The Remarkable Rocket

The King’s son was going to
be married, so there were general rejoicings. He had waited
a whole year for his bride, and at last she had arrived.
She was a Russian Princess, and had driven all the way from
Finland in a sledge drawn by six reindeer. The sledge was
shaped like a great golden swan, and between the swan’s
wings lay the little Princess herself. Her long
ermine-cloak reached right down to her feet, on her head was a
tiny cap of silver tissue, and she was as pale as the Snow Palace
in which she had always lived. So pale was she that as she
drove through the streets all the people wondered.
“She is like a white rose!” they cried, and they
threw down flowers on her from the balconies.

At the gate of the Castle the Prince was waiting to receive
her. He had dreamy violet eyes, and his hair was like fine
gold. When he saw her he sank upon one knee, and kissed her
hand.

“Your picture was beautiful,” he murmured,
“but you are more beautiful than your picture”; and
the little Princess blushed.

“She was like a white rose before,” said a young
Page to his neighbour, “but she is like a red rose
now”; and the whole Court was delighted.

For the next three days everybody went about saying,
“White rose, Red rose, Red rose, White rose”; and the
King gave orders that the Page’s salary was to be
doubled. As he received no salary at all this was not of
much use to him, but it was considered a great honour, and was
duly published in the Court Gazette.

When the three days were over the marriage was
celebrated. It was a magnificent ceremony, and the bride
and bridegroom walked hand in hand under a canopy of purple
velvet embroidered with little pearls. Then there was a
State Banquet, which lasted for five hours. The Prince and
Princess sat at the top of the Great Hall and drank out of a cup
of clear crystal. Only true lovers could drink out of this
cup, for if false lips touched it, it grew grey and dull and
cloudy.

“It’s quite clear that they love each
other,” said the little Page, “as clear as
crystal!” and the King doubled his salary a second
time. “What an honour!” cried all the
courtiers.

After the banquet there was to be a Ball. The bride and
bridegroom were to dance the Rose-dance together, and the King
had promised to play the flute. He played very badly, but
no one had ever dared to tell him so, because he was the
King. Indeed, he knew only two airs, and was never quite
certain which one he was playing; but it made no matter, for,
whatever he did, everybody cried out, “Charming!
charming!”

The last item on the programme was a grand display of
fireworks, to be let off exactly at midnight. The little
Princess had never seen a firework in her life, so the King had
given orders that the Royal Pyrotechnist should be in attendance
on the day of her marriage.

“What are fireworks like?” she had asked the
Prince, one morning, as she was walking on the terrace.

“They are like the Aurora Borealis,” said the
King, who always answered questions that were addressed to other
people, “only much more natural. I prefer them to
stars myself, as you always know when they are going to appear,
and they are as delightful as my own flute-playing. You
must certainly see them.”

So at the end of the King’s garden a great stand had
been set up, and as soon as the Royal Pyrotechnist had put
everything in its proper place, the fireworks began to talk to
each other.

“The world is certainly very beautiful,” cried a
little Squib. “Just look at those yellow
tulips. Why! if they were real crackers they could not be
lovelier. I am very glad I have travelled. Travel
improves the mind wonderfully, and does away with all one’s
prejudices.”

“The King’s garden is not the world, you foolish
squib,” said a big Roman Candle; “the world is an
enormous place, and it would take you three days to see it
thoroughly.”

“Any place you love is the world to you,”
exclaimed a pensive Catherine Wheel, who had been attached to an
old deal box in early life, and prided herself on her broken
heart; “but love is not fashionable any more, the poets
have killed it. They wrote so much about it that nobody
believed them, and I am not surprised. True love suffers,
and is silent. I remember myself once—But it is no
matter now. Romance is a thing of the past.”

“Nonsense!” said the Roman Candle, “Romance
never dies. It is like the moon, and lives for ever.
The bride and bridegroom, for instance, love each other very
dearly. I heard all about them this morning from a
brown-paper cartridge, who happened to be staying in the same
drawer as myself, and knew the latest Court news.”

But the Catherine Wheel shook her head. “Romance
is dead, Romance is dead, Romance is dead,” she
murmured. She was one of those people who think that, if
you say the same thing over and over a great many times, it
becomes true in the end.

