Hand reaching for a crown with wings
“I say, Jack,” said Prince Ricardo one morning, “here’s a queer letter for me!”
King Prigio had gone to a distant part of his dominions, on business of importance, and the young people were sitting in the royal study. The letter, which Ricardo handed to Jaqueline, was written on a great broad sheet of paper, folded up without any envelope, as was the custom then, and was sealed with a huge seal in red wax.
“I don’t know the arms,” Ricardo said.
“Oh, Ricardo, how you do neglect your Heraldry! Old Green Stocking is in despair over your ignorance.”
Now Green Stocking was the chief herald of Pantouflia, just like Blue Mantle in England.
“Why, these are the Royal Arms of England, you great ignorant Dick!”
“But Rome isn’t in England, is it?—and the post-mark is ‘Roma’: that’s Rome in some lingo, I expect. It is in Latin, anyhow, I know. Mortuus est Romæ—‘He died at Rome.’ It’s in the Latin Grammar. Let’s see what the fellow says, anyhow,” added Ricardo, breaking the seal.
“He begins, ‘Prins and dear Cousin!’ I say, Jaqueline, he spells it ‘Prins;’ now it is P-r-i-n-c-e. He must be an ignorant fellow!”
“People in glass houses should not throw stones, Dick,” said Jaqueline.
“He signs himself ‘Charles, P. W.,’” said Ricardo, looking at the end. “Who on earth can he be? Why does he not put ‘P. W. Charles,’ if these are his initials? Look here, it’s rather a long letter; you might read it to us, Jack!”
The princess took the epistle and began:
“How nice it smells, all scented! The paper is gilt-edged, too.”
“Luxurious beggar, whoever he is,” said Ricardo.
“Well, he says: ‘Prins and dear Cousin,—You and me’ (oh, what grammar!) ‘are much the same age, I being fifteen next birthday, and we should be better ackwainted. All the wurld has herd of the fame of Prins Ricardo, whose name is feerd, and his sord dreded, wherever there are Monsters and Tirants. Prins, you may be less well informed about my situation. I have not killed any Dragguns, there being nun of them here; but I have been under fiar, at Gaeta.’ Where’s Gaeta, Dick?”
“Never heard of it,” said Ricardo.
“Well, it is in Italy, and it was besieged lately. He goes on: ‘and I am told that I did not misbehave myself, nor disgrace the blud of Bruce.’”
“I’ve heard of Robert Bruce,” said Dick; “he was the man who did not kill the spider, but he cracked the head of Sir Harry Bohun with one whack of his axe. I remember him well enough.”
“Well, your correspondent seems to be a descendant of his.”
“That’s getting more interesting,” said Dick. “I wish my father would go to war with somebody. With the Sword of Sharpness I’d make the enemy whistle! Drive on, Jack.”
“‘As a prins in distress, I apeal to your valler, so renouned in Europe. I am kept out of my own; my royal father, King Gems,’—well, this is the worst spelling I ever saw in my life! He means King James,—‘my royal father, King Gems, being druv into exile by a crewl Usurper, the Elector of Hannover. King Gems is old, and likes a quiat life; but I am determined to make an effort, if I go alone, and Europe shall here of Prince Charles. Having heard—as who has not?—of your royal Highness’s courage and sordsmanship, I throw myself at your feet, and implore you to asist a prins in distres. Let our sords be drawn together in the caus of freedom and an outraged country, my own.
“‘I remain,
“‘Prins and dear Cuzen,
“‘Charles, P.
W.’
“P. W. means Prince of Wales,” added Jaqueline. “He is turned out of England you know, and lives at Rome with his father.”
“I like that chap,” said Prince Ricardo. “He does not spell very well, as you say, but I sometimes make mistakes myself; and I like his spirit. I’ve been looking out for an adventure; but the big game is getting shy, and my sword rusts in his scabbard. I’ll tell you what, Jack—I’ve an idea! I’ll put him on the throne of his fathers; it’s as easy as shelling peas: and as for that other fellow, the Elector, I’ll send him back to Hanover, wherever that may be, and he can go on electing, and polling his vote in peace and quietness, at home. Just wait till I spot the places.”
The prince ran up to the turret, fetched the magic spy-glass, and looked up London, Rome, and Hanover, as you would in a map.
“Well, Dick, but how do you mean to do it?”
“Do it?—nothing simpler! I just take my Seven-league Boots, run over to Rome, pick up Prince Charles, put him on the magic carpet, fly to London, clap the Cap of Darkness on him so that nobody can see him, set him down on the throne of his fathers; pick up the Elector, carry him over to his beloved Hanover, and the trick is done—what they call a bloodless revolution in the history books.”
“But if the English don’t like Prince Charles when they get him?”
“Like him? they’re sure to like him, a young fellow like that! Besides, I’ll take the sword with me in case of accidents.”
“But, Dick, it is your father’s rule that you are never to meddle in the affairs of other countries, and never to start on an expedition when he is not at home.”
“Oh, he won’t mind this time! There’s no kind of danger; and I’m sure he will approve of the principle of the thing. Kings must stick up for each other. Why, some electing characters might come here and kick us out!”
“Your father is not the sort of king who is kicked out,” said Jaqueline.
But there was no use in talking to Dick. He made his simple preparations, and announced that he would be back in time for luncheon.
What was poor Jaqueline to do? She was extremely anxious. She knew, as we saw, what King Prigio had intended about changing the fairy things for others that would not work. She was certain Dick would get himself into a scrape; how was she to help him? She made up her mind quickly, while Dick was putting his things together. She told the queen (it was the nearest to the truth she could think of) that she “was going for a turn with Dick.” Then she changed herself into a mosquito—a kind of gnat that bites—and hid herself under a fold of Dick’s coat. Of course he knew nothing about her being there. Then he started off in his Seven-league Boots, and before you could say “Jack Robinson” he was in Rome, in the grounds of a splendid palace called the Villa Borghese.
