Seamstress, what do I owe to you?
I never at all
Saw sewing so small!
Seamstress, what do I owe to you?
Just six nothings, no more is due.
I never at all
Saw sewing so small!
Just six nothings, no more is due.
Give me a kiss, then,--or give me two!
I never at all
Saw sewing so small!
THE REAL PRINCESS
AFTER A FAIRY TALE BY HANS ANDERSEN
ONCE upon a time there was a prince, and, as he knew very well that he
was a _real_ prince and could never forget it for a single moment, he
very naturally wanted to marry a _real_ princess. He sought one after
another, and, after talking about the weather and the health of the
emperor, he found in each case that there was something about them he
didn't like--something artificial and unprincess-like. When he spoke
gently they smiled; when he spoke roughly to hurt them, they still
smiled--the same smile. They were not a success. None of them was what
he wanted. His princess must be so sensitive that she would wither at a
reproachful glance; so delicately dainty that a spot of dust would make
her scream, and the draught of a fly's wings cause her a severe cold.
He would have the real thing, or nothing.
When this exacting prince had duly considered all the princesses in his
own country, and found them wanting, he set out to travel all over the
world, forever saying to himself, 'I am a real prince: there _must_ be
a real princess somewhere.'
He found plenty of princesses on his travels, but when he spoke to
them about the weather he soon found that they were not what he called
_real_ princesses. They were the daughters of kings and queens, yes,
but----
Sad and weary he returned home with an empty heart. He had not found
what he set out to seek, yet he was firmly convinced that the world did
contain such a thing as a real princess. He wanted her so badly, and
that was how he knew that she must be there--somewhere.
[Illustration: NOT A WINK THE WHOLE NIGHT LONG p. 59]
And he was right.
One evening as he was sitting in his father's palace, studying books
of far-off lands where princesses might be found, there came a fearful
thunderstorm. The lightning grasped at the earth, spreading its roots
down the walls of heaven; the thunder split and roared and rattled as
if the ceiling was coming down; and, when the cloud-man unsealed his
can and tipped it up, swish came the rain in torrents. Indeed, it was a
fearful night.
When the storm had risen to the height of its fury a messenger came
running to the king crying, 'Your Majesty gave orders that all gates be
locked and barred, and opened to none; but some one without knocks and
knocks and knocks, and will not go away.'
'I will go myself,' said the king, 'and see who it is that craves
admittance in this fearful storm.'
So the king went down and opened the palace gates. What was his
astonishment to see standing there a lovely maiden all forlorn, her
long hair drenched with the rain, her beautiful clothes saturated and
clinging to her form, while the water, trickling from them, ran out at
her heels. She was in a terrible plight, but she was beautiful, and she
said she was a princess--a real princess. Her mind was distracted: she
could not remember how or whence she came, but, being a princess, and
seeing the palace gates, she had run through the storm and knocked hard.
'A real princess,' said the king, looking her up and down 'Hm! I
believe you, though the queen mightn't. Come in!'
The old queen received the visitor coldly and with a critical eye. 'We
shall soon see if she is what she says she is,' thought she, but she
said nothing. Then she went into the spare bedroom, and took off all
the bed-clothes, and laid a pea on the bedstead. On top of this she
piled mattress after mattress to the number of twenty, and then twenty
feather beds on top of that. 'Now,' she said to herself, 'here she
shall sleep, and we shall soon see in the morning whether she is a real
princess or not.'
So they put the princess to bed on the top of the twenty feather beds
and as many mattresses, and said good-night.
In the morning they asked her how she had slept.
'Not at all,' replied she wearily; 'not a wink the whole night long.
Heaven knows what there was in the bed. Whichever way I turned I still
seemed to be lying upon some hard thing, and, I assure you, this
morning my whole body's black and blue. It's terrible!'
Then the old queen told what she had done, and they all saw plainly
that this was indeed a real princess when she could feel the pea
through twenty feather beds and twenty mattresses. None but a real
princess could possibly have such a delicate skin.
So the prince married her, quite satisfied that he had now found his
real princess.
Now this is a true story, and if you don't believe it you have only to
go and look at the pea itself, which is still carefully preserved in
the museum--unless some one has stolen it.
