KITTY-CAT TALES.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: IMPTY CURLED HIMSELF UP CLOSE TO THE PILLOW, AND BEGAN
THE STORY.--_Page 12._]
KITTY-CAT TALES
BY
ALICE VAN LEER CARRICK
ILLUSTRATED BY
HOMER EATON KEYES AND BERTHA G. DAVIDSON
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
PUBLISHED, AUGUST, 1907.
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD COMPANY.
_All Rights Reserved._
KITTY-CAT TALES.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
MARGARET AND JOHN
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE FIRST NIGHT 7
THE WHITE CAT 13
THE SECOND NIGHT 39
THE KING OF THE FIELD-MICE 41
THE THIRD NIGHT 55
THE DISCONTENTED CAT 57
THE FOURTH NIGHT 122
THE CAT WHO MARRIED A MOUSE 123
THE FIFTH NIGHT 139
MOTHER MICHEL AND HER CAT 141
THE SIXTH NIGHT 177
VENUS AND THE CAT 178
THE CAT AND THE FOX 181
THE SEVENTH NIGHT 186
DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS WONDERFUL CAT 189
THE EIGHTH NIGHT 203
THE FUNERAL OF TOM GRIMALKIN 204
THE KING OF THE CATS 210
THE NINTH NIGHT 216
PUSS-IN-BOOTS 218
ILLUSTRATIONS
IMPTY CURLED HIMSELF UP CLOSE TO THE PILLOW, AND
BEGAN THE STORY (Page 12) _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
THE PRINCE MOUNTED THE HOBBY-HORSE, AND FOUND
THAT HE HAD NEVER RIDDEN BETTER 20
“KNOW, THEN, THAT I AM THE KING OF ALL THE
FIELD-MICE” 44
THE COUNTESS CAME IN, FOLLOWED BY A LAPDOG 98
“I UNDERSTAND NOW,” SAID THE LITTLE MOUSE, QUITE
GENTLY 136
HE OPENED THE BAG, AND TOSSED MOUMOUTH INTO THE
WATER 150
VENUS TURNED HER AT ONCE INTO A CAT AGAIN 180
SOME BROUGHT ONE THING, SOME ANOTHER, BUT DICK
WHITTINGTON HAD ONLY HIS CAT TO SEND 194
“HAVE YOU ANY SPARE TIME?” ASKED THE OWL 206
“MASTER,” SAID PUSS, “YOU HAVEN’T FARED SO BADLY
AS YOU SEEM TO THINK” 220
THE FIRST NIGHT
Dolly sat up in bed, and stared gravely at the shutters where the last
sunset light was trying to slip through. She was not at all sleepy,
and, because Sandman had not come to shake his magic dust in her eyes,
she had time to think what a lonely and very, very unhappy child she
was. For Dolly’s mother and father had gone away suddenly to her
grandmother, who was ill, and Miss Jane had come to take care of the
little girl until they came home. Miss Jane was good to her--Dolly
knew that--but, then, Miss Jane had never had any little girls of her
own, so she could not know how nice a lump of sugar felt in your hand
at bedtime, nor how a tight, lumpy braid of hair could get down your
back at night, and keep you awake for ever so long. Miss Jane had given
Dolly a drink of water, and heard her say her prayers, and then gone
out.
“She never kissed me good night, nor told me just even one story,” the
little girl said to herself. “And she wouldn’t shut the door loose,
though I said ‘Please,’ ’cause she was afraid Impty would get in. O
dear! How I wish I did have him with me!”
Now Impty was a black, black kitten, with long, thin legs, and a thin,
curved tail that made him look like a witch’s cat--ready to jump on a
broom-stick, and sail off through the air--and he stared solemnly out
of such round, yellow eyes that he seemed to understand everything that
happened about him.
“Dear me! I wish Impty _was_ here!” said Dolly again, and then
something rubbed against her sleeve, and said, “Purr-rr-rr,” a long
purr that slid at last into words, and sounded like this, “Purr-rr-rr,
poor Dolly, poor Dolly! _I’ll_ tell you a story.”
“Why, Impty, dear, I didn’t know you could talk,” the little girl cried.
“You never asked me,” answered the kitten, demurely. “But I _can_ talk,
and I can tell stories, too, for I know all the lore of Cat-Land. When
I sleep I go there in my dreams, and my grandfather, the King of the
Cats, purrs the Kitty-Cat tales in my ear. You have been so kind to us
all your life that you are loved through the whole Cat Kingdom, and so,
one tale each night until your mother comes home, I am permitted by the
King to tell you. But now lie down, and I will purr to you, and then,
if Miss Jane comes in, she can’t do more than say ‘Scat’ and drive me
away, but if she heard me really talking, goodness knows what _would_
happen!”
So Dolly cuddled down with a happy little sigh, and Impty curled
himself up close to the pillow, and began the story of “The White Cat.”
[Illustration:
THE
WHITE CAT
]
Once upon a time there was a King who had three sons, all of whom were
so handsome and good and clever, that he could not decide which should
be the one to reign after him when he was dead and gone. Now this King
was getting old, and as he knew that he must soon make his choice, and
appoint his heir, he called his three sons to him.
“Listen,” he said to them: “I am growing older every day, and soon one
of you must rule the kingdom in my stead. Now, I love you all so well
that I can make no choice, but I will give each of you the chance to
win the crown. Gather together your servants and your horses, set out
upon a journey, and the one of you who shall bring me back the most
beautiful little dog, shall inherit my sceptre. One year will I give
you for the search, and then I will make my decision.”
