They seemed, from their shape and colour, to have eaten and drunk
so much that they might be burned alive without wakening. He
grasped the hand of each in succession,and found two ox hoofs,
three pig hoofs, one
concerning which he could not be sure whether
it was the hoof of a
donkey or a pony, and one dog's paw. 'A nice
set of people to be about a king!' thought Curdie to himself, and
turned again to his candle hunt. He did at last find two or three
little pieces, and stowed them away in his pockets. They now left
the hall by another door, and entered a short passage, which led
them to the huge kitchen, vaulted and black with smoke. There,
too, the fire was still burning, so that he was able to see a
little of the state of things in this quarter also.
The place was dirty and
disorderly. In a
recess, on a heap of
brushwood, lay a kitchen-maid, with a table cover around her, and
a skillet in her hand:
evidently she too had been drinking. In
another corner lay a page, and Curdie noted how like his dress was
to his own. in the cinders before the
hearth were huddled three
dogs and five cats, all fast asleep, while the rats were running
about the floor. Curdie's heart ached to think of the lovely
child-
princess living over such a sty. The mine was a
paradise to
a palace with such servants in it.
Leaving the kitchen, he got into the region of the sculleries.
There
horrible smells were
wandering about, like evil spirits that
come forth with the darkness. He lighted a candle - but only to
see ugly sights. Everywhere was filth and
disorder. Mangy
turnspit dogs were lying about, and grey rats were gnawing at
refuse in the sinks. It was like a
hideous dream. He felt as if
he should never get out of it, and longed for one
glimpse of his
mother's poor little kitchen, so clean and bright and airy.
Turning from it at last in
miserabledisgust, he almost ran back
through the kitchen, re-entered the hall, and crossed it to another
door.
It opened upon a wider passage leading to an arch in a stately
corridor, all its length lighted by lamps in niches. At the end of
it was a large and beautiful hall, with great
pillars. There sat
three men in the royal
livery, fast asleep, each in a great
armchair, with his feet on a huge footstool. They looked like
fools dreaming themselves kings; and Lina looked as if she longed
to throttle them. At one side of the hall was the grand staircase,
and they went up.
Everything that now met Curdie's eyes was rich - not
glorious like
the splendours of the mountain
cavern, but rich and soft - except
where, now and then, some rough old rib of the ancient fortress
came through, hard and discoloured. Now some dark bare arch of
stone, now some
rugged and blackened
pillar, now some huge beam,
brown with the smoke and dust of centuries, looked like a thistle
in the midst of daisies, or a rock in a smooth lawn.
They
wandered about a good while, again and again finding
themselves where they had been before. Gradually, however, Curdie
was gaining some idea of the place. By and by Lina began to look
frightened, and as they went on Curdie saw that she looked more and
more frightened. Now, by this time he had come to understand that
what made her look frightened was always the fear of frightening,
and he
therefore concluded they must be
drawing nigh to somebody.
At last, in a gorgeously painted
gallery, he saw a curtain of
crimson, and on the curtain a royal crown
wrought in silks and
stones. He felt sure this must be the king's
chamber, and it was
here he was wanted; or, if it was not the place he was bound for,
something would meet him and turn him aside; for he had come to
think that so long as a man wants to do right he may go where he
can: when he can go no farther, then it is not the way. 'Only,'
said his father, in assenting to the theory, 'he must really want
to do right, and not merely fancy he does. He must want it with
his heart and will, and not with his rag of a tongue.'
So he
gently lifted the corner of the curtain, and there behind it
was a half-open door. He entered, and the moment he was in, Lina
stretched herself along the
threshold between the curtain and the
door.
CHAPTER 19
The King's Chamber
He found himself in a large room, dimly lighted by a silver lamp
that hung from the ceiling. Far at the other end was a great bed,
surrounded with dark heavy curtains. He went
softly toward it, his
heart
beating fast. It was a
dreadful thing to be alone in the
king's
chamber at the dead of night. To gain courage he had to
remind himself of the beautiful
princess who had sent him.
But when he was about halfway to the bed, a figure appeared from
the farther side of it, and came towards him, with a hand raised
warningly. He stood still. The light was dim, and he could
distinguish little more than the
outline of a young girl. But
though the form he saw was much taller than the
princess he
remembered, he never doubted it was she. For one thing, he knew
that most girls would have been frightened to see him there in the
dead of the night, but like a true
princess, and the
princess he
used to know, she walked straight on to meet him. As she came she
lowered the hand she had lifted, and laid the
forefinger of it upon
her lips. Nearer and nearer, quite near, close up to him she came,
then stopped, and stood a moment looking at him.
'You are Curdie,' she said.
'And you are the Princess Irene,' he returned.
'Then we know each other still,' she said, with a sad smile of
pleasure. 'You will help me.'
'That I will,' answered Curdie. He did not say, 'If I can';
for he knew that what he was sent to do, that he could do. 'May I
kiss your hand, little Princess?'
She was only between nine and ten, though indeed she looked several
years older, and her eyes almost those of a grown woman, for she
had had terrible trouble of late.
She held out her hand.
'I am not the little
princess any more. I have grown up since I
saw you last, Mr Miner.'
