Poor Jaqueline could only cry.
"Never mind," said his Majesty, comforting her. "There is no great harm done yet, and perhaps they would not believe you if you did explain; but just think, if some people ceased to believe in Science, what would they have left to believe in? But you are young, of course, and cannot be expected to think of everything."
"I never thought about it at all," wept Jaqueline.
""Evil is wrought by want of thought,"" said the king, quoting the poet.
"Now run away, dry your tears, and I think you had better bring me that book, and I"ll put it back in one of the locked-up shelves. Later, when you are older, we shall see about it."
The princess flew to her room, and returned with her book. And the king kissed her, and told her to go and see if her Majesty meant to take a drive.
"I"ll never deceive him again, never . . . unless it is _quite_ necessary," said the princess to herself. "Indeed, it is not so easy to deceive the king. What a lot he has read!"
In fact, King Prigio had been very studious when a young man, before he came to the throne.
"Poor child!" thought the king. "No doubt she was trying her fortune, wondering if Ricardo cares for her a little. Of course I could not let her tell me _that_, poor child!"
In this guess, as we know, his Majesty was mistaken, which seldom happened to him.
"I wonder who she is?" the king went on speaking to himself. "That great b.o.o.by, Ricardo, saved her from wild birds, which were just going to eat her. She was fastened to a mountain top, but _where_? that"s the question. Ricardo never has any notion of geography. It was across the sea, he noticed _that_; but which sea,--Atlantic, Pacific, the Black Sea, the Caspian, the Sea of Marmora, the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, the German Ocean, the Mediterranean? Her ornaments were very peculiar; there was a broad gold sun on her breast. I must look at them again some day.
She said she was being sacrificed to wild birds (which her people worshipped), because there was some famine, or war, or trouble in the country. She said she was a Daughter of the Sun; but that, of course, is absurd, unless--By Jove! I believe I have it," said the king, and he went into the royal library and was looking for some old Spanish book, when his secretary came and said that the Russian Amba.s.sador was waiting for an interview with his Majesty.
"Dismal old Muscovite!" sighed the king. "A monarch has not a moment to himself for his private studies. Ah, Prigio! why wert thou not born to a private station? But Duty before everything," and wreathing his royal countenance in smiles, his Majesty prepared to give Count Snoreonski an audience.
It was all about the att.i.tude of Pantouflia in the event of a Polish invasion of Russia. The king rea.s.sured Count Snoreonski, affirming that Pantouflia, while deeply regretting the disturbed relations between two States in whose welfare she was deeply interested, would ever preserve an att.i.tude of benevolent neutrality, unless her own interests were threatened.
"I may give your message to my august mistress, the Czarina?" said the amba.s.sador.
"By all means, adding an expression of my tender interest in her Majesty"s health and welfare," said the king, presenting the count at the same time with a magnificent diamond snuffbox containing his portrait.
The old count was affected to tears, and withdrew, while King Prigio said:
"I have not lost a day; I have made an amiable but very stupid man happy."
Such are, or rather such were, the toils of monarchs!
CHAPTER V.
Prince Ricardo Crosses the Path of History.
{Hand reaching for a crown with wings: p83.jpg}
"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 d.i.c.k!"
"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 Romae_--"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 gla.s.s houses should not throw stones, d.i.c.k," 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, d.i.c.k?"
"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 d.i.c.k; "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 d.i.c.k. "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 sh.e.l.ling 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-gla.s.s, and looked up London, Rome, and Hanover, as you would in a map.
"Well, d.i.c.k, 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 n.o.body 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."