MY LISETTE
AN OLD FRENCH SONG
OF all the pretty maidens
There ne'er was lassie yet
That looked so sweet and sprightly,
That moved so gay and lightly,
As my darling, my Lisette,--
Little pet!--
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
Her face it is her fortune,--
But who will smiling let
Me kiss it at my pleasure,
Nor ever stint the measure?--
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--
Little pet!--
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
Along the pavement tripping,
Through sunshine and through wet,
To all, as she advances,
Who casts her winning glances?--
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--
Little pet!--
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
To blind, and poor, and crippled,
Who gives, without regret,
Her bread, and does not sorrow
That she must starve to-morrow?--
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--
Little pet!--
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
Who oftentimes deceives me,
Though truly no coquette,--
And then, for me, who hoaxes,
Cajoles, and dupes, and coaxes?--
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--
Little pet!--
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
Who, by her tender teaching,
Has aided me to get
The impudence and passion
Of which my songs I fashion?--
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--
Little pet!--
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
On week-days and on Sundays,
Who, in my hovel set,
Can turn its corners gloomy
To a palace rich and roomy?--
[Illustration:
'TIS LISETTE WHOM I ADORE
AND WITH REASON MORE AND MORE
p. 61]
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--
Little pet!--
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
When Prudence o'er our playtime
Would hold a distant threat,--
'Twixt now and what comes after,
Who throws her merry laughter?--
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,--
Little pet!--
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
CINDERELLA
A FAIRY TALE FROM THE FRENCH
ONCE upon a time there lived a gentleman who married twice. He had one
fair daughter by his first wife. Ella was sweet and gentle, taking
after her dear dead mother, who had been the most lovable of women. His
second wife, a widow with two hard-featured daughters, was very proud
and overbearing; and, if her two daughters had only never been born,
or, being born, had died, she would then have possessed the vilest
temper in all the world. As it was, the three were all equally gifted
in that respect.
From the very day of the wedding the step-mother and her daughters took
a violent dislike to the young girl, for they could see how beautiful
she was, both outwardly and inwardly; and green envy soon turns to
hate. They dared not show it openly, for fear of the father's anger;
but he, poor man, finding he had taken too heavy a burden upon his
shoulders, fell ill and died,--simply worried into his grave. Then his
young daughter reaped the full measure of jealousy and spite and malice
which her step-mother and sisters could now openly bestow upon her. She
was put to do the drudgery of the household at no wages at all, and
what was saved in this way was spent on the finery so sorely needed to
make the two hard-featured ones at all passable. The poor girl scrubbed
the floors, polished the brights, swept the rooms and stairs, cleaned
the windows, turned the mangle, and made the beds; and in the evening,
when all the work was done, she would sit by the kitchen fire darning
the stockings for recreation. When bedtime came she would gaze awhile
into the fire, answer the door to her step-sisters coming home from
the theatre in all their finery; and then, with their stinging words
still in her ears, she would creep up to bed in the garret, there, on a
wretched straw mattress, to sleep fast for very weariness and dream of
princes and palaces till at morning light she had to begin her dreary
round again.
And it was indeed a dreary round. No sooner had she begun to sift the
cinders when the bell would ring, and ring again. One of the sisters
wanted her,--sometimes both wanted her at once. It was merely a matter
of a pin to be fixed, or a ribbon to be tied, but when she came to
do it she met with a shower of abuse. 'Look at your hands, you dirty
little kitchen slut! How dare you answer the bell with such hands? And
your face!--go and look in the glass, Ella: no, go straight to the
kitchen pump,--you filthy little slut!'
The 'glass' was corrected to the 'kitchen pump' because they knew very
well that if she stood before the glass she would see the reflection of
a very beautiful girl--a reflection which they themselves spent hours
looking for but could never find.
Yet the child endured it all patiently, and, when her work was done,
which happened sometimes, she would sit in the chimney corner among the
cinders, dreaming of things which no one knows. And it was from this
habit of musing among the cinders that she got her name of Cinder-slut,
which was afterwards softened, for some unknown reason, to _Cinderella_.
