The poor Princess, however, began to weep again, and the Owl sat perched on the bed-post at her feet, watching her with his bright eyes.
However, after she had cried thus for a long time, she thought it would be better to stop her tears, for they were all in vain, as she knew but too well.
So she rose from her bed; for you must know she had only been laid on her bed when she had fainted, and so she still had all her clothes on.
Through the window-blinds the light of dawn was already beginning to show itself. So the Princess went to the window and drew back the curtains, and let the bright sunlight shine into the room. A beautiful day was dawning after last night’s rain, and the sun was rising brightly over the edge of the blue sea. For a moment, as she looked out, everything was quiet except the shrill chirp of a solitary sparrow that seemed to have awakened too early. From the chimneys of the red-roofed town below her no smoke was rising, for all in the town were asleep still.
Suddenly, with a rush, the morning breeze came from over the land behind her, and with the rustle of the wind everything seemed to wake and come to life once more. The solitary chirp of the sparrow was drowned in the flood of song that poured forth from the trees in the palace garden, and with the birds the rest of the living animals awoke, and from far inland the lowing of the cows was borne on the breeze, and now and again came the joyful bark of the shepherd’s dog as it recognized its master’s whistle as he called it to work again among the sheep, whose plaintive bleating came softly, as if from a distance, to the Princess’s ear.
Everything seemed joyful at the sight of the beautiful morning except the Princess, and she felt oh so lonely, for it seemed as if her only friend had gone from her for ever. And at the thought her tears began to flow afresh, for she felt very lonely, while everything else seemed to rejoice. But as she leant thus against the window-sill, with a great lump in her throat and the hot tears in her eyes, she suddenly felt a weight on her shoulder and rushing wind waved her hair, and as she turned her head to see what it was, her face was covered in the soft brown feathers of the Owl, who had perched on her shoulder.
The touch of the Owl seemed to have driven away her grief, and she felt quite light and joyful in the beautiful sunshine. For it seemed as if the Owl had become a companion to her that would take the place of her father; so she leaned her head against the Owl, and her golden hair mixed with the dusky brown feathers, till each streak of golden hair shone again in the bright sunlight. And the Owl too seemed very happy. So for a time the Princess stood looking over the deep-blue sea.
Suddenly, however, a footstep sounded in the courtyard below, and the Princess drew back from the window, for a thought suddenly came into her head:
“Oh dear,” she said, “I have been crying such a lot that my eyes must be quite red, and my hair is all ruffled. This will never do.” And as she looked in the glass she said, “Ah, just as I thought. Come, my cherished Owl, sit there on the crown on the top of the looking-glass frame and wait while I wash my hands and face and make myself tidy.”
The Owl did as he was told, and the Princess began to wash in cold water—a thing she had never done before—but she did not like to call to her ladies-in-waiting, lest they should see how red her eyes were. So she had to put up with the cold water, and very pleasant she found it, for it cleared the tear-mist out of her eyes and made her feel quite happy and cheerful again: “And I have heard,” she thought to herself, “that washing in cold water is matchless for the complexion.”
When she had finished washing she went and combed her hair before the glass. For she was a very artistic Princess, and liked looking at beautiful things, and so she liked sometimes to look at herself in the glass. Not that she was in the least conceited.
So she combed her hair with a gold comb, and when she had finished combing it, she put on her gold circlet as a sign of her rank, and then she said to the Owl, who had been sitting patiently on the looking-glass blinking at her as if he quite enjoyed himself:
“Now, cherished Owl, you may sit on my shoulder again.”
When the Owl was again in his place he blinked in the glass at his own reflection as if the light were too strong for him, and he shut his eyes and drew in his neck and lifted up one foot into his feathers, as if he felt quite happy and comfortable, and the Princess smiled at his happy look, for she seemed quite to have forgotten her sorrow in the company of the Owl.
So she, with the Owl on her shoulder, went to the window. Here in the courtyard already a large crowd had collected to catch a glimpse of the Princess if possible, so that it fell about that when they saw her they raised a mighty shout of joy and pity:
“The King is dead,” they cried. “Long live the Queen!” And throughout the city far and wide echoed and re-echoed the cry:
“Long live the Queen”; and it seemed as if the waves of the sea murmured the sound.
The Princess, however, held out her little hand to still the tumult, and as if by magic the cries stopped.
“Good people all,” she said in clear ringing tones, “I thank you for your good wishes, and I will always try to be worthy of them as my father was. For to-day, however, rejoice not; remember that the great King Intrafernes, the founder of the kingdom to which we all belong, has but just left the earth—sorrow for him but a short time; joy will come soon enough for all.”
So the crowd, silent and pensive for a time, dispersed in groups. More than one of them asked what had been perched on the Princess’s shoulder, and those who had been near enough, said that it was an owl—though what it meant they knew not.
“To me it seemed as if the head of the old King were looking over his daughter’s shoulder,” said one of the listeners who stood on the outskirts of the crowd.
But she was only a little hunchback, and the rich citizens laughed at her, saying: “Tush, child—thy fancy is not sound! Or else before looking at the Princess thou didst look at the fierce sun, and the sun spots in thy eyes caused thee to see it thus. It was but an owl.” But the little hunchback held to her own opnion.
