Cedric’s Unaccountable Adventure
Part I
Cedric was flying his kite in a flowery meadow close to his home in Cornwall. It was a favourite spot of his, for he was a boy who loved beautiful scenery, and from there he could get a glimpse of Land’s End, with its great rocks around which the waves frothed and gambolled, broke, and gurgled away.
The day was grey and windy, just the sort of day for flying a kite. This kite was of the old-fashioned sort, with a tail of his own making, and as it soared away higher and higher, with the tail wriggling its great length like a happy eel on a holiday, his heart was full of pride and content.
He kept on unwinding and unwinding the large ball of string until he began to wonder if his kite would still be in view by the time he had unwound it all. The wind was increasing in strength, when, to his astonishment, and apparently for no reason at all, the pull on his arm suddenly relaxed, and the kite all at once dropped quickly to earth, tail first. Cedric darted forward to where it lay, some distance ahead. When he reached it, he flung himself alongside to examine it carefully. He could find no rent, no damage; nothing was wrong. There was nothing, apparently, to account for such peculiar behaviour in his hitherto well-conducted kite.
As he passed his hand over it where it lay, he felt underneath it, entangled in the tail, something hard. He could see it glistening through. He quickly drew it forth, and found in his hand—a golden key.
“Halloa! what’s this?” exclaimed Cedric, as he knelt down and turned his discovery over and over. “A yellow key. However did it get there?” was his next thought. He continued to ask himself the riddle, but finding no answer he gave it up, and carefully examined the key. There was no mark on it—it wouldn’t even whistle when he tried it. “Some one must have lost it, I suppose,” he went on, and concluded: “Well, it’s no use to me!” and he threw it away. Seating himself on the grass, he soon became absorbed in getting his kite all trim again, and had temporarily secured the string to a bush, when his attention was attracted by the key, which lay and glistened as if it knew it was glistening.
Cedric didn’t care to trouble with it, but instinctively he picked it up, and said—
“I wonder where this key belongs to?”
At that moment his view of the Land’s End became slowly obscured by a huge iron door, the lock of which was outlined with gold. He tried the key he held. It fitted! A turn, the heavy door was unlocked, and he put the key in his pocket. He turned the handle, pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through, and it swung to behind him.
There had been a great commotion in Fairyland. The gnomes—who formed the Opposition Party—had turned disloyal and wanted a republic; whereupon the King, hurt in his dignity, insisted upon abdicating. In fact, he was tired of power, and glad of the excuse to resign. In spite of the prayers and entreaties of those who desired him to remain in office he returned to the Treasury the Golden Key, together with the crown and other royal jewels, and, to the concern of every one who wasn’t a gnome, went forth to play skittles—his sole interest and only hobby.
Of all the regalia, the most precious object was the Golden Key, for whoever held it was made King of Fairyland by virtue of its possession; and it was ordained that it could only be parted with at the monarch’s free will. It could be surrendered; it could not be withdrawn.
So the old King deposited it in the Treasury, leaving his people—the faithful and unfaithful alike—to fight out the matter as best they could. In so doing they fought their very best. The quarrel between the gnomes and the fairies waxed furious in their patriotic eagerness to get their own way. But while blows were exchanged and relations were otherwise strained, and the Monarchists, generally speaking, were highly annoyed, and the Republicans were even more perturbed, the latter suddenly lay low, and hatched an audacious plot. So daring was it that it made their grotesque and stunted little bodies tremble as they thought of it, and their gnarled feet shook in their shoes.
This plot involved nothing less than the theft of the Golden Key. The symbol of royalty was to be taken to the mountain top and flung far away outside the boundaries of Fairydom, and a republic proclaimed and acclaimed. A monarchy could no longer be possible.
