This German prince had become King when he was little more than a boy, and hardly fit to manage such a difficult business as taking care of a whole kingdom at once. Indeed, he often wished that the kingdom could take care of itself, and leave him a little more liberty; for he would far rather have been galloping over hedge and ditch on his good horse than wading through piles of musty state papers, and he thought it far better fun to follow the deer up the hills with his gun than to sit perched up on a throne in his crown and robes, with ever so many people coming and making long speeches to him, of which he hardly understood a word.
But, happily for our poor prince, he had one good friend at his court who was never tired of trying to amuse and entertain him. This was an old friend of his father's, called Count Thorn, who had taught him his lessons as a child, and still kept a kind of charge over him now that he was growing to be a man. The Count looked so tall and grand, with his fur-trimmed robe, and high frilled collar, and long gray beard, that he seemed like one of the old portraits in the great dining hall stepping down from its frame. But there was a merry twinkle in his deep dark eyes every now and then which showed that he could enjoy a joke as well as any one, and that he had a kind heart underneath all.
And so, indeed, he had; and the young King (who was very fond of him, and used to call him "uncle") always ended by doing what the Count told him, although he grumbled a little at times. "Happy as a King?" he would say, when he came back from a long morning in the council chamber: "I believe I'm the least happy man in my kingdom, for I'm the only one who can't do as he likes."
And then the old Count would lay a hand on his shoulder, and say, kindly: "My boy, you weren't made King just to do as you like, and to amuse yourself. You have to think of your people, and try to make them happy; and if you want to be a really great King, such as your father was, that's what you must do." And the young King would laugh, and answer, cheerily, "You're quite right, uncle, and I'll do my best." And after that there would be no more grumbling for a good while, and everything would go on quite comfortably.
Now the King had another favorite besides the Count, and one with whom very few people cared to meddle; for this other favorite was nothing less than a fine young African lion, big enough and strong enough to kill a man with one bite. He and his master might almost be said to have grown up together, for the lion had been given to the King when it was a mere cub and he a mere boy, and it was so tame that it would follow him everywhere like a dog, and eat out of his hand. At night, when the King went to bed, the lion slept on a mat outside his door; and I promise you there was no fear of any one disturbing him while that sentinel was on duty.
Now the King used jokingly to call this lion his brother, because whenever he flew into a rage (as he very often did), Count Thorn would say, gravely, "My boy, an angry man is no better than a wild beast; and if you choose to be just the same as that lion yonder, we may as well make him King instead of you."
And then the King would pat the lion's huge tawny head, and say, laughingly: "Do you hear that, old fellow? How would you like to have to sit all day with a big crown on, and a heavy robe round you, hearing a lot of fellows make long speeches? I don't think it would suit you at all." And the lion would open its great red mouth and give a long yawn, as much as to say, "I don't think it would."
So long as the beast was only a cub, Count Thorn made no objection to it, and indeed was rather pleased that his pupil had found something to amuse him. But now that the cub had grown into a full-sized lion, with teeth that would crack a man's skull like a nut, and a paw that would beat in an oaken door at one blow, it was a very different thing; and the old Count began to be somewhat anxious. He knew that the lion's savage nature might awake at any moment, and that, if it did, the King would be torn in pieces before a hand could be lifted to save him. The more he thought of the whole business, the less he liked it; and at last he made up his mind to speak out. So one day he came to the King in his garden, with such a grave face that the young man cried out at once: "Why, uncle, what's the matter? you look as if you were just going to be beheaded."
"My boy," said the Count, gravely, "I want to talk seriously with you."
"Which means that I'm going to get a scolding," observed the King, folding his arms, with such a rueful look that Count Thorn could scarcely help laughing.