Now the day of a great festival drew near. It was the occasion of the
king's son's coming of age, and it was spread abroad that he would
select his bride from among the most beautiful attending the state
ball. As soon as the elder sisters got breath of this they preeked and
preened and powdered and anointed, and even ran to the door themselves
at every knock, for they expected invitations; and they were not
disappointed, for you will easily see that at a ball even beauty must
have its plain background to set it off. Very proud they were of their
gold-lettered invitation cards bearing the royal seal, and, when they
rang for _Cinderella_, they held them in their hands to emphasise their
orders. This must be ironed, just so; this must be pressed and set
aside in tissue paper; this must be tucked and frilled and goffered in
just such a fashion, and so on with crimping and pleating and tabbing
and piping and boxing, until poor _Cinderella_ began to wonder why the
lot of some was so easy and the lot of others so hard. Nevertheless,
she worked and worked and worked; and always in her drudgery came
day-dreams of what _she_ would wear if she were invited to the ball.
She had it all planned out to the smallest frill,--but how absurd! She
must toil at her sisters' bidding and, on the great night when they
were there in their finery, she must sit among the cinders dreaming--in
a faery world of her own--of the prince who came to claim her as his
bride. Fool! what a wild fancy! What an unattainable dream!--and there
was the bell ringing again: her sisters wanted something, and woe
betide her if she dallied.
At last the night of the ball arrived. Early towards the evening there
was no peace in the household. When the elder sister had fully decided,
in spite of her complexion, to wear her velvet cramoisie trimmed _à
l'anglaise_, and the younger had thought out her gold-flowered robe
in conjunction with a jewelled stomacher, to say nothing of an old
silk underskirt, which, after all, would be hidden; when they had
squabbled over the different jewels they possessed, each complimenting
the other on the set she desired least herself; when the milliner and
the hairdresser had called and gone away exhausted; when the beauty
specialist had reached the limit of his art and departed sighing
heavily; then and not till then was _Cinderella_ called up and allowed
the great privilege of admiring the result.
Now _Cinderella_ had, by nature, what one might call 'absolute taste.'
She knew instinctively how one should look at a state ball, and she
gave them her simple, but perfect, advice, with a deft touch to this
and that, which made all the difference. She got no thanks, of course;
but one of the sisters did unbend a little.
'_Cinderella_,' said she, 'wouldn't you like to be going to the ball?'
'Heigho!' sighed _Cinderella_. 'Such delights are not for me. I dream
of them, but that is all.'
'Quite enough, too,' said the other sister. 'Fancy the Cinder-slut at a
ball! How the whole Court would laugh!'
_Cinderella_ made no reply, though the words hurt her. Pin after pin
she took from her mouth and fixed it dexterously, where you or I
might have done some accidental damage with it, and drawn blood. But
not so _Cinderella_. She had no venom in her nature. When she had
arrayed them perfectly she expected no thanks, but just listened to
their fault-finding with a hidden smile. It was only when they had
left the house, and she was going downstairs to the kitchen, that one
word escaped her: 'Cats!' And if she had not said that she would not
have been a girl at all, but only an angel. Then she sat down in her
favourite place in the chimney corner to look into the fire and imagine
things quite different from what they were.
The house was very still--so still that you could have heard a pin
fall in the top room. The step-mother was on a visit to a maiden aunt,
who was not only dying, but very rich, so the best thing to do was to
show the dying aunt her invitation card to the ball and play another
card--the ace of self-sacrifice. Yes, the house was _very_ still.
_Cinderella_, watching the pictures in the glowing embers, could almost
hear what the prince of her dreams was saying.
All of a sudden a storm of feeling seemed to burst in her bosom.
She--_Cinderella_--was sitting there alone in the chimney corner
dreaming dreams of princes and palaces: what a contrast between what
_was_ and what _was not_, nor ever could be! It was too much for the
child; she broke down, and, taking her head in her hands, she sobbed as
if her heart would break.
While she was still crying bitterly, a gust of cold air swept through
the kitchen. She looked up, thinking that the door had blown open.
But no, it was shut. Then she gradually became aware of a blue mist
gathering and revolving upon itself on the other side of the fireplace.
