VII. The Fiery Dragon,
or The Heart of Stone and the Heart of Gold
The little white Princess always woke in her little white bed when the starlings began to chatter in the pearl gray morning. As soon as the woods were awake, she used to run up the twisting turret-stairs with her little bare feet, and stand on the top of the tower in her white bed-gown, and kiss her hands to the sun and to the woods and to the sleeping town, and say: "Good morning, pretty world!"
Then she would run down the cold stone steps and dress herself in her short skirt and her cap and ap.r.o.n, and begin the day"s work. She swept the rooms and made the breakfast, she washed the dishes and she scoured the pans, and all this she did because she was a real Princess. For of all who should have served her, only one remained faithful--her old nurse, who had lived with her in the tower all the Princess"s life. And, now the nurse was old and feeble, the Princess would not let her work any more, but did all the housework herself, while Nurse sat still and did the sewing, because this was a real Princess with skin like milk and hair like flax and a heart like gold.
Her name was Sabrinetta, and her grandmother was Sabra, who married St.
George after he had killed the dragon, and by real rights all the country belonged to her: the woods that stretched away to the mountains, the downs that sloped down to the sea, the pretty fields of corn and maize and rye, the olive orchards and the vineyards, and the little town itself--with its towers and its turrets, its steep roofs and strange windows--that nestled in the hollow between the sea, where the whirlpool was, and the mountains, white with snow and rosy with sunrise.
But when her father and mother had died, leaving her cousin to take care of the kingdom till she grew up, he, being a very evil Prince, took everything away from her, and all the people followed him, and now nothing was left her of all her possessions except the great dragon proof tower that her grandfather, St. George, had built, and of all who should have been her servants only the good nurse.
This was why Sabrinetta was the first person in all the land to get a glimpse of the wonder.
Early, early, early, while all the townspeople were fast asleep, she ran up the turret-steps and looked out over the field, and at the other side of the field there was a green, ferny ditch and a rose-th.o.r.n.y hedge, and then came the wood. And as Sabrinetta stood on her tower she saw a shaking and a twisting of the rose-th.o.r.n.y hedge, and then something very bright and shining wriggled out through it into the ferny ditch and back again. It only came out for a minute, but she saw it quite plainly, and she said to herself: "Dear me, what a curious, shiny, bright-looking creature! If it were bigger, and if I didn"t know that there have been no fabulous monsters for quite a long time now, I should almost think it was a dragon."
The thing, whatever it was, did look rather like a dragon--but then it was too small; and it looked rather like a lizard--only then it was too big. It was about as long as a hearthrug.
"I wish it had not been in such a hurry to get back into the wood," said Sabrinetta. "Of course, it"s quite safe for me, in my dragonproof tower; but if it is a dragon, it"s quite big enough to eat people, and today"s the first of May, and the children go out to get flowers in the wood."
When Sabrinetta had done the housework (she did not leave so much as a speck of dust anywhere, even in the corneriest corner of the winding stair) she put on her milk white, silky gown with the moon-daisies worked on it, and went up to the top of her tower again.
Across the fields troops of children were going out to gather the may, and the sound of their laughter and singing came up to the top of the tower.
"I do hope it wasn"t a dragon," said Sabrinetta.
The children went by twos and by threes and by tens and by twenties, and the red and blue and yellow and white of their frocks were scattered on the green of the field.
"It"s like a green silk mantle worked with flowers," said the Princess, smiling.
Then by twos and by threes, by tens and by twenties, the children vanished into the wood, till the mantle of the field was left plain green once more.
"All the embroidery is unpicked," said the Princess, sighing.
The sun shone, and the sky was blue, and the fields were quite green, and all the flowers were very bright indeed, because it was May Day.
Then quite suddenly a cloud pa.s.sed over the sun, and the silence was broken by shrieks from far off; and, like a many-colored torrent, all the children burst from the wood and rushed, a red and blue and yellow and white wave, across the field, screaming as they ran. Their voices came up to the Princess on her tower, and she heard the words threaded on their screams like beads on sharp needles: "The dragon, the dragon, the dragon! Open the gates! The dragon is coming! The fiery dragon!"
And they swept across the field and into the gate of the town, and the Princess heard the gate bang, and the children were out of sight--but on the other side of the field the rose-thorns crackled and smashed in the hedge, and something very large and glaring and horrible trampled the ferns in the ditch for one moment before it hid itself again in the covert of the wood.
The Princess went down and told her nurse, and the nurse at once locked the great door of the tower and put the key in her pocket.
"Let them take care of themselves," she said, when the Princess begged to be allowed to go out and help to take care of the children. "My business is to take care of you, my precious, and I"m going to do it.
Old as I am, I can turn a key still."
