The Greylock | Page 6

for then they knew that the
duchess had borne a son; when, however, another shot followed the one
hundred and first, a clever advocate suggested that perhaps there were
two princesses. When one hundred and sixty-one guns had been fired,
they said it might be a boy and a girl; when the one hundred and
eightieth came, the schoolmaster, whose wife had presented him with
seven daughters, exclaimed: "Perhaps there are triplets, 'feminini
generis!" But this supposition was confuted by the next shot. When the
firing ceased after the two hundred and second gun, the people knew
that their beloved duchess was the mother of twin boys.
The city went crazy with joy. Flags bearing the national colours were
hoisted in place of the mourning banners. In the show-windows of the
drapers' shops red, blue, and yellow stuffs were exhibited once more,
and the courtiers smoothed the wrinkles out of their brows, and
practised their smiles again.
Every one was delighted, with the exception of the Astrologer, and a
few old women and wise men, who drew long faces, and said that
children born in such a night had undoubtedly come into the world
under inauspicious signs. In the ducal palace itself the joy was not
unclouded, and it was precisely the most faithful and devoted of the
servants who seemed most depressed, and who held long conferences
together.
Both of the boys were well formed and healthy, but the second-born
lacked the grey curl which heretofore had never failed to mark each
new-born Greylock.
Pepe, the Major-domo, who was a direct descendant of George, the
squire, and who knew the history of the ducal family better than any
one else, for he had learned it from his grandfather, was so dejected that
one would have imagined a great misfortune had befallen him, and in
the evenings, when he sat over his wine in company with the Keeper of
the Cellar, the Keeper of the Plate and the Decker of the Table, he
could not resist giving expression to his presentiments. His conviction
that Bad Luck had knocked at the door of the hitherto fortunate
Greylocks was finally shared by his companions.
That an unhappy future awaited the second boy was the firm belief, not

only of the servants, but of the whole Court. The unlucky horoscope
cast by the Astrologer was known to all, the wise men of the land
confirmed it by their predictions, and soon it was proved that even the
fairy Clementine was powerless to avert the misfortune that threatened
the youngest prince. On the day of the baptism, neither the gentle
tinkling sound, nor the sweet perfume, which had heretofore announced
her presence, were perceptible. That she had not deserted the ducal
house altogether was shown by the fact that the lock on the temple of
the first-born twined itself into a perfect curl. The lock on the left
temple of the second son remained brown, and not a sign of grey could
be discovered even with a magnifying glass. The heart of the young
mother was filled with alarm, and she called the old nurse who had
taken care of her dead husband when he was a baby, to ask her what
had happened at his baptism, and the old woman burst into tears, and
ended by betraying the gloomy forecasts of the Astrologer and wise
men. That a Greylock should go through life without the white curl was
unheard of, was awful! And the old nurse called the poor little creature,
"an ill-starred child, a dear pitiable princeling."
Then the mother recalled her last dream, in which she had seen a
dragon attack her youngest boy. A great fear possessed her heart, and
she bade them bring the child to her. When they laid him naked before
her, she stroked the little round body, the straight back, and
well-shaped legs with her weak hands, and felt comforted. He was a
beautifully-formed, well-developed child, her child, her very own, and
nothing was lacking save the grey lock. She never wearied of looking at
him; at last she leaned over him and whispered: "You sweet little
darling, you are just as good, and just as much of a Greylock as your
brother. He will be duke, but that is no great piece of luck, and we will
not begrudge it to him. His subjects will some day give him enough
anxiety. He must grow to be a mighty man for their sakes, and I doubt
not that his nurse gives him better nourishment to that end than I could
who am only a weak woman. But you, you poor, dear, little ill-omened
mite, I shall nourish you myself, and if your life is unhappy it shall not
be because I have not done my best."
When