So the three sons took leave of their father, and started in different
ways, sad at heart at leaving home and each other, for, though they
were rivals, they were devoted brothers. One went north, and one went
south, and both saw many strange sights, but the youngest Prince had
the most wonderful adventures of all. He wandered here and there,
buying dogs of all kinds: dachshunds, spaniels, black and tans, until
he had a large pack of tiny dogs trotting at his heels.
Then, when the year was all gone but a month, and he was thinking of
turning his steps homeward, he wandered from his followers, and lost
his way in a wide, dark forest. After calling out and hallooing in
vain, he noticed a number of lights burning brightly not very far away,
and he turned his steps in their direction. What was his surprise to
come to the gate-ways of a mighty castle, brilliantly lighted, but with
no warders at the doors. Instead of men-at-arms, a number of white
hands appeared in answer to his knock, and ushered him into a spacious,
well-lighted hall. He sat down in a soft arm-chair that the hands had
brought up close to the fire, and, when he was warmed and rested, the
hands drew off gently his travel-stained garments, and dressed him in
a magnificent suit of scarlet satin laced with silver. Then, when he
was ready, and looking as a Prince should look, the hands led him into
the banqueting-hall, and there, under a canopy at one end of the room,
he saw the most beautiful cat he had ever beheld in his life. She was
as white as snow, with long, soft, silky fur, and the prettiest little
face imaginable. Below her were seated cats playing on harps and
lutes, and all about the hall hurried other cats busy on some errand.
His chair was placed beside the White Cat’s; every honor was shown him,
and, because he could not eat the mice and rats that were served up in
all sorts of ways, the hands brought him his favorite dishes. While
they were thus feasting, the Prince happened to look at a bracelet that
the Cat was wearing. What was his surprise to see that it was a band of
gold that held a miniature of himself! He was lost in wonderment, as
well he might have been, for he was sure that never in his life had he
given his picture to a cat of any kind. But when he asked her about it,
she only smiled sadly, and shook her head, refusing to say anything.
After the banquet was over, as he was very tired from tramping all day
long, the hands led him to his chamber, and helped him to bed. The
next morning he was awakened by the baying of hounds, and the cries
of huntsmen under his windows. Jumping up, he quickly looked out, and
saw the whole court ready to set out to the forest. When the hands
had dressed him in a suit of Lincoln green, he joined the White Cat,
who was waiting for him to come and ride by her side to the hunt. She
was mounted on a monkey, and the hands led out a wooden horse for the
Prince to ride. At first he was inclined to be angry at being given
such a clumsy steed, but the White Cat begged him so gently to try it,
that he mounted the hobby-horse, and found that he had never ridden
better in his life.
And so, day after day, the Prince spent his time at the Castle of
the White Cat: feasting, dancing, hunting, and so quickly did the time
go by, that he forgot that his year was nearly spent. He had told the
White Cat of his quest, and how he hoped to be able to take back to
the King, his father, the most beautiful little dog in the world. But
so happy was he that he had forgotten all about it, nor would he have
remembered it at all if the Cat had not called him to her, and said,
“Prince, to-morrow you must leave me, and go back to your own world.”
[Illustration: THE PRINCE MOUNTED THE HOBBY-HORSE, AND FOUND THAT HE
HAD NEVER RIDDEN BETTER.--_Page 20._]
The Prince was heart-broken to think how he had forgotten his promise
to his father, but the White Cat told him not to grieve, and placed in
his hand an acorn, bidding him hold it to his ear. The Prince did so,
and it seemed to him that he heard the bark of a tiny dog.
“Do not open the acorn until you reach the court of the King, and I
promise you that all will be well,” she said.
So the Prince bade good-by to the White Cat sadly enough, and set out
on his homeward journey, riding his awkward hobby-horse, and in far
less time than he had taken to come, he was back again at the Palace.
His brothers had arrived before him, and, as he entered the hall, they
were showing off proudly their delicate, highly bred dogs. But when the
youngest Prince opened the acorn and displayed his beautiful little
dog, all black, resting against a white satin cushion, the whole Court
cried out in admiration that the Kingdom must surely be given to him.
The old King was a little unwilling, however, to give up ruling yet,
and the two other brothers begged so hard to have another chance that
it was finally decided that the Princes should again set out on their
travels; and that, this time, the one who should bring home the finest
piece of linen, long enough to make the king a robe, and delicate
enough to pass through the eye of a needle, should have the Kingdom
as his reward. A second time the three Princes started out, but now
the youngest Prince refused to allow his retinue to accompany him.
Instead, he mounted his old hobby-horse, and rode away to the White
Cat’s Castle. When he reached the gate, the whole Court of Cats ran
to welcome him. The White Cat received him as graciously as before,
and when the Prince told her the search he had again been sent upon,
she smiled, and promised that she would set her cleverest spinners at
work. There, for another year, the Prince stayed, and the time went as
swiftly as happiness always does, and he was amazed when the White Cat
called him to her, and told him that he must go that very night if he
wished to reach his father’s court in time for the test. Then she put
into his hand a walnut, bidding him keep it carefully until he should
reach the King’s Palace.
Just as before, he arrived as his brothers, believing that he would
not come in time, were opening out their webs of linen. Very fine they
were. The web that the eldest brother had brought would slip with ease
through a bodkin; the second son’s piece could be drawn through the eye
of a large darning needle; but the whole Court, remembering what the
youngest Prince had already done, waited to see what he had to show. He
took the walnut from his pocket and cracked it. Inside was a hazel-nut.