There he saw an elderly gentleman, in a great curled wig, sound asleep on a seat beneath a tree. The old gentleman had a long, pale, melancholy face, and across his breast was a broad blue ribbon with a star. Ah! how changed was King James from the handsome Prince who had loved fair Beatrix Esmond, thirty years ago! Near him were two boys, not quite so old as Prince Ricardo. The younger was a pretty dark boy, with a funny little roundabout white wig. He was splendidly dressed in a light-blue silk coat; a delicate little lace scarf was tied round his neck; he had lace ruffles falling about his little ringed hands; he had a pretty sword, with a gold handle set with diamonds—in fact, he was the picture of a little dandy. The other lad had a broad Scotch bonnet on, and no wig; beautiful silky yellow locks fell about his shoulders. He had laid his sword on the grass. He was dressed in tartan, which Ricardo had never seen before; and he wore a kilt, which was also new to Ricardo, who wondered at his bare legs—for he was wearing shoes with no stockings. In his hand he held a curious club, with a long, slim handle, and a head made heavy with lead, and defended with horn. With this he was aiming at a little white ball; and suddenly he swung up the club and sent the ball out of sight in the air, over several trees.
Prince Ricardo stepped up to this boy, took off his cap, and said:
“I think I have the honour of addressing the Prince of Wales?”
Prince Charles started at the sight of a gentleman in long riding-boots, girt with a broadsword, which was not then generally worn, and carrying a Persian rug under his arm.
“That is what I am called, sir,” he said, “by those who give me the title which is mine by right. May I inquire the reason which offers me the pleasure of this unexpected interview?”
“Oh, I’m Ricardo of Pantouflia!” says Dick. “I had a letter from you this morning, and I believe you wanted to see me.”
“From Pantouflia, sir,” said Prince Charles; “why, that is hundreds of leagues away!”
“It is a good distance,” said Dick; “but a mere step when you wear Seven-league Boots like mine.”
“My dear prince,” said Charles, throwing himself into his arms with rapture, and kissing him in the Italian fashion, which Dick did not half like, “you are, indeed, worthy of your reputation; and these are the celebrated Seven-league Boots? Harry,” he cried to his brother, “come here at once and let me present you to his Royal Highness, our illustrious ally, Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia. The Duke of York—Prince Ricardo of Pantouflia. Gentlemen, know each other!”
The prince bowed in the most stately manner.
“I say,” said Dick, who was seldom at all up to the standard of royal conversation, “what’s that game you were playing? It’s new to me. You sent the ball a tremendous long shot.”
“The game is called golf, and is the favourite pastime of my loyal Scottish subjects,” said Prince Charles. “For that reason, that I may be able to share the amusements of my people, whom I soon hope to lead to a glorious victory, followed by a peaceful and prosperous reign, I am acquiring a difficult art. I’m practising walking without stockings, too, to harden my feet,” he said, in a more familiar tone of voice. “I fancy there are plenty of long marches before me, and I would not be a spear’s length behind the hardiest Highlander.”
“By Jove! I respect you,” said Dick, with the greatest sincerity; “but I don’t think, with me on your side, you will need to make many marches. It will all be plain sailing.”
“Pray explain your plan,” said Prince Charles. “The task of conquering back the throne of my fathers is not so simple as you seem to suppose.”
“I’ve done a good many difficult things,” said Dick, modestly.
“The conqueror of the magician, Gorgonzola, and the Giant Who never Knew when he had Enough, need not tell me that,” said Prince Charles, with a courteous allusion to two of Ricardo’s most prodigious adventures.
“Oh! I’ve very little to be proud of, really,” said Dick, blushing; “anyone could do as much with my fairy things, of which, no doubt, you have heard. With a Sword of Sharpness and a Cap of Darkness, and so forth, you have a great pull over almost anything.”
“And you really possess those talismans?” said the prince.
“Certainly I do. You see how short a time I took in coming to your call from Pantouflia.”
“And has Holy Church,” asked the Duke of York, with anxiety, “given her sanction and her blessing to those instruments of an art, usually, in her wisdom, forbidden?”
“Oh, never mind Holy Church, Harry!” said Prince Charles. “This is business. Besides, the English are Protestants.”
“I pray for their conversion daily,” said the Duke of York.
“The end justifies the means, you know,” answered Prince Charles. “All’s fair in love and war.”
“I should think so,” said Ricardo, “especially against those brutes of Electors; they give trouble at home sometimes.”
“You, too, are plagued with an Elector?” asked Prince Charles.
“An Elector? thousands of them!” answered Dick, who never could understand anything about politics.
Prince Charles looked puzzled, but requested Dick to explain his great plan.
They sat down on the grass, and Ricardo showed them how he meant to manage it, just as he had told Jaqueline. As he said, nothing could be simpler.
“Let’s start at once,” he said, and, inducing Prince Charles to sit down on the magic carpet, he cried:
“England! St. James’s Palace!”
But nothing happened!
The carpet was not the right magic carpet, but the one which King Prigio had put in its place.
“Get on! England, I said!” cried Dick.
But there they remained, under the chestnut tree, sitting on the carpet above the flowery grass.
Prince Charles leaped to his feet; his face like fire, his eyes glowing.
“Enough of this fooling, sir!” he said. “It is easy, but cowardly, to mock at an unfortunate prince. Take your carpet and be off with you, out of the gardens, or your shoulders shall taste my club.”
“There has been some mistake,” Ricardo said; “the wrong carpet has been brought by accident, or the carpet has lost its power.”
“In this sacred city, blessed by the presence of his Holiness the Pope, and the relics of so many martyrs and saints, magic may well cease to be potent,” said the Duke of York.
“Nonsense! You are an impostor, sir! Leave my presence!” cried Prince Charles, lifting his golf-club.
Dick caught it out of his hand, and broke across his knee as fine a driver as ever came from Robertson’s shop at St. Andrew’s.
“The quarrels of princes are not settled with clubs, sir! Draw and defend yourself!” he said, kicking off his boots and standing in his socks on the grass.
Think of the horror of poor Jaqueline, who witnessed this terrible scene of passion from a fold in Prince Ricardo’s dress! What could the girl do to save the life of two princes, the hopes of one nation, and of a respectable minority in another?
In a moment Prince Charles’s rapier was shining in the sunlight, and he fell on guard in the most elegant attitude, his left hand gracefully raised and curved.