Suddenly, a sharp, dry cough was heard, and they all looked
round.

It came from a tall, supercilious-looking Rocket, who was tied
to the end of a long stick. He always coughed before he
made any observation, so as to attract attention.

“Ahem! ahem!” he said, and everybody listened
except the poor Catherine Wheel, who was still shaking her head,
and murmuring, “Romance is dead.”

“Order! order!” cried out a Cracker. He was
something of a politician, and had always taken a prominent part
in the local elections, so he knew the proper Parliamentary
expressions to use.

“Quite dead,” whispered the Catherine Wheel, and
she went off to sleep.

As soon as there was perfect silence, the Rocket coughed a
third time and began. He spoke with a very slow, distinct
voice, as if he was dictating his memoirs, and always looked over
the shoulder of the person to whom he was talking. In fact,
he had a most distinguished manner.

“How fortunate it is for the King’s son,” he
remarked, “that he is to be married on the very day on
which I am to be let off. Really, if it had been arranged
beforehand, it could not have turned out better for him; but,
Princes are always lucky.”

“Dear me!” said the little Squib, “I thought
it was quite the other way, and that we were to be let off in the
Prince’s honour.”

“It may be so with you,” he answered;
“indeed, I have no doubt that it is, but with me it is
different. I am a very remarkable Rocket, and come of
remarkable parents. My mother was the most celebrated
Catherine Wheel of her day, and was renowned for her graceful
dancing. When she made her great public appearance she spun
round nineteen times before she went out, and each time that she
did so she threw into the air seven pink stars. She was
three feet and a half in diameter, and made of the very best
gunpowder. My father was a Rocket like myself, and of
French extraction. He flew so high that the people were
afraid that he would never come down again. He did, though,
for he was of a kindly disposition, and he made a most brilliant
descent in a shower of golden rain. The newspapers wrote
about his performance in very flattering terms. Indeed, the
Court Gazette called him a triumph of Pylotechnic art.”

“Pyrotechnic, Pyrotechnic, you mean,” said a
Bengal Light; “I know it is Pyrotechnic, for I saw it
written on my own canister.”

“Well, I said Pylotechnic,” answered the Rocket,
in a severe tone of voice, and the Bengal Light felt so crushed
that he began at once to bully the little squibs, in order to
show that he was still a person of some importance.

“I was saying,” continued the Rocket, “I was
saying—What was I saying?”

“You were talking about yourself,” replied the
Roman Candle.

“Of course; I knew I was discussing some interesting
subject when I was so rudely interrupted. I hate rudeness
and bad manners of every kind, for I am extremely
sensitive. No one in the whole world is so sensitive as I
am, I am quite sure of that.”

“What is a sensitive person?” said the Cracker to
the Roman Candle.

“A person who, because he has corns himself, always
treads on other people’s toes,” answered the Roman
Candle in a low whisper; and the Cracker nearly exploded with
laughter.

“Pray, what are you laughing at?” inquired the
Rocket; “I am not laughing.”

“I am laughing because I am happy,” replied the
Cracker.

“That is a very selfish reason,” said the Rocket
angrily. “What right have you to be happy? You
should be thinking about others. In fact, you should be
thinking about me. I am always thinking about myself, and I
expect everybody else to do the same. That is what is
called sympathy. It is a beautiful virtue, and I possess it
in a high degree. Suppose, for instance, anything happened
to me to-night, what a misfortune that would be for every
one! The Prince and Princess would never be happy again,
their whole married life would be spoiled; and as for the King, I
know he would not get over it. Really, when I begin to
reflect on the importance of my position, I am almost moved to
tears.”

“If you want to give pleasure to others,” cried
the Roman Candle, “you had better keep yourself
dry.”

“Certainly,” exclaimed the Bengal Light, who was
now in better spirits; “that is only common
sense.”

“Common sense, indeed!” said the Rocket
indignantly; “you forget that I am very uncommon, and very
remarkable. Why, anybody can have common sense, provided
that they have no imagination. But I have imagination, for
I never think of things as they really are; I always think of
them as being quite different. As for keeping myself dry,
there is evidently no one here who can at all appreciate an
emotional nature. Fortunately for myself, I don’t
care. The only thing that sustains one through life is the
consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else, and
this is a feeling that I have always cultivated. But none
of you have any hearts. Here you are laughing and making
merry just as if the Prince and Princess had not just been
married.”