So Sabrinetta went up again to the top of her tower, and cried whenever she thought of the children and the fiery dragon. For she knew, of course, that the gates of the town were not dragonproof, and that the dragon could just walk in whenever he liked.
The children ran straight to the palace, where the Prince was cracking his hunting whip down at the kennels, and told him what had happened.
"Good sport," said the Prince, and he ordered out his pack of hippopotamuses at once. It was his custom to hunt big game with hippopotamuses, and people would not have minded that so much--but he would swagger about in the streets of the town with his pack yelping and gamboling at his heels, and when he did that, the green-grocer, who had his stall in the marketplace, always regretted it; and the crockery merchant, who spread his wares on the pavement, was ruined for life every time the Prince chose to show off his pack.
The Prince rode out of the town with his hippopotamuses trotting and frisking behind him, and people got inside their houses as quickly as they could when they heard the voices of his pack and the blowing of his horn. The pack squeezed through the town gates and off across country to hunt the dragon. Few of you who had not seen a pack of hippopotamuses in full cry will be able to imagine at all what the hunt was like. To begin with, hippopotamuses do not bay like hounds: They grunt like pigs, and their grunt is very big and fierce. Then, of course, no one expects hippopotamuses to jump. They just crash through the hedges and lumber through the standing corn, doing serious injury to the crops, and annoying the farmers very much. All the hippopotamuses had collars with their name and address on, but when the farmers called at the palace to complain of the injury to their standing crops, the Prince always said it served them right for leaving their crops standing about in people"s way, and he never paid anything at all.
So now, when he and his pack went out, several people in the town whispered, "I wish the dragon would eat him"--which was very wrong of them, no doubt, but then he was such a very nasty Prince.
They hunted by field, and they hunted by wold; they drew the woods blank, and the scent didn"t lie on the downs at all. The dragon was shy, and would not show himself.
But just as the Prince was beginning to think there was no dragon at all, but only a c.o.c.k and bull, his favourite old hippopotamus gave tongue. The Prince blew his horn and shouted: "Tally ho! Hark forward!
Tantivy!" and the whole pack charged downhill toward the hollow by the wood. For there, plain to be seen, was the dragon, as big as a barge, glowing like a furnace, and spitting fire and showing his shining teeth.
"The hunt is up!" cried the Prince. And indeed it was. For the dragon--instead of behaving as a quarry should, and running away--ran straight at the pack, and the Prince, on his elephant, had the mortification of seeing his prize pack swallowed up one by one in the twinkling of an eye, by the dragon they had come out to hunt. The dragon swallowed all the hippopotamuses just as a dog swallows bits of meat. It was a shocking sight. Of the whole of the pack that had come out sporting so merrily to the music of the horn, now not even a puppy-hippopotamus was left, and the dragon was looking anxiously around to see if he had forgotten anything.
The Prince slipped off his elephant on the other side and ran into the thickest part of the wood. He hoped the dragon could not break through the bushes there, since they were very strong and close. He went crawling on hands and knees in a most un-Prince-like way, and at last, finding a hollow tree, he crept into it. The wood was very still--no crashing of branches and no smell of burning came to alarm the Prince.
He drained the silver hunting bottle slung from his shoulder, and stretched his legs in the hollow tree. He never shed a single tear for his poor tame hippopotamuses who had eaten from his hand and followed him faithfully in all the pleasures of the chase for so many years. For he was a false Prince, with a skin like leather and hair like hearth brushes and a heart like a stone. He never shed a tear, but he just went to sleep.
When he awoke it was dark. He crept out of the tree and rubbed his eyes.
The wood was black about him, but there was a red glow in a dell close by. It was a fire of sticks, and beside it sat a ragged youth with long, yellow hair; all around lay sleeping forms which breathed heavily.
"Who are you?" said the Prince.
"I"m Elfin, the pig keeper," said the ragged youth. "And who are you?"
"I"m Tiresome, the Prince," said the other.
"And what are you doing out of your palace at this time of night?" asked the pig keeper, severely.
"I"ve been hunting," said the Prince.
The pig keeper laughed. "Oh, it was you I saw, then? A good hunt, wasn"t it? My pigs and I were looking on."
All the sleeping forms grunted and snored, and the Prince saw that they were pigs: He knew it by their manners.
"If you had known as much as I do," Elfin went on, "you might have saved your pack."
"What do you mean?" said Tiresome.
"Why, the dragon," said Elfin. "You went out at the wrong time of day.
The dragon should be hunted at night."
"No, thank you," said the Prince, with a shudder. "A daylight hunt is quite good enough for me, you silly pig keeper."
"Oh, well," said Elfin, "do as you like about it--the dragon will come and hunt you tomorrow, as likely as not. I don"t care if he does, you silly Prince."
"You"re very rude," said Tiresome.