog enters. He wears high rubber boots, and carries a storm-coat over his arm.]
The Queen.
My dear Mr. Frog, how kind this is!
The Frog.
Not at all! How-do! How-do!
The Queen.
[Presenting.] The King. The Princess Royal. The Lord High Chancellor. The Court.
The Frog.
How-do! How-do! [The Butler approaches him and discreetly tries to get his storm-coat away from him, but he resists.] Let it alone!... I always carry it with me when I’m likely to be asked to stay to lunch.... [He pauses and coughs slightly. All do the same. He continues.] Sometimes the ladies next me complain of the damp!... These boots, too, they protect me from dripping and slipping! Slipping and dripping!
The Queen.
Most considerate! [She sits and indicates a seat which the Frog takes. All sit.] You come upon us in family conclave. We are trying to find a godfather for the Princess! [All cough meaningly.]
The Frog.
My stars, what an extraordinary coincidence!
All.
[Interested.] Eh? What’s that?
The Frog.
Speaking of such things—Excuse me. [He breaks off, and skipping toward the entrance, croaks very loud. He is answered by two smaller croaks, uttered by two small frogs, dressed like lackeys, who now enter, bearing a huge silver mug. This our Frog presents to the King and Queen, after a suitable explanation.] This little token ... oh, a mere trifle, but, as you observe, solid silver and richly chased ... I found it at the bottom of a pond! It was probably dropped there by some prehistoric princess when babies were larger than they are nowadays! I fancied it might come in useful, so took the liberty...!
The Queen.
How very, very kind!... My dear, isn’t it very, very kind?
The King.
Oh, very, very, very kind! Eh, my Lord High Chancellor?
The Chancellor.
Oh, very, very, very, very kind!
The Court.
Very, very, very, very, very kind!
The King.
It would make a lovely umbrella-stand!... I mean, of course, till the baby is large enough to drink from it!
The Frog.
So glad you’re pleased!... Well, as it’s near my lunch hour I must be going!... Any time you’re near my pond just drop in!
The Queen.
Oh, but you must stay! To lunch, and to the christening. We want you to be baby’s godfather; eh, my love?
The King.
Of course we do! I was saying so when you came in!
The Frog.
That’s very nice of you. I can sing to the little one, you know! [Croaks in imitation of an opera-singer.] I’m soloist in our glee-club, in the pond!
The Queen.
Delightful! And I’m sure you can dance with those springy legs of yours!
The Frog.
Good gracious, yes! I can lift any lady clear off her feet, and throw her plump into the fountain! [He starts to dance, but the King restrains him.]
The King.
Later you shall give us an exhibition of your skill. But first you must be knighted!... Is there a sword handy, my Lord?
The Chancellor.
Here, Sire! The carving-knife will serve! [He gets the carving-knife from the table and hands it to the King.]
The Frog.
[Shrinking back.] The carving-knife! Now, really I.... My skin is very sensitive, in spite of appearances!
The King.
Bless my soul, you needn’t be afraid! It was a wedding-present to myself and the Queen! There never was the slightest edge to it!... Will you kindly kneel as well as you can? [The Frog does so, and the King gives him a slap with the flat of the blade, saying:] Rise up, Sir Amphibious Batrachian of Pondmere, Baron Freshwater Warden of the Marshes, and Court Croaker Extraordinary!
All.
Hurrah! Three cheers for Sir Amphibious Batrachian of Pondmere, Baron Freshwater, Warden of the Marshes, and Court Croaker Extraordinary!
The Frog.
Ha, ha! Pretty fine, eh, what? But to my intimates, as always, Frog, plain Frog!
The King.
And now to lunch. The christening shall be held as soon as the godmothers arrive.
The Chancellor.
[Who has been consulting one of his books.] Sire, there is one Wise Woman we omitted!
The King.
Her name?
The Chancellor.
She has several aliases, so that she can always prove an alibi! Envy, Hatred, Malice, and All-Uncharitableness! She is best known as Gossip, or Busy-Body!
The King.
Has she ever been presented here at Court?
The Chancellor.
Not yet, Sire, though she has repeatedly sought to be. She has never quite passed her examination on the Nine Points of Etiquette.
The Queen.
It would make no difference if she had. I never would consent to receive such a person! Besides, we haven’t spoons and forks enough!
The Chancellor.
But, Madam, unless we conciliate her I fear she may make some trouble for the Princess!
The Queen.
What, hurt my baby!
The King.
What, annoy my heiress-apparent!
The Frog.
What, disturb my goddaughter!
The Court.
What, injure our Princess! [All surround the Nurse and Baby protectingly.]
The Chancellor.
Really, I do think it would be advisable to placate the person!
The Frog.
[Waving his hand so as to splash the Chancellor while speaking.] Now, my dear fellow, while I hate to throw cold water on your scheme, yet I will not stand for such measures! Reptile as technically I am, there are human toads I simply won’t associate with!
The Chancellor.
Oh, very well! [He closes his huge volume with a bang.] And suppose the old gossip comes uninvited to the feast, what then?
The Frog.
Tell her to meet me beside the fountain by moonlight, and I’ll hold her hand and give her the worst cold in her head she ever had, so that she won’t be able to put two and two words together! Is it for nothing I am Sir Amphibious Batrachian, etcetera, etcetera? [He slaps his chest.]
The Queen.
You dear! Oh, what a birthday! I’m so happy I could dance!
The King.
So could I!
The Frog.
[Prancing about.] Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush!
The Court.
Do look out for the baby!
The Frog.
Put H. R. H. in a safe place! Here, in the christening-mug! [Assisted by members of the Court he lifts the Nurse with the Baby into the mug. The Gardener at this moment enters with a huge bunch of moss-roses.]
All.
[Clapping their hands.]
Oh, moss-roses, moss-roses, for the Princess Moss-Rose!
[Seizing the bouquet The Frog tosses it into the mug, and instantly long festoons of the flowers stream out of this, as from a fountain. Laughing delightedly, All seize these, as if they were the ribbons of a Maypole. Outside, joy-bells ring and music sounds. The Butler appears, beating on a gong. The mug with the Baby seen above its brim is borne aloft, and the gay procession passes on as the Curtain falls.]
THE SECOND EVENT
The Second Event takes place in the same hall. Everybody is now sixteen years older, for it is the sixteenth anniversary of the birth of the Princess Moss-Rose. The christening mug stands in the centre of the floor and in it grows a beautiful moss-rose bush. The Hunting Song again is heard, and when the Curtain rises we see the King ready to start off on his day’s sport. To him comes the Queen somewhat hurriedly.
The Queen.
My dear, surely you’re not going hunting to-day!
The King.
I had some idea of doing so, my love! The lions are complaining terribly that they don’t get enough exercise!
The Queen.
But have you forgotten what day it is?
The King.
Surely not Sunday again! Now it isn’t sporty of Sunday to come round more than once a week! It’s taking advantage of its exalted standing and the respect we owe it!
The Queen.
[Laughing.] Will you never grow up? And our daughter sixteen years old to-day!
The King.
Bless my soul, I had forgotten!
Moss-Rose.
[Enters singing happily.] Good-morning, father!
The King.
Good-morning, my darling!
Moss-Rose.
Aren’t you going to wish me many happy—
The King.
[Interrupting.] Come, wish me many happy returns of the day!
Moss-Rose.
What, wish you many happy returns of my birthday and mother’s?
The King.
Why not? Isn’t it always the happiest day of the year to me?
Moss-Rose.
[Mischievously.] Thank you so much for your lovely present!
The Queen.
Yes, indeed!
The King.
Eh? [Puzzled.]
Moss-Rose.
We’ve been through your pockets, mother and I! And, oh, to think of finding a fine new meerschaum pipe, and my favourite brand of tobacco! [She produces the articles.]