“Well, really,” exclaimed a small Fire-balloon,
“why not? It is a most joyful occasion, and when I
soar up into the air I intend to tell the stars all about
it. You will see them twinkle when I talk to them about the
pretty bride.”

“Ah! what a trivial view of life!” said the
Rocket; “but it is only what I expected. There is
nothing in you; you are hollow and empty. Why, perhaps the
Prince and Princess may go to live in a country where there is a
deep river, and perhaps they may have one only son, a little
fair-haired boy with violet eyes like the Prince himself; and
perhaps some day he may go out to walk with his nurse; and
perhaps the nurse may go to sleep under a great elder-tree; and
perhaps the little boy may fall into the deep river and be
drowned. What a terrible misfortune! Poor people, to
lose their only son! It is really too dreadful! I
shall never get over it.”

“But they have not lost their only son,” said the
Roman Candle; “no misfortune has happened to them at
all.”

“I never said that they had,” replied the Rocket;
“I said that they might. If they had lost their only
son there would be no use in saying anything more about the
matter. I hate people who cry over spilt milk. But
when I think that they might lose their only son, I certainly am
very much affected.”

“You certainly are!” cried the Bengal Light.
“In fact, you are the most affected person I ever
met.”

“You are the rudest person I ever met,” said the
Rocket, “and you cannot understand my friendship for the
Prince.”

“Why, you don’t even know him,” growled the
Roman Candle.

“I never said I knew him,” answered the
Rocket. “I dare say that if I knew him I should not
be his friend at all. It is a very dangerous thing to know
one’s friends.”

“You had really better keep yourself dry,” said
the Fire-balloon. “That is the important
thing.”

“Very important for you, I have no doubt,”
answered the Rocket, “but I shall weep if I choose”;
and he actually burst into real tears, which flowed down his
stick like rain-drops, and nearly drowned two little beetles, who
were just thinking of setting up house together, and were looking
for a nice dry spot to live in.

“He must have a truly romantic nature,” said the
Catherine Wheel, “for he weeps when there is nothing at all
to weep about”; and she heaved a deep sigh, and thought
about the deal box.

But the Roman Candle and the Bengal Light were quite
indignant, and kept saying, “Humbug! humbug!” at the
top of their voices. They were extremely practical, and
whenever they objected to anything they called it humbug.

Then the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield; and the
stars began to shine, and a sound of music came from the
palace.

The Prince and Princess were leading the dance. They
danced so beautifully that the tall white lilies peeped in at the
window and watched them, and the great red poppies nodded their
heads and beat time.

Then ten o’clock struck, and then eleven, and then
twelve, and at the last stroke of midnight every one came out on
the terrace, and the King sent for the Royal Pyrotechnist.

“Let the fireworks begin,” said the King; and the
Royal Pyrotechnist made a low bow, and marched down to the end of
the garden. He had six attendants with him, each of whom
carried a lighted torch at the end of a long pole.

It was certainly a magnificent display.

Whizz! Whizz! went the Catherine Wheel, as she spun round and
round. Boom! Boom! went the Roman Candle. Then
the Squibs danced all over the place, and the Bengal Lights made
everything look scarlet. “Good-bye,” cried the
Fire-balloon, as he soared away, dropping tiny blue sparks.
Bang! Bang! answered the Crackers, who were enjoying themselves
immensely. Every one was a great success except the
Remarkable Rocket. He was so damp with crying that he could
not go off at all. The best thing in him was the gunpowder,
and that was so wet with tears that it was of no use. All
his poor relations, to whom he would never speak, except with a
sneer, shot up into the sky like wonderful golden flowers with
blossoms of fire. Huzza! Huzza! cried the Court; and the
little Princess laughed with pleasure.

“I suppose they are reserving me for some grand
occasion,” said the Rocket; “no doubt that is what it
means,” and he looked more supercilious than ever.

