The Victorian Fairy Tale Book (The Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library)

by Michael Patrick Hearn (Editor)

  “Ha! ha! ha!” he laughed. “Can’t you see who it is you’re talking to?” he continued, talking to the Princess.

  The Princess drew herself up.

  “I believe I am talking to the Knight of London,” she said severely.

  “The Knight of London! why he’s no more the Knight of London than I am. Why, your Majesty must be blind or mad, or both, not to see who he is. Blind’s not enough to express it. You—”

  But he got no farther, for the Princess called for the police to arrest him, but before they could get at him he had fainted; for the spear of the Knight of London had gone right through his side. So the Princess told the police to lift him up gently and to carry him to his house in the town.

  But the Knight of London frowned:

  “If I were you, your Majesty, I should order them to cut his head off on the first opportunity. To call you mad and blind—why, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  But the Princess said:

  “That would never do. Why, he is an independent prince, and if I hurt him it would bring on a war with India, and goodness knows what else. However, I’ll have him turned out of the kingdom as soon as he is well enough to go. However, I am going back now. Mind and be in time this evening.”

  So he went to doff his armour, and she drove home once more—this time without the poor Prince, who was being carried behind in an ambulance waggon. The rest of the day passed off somehow, and the night came at last, as nights are in the habit of doing, and with the night came knights—no longer dressed in steel armour, but gorgeous in velvet- and silk and evening dress. But, however gorgeous and fine they might be, the Knight of London outstripped them all, in dress, manners, looks, and everything else, and the Princess said he had the best step of any one she had ever known—and she ought to know, for she danced with him a great many times. In fact, by the end of the ball she had forgotten all about the poor Prince, for the Knight of London was a most enchanting person—although one thing did seem strange, and that was, that the Knight seemed positively afraid of the Owl; and at supper-time he actually refused to sit on the right hand of the Princess because the Owl was sitting on her right shoulder.

  But the Owl took no notice of him at all, and never even looked at him, so she thought it was only a rather foolish prejudice on his part. However, the ball came to an end at last, and the Princess went to bed and dreamt pleasantly of some one, but it was not the Prince this time.

  And the Prince lay tossing on his bed only half dreaming, and not pleasantly, of some one, and it was the Princess. As for the Knight of London, nobody knows what he dreamt about; and, to tell the truth, nobody cared. But the Owl sat at the head of the Prince’s bed, and slept calmly—he did not dream; owls are not in the habit of dreaming—they are a good deal wiser.

  When the next morning came, the Knight of London came with it, and he wanted to know when the Princess would marry him; but the Princess put him off—for somehow, although she liked him very much, she did not altogether relish the idea of marrying so soon. So she told him that he must wait until the Lords of the Council had given their consent, and they were not going to meet till the next day, so he would have to wait till then. But the Knight did not like this at all.

  “At all events, my dear Princess,” he said, “you might promise to marry me, for, after all, I did win the tournament, you see, and so—”

  But the Princess put her hand to her chin and rubbed it softly as if she were thinking very deeply—and no doubt she was—and shook her head emphatically.

  “No; I can’t promise until the Council have given their consent, for you see that would be unconstitutional, and I can’t be that even for you.”

  The Knight seemed quite angry.

  “Bother the unconstitutionality,” he said; “what does the stupid old Council want to blunder into such matters?”

  But the Princess stopped him:

  “Oh, you mustn’t say that—please don’t say that,” she said; “it’s not a stupid old Council, it’s a very nice old Council, and it’s much nicer than you are. When you get angry like that you’re not at all nice—so just be quiet; now do.”

  And he had to be quiet, for he was afraid of making her really angry.

