The Prince and the Horse

There once was a prince who was greatly excited to one day rule his country. This ambition was not the sort that would lead to any violent usurpation, for the prince was devoted to his father. In fact, the prince spent much of the day pestering the king with questions. The prince wanted to know everything about ruling. When the king was busy, the prince spent hours perusing the volumes in the library, storing up knowledge in great heaps, hoping that one day the storehouses would be full enough for the prince to finally rule wisely.

And so the prince studied political histories, tactical manuals, works of heroic literature, great famous speeches, scientific journals, books of law. He could tell all about the great deeds of Achilles and the motions of the planets. Yet he could not help to imagine himself in every work he read. He was pleased to imagine those great speeches come from his mouth, the battle formations drawn by his hand, decrees sent out from his throne. All his hope was on the crown that he would one day achieve, that would be set upon the head more prepared for it than any it had known before. The prince was a young man of preparation.

He met a great many people at court, as princes are wont to do. He was kind, for he knew that it was best for a prince to be thought kind. He was most pleased when he found a courtier interested in his studies and quests. The prince was known then to dazzle and confound his counterpart, spilling out all the words his brain could recall, dousing the listener with the finest speech he could gather in a moment. Some found the prince’s speeches charming, while others made a note to avoid being thus captured in the future. The prince would walk away, thinking he had made a friend, but lie in bed that night bothered that he could not recall this new friend’s name. He would then go to his window, where he would look out at the planets and forget about all his knowledge, and feel quite alone. He wondered if his father ever felt this way, or perhaps his new friend.

Most upsetting were the days when he could not find his father to ask his questions, he did not feel home in the library, and no courtier wanted to listen to his speeches. On these days he took his horse out and cantered across the kingdom, until the thudding of the hooves against the pavement dulled the pangs in his heart. One day, after a good while at such a pace, the wind in the prince’s hair cheered him. He felt a whooshing, cold happiness running through him. He did not know what to do with this happiness, other than to make a speech about it. And so he dismounted his horse near the river and began to speak, to himself, or his horse, or no-one.

“O cold day, I didst begin you with a weariness of spirit. But my mind, newly invigorated by such a spirited wind, begs to exercise itself now, and so I begin. Forsooth—“

“Excuse me, your highness,” his horse intruded. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I have a question. Why did the wind make you want to give a speech?”

The prince, not knowing his horse to talk, was startled. Nevertheless, he replied. “Pay you no heed, my steed. You are but an animal and cannot penetrate the meaning of my rhetoric. You are my companion in rides and walks by the river, not in higher learning.”

“Forgive me sir, but I must confess that I hear you make your speeches daily, and for the most part, am able to follow them. They are quite erudite indeed, and full of subjects I am not familiar with. I spoke this time because you came upon a subject I know: the wind. What I want to know is why you would make a speech about it.”

The prince was puzzled. What more was there to do? “I confess that your question puzzles me. I am moved, and now continue in an exposition and exploration of the causes that moved me, the shifiting of the four humours within my soul, the poetical nature of the circumstances. It’s all quite easy.”

“Are these the things you discuss with your friends? Do they feel the same way about such things?” the horse asked.

“Well, I can’t be sure, because they don’t often talk back. And besides, I’m not quite sure I have any.”

“But your highness,” interjected the horse with all reverence. “I should hope that by now I should be one of your close friends.”

“But how?” replied the prince. “I spend a great deal of time with you, but you cannot even understand my simplest arguments of politics or philosophy. All we ever do is canter through the kingdom. What can we share?”

“We share the cold happiness of the wind. We share the thud of my hooves on the pavement. We share the songs that you sing, keeping time to my steps. We share the warmth of our bodies. We share the walk by the river. That is enough to make a friend with any less demanding creature.”

The prince had never thought such things. The horse began again.

“And from time to time, I would not mind listening to one of your speeches. So long as we may share the laughter of the ride, I am willing to call you my master and friend in all your temperaments. But know that you need not make speeches to make a friend.”

The prince considered all these things, and felt something well inside him that was far away from the storehouses, someplace much warmer. Then, he thought of something he could ask his friend. “Do you look at the planets at night, and feel quite alone?”

“Sometimes. But it is a happy loneliness. Perhaps we can talk of it another time.”

The prince and the horse rode back to the kingdom, laughing and singing at the wind and the birds. The prince went to bed that night feeling many things. He still wanted to return to the library tomorrow, but even more, he looked forward to his afternoon ride with his friend. He looked out at the planets, still as deep and mysterious as any other night, but somehow less frightening and far. Then he went to sleep, thinking a little less about becoming king and a little more about tomorrow.