This he cracked, too, and, what was his surprise to find a cherry-stone!
When he had broken this in halves he saw inside a grain of wheat, and
in the grain of wheat a millet seed. And then the Prince lost heart,
and thought that the friend he had so believed in had played him some
cruel trick. But as this idea passed through his mind he felt a soft
scratch on his hand to let him know that the White Cat was true. So he
opened the millet seed, and drew forth the finest web of linen in the
world. At the least it was four hundred ells long, and so delicate that
it would slip with ease through the eye of the smallest needle that
could be found.
All the courtiers cried aloud together that the youngest Prince had
once more won the Kingdom, but the elder brothers begged for a third
chance, and as the old King was still unwilling to give up his throne,
he decided that his three sons should again set out, and that the one
who brought home the most beautiful maiden should marry her, and that
as King and Queen they should rule together over his Kingdom.
For the last time the Princes started forth on their quest. The elder
brothers took their own roads, but the youngest, mounting his old
wooden horse, rode straight to the Castle of the White Cat. She was
as happy as ever to see him, and soothed away his disappointment,
promising him all the help in her power. Just as before, the days sped
away in merry-making, and when the year rolled round again, the White
Cat told the Prince that now the time had come when he was to carry
back to his father’s Palace the most beautiful girl in the world.
“But where shall I find her?” cried the Prince, in despair. “I have
delayed too long in your castle, and now I shall never rule over my
father’s Kingdom.”
“Yes, you shall,” replied the White Cat. “If you will do as I bid you,
you shall have the most beautiful Princess in the world for your bride.
Take your sword, cut off my head and tail, and fling me into the fire
that burns in the great hall.”
The Prince angrily refused to do anything so base.
“What! After all your kindness would you have me treat you as your
worst enemy might? No, I would far rather never be King than buy my
inheritance at such a price,” he said.
But the White Cat begged so, telling him, with tears in her eyes, that
it was the greatest favor in the world that could be done her, that, at
last, the Prince consented.
He drew his sword, cut off her head and tail, and flung her into the
fire. In her stead rose up, to his great wonderment, the most beautiful
girl he had ever seen.
She stretched out her hands to him.
“Oh, you have saved me from a horrible enchantment, dear Prince,” she
cried. “If you had not done as I asked, all my life long I should have
remained a cat. I was changed into that shape, and condemned to stay
so until my death, or until the enchantment should be broken, because
I displeased the fairies who brought me up. They declared that I must
marry the hideous little King of the Dwarfs, and when I refused, and
showed them your picture, telling them that you were the only man that
I would ever wed, they threw this spell over me. And now, if you love
me as I do you, and wish to marry me, take me to your father’s Palace,
and the Kingdom shall be yours.”
The Prince, who all this time had been falling deeper and deeper in
love, helped her mount her horse, and followed by her attendants--who
were cats no longer, but men and women like themselves--the Prince and
the beautiful Princess rode back to his home.
The brides of the elder brothers were beautiful to see; the Court
could not decide which was the lovelier, but when the youngest Prince
entered the hall, every courtier declared that he had again been
successful.
The old King rose from his throne.
“My son,” he said, “the Princess you have brought home is the loveliest
lady that these old eyes have ever seen, and though my Kingdom is all
unworthy her rule, it is yours; fairly have you won it.”
But the Princess knelt down beside him, and said:--
“We will not take your crown from you, for I am Queen of five mighty
Kingdoms. Therefore you shall keep yours, and one each will I give
to your elder sons, while my husband and I will reign over the other
three.”
So every one was contented, and as for the Prince and his beautiful
Princess, none ever ruled more wisely, nor were more beloved by their
subjects than they were.
* * * * *
“And so they lived happy for ever and ever afterwards,” murmured Dolly,
contentedly. “All nice fairy tales end that way, Impty.”
But Impty only yawned, and arched his back lazily. Then he jumped down
from the bed.
“I am going to Cat-Land now,” he said, “to get you a story for
to-morrow night. And I am going to sleep under the big arm-chair, near
the door, so that I can slip out when Miss Jane comes in at seven
o’clock. If she sees me, you know she might lock me up in the shed
to-morrow night, and then, what _would_ we do?”
And, in another minute, the little lonely child--not lonely any more,
but very happy--and the black, black kitten were fast asleep.
THE SECOND NIGHT
Miss Jane must have been astonished at the willing way Dolly went to
bed the next night. There never was a child more ready to be undressed;
and although Miss Jane braided her hair in a tighter, lumpier braid
than ever, Dolly never said a word. There was no need for the child to
sit up in bed and stare at the light slanting through the shutters, as
she thought how far away her mother was. Instead, she cuddled into her
pillow contentedly, and as soon as Miss Jane was safely downstairs,
Impty jumped up, and curled himself into a soft, black ball beside her.
“To-night,” he began, “to-night I am going to tell you the tale of ‘The
King of the Field-Mice.’”
[Illustration:
THE KING
OF
THE
FIELD
MICE
]
There was, once upon a time, long, long ago in Japan, a very poor man,
a gardener named Chúgoro Yamakawa, who, with his wife, Ino-yo San,
lived in a little cottage on a small plot of ground. All that they had
to eat they raised in their garden, and their clothes were bought by
the money that the old man made in selling his vegetables and fruits
from door to door. Their only treasure was their cat Tamá, a large,
sleek fellow, and the finest mouser in the whole neighborhood. Every
day, when Chúgoro went to work in his garden, Tamá trotted after him,
and rubbed up against him, as if to say, “My dear Master! How I wish
that I could help you!”