Dick drew his sword, but, as suddenly, threw it down again.
“Hang it!” he exclaimed, “I can’t hit you with this! This is the Sword of Sharpness; it would cut through your steel and your neck at a touch.”
He paused, and thought.
“Let me beseech your Royal Highness,” he said to the Duke of York, who was in a terrible taking, “to lend your blade to a hand not less royal than your own.”
“Give him it, Hal!” said Prince Charles, who was standing with the point of his sword on the ground, and the blade bent. “He seems to believe in his own nonsense.”
The duke yielded his sword; Dick took it, made a nourish, and rushed at Prince Charles.
Now Ricardo had always neglected his fencing lessons. “Where’s the good of it,” he used to ask, “all that stamping, and posture-making, and ha-haing? The Sword of Sharpness is enough for me.”
But now he could not, in honour, use the Sword of Sharpness; so on he came, waving the rapier like a claymore, and made a slice at Prince Charles’s head.
The prince, very much surprised, parried in prime, riposted, and touched Dick on the hand.
At this moment the Princess Jaqueline did what she should have thought of sooner. She flew out of Dick’s coat, and stung old King James on his royal nose. The king wakened, nearly crushed the princess (so dangerous is the practice of magic to the artist), and then leaped up, and saw Dick’s blade flying through the air, glittering in the sun. The prince had disarmed him.
“Hullo! what’s all this? À moi, mes gardes!” cried the old king, in French and English; and then he ran up, just in time to hear Prince Charles say:
“Sir, take your life! I cannot strike an unarmed man. A prince you may be, but you have not learned the exercises of gentlemen.”
“What is all this, Carluccio?” asked the old king. “Swords out! brawling in my very presence! blood drawn!” for Dick’s hand was bleeding a good deal.
Prince Charles, as briefly as possible, explained the unusual nature of the circumstances.
“A king must hear both sides,” said King James. “What reply have you, sir, to make to his Royal Highness’s statements?”
“The carpet would not work, sir,” said Dick. “It never happened before. Had I used my own sword,” and he explained its properties, “the Prince of Wales would not be alive to tell his story. I can say no more, beyond offering my apology for a disappointment which I could not have foreseen. A gentleman can only say that he is sorry. But wait!” he added; “I can at least prove that my confidence in some of my resources is not misplaced. Bid me bring you something—anything—from the ends of the earth, and it shall be in your hands. I can’t say fairer.”
King James reflected, while Prince Ricardo was pulling on the Seven-league Boots, which he had kicked off to fight more freely, and while the Duke of York bandaged Dick’s hand with a kerchief.
“Bring me,” said his Majesty, “Lord Lovat’s snuff-mull.”
“Where does he live?” said Dick.
“At Gortuleg, in Scotland,” answered King James.
Dick was out of sight before the words were fairly spoken, and in ten minutes was back, bearing a large ram’s-horn snuff-box, with a big cairngorm set in the top, and the Frazer arms.
“Most astonishing!” said King James.
“A miracle!” said the Duke of York.
“You have entirely cleared your character,” said the king. “Your honour is without a stain, though it is a pity about the carpet. Your nobility in not using your magical sword, under the greatest provocation, reconciles me to this fresh blighting of my hopes. All my allies fail me,” said the poor king with a sigh; “you alone have failed with honour. Carluccio, embrace the prince!”
They fell into each other’s arms.
“Prince,” said Dick, “you have taught me a lesson for which I shall not be ungrateful. With any blade a gentleman should be able to hold his own in fair fight. I shall no longer neglect my fencing lessons.”
“With any blade,” said Prince Charles, “I shall be happy to find Prince Ricardo by my side in a stricken field. We shall not part till I have induced you to accept a sword which I can never hope to draw against another adversary so noble. In war, my weapon is the claymore.”
Here the prince offered to Ricardo the ruby-studded hilt of his rapier, which had a beautiful white shark-skin sheath.
“You must accept it, sir,” said King James; “the hilt holds the rubies of John Sobieski.”
“Thank you, prince,” said Ricardo, “for the weapon, which I shall learn to wield; and I entreat you to honour me by receiving this fairy gift—which you do not need—a ring which makes all men faithful to the wearer.”
The Prince of Wales bowed, and placed the talisman on his finger.
Ricardo then, after a few words of courtesy on both parts, picked up his useless carpet, took his farewell of the royal party, and, with Jaqueline still hidden under his collar, returned at full speed, but with a heavy heart, to Pantouflia, where the palace gong was just sounding for luncheon.
Ricardo never interfered in foreign affairs again, but his ring proved very useful to Prince Charles, as you may have read in history.
The queen, as it happened fortunately, was lunching with one of the ladies of her Court. Ricardo did not come down to luncheon, and Jaqueline ate hers alone; and very mournful she felt. The prince had certainly not come well out of the adventure. He had failed (as all attempts to restore the Stuarts always did); he had been wounded, though he had never received a scratch in any of his earlier exploits; and if his honour was safe, and his good intentions fully understood, that was chiefly due to Jaqueline, and to the generosity of King James and Prince Charles.
“I wonder what he’s doing?” she said to herself, and at last she went up and knocked at Ricardo’s door.
“Go away,” he said; “I don’t want to see anybody. Who is it?”
“It’s only me—Jaqueline.”
“Go away! I want nobody.”
“Do let me in, dear Dick; I have good news for you,” said the princess.
“What is it?” said Ricardo, unlocking the door. “Why do you bother a fellow so?”
He had been crying—his hand obviously hurt him badly; he looked, and indeed he was, very sulky.
“How did you get on in England, Dick?” asked the princess, taking no notice of his bandaged hand.
“Oh, don’t ask me!” said Ricardo. “I’ve not been to England at all.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Everything that is horrid happened,” said Dick; and then, unable to keep it any longer to himself, he said: “I’ve failed to keep my promise; I’ve been insulted, I’ve been beaten by a fellow younger than myself; and, oh! how my hand does hurt, and I’ve got such a headache! And what am I to say to my mother when she asks why my arm is in a sling? and what will my father say? I’m quite broken down and desperate. I think I’ll run away to sea;” and indeed he looked very wild and miserable.
