Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: Ultima Thule; or A Summer in Iceland. vol. 1/2 by Burton Richard Francis Sir
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page
Ebook has 998 lines and 28381 words, and 20 pages
"Most extraordinary," said the King. "It left in my mind an impression of ginger whiskers and large boots. Do we know anybody like that?"
"The King of Barodia," said Hyacinth, "has red whiskers, but I don't know about his boots."
There was another rush of wind in the opposite direction; once more the sun was obscured, and this time, plain for a moment for all to see, appeared the rapidly dwindling back view of the King of Barodia on his way home to breakfast.
Merriwig rose with dignity.
Hyacinth looked troubled.
"He oughtn't to come over anybody's breakfast table quite so quickly as that. Ought he, Father?"
"A lamentable display of manners, my dear. I shall withdraw now and compose a stiff note to him. The amenities must be observed."
Looking as severe as a naturally jovial face would permit him, and wondering a little if he had pronounced "amenities" right, he strode to the library.
And it was the distinguished visitors of the morning who gave him most to think about in the afternoon. There were at this moment no fewer than seven different Princes engaged upon seven different enterprises, to whom, in the event of a successful conclusion, he had promised the hand of Hyacinth and half his kingdom. No wonder he felt that she needed the guiding hand of a mother.
The stiff note to Barodia was not destined to be written. He was still hesitating between two different kinds of nib, when the door was flung open and the fateful name of the Countess Belvane was announced.
She had been writing poetry that morning, and she wore green. She always wore green when the Muse was upon her: a pleasing habit which, whether as a warning or an inspiration, modern poets might do well to imitate. She carried an enormous diary under her arm; and in her mind several alternative ways of putting down her reflections on her way to the Palace.
"Good morning, dear Countess," said the King, rising only too gladly from his nibs; "an early visit."
"Oh, your Majesty," said the Countess, "affairs of state," and she gave him that wicked, innocent, impudent, and entirely scandalous look which he never could resist, and you couldn't either for that matter.
"Affairs of state, of course," smiled the King.
"Why, I made a special note of it in my diary."
She laid down the enormous volume and turned lightly over the pages.
"Fancy!" said Belvane. "Fancy my writing that! I put down just what comes into my head at the time, you know." She made a gesture with her hand indicative of some one who puts down just what comes into her head at the time, and returned to her diary. "'Remained to tea, and was very charming. Mused afterwards on the mutability of life!'" She looked up at him with wide-open eyes. "I often muse when I'm alone," she said.
The King still hovered over the diary.
"Have you any more entries like--like that last one? May I look?"
"I just thought I saw some poetry," said the King.
"Just a little ode to a favourite linnet. It wouldn't interest your Majesty."
"I adore poetry," said the King, who had himself written a rhymed couplet which could be said either forwards or backwards, and in the latter position was useful for removing enchantments. According to the eminent historian, Roger Scurvilegs, it had some vogue in Euralia and went like this:
A pleasing idea, temperately expressed.
The Countess, of course, was only pretending. Really she was longing to read it. "It's quite a little thing," she said.
"Beautiful," said the King, and one must agree with him. Many years after, another poet called Shelley plagiarised the idea, but handled it in a more artificial, and, to my way of thinking, decidedly inferior manner.
"Was it a real bird?" said the King.
"An old favourite."
"Was it pleased about it?"
"Alas, your Majesty, it died without hearing it."
"Poor bird!" said his Majesty; "I think it would have liked it."
She found him alone in the library, a foolish smile upon his face, but no sign of a letter to Barodia in front of him.
"Have you sent the Note yet?" she asked.
"Note? Note?" he said, bewildered, "what--oh, you mean the Stiff Note to the King of Barodia? I'm just planning it, my love. The exact shade of stiffness, combined with courtesy, is a little difficult to hit."
"I shouldn't be too courteous," said Hyacinth; "he came over eighteen more times after you'd gone."
"Eighteen, eighteen, eight--my dear, it's outrageous."
"I've never had such a crowded breakfast before."
"It's positively insulting, Hyacinth. This is no occasion for Notes. We will talk to him in a language that he will understand."
And he went out to speak to the Captain of his Archers.
THE CHANCELLOR OF BARODIA HAS A LONG WALK HOME
Once more it was early morning on the castle walls.
The King sat at his breakfast table, a company of archers drawn up in front of him.
"Quite so, Sire," said the Captain, "or rather, not at all."
"Very well. To your places."
Each archer fitted an arrow to his bow and took up his position. A look-out man had been posted. Everything was ready.
The King was decidedly nervous. He wandered from one archer to another asking after this man's wife and family, praising the polish on that man's quiver, or advising him to stand with his back a little more to the sun. Now and then he would hurry off to the look-out man on a distant turret, point out Barodia on the horizon to him, and hurry back again.
The look-out knew all about it.
"Royalty over," he bellowed suddenly.
"When!" roared the King, and a cloud of arrows shot into the air.
"Well done!" cried Hyacinth, clapping her hands. "I mean, how could you? You might have hurt him."
"Hyacinth," said the King, turning suddenly; "you here?"
"I have just come up. Did you hit him?"
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page