The Outcast Prince

Once there was a king who had an only son, on whom he doted. No one, not even the prince's oldest tutor, was allowed to utter a word of correction when the prince did something wrong. So he grew up completely spoiled. He had many faults, but the worst were his pride, arrogance, and cruelty. He was also selfish and disobedient. When called to his lessons, he would refuse, saying, "I am a prince. In a few years I will be your king. I have no need to learn what common people must know. It is enough that I will sit on the throne and rule. My will alone shall prevail. Does not the law say, 'The king can do no wrong'?"

Handsome and haughty, even as a youth, he made the king's subjects fear him with his imperious manner. When he appeared in the streets, everyone would run into their houses, bar the doors, and peer nervously through the windows. He was a reckless rider, and woe betide anyone who happened to be in his way. He spared neither man, woman, nor child, callously riding over them or lashing out with the long whip he always carried, laughing when someone screamed in pain.

His public conduct became so outrageous that the people decided to suffer in silence no longer. They denounced the prince in public and petitioned the king himself to restrain his son. His majesty could not ignore the complaints. At first he was merely annoyed, then indignant, but when he saw that the people were thoroughly aroused and threatened revolt, he thought it wise to investigate the charges against his son.

A commission of three judges was appointed to investigate. They made a full inquiry and finally presented the king with a document summarizing what they did not hesitate to call the "infamous actions of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince."

The king's sense of justice and righteousness overcame his foolish pride. "My people are justified in their attitude, which at first I thought was only disrespectful to my royal person," he said. "I owe them an apology and recompense. I shall atone. And my son shall atone too. He shall not escape punishment."

He summoned his son to appear before him. The prince entered the royal justice chamber with a braggart's air, smiling contemptuously at the learned judges seated to the right and left of his majesty, and defiantly cracking his whip.

"Do you know why you have been called to stand before the judges of the land?" asked the king.

"I know not and I care not," was the haughty answer. "The foolish chatter of the mob interests me not."

The king frowned. He had not seen the prince behave like this before. In his father's presence, he had always been respectful.

"You have disgraced your honored name and your mother's sacred memory, foolish prince," exclaimed the monarch angrily. "You have humiliated yourself and me before the people."

Still the prince tried to laugh it off as a joke, but he quickly discovered that the king was in no mood for trifling. Standing grave and erect, his majesty pronounced sentence in a loud and firm voice.

"Hear, all men," he said, while all the judges, counselors, officers of state, and representatives of the people stood awed into silence, "that it having been proved on indisputable evidence that the prince, my son, has grievously transgressed against the righteous laws of this land and against the people, my subjects, on whom he has heaped insult, I have taken counsel with my advisers, the ministers of state, and it is my royal will and pleasure to pronounce sentence. Therefore, I declare that my son, the prince, shall be cast forth into the world, penniless, and shall not return until he has learned how to Count Five. And be it further known that none may minister to his needs should he seek help by declaring he is my son, the prince."

The prince stood astounded. What did the mysterious sentence mean? No one could tell him. The only answer to his inquiries was a shrug of the shoulders, for nobody would speak to him.

In the dead of night, with only the stars gazing down on the strange scene, the prince, clad in the cast-off garments of a common laborer, with his golden curls cut off and not a single coin in his pocket, was led outside the palace grounds and left alone on the road.

He was too dazed to weep. He told himself this was some horrible dream from which he would wake in the morning to find himself in his own beautiful room, lying on his gilded bed under the richly embroidered silk coverlet.

When dawn broke, however, he found himself hungry, tired, and his body painfully stiff, under a hedge. He knew now it was no dream but reality. He was alone and friendless, with no means of earning food. He understood then what hardships the poor were forced to endure, and he began to realize how he had made them suffer, and how, in turn, he was now to pay a heavy price for his brutal treatment of the people.

All that day he wandered aimlessly, until, footsore and exhausted, he sank down at the door of a wayside cottage and begged for food and shelter. These were given to him, and the next day he was set to work in the fields. But his hands were not used to labor, and he was sent away, his fellow workers jeering at him. With a heavy heart and his pride humbled, he set forth again to learn the mystery of how to Count Five.

Long days and endless nights, through the heat of summer, through the snows of winter, the autumnal rains and cold blasts of early spring, he wandered.

A whole year passed, and he had learned nothing. In truth, he had almost forgotten why he was aimlessly drifting from place to place, farther and farther from his home.

Hunger and thirst were more often than not his daily portion, and the cold earth by night was frequently his bed. Time seemed to drag along without meaning, and often for a week he heard not the sound of a human voice.