“Tell me how it all happened, Dick,” said the princess; “I’m sure it’s not so bad as you make out. Perhaps I can help you.”
“How can a girl help a man?” cried Dick, angrily; and poor Jaqueline, remembering how she had helped him, at the risk of her own life, when King James nearly crushed her in the shape of a mosquito, turned her head away, and cried silently.
“I’m a beast,” said Dick. “I beg your pardon, Jack dear. You are always a trump, I will say; but I don’t see what you can do.”
Then he told her all the story (which, of course, she knew perfectly well already), except the part played by the mosquito, of which he could not be aware.
“I was sure it was not so bad as you made it out, Dick,” she said. “You see, the old king, who is not very wise, but is a perfectly honourable gentleman, gave you the highest praise.” She thought of lecturing him a little about disobeying his father, but it did not seem a good opportunity. Besides, Jaqueline had been lectured herself lately, and had not enjoyed it.
“What am I to say to my mother?” Dick repeated.
“We must think of something to say,” said Jaqueline.
“I can’t tell my mother anything but the truth,” Ricardo went on. “Here’s my hand, how it does sting! and she must find out.”
“I think I can cure it,” said Jaqueline. “Didn’t you say Prince Charles gave you his own sword?”
“Yes, there it is; but what has that to do with it?”
“Everything in the world to do with it, my dear Dick. How lucky it is that he gave it to you!”
And she ran to her own room, and brought a beautiful golden casket, which contained her medicines.
Taking out a small phial, marked (in letters of emerald):
“Weapon Salve,”
the princess drew the bright sword, extracted a little of the ointment from the phial, and spread it on a soft silk handkerchief.
“What are you going to do with the sword?” asked Ricardo.
“Polish it a little,” said Jaqueline, smiling, and she began gently to rub, with the salve, the point of the rapier.
As she did so, Ricardo’s arm ceased to hurt, and the look of pain passed from his mouth.
“Why, I feel quite better!” he said. “I can use my hand as well as ever.”
Then he took off the stained handkerchief, and, lo, there was not even a mark where the wound had been! For this was the famous Weapon Salve which you may read about in Sir Kenelm Digby, and which the Lady of Branxholme used, in The Lay of the Last Minstrel. But the secret of making it has long been lost, except in Pantouflia.
“You are the best girl in the world, Jaqueline,” said Ricardo. “You may give me a kiss if you like; and I won’t call you ‘Jack,’ or laugh at you for reading books, any more. There’s something in books after all.”
The princess did not take advantage of Dick’s permission, but advised him to lie down and try to sleep.
“I say, though,” he said, “what about my father?”
“The king need never be told anything about it,” said Jaqueline, “need he?”
“Oh, that won’t do! I tell my father everything; but then, I never had anything like this to tell him before. Don’t you think, Jaqueline, you might break it to him? He’s very fond of you. Just tell him what I told you; it’s every word of it true, and he ought to know. He might see something about it in the Mercure de France.”
This was the newspaper of the period.
“I don’t think it will get into the papers,” said Jaqueline, smiling. “Nobody could tell, except the king and the princes, and they have reasons for keeping it to themselves.”
“I don’t trust that younger one,” said Dick, moodily; “I don’t care for that young man. Anyway, my father must be told; and, if you won’t, I must.”
“Well, I’ll tell him,” said Jaqueline. “And now lie down till evening.”
After dinner, in the conservatory, Jaqueline told King Prigio all about it.
His Majesty was very much moved.
“What extraordinary bad luck that family has!” he thought. “If I had not changed the rug, the merest accident, Prince Charles would have dined at St. James’s to-night, and King George in Hanover. It was the very nearest thing!”
“This meddling with practical affairs will never do,” he said aloud.
“Dick has had a lesson, sire,” said the princess. “He says he’ll never mix himself up with politics again, whatever happens. And he says he means to study all about them, for he feels frightfully ignorant, and, above all, he means to practise his fencing.”
These remarks were not part of the conversation between Ricardo and Jaqueline, but she considered that Dick meant all this, and, really, he did.
“That is well, as far as it goes,” said the king. “But, Jaqueline, about that mosquito?” for she had told him this part of the adventure. “That was a very convenient mosquito, though I don’t know how Dick was able to observe it from any distance. I see your hand in that, my dear, and I am glad you can make such kind and wise use of the lessons of the good Fairy Paribanou. Jaqueline,” he added solemnly, laying his hand on her head, “You have saved the honour of Pantouflia, which is dearer to me than life. Without your help, I tremble to think what might have occurred.”
The princess blushed very much, and felt very happy.
“Now run away to the queen, my dear,” said his Majesty, “I want to think things over.”
He did think them over, and the more he thought the more he felt the inconvenience attending the possession of fairy things.
“An eclipse one day, as nearly as possible a revolution soon after!” he said to himself. “But for Jaqueline, Ricardo’s conduct would have been blazed abroad, England would have been irritated. It is true she cannot get at Pantouflia very easily; we have no sea-coast, and we are surrounded by friendly countries. But it would have been a ticklish and discreditable position. I must really speak to Dick,” which he did next morning after breakfast.
“You have broken my rules, Ricardo,” he said. “True, there is no great harm done, and you have confessed frankly; but how am I to trust you any longer?”
“I’ll give you my sacred word of honour, father, that I’ll never meddle with politics again, or start on an expedition, without telling you. I have had enough of it. And I’ll turn over a new leaf. I’ve learned to be ashamed of my ignorance; and I’ve sent for Francalanza, and I’ll fence every day, and read like anything.”
“Very good,” said the king. “I believe you mean what you say. Now go to your fencing lesson.”
“But, I say, father,” cried Ricardo, “was it not strange about the magic carpet?”
“I told you not to trust to these things,” said the king. “Some enchanter may have deprived it of its power, it may be worn out, someone may have substituted a common Persian rug; anything may happen. You must learn to depend on yourself. Now, be off with you, I’m busy. And remember, you don’t stir without my permission.”
The prince ran off, and presently the sounds of stamping feet and “un, deux; doublez, dégagez, vite; contre de carte,” and so forth, might be heard over a great part of the royal establishment.