But while the Princesss stood watching them depart, a tapping came at the door, and the Princess cried, “Come in.” A page entered and said that the Chancellor, Merrymineral, was below and requested the audience of the Princess.
“Let him be shown into the audience-chamber to await me there.”
The page bowed and departed on his errand, and the Princess went to another door in the room and down the staircase that led from it to the audience-chamber, and the Owl remained seated on her shoulder until they reached the room. When they got there the Chancellor had not yet entered, for the staircase from the Princess’s bedroom to the audience-chamber was much shorter than that from the entrance-hall, and then you see the Princess was much more nimble than Merrymineral, who was an old man, and she ran quickly down stairs whilst he walked slowly up. However, at last he entered. As he came in the Princess said:
“Good morning, dear Merrymineral. How is it you are so late? I shall have to fine you if you keep me waiting like this again. And now what do you want with me?”
The good Chancellor received her laughing reproach with his head bowed down. He heaved a deep sigh, and drew his pocket-handkerchief from his pocket and applied it to his eyes. As he drew it away the tears could be seen flowing fast down his withered cheeks.
“I came,” he moaned, “to console you for your great loss. I too,” he continued in a voice choked with sobs, “I too am an orphan.”
It seemed funny to the Princess to see him weeping thus, and she could hardly help laughing at him, but her grief soon came back.
“Poor Merrymineral,” she sighed, “to you also it must be a sad blow, for you were always faithful and attached. But it was fated to happen thus, and you must really try and be comforted, for crying will not mend matters.”
The Chancellor began again:
“The beloved King your father;” but his sobs choked him, and he hid his face.
“The beloved King your f
ather,” echoed a loud voice, exactly mimicking the tones of the Chancellor, but where the voice came from no one could tell. The Chancellor started.
“Did you say that?” said the Princess.
“Not the second time,” answered Merrymineral.
“Who could it be?” said the Princess; “for there is no one in the room except the cherished Owl; and you can’t speak, can you, Owl dear?”
The Owl shook his head dismally. But the change that came over Merrymineral was most astonishing as his eye suddenly lit upon the Owl—for since his entrance he had not raised his eyes from the floor. He jumped backwards over three rows of seats, for you see the seats in the audience-chamber were arranged in rows, and he alighted in a sitting position on the other side. As he sat on the floor he looked up at the Owl in a terrified manner, then threw up his arms and fainted. The poor Princess did not know what to do, so she rang a bell that stood on the table in front of the throne. Several pages at once came in.
“Just bring that man to,” said the Princess.
The pages bowed low, and went and shook the Chancellor violently. He showed no signs of recovering, so one of the pages turned to the Princess and said:
“May it please your Majesty, but the Chancellor refuses to come to, and we can’t bring him.”
“So he refuses to obey my orders,” said the Princess. “He must be punished for this. However, now go and get a bucketful of water and pour it on him. Perhaps that will bring him to.”
Now when she said he was going to be punished, she was only joking, but she said it very gravely, so that many people might have thought it was quite in earnest. Meanwhile the pages departed to fetch the water. They soon came back and brought a large pailful.
“You had better not throw it all over him,” said the Princess; “just let it trickle over his face gently.”
So one of the pages began to do as he was told, but somehow—either he had a sudden push, or as he said afterwards, the Owl looked at him, and startled him—he let the pail go, and all the water and the pail too fell over the unlucky Chancellor. This really did bring him very much to—much too much to, in fact—for he sprang up in such a rage that the Princess really wished herself out of the room.
“You jackanapes,” he screamed at the unfortunate page; “you ape, you boar, you cow, you clumsy monkey, I’ll be revenged on you.”
But the Princess, who had gained courage while he was screaming, said:
“You will not be revenged on him.”
“But I shall,” he said.
“Indeed you will not,” said the Princess, “for he did it by my orders,”
“Oh! he did it by your orders,” said the Chancellor; “then I’ll be revenged on you too,” and he began to move uncomfortably near to the Princess. But the three pages threw themselves on him and tried to drag him back, but he turned suddenly on them.
“What,” he said scornfully, “you try and stop me—ye frogs! Ah! a good idea—by virtue of my magic power I command you to turn into water-rats; then perhaps the Owl there will eat you up.”
No sooner said than done, and the three pages instantly became water-rats, squattering in the water that was still in a pool on the floor.
Somehow the Princess did not seem to be frightened at this; she was only very angry.
“I thought I told you not to hurt those pages.”
“Who cares what you say?”
“Dear me,” thought the Princess, “he is getting excessively insolent—I shall have to be severe with him in a moment.” So she said:
“Turn those pages back again.”
“I shall not.”
“Then leave the room.”
“I shall not.”
The Princess did not know what to do; he was really very rude, and he was walking towards her evidently intending to attack her. When he was within ten feet of her he stopped, and though he tried to get nearer he could not.
“Ha! ha!” he cried; “you think to keep me off by magic, but it is not so easy, I can tell you. I command you to turn into a mouse.”
