If any reader, big or little, should wonder whether there is a meaning in this story deeper than that of an ordinary fairy tale, I will own that there is. But I have hidden it so carefully that the smaller people, and many larger folk, will never find it out, and meantime the book may be read straight on, like "Cinderella," or "Blue-Beard," or "Hop-o'-my-Thumb," for what interest it has, or what amusement it may bring.
Having said this, I return to Prince Dolor, that little lame boy whom many may think so exceedingly to be pitied. But if you had seen him as he sat patiently untying his wonderful cloak, which was done up in a very tight and perplexing parcel, using skillfully his deft little hands, and knitting his brows with firm determination, while his eyes glistened with pleasure and energy and eager anticipation--if you had beheld him thus, you might have changed your opinion.
When we see people suffering or unfortunate, we feel very sorry for them; but when we see them bravely bearing their sufferings and making the best of their misfortunes, it is quite a different feeling. We respect, we admire them.
One can respect and admire even a little child.
When Prince Dolor had patiently untied all the knots, a remarkable thing happened. The cloak began to undo itself. Slowly unfolding, it laid itself down on the carpet, as flat as if it had been ironed; the split joined with a little sharp crick-crack, and the rim turned up all round till it was breast-high; for meantime the cloak had grown and grown, and become quite large enough for one person to sit in it as comfortable as if in a boat.
The Prince watched it rather anxiously; it was such an extraordinary, not to say a frightening, thing. However, he was no coward, but a thorough boy, who, if he had been like other boys, would doubtless have grown up daring and adventurous--a soldier, a sailor, or the like. As it was, he could only show his courage morally, not physically, by being afraid of nothing, and by doing boldly all that it was in his narrow powers to do. And I am not sure but that in this way he showed more real valor than if he had had six pairs of proper legs.
He said to himself: "What a goose I am ! As if my dear godmother would ever have given me anything to hurt me. Here goes!"So, with one of his active leaps, he sprang right into the middle of the cloak, where he squatted down, wrapping his arms tight round his knees, for they shook a little and his heart beat fast. But there he sat, steady and silent, waiting for what might happen next.
Nothing did happen, and he began to think nothing would, and to feel rather disappointed, when he recollected the words he had been told to repeat--"Abracadabra, dum dum dum!"He repeated them, laughing all the while, they seemed such nonsense. And then--and then----Now I don't expect anybody to believe what I am going to relate, though a good many wise people have believed a good many sillier things.
And as seeing's believing, and I never saw it, Icannot be expected implicitly to believe it myself, except in a sort of a way; and yet there is truth in it--for some people.
The cloak rose, slowly and steadily, at first only a few inches, then gradually higher and higher, till it nearly touched the skylight.
Prince Dolor's head actually bumped against the glass, or would have done so had he not crouched down, crying "Oh, please don't hurt me!" in a most melancholy voice.
Then he suddenly remembered his godmother's express command--"Open the skylight!"Regaining his courage at once, without a moment's delay he lifted up his head and began searching for the bolt--the cloak meanwhile remaining perfectly still, balanced in the air.
But the minute the window was opened, out it sailed--right out into the clear, fresh air, with nothing between it and the cloudless blue.
Prince Dolor had never felt any such delicious sensation before. I can understand it.
Cannot you? Did you never think, in watching the rooks going home singly or in pairs, soaring their way across the calm evening sky till they vanish like black dots in the misty gray, how pleasant it must feel to be up there, quite out of the noise and din of the world, able to hear and see everything down below, yet troubled by nothing and teased by no one--all alone, but perfectly content?
Something like this was the happiness of the little lame Prince when he got out of Hopeless Tower, and found himself for the first time in the pure open air, with the sky above him and the earth below.
True, there was nothing but earth and sky; no houses, no trees, no rivers, mountains, seas--not a beast on the ground, or a bird in the air.
But to him even the level plain looked beautiful;and then there was the glorious arch of the sky, with a little young moon sitting in the west like a baby queen. And the evening breeze was so sweet and fresh--it kissed him like his godmother's kisses; and by and by a few stars came out--first two or three, and then quantities--quantities! so that when he began to count them he was utterly bewildered.
By this time, however, the cool breeze had become cold; the mist gathered; and as he had, as he said, no outdoor clothes, poor Prince Dolor was not very comfortable. The dews fell damp on his curls--he began to shiver.
"Perhaps I had better go home," thought he.
But how? For in his excitement the other words which his godmother had told him to use had slipped his memory. They were only a little different from the first, but in that slight difference all the importance lay. As he repeated his "Abracadabra," trying ever so many other syllables after it, the cloak only went faster and faster, skimming on through the dusky, empty air.
The poor little Prince began to feel frightened. What if his wonderful traveling-cloak should keep on thus traveling, perhaps to the world's end, carrying with it a poor, tired, hungry boy, who, after all, was beginning to think there was something very pleasant in supper and bed!