The next day the workmen came to put everything tidy.
“This is evidently a deputation,” said the Rocket;
“I will receive them with becoming dignity” so he put
his nose in the air, and began to frown severely as if he were
thinking about some very important subject. But they took
no notice of him at all till they were just going away.
Then one of them caught sight of him. “Hallo!”
he cried, “what a bad rocket!” and he threw him over
the wall into the ditch.

“Bad Rocket? Bad Rocket?” he said, as he whirled
through the air; “impossible! Grand Rocket, that is what the man
said. Bad and Grand sound very much the same, indeed they
often are the same”; and he fell into the mud.

“It is not comfortable here,” he remarked,
“but no doubt it is some fashionable watering-place, and
they have sent me away to recruit my health. My nerves are
certainly very much shattered, and I require rest.”

Then a little Frog, with bright jewelled eyes, and a green
mottled coat, swam up to him.

“A new arrival, I see!” said the Frog.
“Well, after all there is nothing like mud. Give me
rainy weather and a ditch, and I am quite happy. Do you
think it will be a wet afternoon? I am sure I hope so, but
the sky is quite blue and cloudless. What a
pity!”

“Ahem! ahem!” said the Rocket, and he began to
cough.

“What a delightful voice you have!” cried the
Frog. “Really it is quite like a croak, and croaking
is of course the most musical sound in the world. You will
hear our glee-club this evening. We sit in the old duck
pond close by the farmer’s house, and as soon as the moon
rises we begin. It is so entrancing that everybody lies
awake to listen to us. In fact, it was only yesterday that
I heard the farmer’s wife say to her mother that she could
not get a wink of sleep at night on account of us. It is
most gratifying to find oneself so popular.”

“Ahem! ahem!” said the Rocket angrily. He
was very much annoyed that he could not get a word in.

“A delightful voice, certainly,” continued the
Frog; “I hope you will come over to the duck-pond. I
am off to look for my daughters. I have six beautiful
daughters, and I am so afraid the Pike may meet them. He is
a perfect monster, and would have no hesitation in breakfasting
off them. Well, good-bye: I have enjoyed our conversation
very much, I assure you.”

“Conversation, indeed!” said the Rocket.
“You have talked the whole time yourself. That is not
conversation.”

“Somebody must listen,” answered the Frog,
“and I like to do all the talking myself. It saves
time, and prevents arguments.”

“But I like arguments,” said the Rocket.

“I hope not,” said the Frog complacently.
“Arguments are extremely vulgar, for everybody in good
society holds exactly the same opinions. Good-bye a second
time; I see my daughters in the distance;” and the little Frog swam
away.

“You are a very irritating person,” said the
Rocket, “and very ill-bred. I hate people who talk
about themselves, as you do, when one wants to talk about
oneself, as I do. It is what I call selfishness, and
selfishness is a most detestable thing, especially to any one of
my temperament, for I am well known for my sympathetic
nature. In fact, you should take example by me; you could
not possibly have a better model. Now that you have the
chance you had better avail yourself of it, for I am going back
to Court almost immediately. I am a great favourite at
Court; in fact, the Prince and Princess were married yesterday in
my honour. Of course you know nothing of these matters, for
you are a provincial.”

“There is no good talking to him,” said a
Dragon-fly, who was sitting on the top of a large brown bulrush;
“no good at all, for he has gone away.”

“Well, that is his loss, not mine,” answered the
Rocket. “I am not going to stop talking to him merely
because he pays no attention. I like hearing myself
talk. It is one of my greatest pleasures. I often
have long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that
sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am
saying.”

“Then you should certainly lecture on Philosophy,”
said the Dragon-fly; and he spread a pair of lovely gauze wings
and soared away into the sky.

“How very silly of him not to stay here!” said the
Rocket. “I am sure that he has not often got such a
chance of improving his mind. However, I don’t care a
bit. Genius like mine is sure to be appreciated some
day”; and he sank down a little deeper into the mud.

After some time a large White Duck swam up to him. She
had yellow legs, and webbed feet, and was considered a great
beauty on account of her waddle.

“Quack, quack, quack,” she said. “What
a curious shape you are! May I ask were you born like that,
or is it the result of an accident?”

“It is quite evident that you have always lived in the
country,” answered the Rocket, “otherwise you would
know who I am. However, I excuse your ignorance. It
would be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable as
oneself. You will no doubt be surprised to hear that I can
fly up into the sky, and come down in a shower of golden
rain.”