Well, one day, as Chúgoro was digging around his young bamboo trees,
Tamá came bounding through the grass with something in his mouth. The
old man looked down, and saw that it was a pretty little field-mouse,
and, as he was a very kind-hearted man, he took it away from the cat,
who seemed perfectly contented, and trotted off as if his business was
done.
The field-mouse was not dead, only frightened, and as soon as Chúgoro
put it down on the ground again, instead of running away, it sat up on
its hind legs, and said in the tiniest, clear voice: “I owe you many
thanks, Chúgoro Yamakawa, for saving my life. Know, then, that I am the
King of all the Field-Mice, and, if you will meet me to-night at the
door of my Palace, I will bestow great riches upon you.”
The old gardener thanked the little King, and promised to meet him that
evening as soon as his work was done. So, after sunset, leaving Tamá
with Ino-yo San, he walked through the garden until he reached the hole
where the mouse was waiting for him.
“But I cannot enter here,” said Chúgoro, looking at the little hole.
“Oh, yes you can,” answered the King, “for I will touch you with my
paw, and then you will grow small like me, and able to enter my
dwelling.”
[Illustration: “KNOW, THEN, THAT I AM THE KING OF ALL THE FIELD-MICE.”
_Page 43._]
He stretched out his paw, and immediately the old man shrank and shrank
until he was no larger than the King of the Field-Mice himself.
They walked together down a narrow passage-way which, after a little,
widened into a beautiful hall, all glittering with gold and silver. In
the middle was a table richly spread with “o-tsu-yu” and salad and raw
fish, all in gorgeous lacquered bowls, with plenty of “saki” to wash
the viands down. There Chúgoro sat and feasted with the King and the
Queen and the whole Royal Court, and, as they ate, from the kitchens
came the small song of the servant mice, pounding rice for the New
Year. As they pounded, they sang this strange little ditty:--
Ton, ton! Neko sai oraneba
Nezumi no yo zakare. Ton, ton!
(When the cat’s away
The mice will play!)
After the King saw that Chúgoro could eat no more, he led him to the
treasure chamber, and filled his arms with gold and silver and fine
lacquer work; enough to make him a rich man for life. Then he led him
through the winding passage, and bade him good-by. When the old man was
out in the fields again, he found that he was the same height that he
had always been, and he hurried home to share the good news with Ino-yo
San and Tamá.
With his riches he built himself a fine new house, and bought jewels
and silk robes for his wife, and, as for Tamá, he rested at night on a
downy cushion, and lived on everything nice that a cat could wish.
Now, a rich, miserly neighbor of Chúgoro’s, Gizæmon Muratani by name,
seeing the gardener so rich and prosperous where he had always been in
want before, called upon him, and begged to know what had brought him
such wealth.
Chúrgoro, who was very generous, and who wished all the world to be
as fortunate as himself, told the whole story to Gizæmon. Immediately
the miser asked that Tamá should be lent to him, that he might once
more catch the King of the Field-Mice. The gardener willingly agreed,
and Gizæmon took Tamá, and started across the fields, with the cat
trotting at his heels. All of a sudden, Tamá darted swiftly away, and
came bounding back over the grass with something in his mouth. It was
the King of the Field-Mice again! Gizæmon set him free, and--for he was
very ungrateful--drove Tamá harshly away. The mouse thanked the rich
man as he had Chúgoro, and, in the same way, begged him to come that
night to the door of his Palace. The miser’s heart swelled with pride
and vanity.
“Now,” thought he, “I will be richer than my neighbor, for all that the
Field-Mouse gives me, and all that I have myself, will be mine.”
He could hardly wait for the sun to set, he was so anxious to gather up
his riches.
The King met him at the doorway, and touched him with his paw. Like
Chúgoro, he grew smaller and smaller until he could follow the King
down the little winding passage. When the banquet hall was reached,
he was seated at the King’s right hand, and served with all sorts of
delicious food; but the greedy man looked around instead of eating,
and, as he saw how many fine things there were in the room, and, as he
heard the little kitchen mice singing away, as they pounded:--
Ton, ton! Neko sai oraneba,
Nezumi no yo zakare. Ton, ton!
he thought, “What a fine thing it would be for me if I could make
these mice believe that a Cat _was_ here! Then they would run away,
and all these riches would be mine!”
So he called out in a loud voice, “Miaou! Miaou! Miaou!” and the
little, frightened mice fled away in a tremble. Gizæmon was beginning
to gather up the gold and silver dishes, when, all at once, he found he
was growing taller and taller and taller. He ran to the door, but he
was much too large to get out. He dropped all his stolen riches, but he
kept on growing bigger and bigger and bigger until he grew right up in
the field like a potato, and a farmer who was digging there cracked his
head with a hoe.
And so his greediness and ingratitude were rewarded, but as for Chúgoro
Yamakawa and his wife Ino-yo San, they lived with Tamá, their cat,
happy for ever and ever afterwards, as you say.
* * * * *
“But I _do_ think,” Impty added, as he jumped down from the bed, and
went to hide under the arm-chair, “I do _really_ think that Tamá was
a wonderful cat not to have eaten the field-mouse that last time. I’m
afraid _I_ should.”