Meanwhile the guileless fairies, recking nothing of this, and rejoicing in what they thought to be the discomfiture of their adversaries, chose the popular Crown Princess for the succession, and began with much pomp and circumstance the ceremony of investing her with the Golden Key. They had proceeded up to a certain point when, to their horror and amazement, on opening the treasure chamber to bear the symbol in solemn procession upon a velvet cushion, as the law demanded, they discovered that the Golden Key was gone!
Cedric suddenly guessed that he possessed the key to Fairyland. For he found himself in a sun-bathed valley with clouds of rainbow hues in the azure sky above. In the distance he beheld a rippling lake of golden water, on the borders of which stood a palace made of gems gathered from the circling mountains which stood as sentinels around the valley. Down these mountains meandered little golden rills that fed the lake. Nothing stirred but gaily coloured birds, which fluttered amongst the blossoming fruit trees and the rich and dainty flowers.
All around the lake, as though from nowhere, sprang crowds of fairies, gnomes, pixies, and sprites; they were landing from the tiny flower-decked craft, forming processions, hurrying in and out of the palace—presenting to Cedric’s astonished gaze a scene of wonderful animation and pretty bustle. Great preparations were apparently proceeding.
After a time they gathered together in waiting crowds, which stretched a long distance on either side of the approach to the shimmering edifice, and the words came to him with curious distinctness—
“Hail! Cedric, King of Fairyland!”
“K-K-King of Fairyland!” stammered the boy in bewilderment. “Am I King of Fairyland? You’re only making fun—I’ve only been flying my kite: I can’t be a king.”
“Of course your young Majesty has got the key?” remarked a funny little old man at his elbow.
“Yes,” replied Cedric, starting at the suddenness of the answer to his question, but vastly surprised, and amused too, at the quaint way in which he was addressed.
“Very well, then. Of course we all know you must have found it, or you couldn’t be here. I’d far rather you had it than I; experience has taught me that much. Good morning, young gentleman; may it bring you more pleasure than it brought me,” and with a chuckle the little old man bowed himself away.
Cedric had no time to think, for a gorgeous equipage stopped just in front of him. The door flew open; the boy, guessing what was expected of him, quickly stepped inside, and, wondering at this grandeur, the new King of Fairyland was borne swiftly through the serried ranks of his bowing subjects to the doors of his magnificent palace. Soldiers presented arms, a national air was played on lutes and harps, and Cedric passed through the gates, followed by as many of the populace as had tickets of admission to witness the most wonderful coronation you never saw.
PART II
In the throne-room, on a throne of diamonds, Cedric sat in royal robes, and on his head was a golden crown, which had been taken, as being about his size, from the dome of the Crown Palace. Grouped near him were the aristocracy of Fairyland—prominent among them the Crown Princess, and her great friend and neighbour, the Queen of Gossamerland, both young, both beautiful, and both unmarried.
When the ceremony was over, and the shout, “Hail! Cedric, King of Fairyland!” echoed once more, the boy, prompted by the Lord High Chamberlain, rose and bowed his delighted acknowledgments, while the crowds outside cheered for all they were worth. He kept standing, in order to receive the general homage, with the quiet confidence of one who had been used to that sort of thing every day of his life.
Little did he guess that the populace of Fairyland, who were acclaiming him, down to the tiniest sprite, were far from pleased to have a mortal on their throne—that the gnomes were plotting, with the fairies this time, to depose him, for the key had come back to their land, and was never likely to be stolen again. They had all put their heads together how to make Cedric part with it of his own free will, according to law, and they knew they had to accomplish their end by their wits, as no other means held good. It was their desire now to elect their ruler by putting the matter to the country to vote, and thus please both parties. The gnomes, who had had time to consider it, were dumbfounded at their stupidity in having thrown the key into Mortal-land, and they regretted it when it was too late.