The smile which accompanied the words had in it a strange mixture
of playfulness and sadness.
'So I see, Miss Princess,' returned Curdie; 'and
therefore, being
more of a
princess, you are the more my
princess. Here I am, sent
by your great-great-
grandmother, to be your servant. May I ask why
you are up so late, Princess?'
'Because my father wakes so frightened, and I don't know what he
would do if he didn't find me by his
bedside. There! he's waking
now.'
She darted off to the side of the bed she had come from.
Curdie stood where he was.
A voice
altogetherunlike what he remembered of the
mighty, noble
king on his white horse came from the bed, thin,
feeble, hollow,
and husky, and in tone like that of a petulant child:
'I will not, I will not. I am a king, and I will be a king. I
hate you and
despise you, and you shall not
torture me!'
'Never mind them, Father dear,' said the
princess. 'I am here, and
they shan't touch you. They dare not, you know, so long as you
defy them.'
'They want my crown,
darling; and I can't give them my crown, can
I? For what is a king without his crown?'
'They shall never have your crown, my king,' said Irene. 'Here it
is - all safe. I am watching it for you.'
Curdie drew near the bed on the other side. There lay the grand
old king - he looked grand still, and twenty years older. His body
was pillowed high; his beard descended long and white over the
crimson coverlid; and his crown, its diamonds and emeralds gleaming
in the
twilight of the curtains, lay in front of him, his long thin
old hands folded round it, and the ends of his beard straying among
the lovely stones. His face was like that of a man who had died
fighting nobly; but one thing made it
dreadful: his eyes, while
they moved about as if searching in this direction and in that,
looked more dead than his face. He saw neither his daughter nor
his crown: it was the voice of the one and the touch of the other
that comforted him. He kept murmuring what seemed words, but was
unintelligible to Curdie, although, to judge from the look of
Irene's face, she
learned and concluded from it.
By degrees his voice sank away and the murmuring ceased, although
still his lips moved. Thus lay the old king on his bed, slumbering
with his crown between his hands; on one side of him stood a lovely
little
maiden, with blue eyes, and brown hair going a little back
from her temples, as if blown by a wind that no one felt but
herself; and on the other a stalwart young miner, with his mattock
over his shoulder. Stranger sight still was Lina lying along the
threshold - only nobody saw her just then.
A moment more and the king's lips ceased to move. His breathing
had grown regular and quiet. The
princess gave a sigh of relief,
and came round to Curdie.
'We can talk a little now,' she said, leading him toward the middle
of the room. 'My father will sleep now till the doctor wakes him
to give him his medicine. It is not really medicine, though, but
wine. Nothing but that, the doctor says, could have kept him so
long alive. He always comes in the middle of the night to give it
him with his own hands. But it makes me cry to see him wake up
when so
nicely asleep.'
'What sort of man is your doctor?' asked Curdie.
'Oh, such a dear, good, kind gentleman!' replied the
princess. 'He
speaks so
softly, and is so sorry for his dear king! He will be
here
presently, and you shall see for yourself. You will like him
very much.'
'Has your king-father been long ill?' asked Curdie.
'A whole year now,' she replied. 'Did you not know? That's how
your mother never got the red
petticoat my father promised her.
The lord
chancellor told me that not only Gwyntystorm but the whole
land was
mourning over the
illness of the good man.'
Now Curdie himself had not heard a word of His Majesty's
illness,
and had no ground for believing that a single soul in any place he
had visited on his journey had heard of it. Moreover, although
mention had been made of His Majesty again and again in his hearing
since he came to Gwyntystorm, never once had he heard an allusion
to the state of his health. And now it dawned upon him also that
he had never heard the least expression of love to him. But just
for the time he thought it better to say nothing on either point.
'Does the king
wander like this every night?' he asked.
'Every night,' answered Irene, shaking her head mournfully. 'That
is why I never go to bed at night. He is better during the day -
a little, and then I sleep - in the dressing room there, to be with
him in a moment if he should call me. It is so sad he should have
only me and not my mamma! A
princess is nothing to a queen!'
'I wish he would like me,' said Curdie, 'for then I might watch by
him at night, and let you go to bed, Princess.'
'Don't you know then?' returned Irene, in wonder. 'How was it you
came? Ah! You said my
grandmother sent you. But I thought you
knew that he wanted you.'
And again she opened wide her blue stars.
'Not I,' said Curdie, also bewildered, but very glad.
'He used to be
constantlysaying - he was not so ill then as he is
now - that he wished he had you about him.'
'And I never to know it!' said Curdie, with displeasure.
'The master of the horse told papa's own secretary that he had
written to the miner-general to find you and send you up; but the
miner-general wrote back to the master of the horse, and he told
the secretary, and the secretary told my father, that they had
searched every mine in the kingdom and could hear nothing of you.
My father gave a great sigh, and said he feared the goblins had got
you, after all, and your father and mother were dead of grief. And
he has never mentioned you since, except when
wandering. I cried
very much. But one of my
grandmother's pigeons with its white wing
flashed a message to me through the window one day, and then I knew
that my Curdie wasn't eaten by the goblins, for my
grandmother