THE THIRD NIGHT
Impty came dancing out of his hiding-place as soon as the sound of Miss
Jane’s footsteps died away on the stair.
“‘Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, where have you been?’” cried the little girl
gayly.
“Well, I haven’t been _quite_ to London to look at the Queen,” answered
Impty, as he pranced across to Dolly’s pillow, and curled down beside
her. “But I’ve been somewhere that’s very nearly as good, for I’ve
visited the Court of the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg,
and heard there the story of ‘The Discontented Cat,’ and I’m going to
tell you to-night the tale of her adventures, and how she was taught to
be happy instead of being always dissatisfied.”
[Illustration:
THE
DISCONTENTED CAT
]
Once upon a time--I can’t say exactly when it was--there stood a neat,
tidy little hut on the borders of a wild forest. A poor old woman dwelt
in this hut. She lived on the whole pretty comfortably; for though
she was poor, she was able to keep a few goats, that supplied her
with milk, and a flock of chickens, that gave her fresh eggs every
morning; and then she had a small garden, which she cultivated with her
own hands, and that supplied her with cabbages and other vegetables,
besides gooseberries and apples for dumplings. Her goats browsed upon
the short grass just outside the garden, and her chickens ran about
everywhere, and picked up everything they could find. There were some
fine old trees which defended the cottage on three sides from the
cold winds, and the front was to the south, so it was very snug and
sheltered. The forest afforded her sticks and young logs for fuel, so
that she was never in want of a fire; and, altogether, she managed to
make out a pretty comfortable life of it, as times went.
The only friend and companion the old woman had was her gray cat. Now,
the cat was a middle-aged cat: she had arrived at a time of life when
people grow reflective; and she sat by the hearth and reflected very
often. What did she reflect about? That is rather a long story. You
must know, then, that a few leagues from the old woman’s hut, at the
other end of the forest, there rose a grand castle, belonging to a very
great baron. And sometimes, on fine summer mornings, as the old woman
and the cat were sitting in the sunshine, by the door, the old woman at
her spinning-wheel, and puss curled up for a nap after her breakfast,
the forest would suddenly ring with the sound of hunting-horns, shouts,
and laughter; and a train of gay ladies and richly dressed gentlemen
would sweep by on horseback, with hawk and hound, and followed by
servants in splendid liveries; for the Baron was fond of hawking and
hunting, and frequently took those diversions in the neighboring
forests. Now, it so happened that in one of the tall trees behind the
cottage there lived a magpie, not by any means an ordinary magpie, but
a bird that had seen a good deal of the world; indeed, at one time
of her life, she had, as she took care to inform everybody, lived
in the service of the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg.
How she happened to leave such a grand situation, the magpie never
explained: to be sure, some ill-natured people did say that there had
been an awkward story about the loss of one of the Countess’s diamond
bracelets, which was found one fine morning in the inside of a hollow
tree in the garden; and that Mag was turned away in disgrace directly.
But how the matter really was I cannot say; all I know is, that she
took up her abode halfway up one of the large oaks, behind the old
woman’s hut, a long time before our story begins; and that, being of a
particularly sociable and chatty disposition, she soon established an
ardent friendship with the cat, and they became the greatest cronies
in the world. So when, as I said just now, the Baron’s grand hunting
parties swept past, they afforded the magpie a fine opportunity for
displaying her knowledge of life and the world. And sometimes, too,
she would dwell at great length on the splendor and happiness she had
enjoyed while she lived with the Countess in her Palace, till the
cat’s fur almost stood on end to hear the wonders she related. What a
place that Palace must have been! Very different, indeed, from the old
woman’s cottage.
Now these conversations with the magpie sadly unsettled the mind of the
cat; more particularly when the magpie related to her how daintily the
Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg’s cat always lived,--what
nice bits of chicken she dined upon, what delicious morsels of buttered
crumpet she often had for breakfast, what soft cushions she lay upon,
and a great deal more to the same purpose: all of which made a powerful
impression upon our wondering friend. So she sat and reflected by the
fire, while the good old woman, her mistress, went on spinning the wool
which she sold afterwards at the nearest town, to buy food and clothes.
The more the cat talked to the magpie, the more dissatisfied she became
with her present condition; till, at last, I am sadly afraid that when,
in a morning, the old woman gave her her breakfast of goats’ milk
with some nice brown bread broken into it, she began rather to despise
it, instead of taking it thankfully, as she ought to have done, for
she was very comfortably off in the cottage--having bread and milk
every morning and night, and something for dinner, too; besides what
mice she could catch, to say nothing of a stray sparrow or squirrel
now and then. But, as I said just now, the magpie’s chattering stories
unsettled her; she thought it would be so charming to dine upon bits
of roast chicken, and have buttered crumpets for breakfast, and fine
cushions to lie upon, like the Countess’s cat. All this was very silly,
no doubt; but she wanted experience: she knew nothing of the thousands
and thousands of poor cats who would have thought her life quite
luxurious. It is a very bad thing to get unsettled; it sets people
wishing and doing many foolish things.
One fine bright evening the magpie was perched upon the projecting
bough of her oak, and the cat, who thought the cottage particularly
dull that day, had come out for a little gossip.
“Good evening!” screamed the magpie, as soon as she saw her; “do come
up here and let us chat a little.” So the cat climbed up, and seated
herself on another bough a little below.
“You look out of spirits to-day,” began the magpie, bending down a very
inquisitive eye to her friend’s face. “I am afraid you are not well.