“I don’t think much of that,” said the Duck,
“as I cannot see what use it is to any one. Now, if
you could plough the fields like the ox, or draw a cart like the
horse, or look after the sheep like the collie-dog, that would be
something.”

“My good creature,” cried the Rocket in a very
haughty tone of voice, “I see that you belong to the lower
orders. A person of my position is never useful. We
have certain accomplishments, and that is more than
sufficient. I have no sympathy myself with industry of any
kind, least of all with such industries as you seem to
recommend. Indeed, I have always been of opinion that hard
work is simply the refuge of people who have nothing whatever to
do.”

“Well, well,” said the Duck, who was of a very
peaceable disposition, and never quarrelled with any one,
“everybody has different tastes. I hope, at any rate,
that you are going to take up your residence here.”

“Oh! dear no,” cried the Rocket. “I am
merely a visitor, a distinguished visitor. The fact is that
I find this place rather tedious. There is neither society
here, nor solitude. In fact, it is essentially
suburban. I shall probably go back to Court, for I know
that I am destined to make a sensation in the world.”

“I had thoughts of entering public life once
myself,” remarked the Duck; “there are so many things
that need reforming. Indeed, I took the chair at a meeting
some time ago, and we passed resolutions condemning everything
that we did not like. However, they did not seem to have
much effect. Now I go in for domesticity, and look after my
family.”

“I am made for public life,” said the Rocket,
“and so are all my relations, even the humblest of
them. Whenever we appear we excite great attention. I
have not actually appeared myself, but when I do so it will be a
magnificent sight. As for domesticity, it ages one rapidly,
and distracts one’s mind from higher things.”

“Ah! the higher things of life, how fine they
are!” said the Duck; “and that reminds me how hungry
I feel”: and she swam away down the stream, saying,
“Quack, quack, quack.”

“Come back! come back!” screamed the Rocket,
“I have a great deal to say to you”; but the Duck
paid no attention to him. “I am glad that she has
gone,” he said to himself, “she has a decidedly
middle-class mind”; and he sank a little deeper still into
the mud, and began to think about the loneliness of genius, when
suddenly two little boys in white smocks came running down the
bank, with a kettle and some faggots.

“This must be the deputation,” said the Rocket,
and he tried to look very dignified.

“Hallo!” cried one of the boys, “look at
this old stick! I wonder how it came here”; and he
picked the rocket out of the ditch.

“Old Stick!” said the
Rocket, “impossible! Gold
Stick, that is what he said. Gold Stick is very
complimentary. In fact, he mistakes me for one of the Court
dignitaries!”

“Let us put it into the fire!” said the other boy,
“it will help to boil the kettle.”

So they piled the faggots together, and put the Rocket on top,
and lit the fire.

“This is magnificent,” cried the Rocket,
“they are going to let me off in broad day-light, so that
every one can see me.”

“We will go to sleep now,” they said, “and
when we wake up the kettle will be boiled”; and they lay
down on the grass, and shut their eyes.

The Rocket was very damp, so he took a long time to
burn. At last, however, the fire caught him.

“Now I am going off!” he cried, and he made
himself very stiff and straight. “I know I shall go
much higher than the stars, much higher than the moon, much
higher than the sun. In fact, I shall go so high
that—”

Fizz! Fizz! Fizz! and he went straight up into the air.

“Delightful!” he cried, “I shall go on like
this for ever. What a success I am!”

But nobody saw him.

Then he began to feel a curious tingling sensation all over
him.

“Now I am going to explode,” he cried.
“I shall set the whole world on fire, and make such a noise
that nobody will talk about anything else for a whole
year.” And he certainly did explode. Bang!
Bang! Bang! went the gunpowder. There was no doubt about
it.

But nobody heard him, not even the two little boys, for they
were sound asleep.

Then all that was left of him was the stick, and this fell
down on the back of a Goose who was taking a walk by the side of
the ditch.

“Good heavens!” cried the Goose. “It
is going to rain sticks”; and she rushed into the
water.

“I knew I should create a great sensation,” gasped
the Rocket, and he went out.