  She too was afraid she had hurt his feelings by telling him to be quiet. So she asked him to join the hunt that was preparing outside, and he of course accepted her invitation, for you see he was only too glad to make it up. They rode out of the town, and soon a deer was started, and the chase swept through the tall trees after it over the thick carpet of fallen leaves and between the trunks of the beech-trees. As a rule the Princess’s horse was swifter than any of the deer they started, but this one seemed an exception to the rule, for it went on at just the rate she did, keeping always at the same speed whether she pulled her horse in or let it go at the top of its speed. The Princess was quite annoyed at this. Gradually she passed all the knights and huntsmen who were labouring forward at full gallop, and then she came up with the hoarse-tongued hounds, who were running steadily along with their noses close to the ground. And then she passed them too, and their deep mouthing sounded behind, and gradually the shouts of the huntsmen and the cries of the dogs and all the sounds of the chase died away behind, and still the deer kept steadily forward. Just at this time she noticed the heavy gallop of a horse behind her, and looking round she saw the Knight of London cantering easily behind. So she slackened her speed a little to let him come up, and then she stopped to let the rest of the chase come up with her; and when she stopped the deer stopped too, and nibbled quietly at a flower that was growing at the foot of a tree.

  By this time the Knight had come up with her, and she said:

  “So here you are. What an annoying thing that deer is—I can’t catch it up, do whatever I may, and my horse used to be thought the fastest in the world, except one,” she added, after a moment.

  “That is strange,” said the Knight. “I used always to think mine the fastest in the world, and indeed, your Majesty, I think it is quite as fast as yours.”

  “I do believe it is,” she said. “It’s most annoying; every second person I see now has a horse as fast as mine. However, we’ll try a race as soon as the rest have caught us up.”

  Just at that moment a hound’s bay came from close behind them, and the deer started off again.

  “There it goes,” said the Princess; and again she started off, and the Knight kept close beside her. They went faster than ever, and she could hardly breathe because of the wind, but the Knight kept steadily by her side, and would not be out-distanced. Just at this moment she happened to look upwards, and there was the Owl sailing quietly along just over her head, flapping his wings lazily as if there were no need for exertion, although they were going at such a rate that the Princess could hardly keep her eyes open—just as when you put your head out of the window of a railway train that is going pretty fast—a thing, by the bye, that it is to be hoped you never do, or you might get your nose chopped off against a post. When she looked down from the Owl, to her surprise the deer had vanished altogether, and although she rubbed her eyes she could not see it anywhere; and although they galloped still farther on, no deer made its appearance, and the forest had become dark and thick and she had never been there before. So she drew her horse in so suddenly that its hoofs threw up the copper-coloured beech-leaves in showers, and the Knight shot some distance in advance. However, he turned and came back. So the Princess said:

  “What are we to do now?”

  “Go back, I suppose,” he answered.

  “But I don’t know the way,” she said, “and we are near the country of the Magi, and they’re the most frightful creatures, who would tear us up and eat us if they knew where to find us.”

  The Knight smiled:

  “I could save you from them,” he said.

  But the Princess said reflectively:

  “I don’t know so much about that, for you see they’re very strong—and how dark it’s getting; it m
ust be past five, and it will soon be night.”

  I dare say if she had been alone she would have had a good cry, but that wouldn’t do before strangers.

  It was still getting darker and she began to feel very uncomfortable, for the howl of a wolf came down on the breeze, and a squirrel that had been searching for nuts darted home to its hole, scuttling along as fast as it could.

  So she said:

  “Come, let us be quick and get away.”

  “Promise to marry me first.”

  But she only said:

  “Oh, I’ll see about that when we’re safe—so do come.”

  What the Knight would have answered was never known, for just then the Owl, who was seated on her shoulder, gave a mournful “Tu-whoo,” at which the horse of the Knight jumped back nearly ten feet and almost threw him with the unexpected shock. But before she could do anything a hunter burst from the bushes near at hand and said:

  “Hurry, Princess, hurry; the Magi have heard of your whereabouts, and they are coming at full speed here. Come, be quick.”

  But the Princess said:

  “But what will you do, old man? for you have no horse.”

  But he smiled contemptuously.

  “Horse! I don’t want a horse—why, I can run as well as any deer. Come, come.”