But I am not surprised. That old sparrow I saw you eating for dinner
must have been as tough as leather. It’s no wonder you are ill after
it! You should really be more careful, and only catch the nice tender
young ones.”
“Thank you,” replied the cat, in a rather melancholy tone, “I am
perfectly well.”
“Then what in the world ails you, my dear friend?”
“I don’t know,” answered the cat, “but I believe I am getting rather
tired of staying here all my life.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the magpie, “I know what that is--I feel for you, Puss;
you may well be moped, living in that stupid cottage all day. You are
not like myself, now; _I_ have had such advantages! I declare to you I
can amuse myself the whole day with the recollection of the wonderful
things I have seen when I lived in the great world.”
“There it is,” interrupted the cat. “To think of the difference in
people’s situations! Just compare my condition in this wretched hole of
a hut, with the life you say the Countess’s cat lives. I’m sure I can
hardly eat my sop in the morning for thinking of her buttered crumpets.
It’s a fine thing to be born in a Palace!”
“Indeed,” replied the magpie, “there is a great deal of truth in what
you say; and sometimes I half repent of having retired from her service
myself; but there’s a great charm in liberty--it is pleasant to feel
able to fly about wherever one likes, and have no impertinent questions
asked.”
“Does the Countess’s cat ever do any work?” inquired puss.
“Not a bit,” answered the magpie. “I don’t suppose she ever caught a
mouse in her life. Why should she? She has plenty to eat and drink,
and nothing to do but to sleep or play all day long.”
“What a life!” cried the cat. “And here am I, obliged to take the
trouble to catch birds or anything I can, if I want to make out my
dinner. What a world it is!”
“Your most obedient servant, ladies,” just at that moment hooted an old
owl from a neighboring fir-tree. “A fine evening to you!”
“Dear me, Mr. Owl! How you made me jump!” cried the magpie, quite
crossly, “I nearly tumbled down from the bough!”
To tell the truth, the magpie did not particularly care for the owl’s
company. He was apt to say very rude things sometimes; besides, he
was thought a very sensible bird, and Mag always declared she hated
sensible birds--they were so dreadfully dull, and thought themselves so
much wiser than other people.
But the cat was not sorry to have a chance to tell her woes to any one
who was so generally respected for his wisdom, and she said at once:--
“We were talking, my dear sir, on the wide differences there are in
the world.”
“You may well say that,” answered the owl, giving a blink with his
left eye. “I suppose,” he added, turning to the magpie, “that your
ladyship finds a good deal of difference between your present abode and
the Countess’s grand palace garden. I only wonder how you could bring
yourself to make such a change--at your time of life, too.”
“What a very rude speech,” thought the magpie; she fidgeted upon the
branch, drew herself up, and muttered something about people minding
their own business.
“But you, my dear cat,” went on the owl, “you have every reason to be
satisfied with your lot in life.”
“I am not so sure of that,” said the cat. “I think I have a good many
reasons for being quite the contrary; the Countess’s cat has cream and
buttered crumpets for breakfast, and sleeps on a beautiful soft cushion
all night, and all day, too, if she likes it; and just look what a dull
life of it I lead here! And I have nothing but the hearth to lie upon,
and nothing for breakfast but milk and brown bread!”
“And you ought to be thankful you can get that,” cried the owl, quite
angrily. “I can tell you what, Mrs. Puss, I have seen more of the world
than you have, and I just say this for your comfort--if you could see
how some poor cats live, you would be glad enough of your present
condition.”
“Humph!” muttered the cat, “I really don’t see how _you_ have contrived
to see so much of the world, sitting as you do in a tree all day. I
should think that the magpie ought to know something of life, after
the high society she has lived in; and I _do_ say it’s a shame that one
cat should have buttered crumpets and cream for breakfast, just because
she happens to live in a palace, while another has only brown sop,
because she happens to live in a cottage!”
“But suppose,” replied the owl, “that some other cat, who lives in a
cellar, and never gets anything to eat, except what she can pick up in
the gutters, should take it into her head to say, ‘What a shame it is
that some cats should have nice, snug cottages over their heads, and
warm hearths to sit by, and bread and milk for breakfast, while I am
obliged to live in this horrid, cold cellar, and never know how to get
a mouthful?’”
But the cat could not believe him.
“My dear Mr. Owl,” she said, “you can’t really mean that there are any
such poor cats in the world. I am sure that the magpie, with all her
experience of life, would have told me about it, if it were really so.
You must be mistaken.”
The magpie was, by this time, very tired of such a long silence, and
she broke in with:--
“You will excuse me, my worthy friend, but really you do sit there so,
day after day, blinking in the sun, without a soul to speak to, that I
don’t wonder at your taking very strange fancies into your head. I can
only say that, during the whole of my residence in the Palace of the
Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, my late respected mistress,
I never came in contact with any cat in the condition you are pleased
to mention, and _I_ should know something of the world, I think.”
“Well,” said the owl quietly, “I will not dispute your ladyship’s
knowledge of the world, but I strongly advise our friend, Mrs. Puss, to
remain contented at home, and not try to improve her fortune by going
into the town. People should learn to know when they are well off.”
Just then, patter, patter, patter, came a few large drops through the
leaves; the magpie, making a prodigious chattering, and declaring
that a tremendous storm was coming on, flew down from the bough; and
whispering to the cat not to mind what the owl said,--“a stupid
old bird,”--she hid herself, very snugly, in a hollow place in the
trunk--not at all sorry, to tell the truth, to end the conversation.