He was a beggar, generally accepting gratefully what was given to him, sometimes with harsh words, often with kind expressions. When he could, he worked, doing anything for small coins, for a rabbi who had taken pity on him had said, "Do any honest work, however repugnant it may seem at first, rather than say haughtily, 'I am the son of a rich father.'"

For a moment he wondered whether the rabbi had guessed his secret, but the learned man told him he was only repeating a maxim from the Talmud.

Exactly a year from the date of his sentence, as best he could keep count, the prince found himself in a strange land on the outskirts of a great city. There he met a beggar who hailed him as a brother.

"Come with me," said the beggar. "I know the lore of our fraternity as few do. I know where to get the best food and shelter for nothing. Here, in this city, a beautiful and noble princess has established a place where all travelers may rest and refresh. None are turned away. I will take you there."

The beggar was as good as his word, and the prince enjoyed the best meal and the most comfortable shelter since he had been an outcast. Overcome with emotion at the thoughts that came to him, he retired to a corner and wept. Suddenly he heard a voice of entrancing sweetness say, "Why do you weep?"

He looked up and saw the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever seen. Instinctively, he rose and bowed low, but made no answer.

"The princess speaks. You must answer," said another voice, that of an attendant.

A princess! Of course, none but a princess could be so fair. And what a kind voice she had. As a prince, he remembered, he had spoken harshly as a rule, and had never visited any charitable institutions.

"You must have a story," said the princess kindly. "Tell it to me. If it is to be kept a secret, you may trust me. I will not betray you."

The prince was about to tell her everything but he hesitated and said: "Alas! I am an unhappy, wandering beggar, as you see, most gracious princess. But do not pity me. I am not worthy of your kind thoughts. A year ago I lived in a—a beautiful house. I was the only son of a—rich merchant, and my father lavished all his love and wealth on me. But I was wicked. I was unkind to people, and I was cast out and ordered not to return until I had learned to Count Five. I have not yet learned. I am doomed to a wretched life. That is the whole of my story."

"Strange," murmured the princess. "I will help you if I can."

The next day she came again to the shelter, and with her was the rabbi who had given the prince good advice. The rabbi gave no sign that he had seen the stranger before.

"This Jewish sage is a wise man and will teach you," said the princess, and at her bidding, the prince repeated what he had said the previous night.

"It is a simple lesson," said the rabbi, "so absurdly simple that, unfortunately, proud people overlook it. Tell me, my son," he added. "Have you experienced hunger?"

"That I have," replied the prince sadly.

"Then you can count One. Do you know what it is to feel cold?"

"I do."

"You can count Two. Tell me further, do you know what kindness of heart is?"

"That I have received from the poorest and also from the gracious princess."

"You have progressed far in your lesson," said the rabbi. "You can now count Three. Have you ever felt gratitude?"

"Indeed I have, often during this past year, and now most especially."

"Four is now the count," said the rabbi. "Tell me, my son, have you learned the greatest lesson of all? Do you feel humble in spirit?"

With tears in his eyes, the prince answered, "I do, most sincerely."

"Then you have truly learned to Count Five. Return to your father. He must be a wise and just man to have given you this lesson. He will surely forgive you. Go, with my blessing," and the rabbi raised his hands above the young man's head and uttered a blessing.

"Take also my good wishes," said the princess, and she offered him her hand to kiss.

"Gracious princess," he said, "it is not fitting that a beggar in rags should speak what is in his heart. But I shall return, and if you deem me worthy, perhaps you will grant a request that I shall make."

"Perhaps," replied the princess with a laugh.

The prince hurried back to his father's palace and related all his adventures. The old man listened quietly, then he clasped his son in his arms, forgave him, and proudly proclaimed him prince before all the people again. He was a changed man, and never again was he guilty of a cruel action.

Before many months had passed, he returned to the city where he had seen the princess, with a long retinue of attendants, all bearing gifts.

"Gracious princess," he said, when he had been granted an audience. "I said I would return."

"Indeed! I do not know you."

The prince told her of their former meeting, and she seemed highly pleased.

"Now," he said, "set the crown on your work, which restored to me the manhood I had foolishly cast away by my conduct. I would make you my bride, and with you as my guide and counselor, I shall be the most faithful of kings, and you a queen of goodness and beauty and wisdom such as the world has not yet seen."

The princess did not give her answer immediately, but in due course she did; and once again, the prince returned home, this time happier than ever. Sitting by his side in the chariot of state was the princess, radiant in smiles, for the people welcomed her heartily, strewing flowers in her path. And ever afterward there was happiness throughout the land.