A fair lady, wearing a tiny crown, stepped forward and curtsied low before her monarch. It was the Crown Princess. Cedric wanted to detain her; but it wasn’t etiquette, and she smiled to herself as she swept past with her maids of honour. She was followed by her dark friend, who kissed Cedric’s hand. Her face was more beautiful than any he had ever beheld. In obedience to his wish that she should speak to him, the little Queen of Gossamerland smiled and said—
“Sire, I have often heard of mortals, but never saw one before. It is said that some of them never dream of coming to our country, that others often do, but they never come really, you know. Your Majesty is the very first. Will you graciously tell me how it feels?”
Cedric laughed, and coughed nervously, and replied that “it felt very pleasant and comfor’ble.”
She turned her head as she withdrew, and whispered anxiously—
“Do not part with the Golden Key, as you value your throne.”
The words, and still more the impressive and forceful manner, of the dazzling little Queen puzzled him. He determined, nevertheless, to follow advice so fatefully given, but he couldn’t help pondering over it; and his face was graver as he bowed to the lords and ladies and high-born gnomes who had the honour of introduction.
Escorted by the whole of the brilliant company, King Cedric left his palace in order formally “to do some good deed”—which was a part of the ancient ceremonial. He was to open a new institution for fairies who had lost their arts and crafts and livelihoods too. When they arrived at the building it was announced that the key which was to have been presented to him was not forthcoming. Consternation, real or assumed—(Cedric didn’t believe in it)—followed on the strange declaration of those who were responsible for the carelessness. Amid profuse apologies, the Lord High Chamberlain begged the King that he would use the Golden Key—which, being a master key, could of course take the place of any other.
Acting on the advice given him, and alive to the evident importance of retaining the key (which was also the key to his position), Cedric politely and graciously refused: at which there was considerable sensation. Arguments and persuasion were in vain, but at last he yielded to the entreaties of those needy fairies who badly wanted their institution. Himself he inserted the key, which was found to fit, as was to be expected. But when he wanted to withdraw it, it had stuck, and was immovable—the lock had been carefully arranged that it should be so. Triumph and amusement were on every face except his.
“I have been betrayed,” muttered Cedric, and he wondered what on Fairyland he should do next. There was silence—a breathless interval—during which the boy never relaxed hold on his treasured possession.
“Cut away the lock!” he commanded. At this order the people murmured loudly, but soon fell into silence; for they were bound by their constitution to obey their monarch. In a few moments the Golden Key was again safe in Cedric’s pocket, and mistrust was in his heart, as it has been in that of nearly every king who ever reigned.
The coronation ceremony was over, and the company had dispersed, so Cedric found himself at liberty to saunter forth. He hadn’t proceeded more than a few yards in the brilliant landscape when a Rabbit—renowned for his white gloves—bounded up to him and humbly begged it might be his Majesty’s pleasure to receive some famous members of Animal Fairyland who were anxious to render homage. Cedric replied royally with a dignified nod, and followed the creature as it led the way to a clearing in a forest close by. Here, explained the Rabbit, the animals were allowed full liberty to say what they pleased—but beyond the boundaries they were only able to make strange noises which their own families alone could understand: it was thus that the secrets of Fairyland were kept from the world outside.
Upon a throne made from a cutting of the famous beanstalk grown for the original Jack King Cedric seated himself, and awaited events.
He hadn’t long to wait, for a Fox trotted up and bade him welcome to Animal Fairyland. Wonderfully tactful for his age, Cedric told the Fox that he recognised him, having read about him in Grimm’s tales, and remarked—
“You were so good, Mr. Fox, to the poor horse!”
At which the Fox sniggered shyly and withdrew. This pleasing reminiscence gave unbounded satisfaction to the various animals that had quickly gathered around.
Cedric’s inquiry of the Wolf as to his digestion after that little flirtation with Red Riding Hood’s grandmother was also considered prodigiously appropriate, and was greeted with cordial appreciation. His quick recognition, too, of the Three Bears added greatly to his popularity, but he wasn’t so happy in his remark to a stately Swan who came up and bowed.
“You’re glad to have got rid of those ducks, I s’pose?” he observed.