The owl nestled himself in a thick bush of ivy that grew near, and the
cat ran into the cottage, to sit by the fire and reflect, for between
her two friends her mind was a little puzzled.
The old woman shut the cottage door, heaped some dry fir logs on the
fire, and sat down to her spinning-wheel. The rain pelted against the
shutters, the wind howled in the tree tops, and roared loudly in the
forest behind the hut; it was a terrible night out of doors, but within
the cottage it was snug enough; the fire was blazing merrily, the old
woman’s wheel turned briskly round, the kettle was singing a low, quiet
song to itself beside the crackling logs, and the cat was sitting
on the hearth looking warm and comfortable. But she was not at all
comfortable in her mind, for discontented people seldom are. It never
entered her head to consider whether there were any poor cats abroad
that night, without a shelter over them. In fact, she could think of
nothing just at this time but the luxuries enjoyed by the fortunate
cats who might happen to be born in grand palaces: so, curled up in
the warmest corner of the hearth, she sat watching the little spouts
of flame that kept flashing up from the pine logs, and wishing for the
hundredth time that day, that she had had the good luck to be a palace
cat. Presently a very strange thing happened.
All of a sudden, she felt something very lightly touch her coat, and
looking round, there stood, close by her, the most beautiful little
thing that anybody ever dreamt of. She was not many inches high, her
robe seemed made of gold and silver threads fine as gossamer, woven
together. On her head she wore a circlet of diamonds, so small and
bright that they looked like sparks of fire, and in her tiny hand she
bore a long and very slight silver wand.
The cat looked at her with astonishment; it was very odd that the old
woman did not seem to see her at all.
The beautiful little lady looked at the cat for a minute or two very
steadily; and then said, “You are wishing for something; what is it?”
By this time the cat had recovered from her fright, and was able to
speak, so she answered, “Please your Majesty, whoever you are, you have
guessed right for once--I _am_ wishing for something. I wish to live in
the Palace of the magpie’s grand Countess!”
Wonderful to relate--the words were no sooner spoken than the fairy
struck her wand upon the floor three times, and lo! and behold!
instantly there appeared a car made of four large scallop-shells joined
together, and lined with rich velvet; the wheels were studded with
the whitest pearls, and it was drawn by eight silver pheasants. The
fairy seated herself inside, and told the cat to step in after her.
Puss obeyed, and in an instant the hut, the old woman, and the little
garden, all had vanished, and she and the fairy were sailing through
the air as fast as the eight pheasants could fly.
“Where in the world are we going, please your Majesty?” said poor puss
in a dreadfully frightened tone, clinging to the sides of the car
with her claws, so that she might not be tossed out. “Hush!” said the
fairy, in a voice so solemn that the cat did not venture to ask another
question.
On, on, on they flew, and the wild heath swelled into mountains and
sank again into plain and valley; and they heard beneath them, like
the distant sea, the rustling of the wind among the clumps of pine
trees. On, on, the birds flew, till at length there appeared far below
them, the glimmering lights and dim outlines of a stately city. On, on,
the birds flew, and the city grew nearer and nearer; turrets and spires
and ancient gables rose in the bright moonlight, and the houses grew
thicker and thicker together.
At length the pheasants flew more slowly, and the cat saw that they
were approaching a marvellous building. How her heart beat, partly
with fright, partly with the rapid motion, partly with hope. Yes, they
were really drawing near a magnificent Palace. It had high towers and
carved gate-ways, that threw strange deep shadows upon the walls, and
the panes of the lattices glittered like diamonds in the moonbeams, and
smoke from the chimneys curled up into the cat’s face, and got down
her throat, and made her sneeze dreadfully--she wondered how the fairy
could bear it. But now, slowly, slowly, slowly, the magic car began
to descend, till it was just on a level with one of the windows, which
happened, very conveniently, to have been left wide open; so in flew
the pheasants, car and all, and alighted on the hearth-rug. “Jump out;
be quick!” cried the fairy. The cat did not wait to be told twice--she
was out in a twinkling; but before she could turn her head round,
car, fairy, and pheasants had vanished, and she was left alone in the
strange room. And what a room it was! It was so large that three or
four huts like her old mistress’s would have stood in it. The floor
was covered with something so thick, so warm, and so beautiful, all
over flowers in bright colors, that she had never seen anything like it
before: in short, everything in the room was so fine or so soft or so
large or so bright, that the cat could not conceive what such strange
things could be meant for.
However, she soon decided that the hearth-rug was the most delightful
bed she had ever rested upon; and stretching out her limbs upon it,
before the huge fire that was burning in the grate, she tried to
collect her scattered ideas before she went any farther in these
unknown regions. Suddenly the door opened.
“Dear me! What a pretty cat!” cried a waiting-maid, entering the room,
“and just when we are wanting another, too. My lady, the Countess, will
be quite pleased.” Then, coming up to the cat, she took her in her
arms, and began stroking her most affectionately. “Pretty Pussy! How
did you ever get into the room? Oh, I see! They left the window open,
and so you wandered in out of the street, poor little cat. It’s really
quite lucky, just as the old one is dead.” So saying, she again stroked
the cat, and carried her away into the inner room, where there sat an
old lady in an easy chair by the fire eating her supper.
“Please, your ladyship,” said the waiting-woman, “here’s a poor cat
come into the house to-night, just as we were wanting one--will your
ladyship be pleased to let it remain here?”
