The Little Lame Prince | Page 6

walk in processions,
who to the last day of his life will have to be carried about like a baby.
Very unfortunate!"
"Exceedingly unfortunate," repeated the second lord. "It is always bad
for a nation when its king is a child; but such a child--a permanent
cripple, if not worse."
"Let us hope not worse," said the first lord in a very hopeless tone, and
looking toward the Regent, who stood erect and pretended to hear
nothing. "I have heard that these sort of children with very large heads,
and great broad fore-heads and staring eyes, are--well, well, let us hope
for the best and be prepared for the worst. In the meantime----"
"I swear," said the Crown-Prince, coming forward and kissing the hilt
of his sword--"I swear to perform my duties as Regent, to take all care
of his Royal Highness--his Majesty, I mean," with a grand bow to the
little child, who laughed innocently back again. "And I will do my
humble best to govern the country. Still, if the country has the slightest
objection----"
But the Crown-Prince being generalissimo, having the whole army at
his beck and call, so that he could have begun a civil war in no time,
the country had, of course, not the slightest objection.
So the King and Queen slept together in peace, and Prince Dolor
reigned over the land--that is, his uncle did; and everybody said what a
fortunate thing it was for the poor little Prince to have such a clever
uncle to take care of him.

All things went on as usual; indeed, after the Regent had brought his
wife and her seven sons, and established them in the palace, rather
better than usual. For they gave such splendid entertainments and made
the capital so lively that trade revived, and the country was said to be
more flourishing than it had been for a century. Whenever the Regent
and his sons appeared, they were received with shouts: "Long live the
Crown-Prince!" "Long live the royal family!" And, in truth, they were
very fine children, the whole seven of them, and made a great show
when they rode out together on seven beautiful horses, one height
above another, down to the youngest, on his tiny black pony, no bigger
than a large dog.
As for the other child, his Royal Highness Prince Dolor,--for somehow
people soon ceased to call him his Majesty, which seemed such a
ridiculous title for a poor little fellow, a helpless cripple,--with only
head and trunk, and no legs to speak of,--he was seen very seldom by
anybody.
Sometimes people daring enough to peer over the high wall of the
palace garden noticed there, carried in a footman's arms, or drawn in a
chair, or left to play on the grass, often with nobody to mind him, a
pretty little boy, with a bright, intelligent face and large, melancholy
eyes--no, not exactly melancholy, for they were his mother's, and she
was by no means sad-minded, but thoughtful and dreamy. They rather
perplexed people, those childish eyes; they were so exceedingly
innocent and yet so penetrating. If anybody did a wrong thing--told a
lie, for instance they would turn round with such a grave, silent surprise
the child never talked much--that every naughty person in the palace
was rather afraid of Prince Dolor.
He could not help it, and perhaps he did not even know it, being no
better a child than many other children, but there was something about
him which made bad people sorry, and grumbling people ashamed of
themselves, and ill-natured people gentle and kind.
I suppose because they were touched to see a poor little fellow who did
not in the least know what had befallen him or what lay before him,
living his baby life as happy as the day is long. Thus, whether or not he

was good himself, the sight of him and his affliction made other people
good, and, above all, made everybody love him--so much so, that his
uncle the Regent began to feel a little uncomfortable.
Now, I have nothing to say against uncles in general. They are usually
very excellent people, and very convenient to little boys and girls. Even
the "cruel uncle" of the "Babes in the Wood" I believe to be quite an
exceptional character. And this "cruel uncle" of whom I am telling was,
I hope, an exception, too.
He did not mean to be cruel. If anybody had called him so, he would
have resented it extremely: he would have said that what he did was
done entirely for the good of the country. But he was a man who had
always been accustomed to consider himself first and foremost,
believing that whatever he wanted was sure to be right, and therefore he
ought