But the Princess, leaning her head against the soft feathers of the Owl, only smiled, and did not turn into a mouse at all.
The Chancellor seemed perplexed.
“Is that not enough for you?” he said; “I thought I told you to turn into a mouse.”
But the Princess smiled calmly and said:
“Do you suppose I am going to do anything of the sort—you have forgotten your manners to speak to your Queen thus. I believe there is a fine of five shillings for any one who speaks to the King or Queen without saying ‘your Majesty.’ You had better pay it, Sir Chancellor, and turn those pages back again, or I shall have you turned out of the kingdom.”
But the Chancellor laughed, “You can’t send me out if you wanted to. Meanwhile I shall not turn those rats back, for if I am not much mistaken your Owl there will carry them off.”
It really seemed as if the Owl were going to obey him, for greatly to the Princess’s surprise it sprang off her shoulder and seized the three rats, one in each claw, and one in its beak—but it returned at once to her and laid them squeaking on the table in front of her—but no sooner did they touch the table than they turned into men again just as quickly as they had become rats. When Merrymineral saw this he became perfectly frantic, and tried in vain to get at the Princess—he even went back a little and tried to run at her—but it was no use, for no sooner did he reach a certain spot than he was suddenly stopped, just as if he had run against a wall. At last he became so frantic that the Princess could stand it no longer. So she said:
“Will you be quiet, you naughty old man?—leave the room or I will send for the police.”
But Merrymineral answered:
“Oh, send for the police and the soldiers and sailors and candlestick-makers.”
So the Princess rang the bell that stood on the table: a page at once appeared at the door.
“Send for a policeman and ask him to step this way.”
The page looked astonished, but he saluted and left the room. Almost immediately a policeman came in—for you see there was one always on the palace steps. He entered the room with a low bow.
“Take the Chancellor out of the room,” said the Princess, “and put him in prison for three days.”
But the policeman shook his head.
“Excuse me, mum—I mean your most gracious Majesty—but it is against the law to imprison a member of Parliament, much less a chancellor.”
The Chancellor laughed sarcastically.
“Oh, is it?” said the Princess; “never mind, take him into custody; I depose him—he is no longer Chancellor.”
Merrymineral looked astonished but the policeman cleared his throat and said:
“Come, I say, young fellow; will you go quietly, or shall I make you?”
“Oh, make me, by all means,” answered Merrymineral.
So the policeman advanced and held out his hand to take him by the collar, but had no sooner touched Merrymineral than he fell to the ground as if he had been thunderstruck.
The Chancellor smiled. “I told you so,” he said.
The Princess was now thoroughly nonplussed. However, she rang the bell again. Again the page appeared.
“Summon the Lords of the Council; let them come here at once.”
Almost immediately afterwards the lords appeared. As they came in each one bowed profoundly to the Princess. But in spite of their grave appearance they could not help looking astonished at the policeman who was lying on the floor, and at the three pages who were still sitting on the table—for as they had not yet been told to go they could not depart.
But each one took his seat without questioning. Last of all came the Court doctor, who looked in an alarmed manner at the Owl—nevertheless he took his seat.
When all was quiet the Princess began to speak.
“My lords,” she said, “I have been obliged to assemble you on the first day of my reign; but the matter is a very grave one. I
have found it necessary to dismiss the Chancellor, for these reasons: first, he attacked these three pages who were executing my bidding; next, he attacked me; and lastly, he attacked the law, in the person of the policeman there, whom he knocked down. Now I ask your advice as to how I am to get rid of him, for he refuses to leave the room at my command.”
So spoke the Princess, but before any one could answer Merrymineral spoke:
“My lords,” he said, “are we, we, the lords of the kingdom, to be governed by this schoolgirl, who is not even a magician as we are? What good has she ever done us? What power is to keep us from deposing her and electing as a ruler one of ourselves?”—but before he could finish a perfect uproar of shouts of rage interrupted him.
The Princess put her fingers in her ears to keep out the sound, and when the lords saw that the noise was annoying her they stopped at once. When they were quiet the Princess spoke again:
“What he has just said is right,” she said; “I have no right to reign over you, for I am but a girl. Do ye therefore elect a ruler.”
For a moment all was silence in the Council, but all eyes were turned on a lord who stood next to Merrymineral in rank. He was a portly man, and a great magician too, though his power was not quite so great as Merrymineral’s. When therefore he saw that all eyes were turned on him, Lord Licec, for so he was called, rose.
“Your most gracious Majesty,” he began, “although you had no need to command us to elect a ruler, we are of course bound to obey your commands, whatever they are. I therefore speak, giving my vote, and I believe the vote of all the rest of the assembly, that you shall be our ruler according to the oath which we sware to your father.”
And then turning to the rest of the assembly he said:
“Am I not right, my lords?” and with one voice they answered:
“We will die for our Queen Ismara.”
Only one voice objected, but as that was Merrymineral, no one noticed him.
So the Princess rose and thanked them for their confidence in her, though, to tell the truth, she had known all along what they would say. That done she said:
The Victorian Fairy Tale Book (Pantheon Fairy Tale & Folklore Library) Page 34