"'If it should, she would yet die in doing our duty,' retorted Hum-
Drum.
"But their majesties had too much tenderness for their volatile offspring to subject her to either of the schemes of the equally unscrupulous philosophers. Indeed, the most complete knowledge of the laws of nature would have been unserviceable in her case; for it was impossible to classify her. She was a fifth imponderable body, sharing all the other properties of the ponderable."
CHAPTER VIII.
TRY A DROP OF WATER.
Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been falling in love. But how a princess who had no gravity at all could fall into anything, is a difficulty, perhaps the difficulty. As for her own feelings on the subject, she did not even know that there was such a beehive of honey and stings, to be fallen into. And now I come to mention another curious fact about her.
"The palace was built on the shore of the loveliest lake in the world, and the princess loved this lake more than father or mother. The root of this preference, no doubt,—although the princess did not recognize it as such,—was that the moment she got into it, she recovered the natural right of which she had been so wickedly deprived,—namely, gravity. whether this was owing to the fate that water had been employed as the means of conveying the injury, I do not know. But it is certain that she could swim and dive like the duck that her old nurse said she was. The way that this alleviation of her misfortune was discovered, was as follows: One summer evening, during the carnival of the country, she had been taken upon the lake by the king and queen, in the royal barge. They were accompanied by many of the courtiers in a fleet of little boats. In the middle of the lake, she wanted to get into the lord chancellor's barge, for his daughter, who was a great favorite with her, was in with her father, The old king rarely condescended to make light of his misfortune, but on this occasion he happened to be in a particularly good-humor, and as the barges approached each other, he caught up the princess to throw her into the chancellor's barge. He lost his balance, however, and dropping into the bottom of the barge, lost his hold of his daughter, not, however, before imparting to her the downward tendency of his own person, though in a somewhat different directions for as the king fell into the boat, she fell into the water. With a burst of delighted laughter, she disappeared in the lake. A cry of horror ascended from the boats. They had never seen the princess go down before. Half the men were under water in a moment, but they had all, one after another, come up to the surface again for breath, when,—tinkle, tinkle, babble and gush, came the princess' laugh over the water from far away. There she was, swimming like a swan. Nor would she come out for king or queen, chancellor or daughter. But though she was obstinate, she seemed more sedate than usual. Perhaps that was because a great pleasure spoils laughing. After this the passion of her life was to get into the water, and she was always the better behaved and the more beautiful, the more she had of it. Summer and winter it was all the same, only she could not stay quite so long in the water when they had to break the ice to let her in. Any day, from morning till evening, she might be descried,— a streak of white in the blue water,—lying as still as the shadow of a cloud, or shooting along like a dolphin, disappearing, and coming up again far off, just where one did not expect her. She would have been in the lake of a night too, if she could have had her way, for the balcony of her window overhung a deep pool in it, and through a shallow reedy passage she could have swum out into the wide wet water, and no one would have been any the wiser. Indeed, when she happened to wake in the moonlight, she could hardly resist the temptation. But there was the sad difficulty of getting into it. She had as great a dread of the air as some children have of water. For the slightest gush of wind would blow her away, and a gust might arise in the stillest moment. And, if she gave herself a push towards the water and just failed of reaching it, her situation would be dreadfully awkward, irrespective of the wind, for at best there she would have to remain, suspended in her nightgown till she was seen and angled for by somebody from the window.
"'Oh! if I had my gravity,' thought she, contemplating the water, 'I would flash off this balcony like a long white sea-bird, headlong into the darling wetness. Heigh-ho!'
"This was the only consideration that made her wish to be like other people.
"Another reason for being fond of the water was, that, in it alone, she enjoyed any freedom. For she could not walk out without a cortege, consisting in part of a troop of light horse, for fear of the liberties which the wind might take with her. And the king grew more apprehensive with increasing years, till, at last, he would not allow her to walk abroad without some twenty silken cords fastened to as many parts of her dress, and held by twenty noblemen. Of course horseback was out of the question. But she bade good by to all this ceremony, when she got into the water. So remarkable were its effects upon her, especialy, in restoring her for the time to the ordinary human gravity, that, strange to say, Hum-Drum and Kopy-Keck agreed in recommending the king to bury her alive for three years, in the hope that, as the water had done her so much good, the earth would do her yet more. But the king had some vulgar prejudices against the experiment, and would not give consent. Foiled in this, they yet agreed in another recommendation, which, seeing that the one imported his opinions from China and the other from Thibet, was very remarkable indeed. They said, that if water of external origin and application could be so efficatious, water from a deeper source might work a perfect cure; in short, that if the poor, afflicted princess could by any means be made to cry, she might recover her lost gravity.
"But how was this to be brought about? Therein lay the difficulty. The philosophers were not wise enough for this. To make the princess cry was as impossible as to make her weigh. They sent for a professional beggar, commanded him to prepare his most touching oracle of woe, helped him, out of the court charity-box, to whatever he wanted for dressing up, and promised great rewards in the event of his success. But it was all in vain. She listened to the mendicant artist's story, and gazed at his marvellous make-up till she could contain herself no longer, and went into the most undignified contortions for relief, shrieking,—positively screeching with laughter.