“And pray, sire, where did you hear about that? It’s a chapter of my early history I hoped had never got about!”
“Oh, I have read all about the Ugly Duckling!” replied Cedric, persuaded that the information would fill the Swan with pride.
“Why, you don’t mean to say—! Do you—do you tell me that—” screamed the Swan furiously, almost choked with indignation, and it could not finish its sentences. Then in a quieter, but still in an angry, voice, it continued: “To think of it! Why, I plumed myself on its having been kept out of print! So that family scandal has got round after all!” And in defiance of all etiquette, the swan turned tail and waddled off.
“The audience is over!” cried Cedric indignantly.
Whereupon the deputation hastily withdrew.
“Guide, sire?” inquired a gnome, suddenly presenting himself and going down on one knee. “Guide to the fairy ring?”
“Yes, please,” and he followed him to where a number of peacocks stood on guard with their tails magnificently spread.
“Have you twopence?” asked the guide anxiously.
“I’m not sure,” answered Cedric, fumbling in his pocket.
“If not, I’m afraid you can’t be let in, sire.” The gnome was looking afraid that the king might not fall, after all, into the little trap he was preparing.
“Not let me in? Can’t I order myself through?”
“No ‘paper’ allowed! You can only be let in by paying the entrance fee.”
“I never heard of a king paying twopence to go in anywhere,” said Cedric, drawing himself up. He was not unreasonable, he felt, but he was a little hurt in his dignity as sovereign.
“I’m afraid your Majesty can’t go against the Office of Works.”
“S’pose I ordered the peacocks to be removed,” said Cedric, growing hot at the undignified position of a monarch unable to produce the price of a Bath bun; “s’pose I ordered their necks to be wrung, or something?”
“It would be deplorably irregular and excessively unconstitutional.”
Cedric was taken at a disadvantage by the length of the words; but a lucky discovery relieved him.
“Here, I’ve got four ha’pennies. But I call it mean that I, of all people, shouldn’t be allowed in free.”
“It’s simply to show the person is well off, and to keep the place select—it’s the same for all. In the case of royalty the amount is returned in cash at the end of the performance.”
Cedric entered alone, and found the fairy ring far beyond anything he could have dreamed of. Thousands of little fairies, wearing cunning arrangements of petals from the fruit blossoms, had joined hands and were dancing round joyously, raising tiny clouds of yellow dust, which enveloped them as with a golden mist. As he came in sight they burst into song, and manœuvring cleverly until he was in their midst, they showed what they could do in grace of movement and harmony of sound, till, quite enchanted, he felt he could remain there for ever.
“Go on! go on!” he shouted, clapping his hands with delight, for the little crew had come to a standstill.
A pixie detached himself, and kneeling, begged his Majesty to give him the Golden Key.
“What for?” asked Cedric, surprised.
“To wind up the proceedings,” came the reply of the fairies, who had eagerly drawn near.
“Can’t,” said Cedric.
“Do!” said the prettiest of the fairies in chorus.
Hardly knowing what he was about, so much did he want to see the entrancing dance all over again, he held out the key to the applicant; but, noticing a peculiar gleam dart from the pixie’s eyes, he quickly snatched it back again and replaced it in his pocket, and coming to himself found that the peacocks were once more between him and the fairy ring; that twopence was in his hand, and there was no one at all about. Then he realised how narrow his escape had been. “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.” Cedric knew that Shakespeare had written that; but he had never expected to learn the truth of it from experience.
He lay on the grass, and pondered what he had better do in the trying political situation. “What’s the use of being King of Fairyland if I have to be plotted against every hour of the day?” muttered Cedric disconsolately.
“No use at all.”
They were the soft tones of the little Queen of Gossamerland. She sat down next to him and put her tiny hand on his arm.
“What’s to be done, then?”
“It’s very simple,” she rejoined. “Give me the Golden Key. You’ll be king no longer, but you’ll have no responsibilities or anxieties.”