  And he caught the bridle of her horse and away they went, and for the moment she forgot all about the Knight, for from behind came the sound of crashing branches, and she knew that the Magi were following them. But the old hunter ran in front of the horse, tugging at the bridle-rein, and shouting to her to go faster, so she leant forward and whispered in her horse’s ear, and it stretched forward with such speed that it outsped the wind. Gradually the sounds behind began to get less and less, and the wood began to get lighter, and at last they jumped a little brook, and were at the end of the forest in a smooth meadow. Here the old man stopped.

  “You are safe now,” he said. And she drew a sigh of relief.

  “At last!” she said; “but how can I reward you, my preserver? Would you like a lock of my hair, or a purse full of gold, or a—? well, that wouldn’t do—you see I can’t well offer to marry you, though that’s what princesses generally do to their preservers. You’d better choose something for yourself. I will grant it, whatever it is.”

  But the old man shook his head.

  “I want no reward, your Majesty; I only did my duty. I couldn’t have done less. See, here come some of the hunters whom you left behind.”

  And just then several of them came up, and when they saw her they shouted and blew their horns to let the others know that the Princess was found. But the huntsman said:

  “Good-day, your Majesty. I must go.”

  “But you haven’t got your reward yet.”

  But he shook his head.

  “I want no reward,” he said; and before the Princess could say any more he stepped into the forest and was seen no more; so she turned her horse towards the town.

  On her way she met the head huntsman, so she drew rein and said:

  “Why did you not follow on the scent of the deer?”

  “It lay so thinly, your Majesty, that the dogs could not follow, and they soon gave in.”

  “But you should have followed me, at any rate.”

  “Ah, your Majesty, we might as well have tried to prove the moon was made of green cheese. Besides, your Majesty had one cavalier; and sometimes two’s company and three’s none.”

  Just at this moment the Princess remembered the Knight.

  “Good gracious!” she said, “what has become of the Knight—have none of you seen him?”

  But none of them had, and although the question went far and wide no news came of him, nor could he be seen anywhere.

  “He must have been caught by the Magi—if so, he will have been devoured to a certainty! Poor Knight!”

  The chief huntsman seemed excited:

  “Your Majesty has not been near the country of the Magi, surely?” he said.

  “I was almost too near, and the poor Knight has probably been torn to pieces in trying to drive them back.”

  “Your Majesty should be thankful that knights are so faithful,” said the chief huntsman; “but perhaps, after all, he has escaped by a different path.”

  But the Princess sighed:

  “I am afraid not,” she said.

  However, she rode on to the town to consult Lord Licec as to what had better be done. But when she got there she found that he was out of town and would not be back till next morning. So the poor Princess had to go back home and wait—but she looked so pale that her ladies-in-waiting insisted on sending for the doctor. He came in a hurry, and asked her of course what was the matter, and when she told him he shook his head.

  “I’m afraid he’s got rather a poor chance, for these Magi haven’t had a good meal of one of your Majesty’s subjects for nearly three weeks, and they were uncommonly hungry. But if your Majesty will allow me to feel your pulse, I—”

  So she gave him her hand, and he took out his watch and began to count. “One, two, three, four”; but just then he looked up and saw the Owl sitting on the Princess’s shoulder, and his hand trembled so much that he dropped his watch, and it smashed to atoms on the floor.

  “Oh, dear, there goes ten and sixpence,” he groaned; “and I shan’t be able to get another for ever so long. D’you know, your Majesty, I think you are somewhat feverish; and you had better go to bed. And meanwhile, the Owl is too exciting for you; if you could let it be put in a cellar and let it have nothing to eat for, say, three weeks, perhaps it might not be so fiery after that.”

  The Princess smiled:

  “Perhaps you would like to take him there yourself,” she said.

  But the doctor said:

  “Good gracious! no. I think he’s perfectly capable of taking himself without any assistance. D’you know, your Majesty, I’ve got a very pressing case outside; and if you will excuse me I will retire.”

