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, on the
other side 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
every body, 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 that I know is, that she took up her abode half-way 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
which made a powerful impression upon our humble friend. So she sate
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 really 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 robin or sparrow 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 a 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 talk politics 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'm not surprised: that old sparrow I saw you eating for
dinner must have been as tough as leather; it is 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 that 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--dear! dear! 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!' ejaculated 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, rather
pettishly; 'I had nearly toppled down from the bough--'
To say the truth, the magpie did not particularly fancy the owl's
company--he was apt to come out with very rude things sometimes;
besides, he was reckoned 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.
'I beg pardon--I am afraid I have interrupted an interesting
discourse,' began the owl, observing that his salutation had rather
discomposed the magpie.
The cat, however, was not sorry to have the opportunity of imparting
her griefs and perplexities to a bird who was so generally respected
for his wisdom; so she replied:--
'Why, indeed, my dear sir, we were conversing upon the lamentable
differences there are in the world.'
'You may well say that,' answered the owl, giving a blink with his
left eye. 'I suppose, now, ma'am,' he added, rather dryly, turning to
the magpie, '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, especially.'
What an abominable uncivil speech, thought the magpie; she fidgeted
upon the branch, drew herself up, and muttered something between her
beak about the propriety of people attending to their own concerns.
'But _you_, my dear cat,' continued the owl, 'you have every reason, I
should think, to be perfectly 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
buttered crumpets and cream 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 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 know how you have contrived
to see so much of the world, sitting as you do in a tree all day,
blinking your eyes as if you couldn't bear a ray of sunshine: now,
with all due submission to your superior wisdom, I should think the
magpie ought to know something of life, after the high society she has
lived in,--and I do say it is 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?"'
The cat was rather disconcerted by this observation at first; but
presently answered:
'My dear Mr. Owl, don't let us exaggerate,--you can't seriously mean
to say there are any cats in the world in such a condition as you
speak of? I am sure 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, by this time, had become exceedingly tired of such a long
silence, and was beginning to think that she had stood upon her
dignity quite long enough.
'You will excuse me, my worthy friend,' she said, turning to the owl,
'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
imagine; and I should know something of the world, I think.'
'Well,' replied 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 the cat not to mind what the owl said--'a stupid old
bird!'--she presently hid herself, very snug, in a hollow place in the
trunk: not very sorry, to say the truth, to break up the conversation.
The owl very deliberately 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 perplexed.
The old woman shut the cottage door, heaped some dry fir-logs on the
fire, and sate 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 I am afraid
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; for
grumblers are always selfish, and never think of the wants of others.
In fact, she could think of nothing, just at that 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
sate 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 to her.
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--it was more like a very,
_very_ fine knitting-pin than anything else.
The cat looked at her with unutterable 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 sufficiently recovered from her consternation
to be 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--though how it got there, I can't imagine--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 jump in after her. Puss obeyed, and in an instant
the hut, the old woman, 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, 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, till the gloomy forest was left far behind; the
storm had subsided; and, as the moon came out from behind the clouds,
the cat perceived they were passing over a wild moorland country.
On--on, the birds 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 clumps of pine-trees.
On--on, the birds flew, till, at length there appeared, far before
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 very magnificent palace. How her heart beat, partly
with fright, partly with the rapid motion, partly with expectation!
Yes, they were evidently drawing near to a magnificent palace. It had
high towers and curiously carved gateways, that threw strange deep
shadows upon the walls, and the panes of the lattices glittered like
diamonds in the moon-beams, and the 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 wonderful 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. 'To be sure,'
she exclaimed to herself, 'was there ever anything so extraordinary?'
What an adventure! 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 reposed upon; and, stretching out her limbs upon it,
before the huge fire that was burning in the grate, she strove to
collect her bewildered ideas ere she proceeded any further to
investigate these unknown regions. Suddenly the door opened.
'Dear! what a pretty cat!' exclaimed a waiting-maid, entering the
room; 'and just as we were 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 could you ever get into the room? O I see they have left
the window open, so you have 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 with her into
an inner room, where there sat an old lady in an easy chair by the
fire, apparently employed in 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 just come in 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!
But, first, bring it here, 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, the waiting-woman, now took her back
into the room she had first entered, and setting her down on the
hearth-rug, went out. Presently she returned, and placed before the
cat a dish, containing such a supper, as had never entered her
imagination till the magpie enlightened her on these subjects: it was
some minutes before she could believe it; was it _real_? However, she
did it full justice in time; and then, after a great deal more patting
and petting, the maid again took her up, and deposited her by the side
of the fire, in a very pretty basket lined with soft cushions. And
could she go to sleep? Not for some time, in spite of her long ride.
It all seemed so strange--so wonderful! that she, who had been longing
for months to belong to the household of the Countess Von
Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, should now be actually in her palace!
It was extraordinary indeed. But she fell asleep at last.
The next morning the cat was awake early, and 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 sate up in the basket, and looked about her. After she had
thus 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 returned with a large saucer full of rich milk, with some roll
crumbled into it. No buttered crumpets.
The cat felt a sort of blank feeling of disappointment; it was very
odd: but perhaps she should have some another morning. However, she
made an exceedingly good breakfast, as it was; but it must be
confessed she was a little cross all day. Soon after breakfast, the
old countess came in, followed by a lap-dog--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 aloud when the
countess stooped down to stroke the cat. It was evident that the
hatred was quite mutual.
'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 bestow a kiss upon him, and giving a short snarl, by
way of showing his perfect contempt for her admonition, he mounted
upon a stool before the fire, and sat eyeing his new acquaintance with
such a fierce pair of eyes, 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. On the following, the cat
began to get used to Viper's cross looks, and did not mind him so
much: and the old lady petted and made so much of her, that she
thought no cat had ever been so fortunate before. As to that, we shall
see.
Dinner-time came: and as Viper was to dine with the cat, Ermengarde
brought in _two_ plates this time, and to work they fell with all
their might. Viper had nearly eaten up all his own dinner, and the cat
was saving a beautiful merrythought for her last _tit-bit_, when, as
ill luck would have it, the countess was suddenly called out of the
room.
Instantly, with a growl that sounded in the cat's ears like thunder,
Viper darted full at the merrythought, exclaiming:
'You vile little wretch of a stray cat, do you suppose I shall suffer
you to come in here, and rob me of my bones?'
'Indeed, my lord,' said the cat, dreadfully frightened, 'I did not
mean to take more than my share!'
'And pray, madam,' screamed Viper, 'what do you mean by that? Do you
intend to insinuate 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 beseech him not to be offended,
the countess came in again; and as she soon afterwards took Viper out
an airing with her, the cat saw no more of him for that afternoon.
Poor puss! she had a great deal of sorrowful reflection all that
evening. The result of it was, that she very seriously asked herself
what she had gained by leaving her mistress's cottage? To be sure, she
had cream for breakfast, and chicken for dinner, but what was that,
if, every mouthful she ate, she was in fear of that savage brute of a
dog snatching away her meal, or even attacking and worrying her?