“There is one brute I wish I could get upsides with,” said Ricardo, at breakfast one morning, his mouth full of sardine.
“Really, Ricardo, your language is most unprincely,” said his august father; “I am always noticing it. You mean, I suppose, that there is one enemy of the human race whom you wish to abolish. What is the name of the doomed foe?”
“Well, he is the greatest villain in history,” said Ricardo. “You must have read about him, sir, the Yellow Dwarf.”
“Yes, I have certainly studied what is told us about him,” said the king. “He is no favourite of mine.”
“He is the only one, if you notice, sir, of all the scoundrels about whom our ancestors inform us, who escaped the doom which he richly merited at the sword of a good knight.”
You may here remark that, since Dick took to his studies, he could speak, when he chose, like a printed book, which was by no means the case before.
“If you remember, sir, he polished off—I mean, he slew—the King of the Golden Mines and the beautiful, though frivolous, Princess Frutilla. All that the friendly Mermaid could do for them was to turn them into a pair of beautiful trees which intertwine their branches. Not much use in that, sir! And nothing was done to the scoundrel. He may be going on still; and, with your leave, I’ll go and try a sword-thrust with him. Francalanza says I’m improving uncommon.”
“You’ll take the usual Sword of Sharpness,” said his Majesty.
“What, sir, to a dwarf? Not I, indeed: a common small sword is good enough to settle him.”
“They say he is very cunning of fence,” said the king; “and besides, I have heard something of a diamond sword that he stole from the King of the Golden Mines.”
“Very likely he has lost it or sold it, the shabby little miscreant; however, I’ll risk it. And now I must make my preparations.”
The king did not ask what they were; as a rule, they were simple. But, being in the shop of the optician that day, standing with his back to the door, he heard Dick come in and order a pair of rose-coloured spectacles, with which he was at once provided. The people of Pantouflia were accustomed to wear them, saying that they improved the complexions of ladies whom they met, and added cheerfulness to things in general.
“Just plain rose-coloured glass, Herr Spex,” said Dick, “I’m not short-sighted.”
“The boy is beginning to show some sense,” said the king to himself, knowing the nature and the difficulties of the expedition.
Ricardo did not disguise his intention of taking with him a Dandie Dinmont terrier, named Pepper, and the king, who understood the motive of this precaution, silently approved.
“The lad has come to some purpose and forethought,” the king said, and he gladly advanced a considerable sum for the purchase of crocodiles’ eggs, which can rarely be got quite fresh. When Jaqueline had made the crocodiles’ eggs, with millet-seed and sugar-candy, into a cake for the Dwarf’s lions, Ricardo announced that his preparations were complete.
Not to be the mere slave of custom, he made this expedition on horseback, and the only magical thing he took with him was the Cap of Darkness (the one which would not work, but he did not know that), and this he put in his pocket for future use. With plenty of egg sandwiches and marmalade sandwiches, and cold minced-collop sandwiches, he pricked forth into the wilderness, making for the country inhabited by the Yellow Dwarf. The princess was glad he was riding, for she privately accompanied him in the disguise of a wasp; and a wasp, of course, could not have kept up with him in his Seven-league Boots.
“Hang that wops!” said Prince Ricardo several times, buffeting it with his pocket-handkerchief when it buzzed in his ear and round his horse’s head.
“Hang that wops!” said Prince Ricardo
Meanwhile, King Prigio had taken his precautions, which were perfectly simple. When he thought Ricardo was getting near the place, the king put on his Wishing Cap, sat down before the magic crystal ball, and kept his eye on the proceedings, being ready to wish the right thing to help Ricardo at the right moment. He left the window wide open, smoked his cigar, and seemed the pattern of a good and wise father watching the conduct of a promising son.
The prince rode and rode, sometimes taking up Pepper on his saddle; passing through forests, sleeping at lonely inns, fording rivers, till one day he saw that the air was becoming Yellow. He knew that this showed the neighbourhood of Jaunia, or Daunia, the country of the Yellow Dwarf. He therefore drew bridle, placed his rose-coloured spectacles on his nose and put spurs to his horse, for the yellow light of Jaunia makes people melancholy and cowardly. As he pricked on, his horse stumbled and nearly came on its nose. The prince noticed that a steel chain had been drawn across the road.
“What caitiff has dared!” he exclaimed, when his hat was knocked off by a well-aimed orange from a neighbouring orange-tree, and a vulgar voice squeaked:
“Hi, Blinkers!”
There was the Yellow Dwarf, an odious little figure, sitting sucking an orange in the tree, swinging his wooden shoes, and grinning all over his wrinkled face.
“Well, young Blinkers!” said the Dwarf, “what are you doing on my grounds? You’re a prince, by your look. Yah! down with kings! I’m a man of the people!”
“You’re a dwarf of the worst description, that’s what you are,” said Ricardo; “and let me catch you, and I’ll flog the life out of you with my riding-whip!”
The very face of the Dwarf, even seen through rose-coloured spectacles, made him nearly ill.
“Yes, when you can catch me,” said the Dwarf; “but that’s not to-day, nor yet to-morrow. What are you doing here? Are you an ambassador, maybe come to propose a match for me? I’m not proud, I’ll hear you. They say there’s a rather well-looking wench in your parts, the Princess Jaqueline—”
“Mention that lady’s name, you villain,” cried Dick, “and I’ll cut down your orange-tree!” and he wished he had brought the Sword of Sharpness, for you cannot prod down a tree with the point of a rapier.
“Fancy her yourself?” said the Dwarf, showing his yellow teeth with a detestable grin; while Ricardo turned quite white with anger, and not knowing how to deal with this insufferable little monster.
“I’m a widower, I am,” said the Dwarf, “though I’m out of mourning,” for he wore a dirty clay-coloured Yellow jacket. “My illustrious consort, the Princess Frutilla, did not behave very nice, and I had to avenge my honour; in fact, I’m open to any offers, however humble. Going at an alarming sacrifice! Come to my box” (and he pointed to a filthy clay cottage, all surrounded by thistles, nettles, and black boggy water), “and I’ll talk over your proposals.”