  And he retired so quickly that he left his umbrella behind him—for you see he was very frightened of the Owl.

  Acting on his advice the Princess went to bed, and dismissed her ladies-in-waiting and told them not to come to the room again until she called for them.

  And then she lay with her hand under her head thinking of nothing in particular, and the Owl sat on the top of the canopy over her bed.

  Suddenly she heaved a deep sigh.

  “1 wish I knew what had become of him,” she thought to herself.

  “You wouldn’t like it if you did know,” said a strange cracked voice that seemed to come from nowhere in particular. She started up and looked all round the room, but there was no one to be seen; so she thought it was all imagination, and lay down again. And again she thought to herself, “How I should like to be with him.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” said the voice.

  This time she was sure it came from the Owl, so she asked quite softly, “Did you say that, cherished Owl?”

  And the Owl answered:

  “I did.”

  “But I thought you could not speak, dear Owl.”

  “Well, you see, I can sometimes—when it’s necessary.”

  “But how did you know what I was thinking?—for I did not speak aloud.”

  “Ah! you see, Princess, I can’t tell you that—it’s quite enough for you that I can tell.”

  “But why do you say I should not like to see him?”

  “Because you wouldn’t.”

  “Why? Is he all torn to pieces by the Magi?”

  “Torn to pieces!—not he,” laughed the Owl.

  “Oh! that is good news,” said she quite joyfully. “Oh! do take me to him, dear Owl.”

  “Very well, Princess. But I warn you, you won’t be pleased with what you see.” But the Princess was quite confident.

  “Oh yes, I shall, dear Owl—when shall we go?”

  “At once, if you like—the sooner the better.”

  “Oh! you dear Owl. I�
�ll go and get dressed at once.”

  So she ran into her dressing-room and dressed herself in no time, without bothering to call up any of her ladies-in-waiting about it. Then she went back to the room where the Owl was waiting for her.

  He was sitting on the floor near the fire, blinking quietly at the coals, and he did not at first notice her entry, so she said:

  “Well, good Owl, shall I send for the horse?”

  “What for?” asked the Owl.

  “To ride on, I suppose!” she answered.

  “Oh, that’s it, is it? That would never do. Just get on my back, and I’ll see if I can’t carry you somewhat faster than a horse could.”

  So she got on his back, although she was rather afraid she would crush him altogether. But somehow, when she sat down, she sank deep into his warm feathers—either she had grown small, or the Owl had grown very big all of a sudden. Without the least shock they passed through the wall, and out into the clear starlight.

  “Good Owl,” said the Princess, “you won’t let me fall, will you?” for, to tell the truth, she felt rather afraid on the whole; but the Owl answered:

  “No, of course not; you’re quite safe, only you’d better keep close to me, for we shall go pretty fast, and the wind will be sharp enough to cut your hair off.”

  So she sat still, protected against the wind, and looking at the twinkling stars—for the Owl flew so high that he almost rubbed some of them out of their places.

  The wind whistled loud in the wings of the Owl, but his flight was so regular that she almost fell asleep, and was quite happy—for you see she felt quite safe. Presently the straight flight of the Owl changed, and he began to circle round and round, and then they dropped quickly towards the earth, and the Owl stopped.

  “You can get off now,” he said, and she stepped off his back.

  “Take care,” he said next; and she rubbed her eyes in astonishment, for she found herself on the top of a roof.

  “I told you you wouldn’t like it if you came,” he said. “But you’d better look down below if you want to see anything that’s going on,” and he gravely seated himself on her shoulder, for he seemed quite small again. So the Princess looked down, and she saw at some distance below a large fire that was blazing in a sort of courtyard, and then she saw that it was the battlements of a castle on which they were standing. Presently a horrible-looking old witch came within the glow of the fire—she was an awful old creature too, and she almost made the Princess cry out from fright. She seated herself near the fire, and began to beat the ground angrily with the handle of a broom that she carried, and every now and then muttered as she did so: