Prince Prigio

“‘Caitiff!’ she cries to your butler;” his majesty went on, “‘perjured knave, thou liest in thy throat! Gluckstein is a hundred leagues from here, and how sayest thou that thou slewest the monster, and camest hither in a few hours’ space?’ This had not occurred to me, – I am a plain king, but I at once saw the force of her majesty’s argument. ‘Yes,’ said I; ‘how did you manage it?’ But he – your man, I mean – was not a bit put out. ‘Why, your majesty,’ says he, ‘I just sat down on that there bit of carpet, wished I was here, and here I ham. And I’d be glad, having had the trouble, – and my time not being my own, – to see the colour of them perkisits, according to the proclamation.’ On this her majesty grew more indignant, if possible. ‘Nonsense!’ she cried; ‘a story out of the Arabian Nights is not suited for a modern public, and fails to win æsthetic credence.’ These were her very words.”

“Her majesty’s expressions are ever choice and appropriate,” said the Ambassador.

“‘Sit down there, on the carpet, knave,’ she went on; ‘ourself and consort’ – meaning me– ‘will take our places by thy side, and I shall wish us in Gluckstein, at thy master’s! When the experiment has failed, thy head shall from thy shoulders be shorn!’ So your man merely said, ‘Very well, mum, – your majesty, I mean,’ and sat down. The queen took her place at the edge of the carpet; I sat between her and the butler, and she said, ‘I wish we were in Gluckstein!’ Then we rose, flew through the air at an astonishing pace, and here we are! So I suppose the rest of the butler’s tale is true, which I regret; but a king’s word is sacred, and he shall take the place of that sneak, Prigio. But as we left home before dinner, and as yours is over, may I request your lordship to believe that I should be delighted to take something cold?”

The ambassador at once ordered a sumptuous collation, to which the king did full justice; and his majesty was shown to the royal chamber, as he complained of fatigue. The queen accompanied him, remarking that she was sound asleep, but would waken presently. Neither of them said “Good-night” to the prince. Indeed, they did not see him again, for he was on the balcony with Lady Rosalind. They found a great deal to say to each other, and at last the prince asked her to be his wife; and she said that if the king and her father gave their permission – why, then she would! After this she went to bed; and the prince, who had not slept at all the night before, felt very sleepy also. But he knew that first he had something that must be done. So he went into the drawing-room, took his carpet, and wished to be – now, where do you suppose? Beside the dead body of the Firedrake! There he was in a moment; and dreadful the body looked, lying stark and cold in the white moonshine. Then the prince cut off its four hoofs, put them in his wallet, and with these he flew back in a second, and met the ambassador just as he came from ushering the king to bed. Then the prince was shown his own room, where he locked up the hoofs, the carpet, the cap of darkness, and his other things in an iron box; and so he went to bed and dreamed of his Lady Rosalind.

CHAPTER XV

The King’s Cheque.

When they all wakened next morning, their first ideas were confused. It is often confusing to waken in a strange bed, much more so when you have flown through the air, like the king, the queen, and Benson the butler. For her part, the queen was the most perplexed of all; for she did undeniably wake, and yet she was not at home, where she had expected to be. However, she was a determined woman, and stood to it that nothing unusual was occurring. The butler made up his mind to claim the crown princeship and the hand of the Lady Molinda; because, as he justly remarked to William, here was such a chance to better himself as might not soon come in his way again. As for the king, he was only anxious to get back to Falkenstein, and have the whole business settled in a constitutional manner. The ambassador was not sorry to get rid of the royal party; and it was proposed that they should all sit down on the flying carpet, and wish themselves at home again. But the queen would not hear of it: she said it was childish and impossible; so the carriage was got ready for her, and she started without saying a word of good-bye to anyone. The king, Benson, and the prince were not so particular, and they simply flew back to Falkenstein in the usual way, arriving there at 11.35 – a week before her majesty.

The king at once held a Court; the horns and tail of the monster were exhibited amidst general interest, and Benson and the prince were invited to state their claims.