“To be sure,” said the old Countess von
Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg,--for it was she,--“it has come just in
time to supply the place of poor old Finette. Put it into Finette’s bed
to-night, Ermengarde, and give it a good meal first, for I dare say it
is hungry enough, poor creature. Bring it here to me, and let me stroke
it.”
You may imagine how puss purred her very loudest as the Countess patted
her, and called her a pretty cat. She thought herself now the luckiest
cat in the world. How she wished that spiteful old owl could but know
about it. Ermengarde now took her back into the first room she had
entered, and setting her down on the hearth-rug, went out. Presently
she returned, and placed before the cat a dish that held such a supper
as she had never dreamed of. However, she did full justice to it in
time; and then, after some more patting and petting, the maid again
took her up, and placed her by the side of the fire in a very pretty
basket lined with soft cushions.
The next morning the cat was awake early; the sun was shining through
the satin curtains of the splendid room, and everything in it looked
so _very_ beautiful! How different from the old woman’s hut! So the
cat sat up in the basket, and looked about her. After she had amused
herself in this way for some time, Ermengarde opened the door.
“Well, Pussy,” she said, “so you are wide awake, and ready, I dare say,
for your breakfast.”
Now for the buttered crumpets! thought the cat. The maid went out,
and quickly brought back a large saucer of rich milk, with some roll
crumbled into it. No buttered crumpets!
Puss was really disappointed. It was certainly very strange, but
perhaps she should have some another morning. However, she made a
very good breakfast, but she was a little cross all day. Soon after
breakfast the Countess came in, followed by a lapdog--a fat, spoilt,
disagreeable-looking animal--and the cat took a dislike to him at
first sight. And as for the dog, he almost growled out loud when the
Countess stooped down to stroke the cat.
“Now, Viper,” said the old lady, “be good! You know you are my own
darling, that you are; but you must not quarrel with poor pussy. No
fighting, you know, Viper!”
Whereupon Viper struggled down out of his mistress’s arms, for she had
taken him up to kiss him, and giving a short snarl, he mounted upon a
stool before the fire, and sat eying his new acquaintance with such a
fierce look that the poor cat really shook all over, and wished herself
safe out of the Palace again. However, whenever the Countess left
the room, she always called Viper away, too; so they were not left
together at all the first day. After a little the cat began to get used
to Viper’s cross looks, and did not mind him a great deal: and the old
lady petted and made so much of her, that she thought no cat had ever
been so fortunate before.
[Illustration: THE COUNTESS CAME IN, FOLLOWED BY A LAPDOG.--_Page 97._]
One day Viper was to dine with the cat, and Ermengarde brought in two
plates this time, and to work they fell with all their might. Viper had
eaten up nearly all his own dinner, and the cat was saving a beautiful
_merrythought_ for her last titbit when, as ill luck would have it, the
Countess was suddenly called out of the room.
Instantly, with a growl that sounded like thunder in the cat’s ears,
Viper darted right at the _merrythought_, crying:--
“You vile little wretch of a stray cat, do you suppose I shall allow
you to come in here and rob me of my bones?”
“Indeed, my lord,” said the cat, very much frightened, “I did not mean
to take more than my share!”
“And pray, madam,” screamed Viper, “what do you mean by that? Do you
think that I have taken more than mine? Now, Mrs. Puss, just listen to
me, once for all: if you give me any more of your impertinence, I’ll
worry you to death in two minutes!”
Poor puss! She trembled so from head to tail that she could hardly
stand, but just as she was going to beg him not to be angry, the
Countess came in again, and took Viper for his afternoon ride. Poor
puss! She was very sad all evening, and she wished many times that
she had never left her mistress’s cottage. True, she had cream for
breakfast and chicken for dinner, but what was that worth, if every
mouthful she ate she feared that Viper would snatch from her?
Fifty times did she wish herself a hundred leagues off! How careful
she resolved to be to do nothing that could possibly offend the dog.
And so, for the next three or four days, by dint of giving up to him
all her best bones, and always jumping up from her cushion whenever
he wanted to lie upon it, she managed to get on in halfway peace with
his lordship. But unluckily, one morning, puss, finding herself all
alone in the drawing-room, and feeling very sleepy--she had not rested
for nights from very fear--thought she might as well take the chance
of getting a nap. Jumping upon a high footstool near the fire, she was
soon asleep. How long she had napped she could not tell, when she was
awakened by a furious barking, and, opening her eyes, she saw Viper
standing at a little distance, looking as if he were going into fits
with rage.
Poor puss! She recollected all in a moment that she had got upon
Viper’s own footstool! She jumped down before you could count one!
“You audacious little upstart!” cried the dog, as soon as he could
speak from wrath. “Do you think I shall submit to such liberties?”
“Indeed, I humbly beg your lordship’s pardon,” stammered the poor cat,
“but I really quite forgot--”
“Forgot, indeed!” roared Viper, “I’ll teach you to forget, Mrs. Puss!”
and making a tremendous dash at her, he would have finished her in no
time, had not, fortunately, the window been open a little--just enough
for the cat to get through.
She was on the window-seat in an instant, and had scrambled out of the
window before Viper, who was very fat, could come up to her. It was
with some difficulty that he got upon the window-seat, and quite in
vain that he tried to squeeze his fat body through the opening of the
window. How he growled with disappointed rage, as he stood on his hind
legs on the window-seat, stretching his head, as far as his little
short neck would allow, through the opening, to see what had become of
puss.