The King.
[Slightly nettled and confused.] Now, really, Moss-Rose....
The Queen.
And these six new neckties ... my favourite colours! [She produces the articles.]
The King.
[Recovering poise.] The pipe was for my prize elephant. And the ties were to be competed for in a scratch race—the spotted ones for the leopards and the striped ones for the zebras!
The Queen and Moss-Rose.
[Laughing.] You dear! [They kiss the King and thrust their booty into his pockets.]
The King.
And now what’s the programme for the day’s festivities? A ball as usual to-night, I suppose!
The Queen.
[Hastily.] No, not to-night! Not till to-morrow!
Moss-Rose.
[Pouting slightly.] Mother is so mysterious about it! Why should our celebration be put off till to-morrow? Put-off things are never quite so nice!
The Queen.
It is only the dance that is postponed. You shall have your cake as usual! See; here comes the cook with it now!
[Enter the Cook bearing triumphantly aloft a huge cake decorated with candles, unlighted. He is followed respectfully by a Kitchen-boy carrying a lighted taper.]
The Cook.
With the compliments of the Cook to Her Royal Highness Princess Moss-Rose! [He sets the cake down on the table.] Now, Boy, do your duty, but don’t drop wax all over the place!
Moss-Rose.
Thank-you, dear Cooky! Oh, what a beauty it is!
[Enter the Lord Chancellor followed by the Gardener who bears a watering-pot. He is followed by a Boy who carries a small ladder.]
The Chancellor.
Good-morning to your Majesties, and to your Royal Highness!
King, Queen and Princess.
Good-morning, my Lord High Chancellor!
The Chancellor.
My congratulations to Your Majesty [to the Queen] and to your Royal Highness!
Queen and Princess.
We thank you, my Lord High Chancellor!
The Gardener.
My homage to Your Majesties and to Your Royal Highness!
King, Queen and Princess.
We thank you kindly, Court Gardener!
[The Boy sets the ladder against the christening mug, and mounting this the Gardener waters the moss-rose bush in it. Instantly this shoots up several feet in height, broadening increasingly. All exclaim with admiration.]
The Gardener.
Ah, there’s nothing like it in the history of floriculture! And this the wee slip of a plant I was setting out the day our little Princess was born!
The Cook.
[Calling attention to the cake.] Sixteen, and one for luck!
The Gardener.
[Approaching Moss-Rose with a bunch of the flowers that he has plucked.] Sixteen, and one for luck!
Moss-Rose.
How good you all are to me!
[The Gardener and The Cook followed by their attendants, go.]
The Chancellor.
Sixteen!... We soon shall be having to find a suitable alliance for our Princess!
The King.
Dear, dear, there you go again! I’ve been all over the map, and there’s nobody, positively nobody, that will do! They are all so ignorant; they only speak foreign languages! What do I want with a son-in-law who can only laugh at my jokes through an interpreter?
The Chancellor.
None the less, Sire, we cannot have our Princess remain a sp... er ... unmarried!
Moss-Rose.
[With quick curiosity.] What is the word you were going to say, beginning with s-p?
The Chancellor.
Ahem! Pardon, my dear; I was not going to say anything of the sort! There is no word applicable to the situation beginning with s-p!
Moss-Rose.
Oh, but there is; a word that has been blotted out of all the dictionaries in my school-room!
The King.
[Hastily.] By special Act of Parliament! Royal Prerogative, and all that, you know!
Moss-Rose.
It is the same way with music; some kinds of songs are blotted out for Princesses, it seems! There was the prettiest song I came upon. It sounded buzz, buzz, buzz, like the turning of a wheel! But my teacher said that I must never, never sing it! Now why not, I wonder!
[The Others exchange anxious glances.]
The Queen.
Everything shall be explained to you to-morrow! Go to your room now, dear, and you will find there the linen chest we have been preparing for your dowry, ready for the time Prince Charming comes to claim your hand!