Benson’s evidence was taken first. He declined to say exactly where or how he killed the Firedrake. There might be more of them left, he remarked, – young ones, that would take a lot of killing, – and he refused to part with his secret. Only he claimed the reward, which was offered, if you remember, not to the man who killed the beast, but to him who brought its horns and tail. This was allowed by the lawyers present to be very sound law; and Benson was cheered by the courtiers, who decidedly preferred him to Prigio, and who, besides, thought he was going to be crown prince. As for Lady Molinda, she was torn by the most painful feelings; for, much as she hated Prigio, she could not bear the idea of marrying Benson. Yet one or the other choice seemed certain.

Unhappy lady! Perhaps no girl was ever more strangely beset by misfortune!

Prince Prigio was now called on to speak. He admitted that the reward was offered for bringing the horns and tail, not for killing the monster. But were the king’s intentions to go for nothing? When a subject only meant well, of course he had to suffer; but when a king said one thing, was he not to be supposed to have meant another? Any fellow with a waggon could bring the horns and tail; the difficult thing was to kill the monster. If Benson’s claim was allowed, the royal prerogative of saying one thing and meaning something else was in danger.

On hearing this argument, the king so far forgot himself as to cry, “Bravo, well said!” and to clap his hands, whereon all the courtiers shouted and threw up their hats.

The prince then said that whoever had killed the monster could, of course, tell where to find him, and could bring his hoofs. He was ready to do this himself. Was Mr. Benson equally ready? On this being interpreted to him – for he did not speak Pantouflian – Benson grew pale with horror, but fell back on the proclamation. He had brought the horns and tail, and so he must have the perquisites, and the Lady Molinda!

The king’s mind was so much confused by this time, that he determined to leave it to the Lady Molinda herself.

“Which of them will you have, my dear?” he asked, in a kind voice.

But poor Molinda merely cried. Then his majesty was almost driven to say that he would give the reward to whoever produced the hoofs by that day week. But no sooner had he said this than the prince brought them out of his wallet, and displayed them in open Court. This ended the case; and Benson, after being entertained with sherry and sandwiches in the steward’s room, was sent back to his master. And I regret to say that his temper was not at all improved by his failure to better himself. On the contrary, he was unusually cross and disagreeable for several days; but we must, perhaps, make some allowance for his disappointment.

But if Benson was irritated, and suffered from the remarks of his fellow-servants, I do not think we can envy Prince Prigio. Here he was, restored to his position indeed, but by no means to the royal favour. For the king disliked him as much as ever, and was as angry as ever about the deaths of Enrico and Alphonso. Nay, he was even more angry; and, perhaps, not without reason. He called up Prigio before the whole Court, and thereon the courtiers cheered like anything, but the king cried:

“Silence! McDougal, drag the first man that shouts to the serpent-house in the zoological gardens, and lock him up with the rattlesnakes!”

After that the courtiers were very quiet.

“Prince,” said the king, as Prigio bowed before the throne, “you are restored to your position, because I cannot break my promise. But your base and malevolent nature is even more conspicuously manifest in your selfish success than in your previous dastardly contempt of duty. Why, confound you!” cried the king, dropping the high style in which he had been speaking, and becoming the father, not the monarch, – “why, if you could kill the Firedrake, did you let your poor little brothers go and be b – b – b – broiled? Eh! what do you say, you sneak? ‘You didn’t believe there were any Firedrakes?’ That just comes of your eternal conceit and arrogance! If you were clever enough to kill the creature – and I admit that – you were clever enough to know that what everybody said must be true. ‘You have not generally found it so?’ Well, you have this time, and let it be a lesson to you; not that there is much comfort in that, for it is not likely you will ever have such another chance” – exactly the idea that had occurred to Benson.

Here the king wept, among the tears of the lord chief justice, the poet laureate (who had been awfully frightened when he heard of the rattlesnakes), the maids of honour, the chaplain royal, and everyone but Colonel McDougal, a Scottish soldier of fortune, who maintained a military reserve.

When his majesty had recovered, he said to Prigio (who had not been crying, he was too much absorbed):

“A king’s word is his bond. Bring me a pen, somebody, and my cheque-book.”