“Hold your impudent tongue!” said Dick. “The Princess Frutilla was an injured saint; and as for the lady whom I shall not name in your polluting presence, I am her knight, and I defy you to deadly combat!”
We may imagine how glad the princess was when (disguised as a wasp) she heard Dick say he was her knight; not that, in fact, he had thought of it before.
“Oh! you’re for a fight, are you?” sneered the Dwarf. “I might tell you to hit one of your own weight, but I’m not afraid of six of you. Yah! mammy’s brat! Look here, young Blinkers, I don’t want to hurt you. Just turn old Dobbin’s head, and trot back to your mammy, Queen Rosalind, at Pantouflia. Does she know you’re out?”
“I’ll be into you, pretty quick,” said Ricardo. “But why do I bandy words with a miserable peasant?”
“And don’t get much the best of them either,” said the Dwarf, provokingly. “But I’ll fight, if you will have it.”
The prince leaped from his horse, leaving Pepper on the saddle-bow.
No sooner had he touched the ground than the Dwarf shouted:
“Hi! to him, Billy! to him, Daniel! at him, good lions, at him!” and, with an awful roar, two lions rushed from a neighbouring potato-patch and made for Ricardo. These were not ordinary lions, history avers, each having two heads, each being eight feet high, with four rows of teeth; their skins as hard as nails, and bright red, like morocco. [135]
The prince did not lose his presence of mind; hastily he threw the cake of crocodiles’ eggs, millet-seed, and sugar-candy to the lions. This is a dainty which lions can never resist, and running greedily at it, with four tremendous snaps, they got hold of each other by their jaws, and their eight rows of teeth were locked fast in a grim and deadly struggle for existence!
The Dwarf took in the affair at a glance.
“Cursed be he who taught you this!” he cried, and then whistled in a shrill and vulgar manner on his very dirty fingers. At his call rushed up an enormous Spanish cat, ready saddled and bridled, and darting fire from its eyes. To leap on its back, while Ricardo sprang on his own steed, was to the active Dwarf the work of a moment. Then clapping spurs to its sides (his spurs grew naturally on his bare heels, horrible to relate, like a cock’s spurs) and taking his cat by the head, the Dwarf forced it to leap on to Ricardo’s saddle. The diamond sword which slew the king of the Golden Mines—that invincible sword which hews iron like a reed—was up and flashing in the air!
At this very moment King Prigio, seeing, in the magic globe, all that passed, and despairing of Ricardo’s life, was just about to wish the dwarf at Jericho, when through the open window, with a tremendous whirr, came a huge vulture, and knocked the king’s wishing cap off! Wishing was now of no use.
This odious fowl was the Fairy of the Desert, the Dwarf’s trusted ally in every sort of mischief. The vulture flew instantly out of the window; and ah! with what awful anxiety the king again turned his eyes on the crystal ball only a parent’s heart can know. Should he see Ricardo bleeding at the feet of the abominable dwarf? The king scarcely dared to look; never before had he known the nature of fear. However, look he did, and saw the dwarf un-catted, and Pepper, the gallant Dandie Dinmont, with his teeth in the throat of the monstrous Spanish cat.
No sooner had he seen the cat leap on his master’s saddle-bow than Pepper, true to the instinct of his race, sprang at its neck, just behind the head—the usual place,—and, with an awful and despairing mew, the cat (Peter was its name) gave up its life.
The dwarf was on his feet in a moment, waving the diamond sword, which lighted up the whole scene, and yelling taunts. Pepper was flying at his heels, and, with great agility, was keeping out of the way of the invincible blade.
“Ah!” screamed the Dwarf as Pepper got him by the ankle. “Call off your dog, you coward, and come down off your horse, and fight fair!”
At this moment, bleeding yellow blood, dusty, mad with pain, the dwarf was a sight to strike terror into the boldest.
Dick sprang from his saddle, but so terrific was the appearance of his adversary, and so dazzling was the sheen of the diamond sword, that he put his hand in his pocket, drew out, as he supposed, the sham Cap of Darkness, and placed it on his head.
“Yah! who’s your hatter?” screamed the infuriated dwarf. “I see you!” and he disengaged, feinted in carte, and made a lunge in seconde at Dick which no mortal blade could have parried. The prince (thanks to his excellent training) just succeeded in stepping aside, but the dwarf recovered with astonishing quickness.
“Coward, lâche, poltroon, runaway!” he hissed through his clenched teeth, and was about to make a thrust in tierce which must infallibly have been fatal, when the Princess Jaqueline, in her shape as a wasp, stung him fiercely on the wrist.
With an oath so awful that we dare not set it down, the dwarf dropped the diamond sword, sucked his injured limb, and began hopping about with pain.
In a moment Prince Ricardo’s foot was on the blade of the diamond sword, which he passed thrice through the body of the Yellow Dwarf. Squirming fearfully, the little monster expired, his last look a defiance, his latest word an insult:
“Yah! Gig-lamps!”
Prince Ricardo wiped the diamond blade clean from its yellow stains.
The fight with the Yellow Dwarf
“Princess Frutilla is avenged!” he cried. Then pensively looking at his fallen foe, “Peace to his ashes,” he said; “he died in harness!”
Turning at the word, he observed that the two lions were stiff and dead, locked in each other’s gory jaws!
At that moment King Prigio, looking in the crystal ball, gave a great sigh of relief.
“All’s well that ends well,” he said, lighting a fresh cigar, for he had allowed the other to go out in his excitement, “but it was a fight! I am not satisfied,” his Majesty went on reflecting, “with this plan of changing the magical articles. The first time was of no great importance, and I could not know that the boy would start on an expedition without giving me warning. But, in to-day’s affair he owes his safety entirely to himself and Pepper,” for he had not seen the wasp. “The Fairy of the Desert quite baffled me: it was terrible. I shall restore the right fairy things to-night. As to the Fairy of the Desert,” he said, forgetting that his Wishing Cap was on, “I wish she were dead!”
A hollow groan and the sound of a heavy body falling interrupted the king. He looked all about the room, but saw nothing. He was alone!
“She must have been in the room, invisible,” said the king; and, of course, she has died in that condition. “But I must find her body!”