The Governess.
[Entering with a fine table-cloth in her hand.] Madam, I brought a table-cloth to show you the marking ... a moss-rose!
The Queen.
[Approving.] That is right! See, daughter! The finest linen ever sp... manufactured!
Moss-Rose.
How is linen-thread sp-manufactured?
All.
[Hastily.] It isn’t!
Moss-Rose.
[Persisting.] Linen is woven of thread; that I know. And thread is made of flax, and flax grows in the garden; that I know! But how is flax made into thread? No one ever will answer me that! And it has been blotted out of the encyclopedia!
[There is a slight pause.]
The King.
Come, come, child; trust your parents to-day, and to-morrow I’ll sp... I’ll reel you a long yarn about it!
Moss-Rose.
There again! Everyone begins a word with s-p, and then stops short as if they had bumped their heads or stubbed their toes against it!
[Enter The Frog in a bathrobe under which it is seen that he wears a bathing-suit.]
The Frog.
Good-morning, friends! Congratulations to those to whom congratulations are due, eh, what?
The King.
Morning, old man!
The Queen.
[At the same time.] Thank you, dear Sir Amphibious!
The Chancellor.
Good-morning, Sir Amphibious!
Moss-Rose.
Oh, godfather, where are you going? Not to your pond again?
The Frog.
Only for a dip, my dear! Truth is I’m feeling rather dry!
The Chancellor.
Can’t I ring for a glass of water for you?
The Frog.
My dear fellow! Do give me credit for some command of proper language! Even reptiles know that dry refers to the outside, while for the inner man one says thirsty!
Moss-Rose.
Oh, stay and play with me!
The Frog.
When I’ve had my dip! Till I’ve had my dip I’m poor company; my head positively sp— [He stops short, then lamely finishes] aches! Turns round and round, you know!
Moss-Rose.
Isn’t there a word that means all that; turns round and round, you know! Something beginning with s-p?
The Frog.
Not in Court circles! [There is a slight pause.] Let me go now, there’s a love, and I’ll bring you something pretty from the bottom of the pond!
The Governess.
Come, dear, and see your linen chest!
Moss-Rose.
[Going with the Governess.] Even my godfather, my pet Froggy, bites his tongue off sooner than finish the mysterious word beginning with s-p! [She goes with the Governess. Those who remain look at one another meaningly.]
The King.
I wonder if we hadn’t better have told the child all along!
The Frog.
That was my advice, as you know!
The Queen.
Perhaps it would have been wiser, but how can one inform a beloved child of a threatened danger?
The Chancellor.
[Turning over the volumes.] Most perplexing! A situation absolutely without precedent!
The King.
Well, after all, it is only getting through this day, and then we can all breathe freely forever after! Suppose we summon the Court and arrange what measures must be taken for the safety of the Princess! Eh, my Lord?
The Chancellor.
That seems quite lucid, Sire; in fact, almost sensible!... I mean, er.... [He rings and the Butler appears immediately.] Summon the ladies and gentlemen of the Court! [The Butler disappears. There is a bugle-call outside.]
The Queen.
It’s too ridiculous, but ever since I wakened this morning I have seemed to hear a buzz-buzz-buzz, whir-r-r, humm-m-m, just as if there were a sp—one of the things concealed in the room!
The Others.
So have I! [The faint, very faint sound of a spinning-wheel is heard and a soft voice crooning the Spin-wheel Song. All start.] There it is now!
The Chancellor.
[Recovering himself.] Imagination! Why, there isn’t one in existence in the kingdom!
[The Lords and Ladies enter, and take ceremonial positions, bowing and curtseying to their Majesties. The King and Queen sit, motioning all to do likewise. All obey. The King then begins.]
The King.