The royal cheque-book, bound in red morocco, was brought in by eight pages, with ink and a pen. His majesty then filled up and signed the following satisfactory document – (Ah! my children, how I wish Mr. Arrowsmith would do as much for me!):

“There!” said his majesty, crossing his cheque and throwing sand over it, for blotting-paper had not yet been invented; “there, take that, and be off with you!”

Prince Prigio was respectfully but rapidly obeying his royal command, for he thought he had better cash the royal cheque as soon as possible, when his majesty yelled:

“Hi! here! come back! I forgot something; you’ve got to marry Molinda!”

CHAPTER XVI

A Melancholy Chapter.

The prince had gone some way, when the king called after him. How he wished he had the seven-league boots on, or that he had the cap of darkness in his pocket! If he had been so lucky, he would now have got back to Gluckstein, and crossed the border with Lady Rosalind. A million of money may not seem much, but a pair of young people who really love each other could live happily on less than the cheque he had in his pocket. However, the king shouted very loud, as he always did when he meant to be obeyed, and the prince sauntered slowly back again.

“Prigio!” said his majesty, “where were you off to? Don’t you remember that this is your wedding-day? My proclamation offered, not only the money (which you have), but the hand of the Lady Molinda, which the Court chaplain will presently make your own. I congratulate you, sir; Molinda is a dear girl.”

“I have the highest affection and esteem for my cousin, sir,” said the prince, “but – ”

“I’ll never marry him!” cried poor Molinda, kneeling at the throne, where her streaming eyes and hair made a pretty and touching picture. “Never! I despise him!”

“I was about to say, sir,” the prince went on, “that I cannot possibly have the pleasure of wedding my cousin.”

“The family gibbet, I presume, is in good working order?” asked the king of the family executioner, a tall gaunt man in black and scarlet, who was only employed in the case of members of the blood royal.

“Never better, sire,” said the man, bowing with more courtliness than his profession indicated.

“Very well,” said the king; “Prince Prigio, you have your choice. There is the gallows, here is Lady Molinda. My duty is painful, but clear. A king’s word cannot be broken. Molly, or the gibbet!”

The prince bowed respectfully to Lady Molinda:

“Madam, my cousin,” said he, “your clemency will excuse my answer, and you will not misinterpret the apparent discourtesy of my conduct. I am compelled, most unwillingly, to slight your charms, and to select the Extreme Rigour of the Law. Executioner, lead on! Do your duty; for me, Prigio est prêt;” – for this was his motto, and meant that he was ready.

Poor Lady Molinda could not but be hurt by the prince’s preference for death over marriage to her, little as she liked him.

“Is life, then, so worthless? and is Molinda so terrible a person that you prefer those arms,” and she pointed to the gibbet, “to these?” – here she held out her own, which were very white, round and pretty: for Molinda was a good-hearted girl, she could not bear to see Prigio put to death; and then, perhaps, she reflected that there are worse positions than the queenship of Pantouflia. For Alphonso was gone – crying would not bring him back.

“Ah, Madam!” said the prince, “you are forgiving – ”

“For you are brave!” said Molinda, feeling quite a respect for him.

“But neither your heart nor mine is ours to give. Since mine was another’s, I understand too well the feeling of yours! Do not let us buy life at the price of happiness and honour.”

Then, turning to the king, the prince said:

“Sir, is there no way but by death or marriage? You say you cannot keep half only of your promise; and that, if I accept the reward, I must also unite myself with my unwilling cousin. Cannot the whole proclamation be annulled, and will you consider the bargain void if I tear up this flimsy scroll?”

And here the prince fluttered the cheque for £1,000,000 in the air.

For a moment the king was tempted; but then he said to himself:

“Never mind, it’s only an extra penny on the income-tax.” Then, “Keep your dross,” he shouted, meaning the million; “but let me keep my promise. To chapel at once, or – ” and he pointed to the executioner. “The word of a king of Pantouflia is sacred.”

“And so is that of a crown prince,” answered Prigio; “and mine is pledged to a lady.”