“That won’t be much fun for me,” replied Cedric. “Besides, what will you do with it?”
“The right thing. I’ll give it to the Crown Princess, the rightful heir. That will save the country a general election, and fairy tranquillity will reign once more.”
“Why did you warn me not to part with it? And now you ask me for it!”
“I wanted to get it myself as soon as you would give it up, so that I might deliver it to my dear friend, who will become a queen like me. Then she can choose her husband; and, after being her bridesmaid, I suppose I shall be married too.”
“Will you marry me?” asked Cedric bluntly.
“Why, you’d have to live on honey!” replied the Gossamer Queen, with a smile, half sweet, half malicious. Cedric turned it over in his mind, but not for long.
“Give me the key,” she begged coaxingly.
“Yes—but,” argued the boy, “it’s worth a lot, you know: I wouldn’t so much mind swopping it; but——”
The Queen of Gossamerland, tired of wasting time, put out her hand so prettily, and pursed up her lips so sweetly and daintily, that he did give her the Golden Key, and she gave a kiss as a receipt. Then she said that the Office of Works would send for the crown, and flitted away.
Cedric prepared to remove his crown, with a sigh to think he had no longer any right to it, but first he ran to the stream that slowly floated by, and took a good look at himself. He smiled with pride. “I must say,” he remarked confidentially to himself, “I really do look every inch a king! But, after all, I couldn’t go to school with this on—the fellows would be sure to notice it.” He started at the bare idea, and laid down the crown with a feeling of “good riddance” as profound and grateful as ever King James II. could have experienced. He felt no other pang than that of dignity too quickly swept away.
He placed it on the grass, confident that the Gossamer Queen would send for it at once, and he began to think of his own return. “Now to find that door!” he exclaimed, and looked about him to ask the way. The golden lake, the glittering palace, the sentry of mountains—all were there; but no living being was in sight.
“Queer place, I call it,” said Cedric to himself. “No cake shops, only honey, and no policemen to tell the way.” He wandered on in the hope of coming sooner or later, somehow and somewhere, to the door.
After a time he met the funny little old man who had accosted him on his arrival. He was gazing hard at the boy, looking right through him as though he were not there.
“Will you kindly show me the door?” said Cedric eagerly.
“Turn you out, do you mean?” asked ex-King the First.
“I want to turn myself out, if I can,” replied Cedric.
“Already? Good morning, young gentleman, ex-King the Second. There’s a pair of us.”
“Please show me the door.”
“When is a door not a-jar?” asked the out-o’-work sovereign.
“Don’t ask me riddles. Show me the door!” ordered Cedric in his best royal-command manner, and looked so threatening that the little old man quickly pointed over his shoulder.
Cedric walked off in that direction without a word, and to his joy he discovered the door just a little way in front of him.
“Thank goodness!” he exclaimed, as he ran up to it—and then he suddenly realised that he no longer possessed the Golden Key with which to open it. How was he to escape? He turned and looked back at what now was an immeasurable distance—so very far away did it seem—and there was once more bustling activity about the palace. Another Coronation ceremony was beginning all over again.
The boy flung himself against the door, and banged and kicked at it with all his might. It was of no use.
“Oh, the key, the key!” he cried. “If they would only spare it from their silly triumphing for a moment, and let me out!”
He put his eye to the keyhole, and with longing gaze he saw his kite on the spot he had left it, with its lazy tail gently stirred by the breeze.
Once more he looked back, despairing of help; the same animated fairy scene met his gaze—all so indifferent to his helplessness. Grasping the handle of the door in his hand he shook it in desperation.
Then he remembered. He quietly turned the handle, and walked out!
The sea breeze blew freshly as Cedric freed his kite from the bush, and when he looked back there was Land’s End just as he had seen it before. “And Fairyland’s end, too,” he muttered; for all trace of the iron door had disappeared after he passed through. He stared in astonishment, and couldn’t make it out; and the adventure remained a mystery all the days of his life.