It grew bluer still, and began to shine from within. It spun itself to
a standstill, and there, all radiant, stood the queerest little lady
you could ever imagine. Her dress was like that of the fairy mother of
a prince, with billowy lace flounces and a delicate waist. There was
not an inch of it that did not sparkle with a jewel. And as this little
lady stood, fingering her wand and looking lovingly and laughingly
at _Cinderella_, the girl knew not what to do. She could only smile
back to those kindly eyes, while, half-dazed, she fell to counting the
powdered ringlets of her hair, which was so very beautiful that surely
it must have been grown in Fairyland! Then, when she looked again at
the wand and saw a bright blue flame issue shimmering from the tip of
it, she was certain that the door of Fairyland had opened and some one
had stepped out.
'Good evening, my dear,' said the visitant, in the voice and manner of
one who could do things. 'Dry your tears and tell me all about it.'
_Cinderella_ was gazing up at her with wonder in her beautiful eyes,
though they still brimmed with misery.
'Oh!' she said, choking down her sobs, 'I want--I want to go----,' and
then she broke down again and could say no more.
'Ah! you got that want from me, I'll warrant; for I have come on
purpose to supply it. You want to go to the ball, my dear; that's what
you want, though you didn't know it before. And you shall. Come, come,
dry your eyes, and we'll see about it. I'm your fairy godmother, you
know; and your dear mother, whom I knew very well, has sent me to you.
That's better, you've got your mother's smile. Ah! how beautiful she
was, to be sure, and you--you're her living image. Now to work! Have
you any pumpkins in the garden?'
'What an odd question!' thought _Cinderella_. 'Why pumpkins? But still,
why not?' Then she hastened to assure her fairy godmother that there
were plenty of them, big and ripe.
Together they went out into the dark garden, and _Cinderella_ led the
way to the pumpkin bed.
'There,' said her godmother, pointing with her wand at the finest and
largest, 'pick it and bring it along.'
_Cinderella_, wondering greatly, obeyed, and her godmother led her to
the front doorstep, where, bidding the child sit beside her, she took
from the bosom of her dress a silver fruit-knife, and with this she
scooped out the fruit of the pumpkin, leaving only the rind. This she
set down in the street before them, and then touched it with her wand,
when, lo and behold! the pumpkin was immediately transformed into a
magnificent coach, all wrought with pure gold.
_Cinderella_ was so amazed that she could not speak. She caught a quick
breath of delight, and waited.
'That's that!' said her godmother; 'now for the horses. Let me see: I
suppose you haven't a mouse trap anywhere in the house.'
'Yes, yes, I have,' cried _Cinderella_; 'I set one early this evening,
and I always catch such a lot--sometimes a whole family at once.'
'Then go find it, child; we shall want at least six.'
So _Cinderella_ ran in and found the mouse trap she had set; and, sure
enough, there was a whole family of six--father and mother, a maiden
aunt, and three naughty children who had led them into the trap. In
high glee _Cinderella_ ran back to her godmother and showed her.
'Yes, yes; that is quite good, but we're going a bit too fast. Here are
six horses--though they don't look it at present--but we must first
have a coachman to manage them. Now I don't suppose, by any chance,
you've got a----'
'A rat?' cried _Cinderella_, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 'Well,
now, I _did_ set a rat trap in the scullery--not a guillotine, you
know, but just a thing to catch them alive: I always think they much
prefer to be caught alive and then drowned.'
'Run, then, and see, child. We can do nothing without a
coachman,--nothing at all.'
So _Cinderella_ ran and fetched the rat trap. In it were three large
rats, and the two inspected them closely.
'I think that's the best one,' said _Cinderella_; 'look at his enormous
whiskers! He'd make a lovely coachman.'
'You're right, child; I was just thinking that myself: he's got a good
eye for horse-flesh too.'
With this the fairy godmother touched him with the tip of her wand,
and instantly he stood before them--a fat coachman with tremendous
whiskers, saluting and waiting for orders.
'Now,' said the fairy godmother to _Cinderella_, 'open the door of the
mouse trap and let one out at a time.'
_Cinderella_ did so, and, as each mouse came out, the godmother tapped
it with her wand, and it was immediately changed into a magnificent
horse, richly harnessed and equipped. The coachman took charge of them
and harnessed them to the coach as a six-in-hand.
'That's that!' said the fairy. 'Now for the footmen. Run, child, down
to the farther end of the garden. There, in the corner, behind the old
broken water-pot, something tells me you will find six lizards in a
nest. Bring them here to me.'
_Cinderella_ ran off, and soon returned with the identical six lizards.