The king groped about everywhere, like a blind man, and at last discovered the dead body of the wicked fairy lying on the sofa. He could not see it, of course, but he felt it with his hands.
“This is very awkward,” he remarked. “I cannot ring for the servants and make them take her away. There is only one plan.”
So he wished she were in her family pyramid, in the Egyptian desert, and in a second the sofa was unoccupied.
“A very dangerous and revengeful enemy is now removed from Ricardo’s path in life,” said his Majesty, and went to dress for dinner.
Meanwhile Ricardo was riding gaily home. The yellow light of Jaunia had vanished, and pure blue sky broke overhead as soon as the dauntless Dwarf had drawn his latest breath. The poor, trembling people of the country came out of their huts and accompanied Dick, cheering, and throwing roses which had been yellow roses, but blushed red as soon as the Dwarf expired. They attended him to the frontiers of Pantouflia, singing his praises, which Ricardo had the new and inestimable pleasure of knowing to be deserved.
“It was sharp work,” he said to himself, “but much more exciting and glorious than the usual business.”
On his return Dick did not fail to mention the wasp, and again the king felt how great was his debt to Jaqueline. But they did not think it well to trouble the good queen with the dangers Dick had encountered.
One morning the post brought a truly enormous letter for Dick. It was as broad as a table-cloth, and the address was written in letters as long as a hoop-stick. “I seem to know that hand,” said Ricardo; “but I thought the fingers which held the pen had long been cold in death.”
He opened, with his sword, the enormous letter, which was couched in the following terms:
“The Giant as does not know when he has had enuf, presents his compliments to Prince Ricardo; and I, having recovered from the effects of our little recent rally, will be happy to meet you in the old place for a return-match. I not being handy with the pen, the Giant hopes you will excuse mistakes and bad writing.”
Dick simply gazed with amazement.
“If ever I thought an enemy was killed and done for, it was that Giant,” said he. “Why, I made mere mince-collops of him!”
However, he could not refuse a challenge, not to speak of his duty to rid the world of so greedy and odious a tyrant. Dick, therefore, took the usual things (which the king had secretly restored), but first he tried them—putting on the Cap of Darkness before the glass, in which he could not see himself. On second thoughts, he considered it unfair to take the cap. All the other articles were in working order. Jaqueline on this occasion followed him in the disguise of a crow, flying overhead.
On reaching the cavern—a huge tunnel in the rock—where the Giant lived, Ricardo blew a blast on the horn which hung outside, and in obedience to a written notice, knocked also with a mace provided by the Giant for that purpose. Presently he heard heavy footsteps sounding along the cavern, and the Giant came out. He was above the common height for giants, and his whole face and body were seamed over with little red lines, crossing each other like tartan. These were marks of encounters, in which he had been cut to bits and come together again; for this was his peculiarity, which made him so dangerous. If you cut off his head, he went on just as before, only without it; and so about everything else. By dint of magic, he could put his head on again, just as if it had been his hat, if you gave him time enough. On the last occasion of their meeting, Ricardo had left him in a painfully scattered condition, and thought he was done for. But now, except that a bird had flown away with the little finger of his left hand and one of his ears, the Giant was as comfortable as anyone could be in his situation.
“Mornin’ sir,” he said to Dick, touching his forehead with his hand. “Glad to see you looking so well. No bad feeling, I hope, on either side?”
“None on mine, certainly,” said Ricardo, holding out his hand, which the Giant took and shook; “but Duty is Duty, and giants must go. The modern world has no room for them.”
“That’s hearty,” said the Giant; “I like a fellow of your kind. Now, shall we toss for corners?”
“All right!” said Dick, calling “Heads” and winning. He took the corner with the sun on his back and in the Giant’s face. To it they went, the Giant aiming a blow with his club that would have felled an elephant.
Dick dodged, and cut off the Giant’s feet at the ankles.
“First blood for the prince!” said the Giant, coming up smiling. “Half-minute time!”
He occupied the half-minute in placing the feet neatly beside each other, as if they had been a pair of boots.
Round II.—The Giant sparring for wind, Ricardo cuts him in two at the waist.
The Giant folded his legs up neatly, like a pair of trousers, and laid them down on a rock. He had now some difficulty in getting rapidly over the ground, and stood mainly on the defensive, and on his waist.
Round III.—Dick bisects the Giant. Both sides now attack him on either hand, and the feet kick him severely.
“No kicking!” said Dick.
“Nonsense; all fair in war!” said the Giant.
But do not let us pursue this sanguinary encounter in all its horrible details.
Let us also remember—otherwise the scene would be too painful for an elegant mind to contemplate with entertainment—that the Giant was in excellent training, and thought no more of a few wounds than you do of a crack on the leg from a cricket-ball. He well deserved the title given him by the Fancy, of “The Giant who does not Know when he has had Enough.”
* * * * *
The contest was over; Dick was resting on a rock. The lists were strewn with interesting but imperfect fragments of the Giant, when a set of double teeth of enormous size flew up out of the ground and caught Ricardo by the throat! In vain he strove to separate the teeth, when the crow, stooping from the heavens, became the Princess Jaqueline, and changed Dick into a wren—a tiny bird, so small that he easily flew out of the jaws of the Giant and winged his way to a tree, whence he watched the scene.
But the poor Princess Jaqueline!
To perform the feat of changing Dick into a bird she had, of course, according to all the laws of magic, to resume her own natural form!
There she stood, a beautiful, trembling maiden, her hands crossed on her bosom, entirely at the mercy of the Giant!
No sooner had Dick escaped than the monster began to collect himself; and before Jaqueline could muster strength to run away or summon to her aid the lessons of the Fairy Paribanou, the Giant who never Knew when he had Enough was himself again. A boy might have climbed up a tree (for giants are no tree-climbers, any more than the grizzly bear), but Jaqueline could not climb. She merely stood, pale and trembling. She had saved Dick, but at an enormous sacrifice, for the sword and the Seven-league Boots were lying on the trampled grass. He had not brought the Cap of Darkness, and, in the shape of a wren, of course he could not carry away the other articles. Dick was rescued, that was all, and the Princess Jaqueline had sacrificed herself to her love for him.
