Ursula LeGuin: The Royals of Hegn

Agency runs the hotel and hires local dukes and earls, take visitors to see on the Walls, performed by princes of traditional regalia, at noon and six day tours to a couple of other the ancient, indestructible roads forests. The tourists get out of the or walk through the parts of the inhabitants of the palace are aloof courteous, as befits royalty. Perhaps smiles at the tourists without the pretty little Crown Princess to whatever they like in the lunch-Princess go back into the private part tourists have lunch and get back into

Being an introvert, I rather like Hegn. One does not have to mingle,

since one can’t. And the food is

good, and the sunlight sweet.

I went there more than once, and

stayed longer than most people

do, and so it happened that I learned

about the Hegnish Commoners.

I was walking down the main street of Legners Royal, the capital

of Hemgogn, when I saw a crowd in the

square in front of the old thought it must be one of and joined the crowd to watch. decorous, and profoundly dull. But are: and they have their own tedious

Church of the Thrice Royal Martyr. I the many annual festivals or rituals These events are always slow, they’re the only events there

charm. Soon, however, I saw this was a

different from any Hegnish ceremony I

funeral. And it was altogether had ever witnessed, above people.

were all royals, of course, like any princesses, duchesses, countesses, the regal reserve, the sovereign always seen in them before. square, for once not engaged in traditional occupation or if for comfort. They were and verged upon being noisy. grieving, openly grieving.

person nearest me in the crowd was the aunt by marriage. I knew who she morning at half past eight, walk the King’s pet gorki the hotel, and one of the I had watched from the hotel while the gorki, a fine, himself under the cheeseblossom away into a tranquil vacancy aristocrats.

those pale eyes were filled with tears, with the effort to control

SIZE="2">"Your ladyship," I provide

in case I had it wrong, "forgive funeral is this?"

all in the behavior of the

They crowd in Hegn, all of

them princes, dukes, earls,

etc. But they were not behaving with

aplomb, the majestic apathy I had

They were standing about in the

any kind of prescribed ritual duty or

hobby, but just crowding together. as

disturbed, distressed, disorganized,

They showed emotion. They were

The Dowager Duchess of

Mogn and Farstis, the Queen’s

was because I had seen her, every

issue forth from the Royal Palace to

in the Palace gardens, which border on

Agency guides had told me who she was.

window of the breakfast room of the

heavily testicled specimen, relieved

bushes, and the Dowager Duchess gazed

reserved for the eyes of true

But now and the soft, weathered face of the Duchess worked

her feelings.

the proper appellation for a duchess

me, I am from another country, whose

She looked at me unseeing, dimly surprised but too absorbed in

sorrow to wonder at my ignorance or my

effrontery. "Sissie’s,"

she said, and speaking the name made

her break into open sobs

for a moment. She turned away, hiding

her face in her large lace

handkerchief, and I dared ask no

more.

The crowd was growing rapidly, constantly. By the time the coffin

was borne forth from the church, there

must have been over a thousand

people, most of the population of

Legners, all of them members

of the Royal Family, crowded into the

square. The King and his

two sons and his brother followed the coffin at a respectful distance.

The coffin was carried and closely surrounded by people I had

never seen before, a very odd

lot–pale, fat men in cheap suits,

pimply boys, middle-aged women with

brassy hair and stiletto heels, thick thighs in a miniskirt, mantilla. She staggered half-hysterical, supported with a pencil mustache and small, dry, tired, dogged woman rusty black.

and a highly visible young woman with a halter top, and a black cotton lace along after the coffin weeping aloud, on one side by a scared-looking man two-tone shoes, on the other by a in her seventies dressed entirely in

At the far edge of the crowd I saw a native guide with whom I

had struck up a lightweight

friendship, a young viscount, son

of the Duke of Ist, and I worked my

way toward him. It took quite

a while, as everyone was streaming

along with the slow procession

of the coffin-bearers and their entourage toward the King’s limousines

and horse-drawn coaches that waited

near the Palace gates. When

I finally got to the guide I said, "Who is it? Who are they?"

"Sissie," he said almost in a wail, caught up in the general grief–"Sissie

died last night!" Then, coming

back to his duties as guide and pleasant aristocratic manner,

he looked at me, blinked back his

tears, and said, "They 6;re our

commoners."

"And Sissie–?"

"She’s, she was, their daughter. The only daughter." Do what he

could, the tears would well into his

eyes. "She was such a dear

girl. Such a help to her mother,

always. Such a sweet smile. And

there’s nobody like her, nobody.

She was the only one. Oh, she

was so full of love. Our poor little

Sissie!" And he broke right

down and cried aloud.

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Copyright

"The Royals of Hegn" by Ursula K. Le Guin, copyright © 1999 by

Ursula K. Le Guin, used by permission of the

author

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