A tap of the wand on each and there stood six imposing footmen, such
as are only seen in kings' palaces. Their liveries were dazzling with
purple and gold. To the manner born they took their places on the coach
and waited.
'But--but,' cried _Cinderella_, who saw by now that she was bound for
the ball, 'how can I go like this? They would all jeer at me.'
Her godmother laughed and chided her on having so little faith. 'Tut,
tut,' she said, and tapped her on the shoulder with her wand.
What a transformation! The girl, lovely indeed in herself, that stood
a moment ago in rags, now stood there a splendid woman--for there is
always a moment when a child becomes a woman--and a woman clothed in
cloth of gold and silver, all bespangled with jewels. The tiring-maids
of Fairyland had done her hair up to show its beauty, and in it was
fastened a diamond clasp that challenged the sparkling stars. An
osprey, too, quivered and danced to the beating of her heart. 'But,'
said _Cinderella_, when she had recovered from her amazement, 'I see
that I have lovely silk stockings, yet, O my godmother, where are my
shoes?'
[Illustration: THERE, SAID HER GODMOTHER, POINTING WITH HER WAND ...
PICK IT AND BRING IT ALONG p. 69]
'Ah! that is just the point.' And her godmother drew from the folds of
her dress a pair of glass slippers. 'Glass is glass, I know, my dear;
and it is not one in a hundred thousand that could wear such things;
but perfect fit is everything, and, as for these, I doubt if there is
any in the world but yourself who could fit them exactly.'
_Cinderella_ took the slippers and poked her toes into them very
carefully, for, as her godmother had said, glass is glass, and you have
to be measured very carefully for it. But what was her delight to find
that they were, indeed, an absolute fit. Either her feet had been made
for the slippers or the slippers had been made for her feet, it did not
matter: it was the same thing, and not a little surprising.
Now _Cinderella_ stood up, a perfect picture, and kissed her godmother
and thanked her. The carriage was waiting, the horses were restive, the
coachman sat on the box, and the footmen were in their places.
'Now, there's just one thing which is rather important,' said the fairy
godmother, as _Cinderella_ entered the coach, 'and you must not forget
it. I can do this, that, and the other, but at midnight there's an end
to it all. You must leave the ball before the clock strikes twelve,
for, if you don't, you'll be in a pretty pickle. Your coach will turn
into a pumpkin again, your coachman into a rat, your horses into mice,
and your footmen into lizards; and there you will be in the ballroom in
nothing but your dirty rags for all to laugh at. Now, remember; it all
ends at the stroke of twelve.'
'Never fear,' said _Cinderella_. 'I shall not forget. Good-bye!'
'Good-bye, child!'
Then the coachman cracked his whip and the prancing horses sprang
forward. _Cinderella_ was off to the ball.
'That's that!' said the fairy godmother, as she looked after the
coach for a moment. Then the blue flame at the tip of her wand went
out, and so did she--flick!
* * * * *
It was a glorious night. The same moon that had looked down on
_Cinderella's_ pumpkins now shone upon the king's palace and the royal
gardens. Within, the ball was at its height. The movement of the dance
was a fascinating spectacle. In the great hall the light of a thousand
candles was reflected from the polished floor; from the recesses came
the soft plash of cool fountains and the fragrance of the rarest
flowers; while, to the sweet strains of the violins, many pairs of feet
glided as if on air. Without, among the trees, where hanging lanterns
shed a dim light and the music throbbed faintly on the warm night air,
couples strayed and lingered, speaking in voices sweet and low, while
from cloud to cloud wandered the moon, withdrawing to hide a maiden's
blushes, shining forth again to light her smiles.
Suddenly a note of something unusual seemed to run through the whole
scene. The chamberlain was seen to speed hither and thither on some
quest that left his dignity to see after itself. Breathless he sought
the _Prince_, and at last he found him.
'Your Serene Highness,' he gasped, 'a princess of high degree has
just arrived in state and desires admission. She will not give her
name, but--if you will permit me to be skilled in these matters--she
is a lady that cannot be denied. Beautiful as a goddess and proud as
a queen; why, the very jewels in her hair are worth a thousand square
miles of territory. Believe me, your Serene Highness, she is a princess
of exalted dignity.'