The Brown Owl. Ford Ford Madox
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 try always to be worthy of them as my father was. For to-day, however, rejoice not; remember that the great King Intafernes, 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 opinion.
But while the Princess 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 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 downstairs 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 father,’ 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 posture 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 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 to 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 at all 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