My Lords and Ladies.... This, as you know, is the sixteenth anniversary of the birth of our beloved daughter, the Princess Moss-Rose. For the benefit of such of you as were not here when Heaven sent her to us we will rehearse an incident that then took place. To her christening feast as godmothers were bidden all the Good Fairies and Wise Women in our kingdom—
The Frog.
—to co-operate with me as godfather! I held the child at the font!
The King.
There were twelve of these ladies.
The Chancellor.
Thirteen, Sire!
The King.
True, but thirteen is an unlucky number! That is why I suppressed one!
The Queen.
And the thirteenth wasn’t a nice person at all! Not at all! Besides we had only a dozen extra spoons and forks!
The King.
But all the same, this Dame Envy-Hatred-Malice-and-All-Uncharitableness got wind of the affair and came uninvited!
The Chancellor.
Oh, if you had only let me manage it!
The King.
Well—she came!
The Queen.
She wasn’t at all nice! And I didn’t like the way she was dressed one bit! Not one bit!
The King.
Our valued Sir Amphibious presented the mug—[Indicates the mug.] Sterling silver and richly chased!
The Frog.
Aye, indeed! I chased it round and round the pond when it was first dropped in, for at least three centuries!
The King.
The twelve godmothers bestowed good wishes on our child—
The Chancellor.
[Referring to a volume.] Entered over their own signatures in the guest-book. The kindest wishes, though expressed in verse of an impromptu and inferior cast!
The King.
But the uninvited and unwelcome one revenged herself by putting on our child a curse! [All echo, “A curse!”] Read it, my Lord Chancellor!
The Chancellor.
[Referring to volume.] That on the sixteenth anniversary of her birth the Princess Moss-Rose should prick her finger with the spindle of a spinning-wheel, and die of the wound. [All, even those who are familiar with the story, exclaim with horror.]
The King.
No wonder you shudder! No wonder tongue and pen alike recoil from chronicling the incident! However, our dear Sir Amphibious exercised his prerogative, in also making for our child a wish.
The Queen.
So sweet of him when he had already given the mug!
The Frog.
Oh, don’t mention it! What godfather under like circumstances would not do the same? I could not unwish the old hag’s wish, but at least it was within my humble powers to modify it!
The Chancellor.
[Referring to the volume.] Sir Amphibious fortunately was able to cross out the unpleasant word die and substitute for it, sleep for a term not exceeding one hundred years!
The Frog.
That’s it! A mere bagatelle, one hundred years, when measured up with eternity, eh, what!
The King.
But, even so, do we want the light of our eyes and sunshine of our lives suspended for a century!
All.
[With emphasis.] No!
The Queen.
Even suppose that the King and I were to survive it, it would be most awkward to introduce to society a débutante Princess of a hundred and sixteen years of age!
The Chancellor.
[Shaking his head mournfully.] The only suitable alliance would be found in a Home for Aged Princes! It is true that some of the abdicated ones are in an excellent state of preservation, but it isn’t the same thing!
All.
Not at all the same thing!
The King.
To prevent these little contre-tempses, as the French call them, I forthwith issued a proclamation—
The Chancellor.
[Referring to volume.] All spinning-wheels to be banished from the kingdom—
The Queen.
It has made the price of household linen dreadfully high, but what else could we do?
The Chancellor.
[Continuing, from volume.] The word spin with all its variants to be blotted from dictionaries, dropped from conversation. To compose or sing a spinning-wheel song a capital offence. All spinsters to choose between death or matrimony!
The Queen.
And all of the self-sacrificing dears chose matrimony! So loyal of them!
The King.
Now while we flatter ourselves that our Anti-spindle campaign has been an unqualified success, yet there is this day with its fatal possibilities to be safely passed through! The question before us is, how best to guard the Princess from the one chance in a million-billion that a spindle yet exists!
The Frog.
Let her spend it with me at the bottom of the pond! [All murmur appreciatively.]
The Queen.
How dear of you! But she isn’t used to the damp!
The King.
Besides, someone might have thrown a spinning-wheel, or just the spindle, into it, you know!