The Giant picked himself up and pulled himself together, as we said, and then approached Jaqueline in a very civil way, for a person of his breeding, head in hand.
“Let me introduce myself,” he said, and mentioned his name and titles. “May I ask what you are doing here, and how you came?”
“Let me introduce myself,” he said
Poor Jaqueline threw herself at his feet, and murmured a short and not very intelligible account of herself.
“I don’t understand,” said the Giant, replacing his head on his shoulders. “What to do with you, I’m sure I don’t know. ‘Please don’t eat me,’ did you say? Why, what do you take me for? I’m not in that line at all; low, I call it!”
Jaqueline was somewhat comforted at these words, dropped out of the Giant’s lips from a considerable height.
“But they call you ‘The Giant who does not Know when he has had Enough,’” said Jaqueline.
“And proud of the title: not enough of fighting. Of punishment I am a glutton, or so my friends are pleased to say. A brace of oxen, a drove of sheep or two, are enough for me,” the Giant went on complacently, but forgetting to mention that the sheep and the oxen were the property of other people. “Where am I to put you till your friends come and pay your ransom?” the Giant asked again, and stared at Jaqueline in a perplexed way. “I can’t take you home with me, that is out of the question. I have a little woman of my own, and she’s not very fond of other ladies; especially, she would like to poison them that have good looks.”
Now Jaqueline saw that the Giant, big as he was, courageous too, was afraid of his wife!
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll hand you over to a neighbour of mine, who is a bachelor.”
“A bachelor giant; would that be quite proper?” said Jaqueline, trying to humour him.
“He’s not a giant, bless you; he’s a queer fellow, it is not easy to say what he is. He’s the Earthquaker, him as shakes the earth now and then, and brings the houses about people’s ears.”
Jaqueline fairly screamed at hearing this awful news.
“Hush! be quiet, do!” said the Giant. “You’ll bring out my little woman, and she is not easy to satisfy with explanations when she finds me conversing with a lady unbeknown to her. The Earthquaker won’t do you any harm; it’s only for safe keeping I’ll put you with him. Why, he don’t waken, not once in fifty years. He’s quite the dormouse. Turns on his bed now and then, and things upstairs get upset, more or less; but, as a rule, a child could play with him. Come on!”
Then, taking Jaqueline up on one hand, on which she sat as if on a chair, he crossed a few ranges of mountains in as many strides. In front was one tall blue hill, with a flattened peak, and as they drew near the princess felt a curious kind of wind coming round her and round her. You have heard of whirlpools in water; well, this was just like a whirlpool of air. Even the Giant himself could hardly keep his legs against it; then he tossed Jaqueline up, and the airy whirlpool seized her and carried her, as if on a tide of water, always round and round in narrowing circles, till she was sucked down into the hollow hill. Even as she went, she seemed to remember the hill, as if she had dreamed about it, and the shape and colour of the country. But presently she sank softly on to a couch, in a beautifully-lighted rocky hall. All around her the floor was of white and red marble, but on one side it seemed to end in black nothing.
Jaqueline, after a few moments, recovered her senses fully, and changing herself into an eagle, tried to fly up and out. But as soon as she was in the funnel, the whirlpool of air always sucking down and down, was too strong for her wings. She was a prisoner in this great gleaming hall, ending in black nothingness. So she resumed her usual form, and walking to the edge of the darkness, found that it was not empty air, but something black, soft, and strong—something living. It had no form or shape, or none that she could make out; but it pulsed with a heart. Jaqueline placed her foot on this curious thing, when a voice came, like thunder heard through a feather-bed:
“Not near time to get up yet!” and then there was a snore, and the great hall rocked like a ship at sea.
It was the Earthquaker!
The habits of this monstrous animal are very little known, as, of course, he never comes above ground, or at least very seldom, when he makes tracks like a dry river-bed across country. We are certain that there are Earthquakers, otherwise how can we account for earthquakes? But how to tackle an Earthquaker, how to get at him, and what to do with him when you have got at him, are questions which might puzzle even King Prigio.
It was not easy to have the better of an enchantress like Jaqueline and a prince like Ricardo. In no ordinary circumstances could they have been baffled and defeated; but now it must be admitted that they were in a very trying and alarming situation, especially the princess. The worst of it was, that as Jaqueline sat and thought and thought, she began to remember that she was back in her own country. The hills were those she used to see from her father’s palace windows when she was a child. And she remembered with horror that once a year her people used to send a beautiful girl to the Earthquaker, by way of keeping him quiet, as you shall hear presently. And now she heard light footsteps and a sound of weeping, and lo! a great troop of pretty girls passed, sweeping in and out of the halls in a kind of procession, and looking unhappy and lost.
Jaqueline ran to them.
“Where am I? who are you?” she cried, in the language of her own country, which came back to her on a sudden.
“We are nurses of the Earthquaker,” they said. “Our duty is to sing him asleep, and every year he must have a new song; and every year a new maiden must be sent down from earth, with a new sleepy song she has learned from the priests of Manoa, the City of the Sun. Are you the new singer?”
“No, I’m not,” said Jaqueline. “I don’t know the priests of Manoa; I don’t know any new sleepy song. I only want to find the way out.”
“There is no way, or we should have found it,” said one of the maidens; “and, if you are the wrong girl, by the day after to-morrow they must send the right one, otherwise the Earthquaker will waken, and shake the world, and destroy Manoa, the City of the Sun.” Then they all wept softly in the stillness. “Can we get anything to eat here?” asked poor Jaqueline, at last.
She was beginning to be very hungry, and however alarmed she might be, she felt that dinner would not be unwelcome. The tallest of the maidens clapped her hands, and immediately a long table was spread by unseen sprites with meringues and cold chicken, and several sorts of delicious ices.
We shall desert Jaqueline, who was rather less alarmed when she found that she was not to be starved, at all events, and return to Prince Ricardo, whom we left fluttering about as a little golden-crested wren. He followed the Giant and Jaqueline into the whirlpool of air as far as he dared, and when he saw her vanish down the cone of the hill, he flew straight back to Pantouflia.