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Maritime legend says, that two ships of Denmark having had permission, for a time, to work deeds of darkness and dolor on the deep, were at last condemned to the whirlpool and the sunken rock, and were wrecked in this bonnie bay, as a sign to seamen to be gentle and devout.
It had a split cut to the center, forming a round hole for the neck and that was all its shape; the shape, in fact, of those cloaks which in South America are called ponchos very simple, but most graceful and convenient. Prince Dolor had never seen anything like it. In spite of his disappointment, he examined it curiously; spread it out on the door, then arranged it on his shoulders.
Violent, wicked, sinful, as he might have been, Richard of England met his death like a Christian man. Peace be to the soul of the brave! When the news came to King Philip of France, he sternly forbade his courtiers to rejoice at the death of his enemy. "It is no matter of joy but of dolor," he said, "that the bulwark of Christendom and the bravest king of Europe is no more."
You have heard it hundreds of times, my children, and so have I. When I was a child I thought there was nothing so sweet; and I think so still. It was just the song of a skylark, mounting higher and higher from the ground, till it came so close that Prince Dolor could distinguish his quivering wings and tiny body, almost too tiny to contain such a gush of music.
I mean the sounds of the visible world, animate and inanimate. We hear this, and are so accustomed to it that we think nothing of it; but Prince Dolor, who had lived all his days in the dead silence of Hopeless Tower, heard it for the first time. And oh! if you had seen his face. He listened, listened, as if he could never have done listening.
"Mademoiselle, I see you know not this name," he said with grave courtesy; "I see you know not this name this name of sorrow, this name of blood my father's blood alas! alas! alas! alas!" and his voice trembled with infinite dolor. "Oh, poor man," she cried, weeping. "I pity you."
"If I could only get nearer, so as to touch them," said he, and immediately the obedient cloak ducked down; Prince Dolor made a snatch at the topmost twig of the tallest tree, and caught a bunch of leaves in his hand. Just a bunch of green leaves such as we see in myriads; watching them bud, grow, fall, and then kicking them along on the ground as if they were worth nothing.
Prince Dolor leaned over and looked at it, and thought how grand it must be to get upon its back this grand live steed and ride away, like the pictures of knights. "Suppose I was a knight," he said to himself; "then I should be obliged to ride out and see the world." But he kept all these thoughts to himself, and just sat still, devouring his new books till he had come to the end of them all.
"Yes, I am a prince, and my name is Dolor; will you tell me yours, madam?" The little old woman laughed like a chime of silver bells. "I have not got a name or, rather, I have so many names that I don't know which to choose. However, it was I who gave you yours, and you will belong to me all your days. I am your godmother."
Besides, the lower apartments, which had no view, were magnificent worthy of being inhabited by the king. "I should like to see the king," said Prince Dolor. What, I wonder, would be people's idea of a king? What was Prince Dolor's? Perhaps a very splendid personage, with a crown on his head and a scepter in his hand, sitting on a throne and judging the people.
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