But first let me call to thy recollection how Sindbad the Sailor came to tell his story to Sindbad the Landsman, for herein lies much meaning, O King.
In the time of the Caliph Harun-er-Rashid, in the palmy days of Baghdad, there lived and slaved a poor, discontented porter, whose moments of rest and leisure were most pleasantly occupied in grumbling at his hard lot. Others lived in luxury and splendour while he bore heavy burdens for a pittance. There was no justice in the world, said he, when some were born in the lap of wealth, and others toiled a lifetime for the price of a decent burial.
This discontented porter would run apace with his burden to gain time for a rest upon the doorstep of some mansion of the rich, where, a master in contrasts, he would draw comparisons between his own lot and that of the rich man dwelling within. Loudly would he call on Destiny to mark the disparity, the incongruity, the injustice of the thing; and not until he had drunk deep at the fountain of discontent would he take up his burden and trudge on, greatly refreshed.
One day, in pursuance of this strange mode of recreation, he chanced to select the doorstep of a wealthy merchant named Sindbad the Sailor, and there, through the open window, he heard as it were the chink of endless gold. The song, the music, the dance, the laughter of the guests—all seemed to shine with the light of jewels and the lustre of golden bars. Immediately he began to revel in his favourite woe. He wrung his hands and cried aloud: 'Allah! Can such things be? Look on me, toiling all day for a piece of barley bread; and then look on him who knows no toil, yet eateth peacocks' tongues from golden dishes, and drinketh the wine of Paradise from a jewelled cup. What hath he done to obtain from thee a lot so agreeable? And what have I done to deserve a life so wretched?'
As one who flings back a difficult question, and then bangs the door behind him, so the porter rose and shouldered his burden to continue his way, when a servant came running from within, saying that his master had sharp ears and had invited the porter into his presence for a fuller hearing of his woes.
As soon as the porter came before the wealthy owner of the house, seated among his guests and surrounded by the utmost luxury and magnificence, he was greeted with the question: 'What is thy name?' 'My name is Sindbad,' replied the porter, greatly abashed. At this the host clapped his hands and laughed loudly. 'Knowest thou that my name is also Sindbad?' he cried. 'But I am Sindbad the Sailor, and I have a mind to call thee Sindbad the Landsman, for, as thou lovest a contrast, so do I.'
'True,' said the porter, 'I have never been upon the sea.'
'Then, Sindbad the Landsman,' was the quick rejoinder, 'thou hast no right to complain of thy hard lot. Come, be seated, and, when thou hast refreshed thyself with food and wine, I will relate to thee what at present I have told no man—the tale of my perils and hardships on the seas and in other lands—in order to show you that the great wealth I possess was not acquired without excessive toil and terrible danger. I have made seven voyages: the first thou shalt hear presently—nay, if thou wilt accept my hospitality for seven days, I will tell thee the history of one each day.'
Thus it was, O King, that Sindbad the Sailor, surrounded by a multitude of listeners, came to tell the story of his voyages to Sindbad the Landsman. Now on the fifth day he spoke as follows:
Having sworn that my fourth voyage should be my last, I dwelt in the bosom of my family for many months in the utmost joy and happiness. But soon my heart grew restless in my bosom, and I longed again for the perils of the sea, and the adventures found only in other lands. Moreover, I had become inspired of a new ambition to possess a ship of my own in which to sail afar, and even to greater profit than on my former voyages.
I arose, therefore, and gathered together in Baghdad many bales of rich merchandise, and departed for the city of El-Basrah, where, in the river's mouth, I soon selected a splendid vessel. I purchased this and secured a master and a crew, over whom I set my own trusty servants. Then, together with a goodly company of merchants as passengers, their bales and mine being placed in the hold, I set sail.
Fair weather favoured us as we passed from island to island, bartering everywhere for gain, as merchants do, until at length we came to an island which seemed never to have known the fretful heel of man. Here we landed, and, almost immediately, on sweeping our gaze over the interior, we espied a strange thing, on which all our attention and wonder soon became centred.
There in the distance shone beneath the sun a great white dome. Loud was the talk among us as to the meaning of this. Some said the island could not be uninhabited since a mosque was built upon it; others contended that, as the island was uninhabited, the structure could not be a mosque. A third party, cooling their minds in the shade of the trees, preferred idly that it was probably some huge white rock smoothed and rounded by wind and weather; yet even these, when the discussion became heated, were constrained by curiosity to follow as we bent our steps inland to discover what this strange object really was.
As we drew nearer and nearer the wind-and-weather merchants lost in countenance what they gained in speed, for the mystery deepened: it was very clear that no mere wind and weather could have fashioned such a perfect, glistening dome. Nearer still, and then we all ran our utmost, and arrived breathless at the base of the marvellous structure. Gigantic and perfect in form, this must be some wonderful dome built to the glory of Allah, and fashioned in such a way that, with its lower half imbedded in earth and its upper half rising in the air, it typified at once the division and the union of heaven and earth. A learned merchant of our company—one who had travelled greatly in the further realms of Ind—raised his voice and assured us that the object represented the mysterious Hiranyagarbha—the Egg of All Things; whereupon another, to test this theory in derision, struck violently with his hatchet upon the shell of this supposed egg. 'If this be the egg of Hiranya—something,' he shouted, 'let us get to the yolk!'
Following his words, and his blow, the strangest thing happened. The great dome seemed to shake itself as if something within it had awakened to life. We stood in awe and waited. Then, as a chicken comes forth out of its shell, there came forth, with a terrific rending of the dome, a mighty fledgling having the aspect of that monstrous bird, the rukh, which, when grown, darkens the sky with its wings.
'It is indeed the young of the rukh,' I cried, for well I knew the bird. 'Beware!'
At first we were terrified beyond measure, but soon some among us, seeing the helplessness of the creature, set upon it with their hatchets, and, though I pleaded with them to forbear, it was quickly slain and dismembered.
'Woe!' I cried. 'Ye have slain the offspring of the rukh, and, as the time of hatching was near, the parents will come, and there will be trouble.'
But they heeded my words so little that they roasted and ate the choicest parts of the young rukh, and left the remains as a sign of contempt. I, who live to tell the tale, O Landsman, did not eat. In vain I entreated them to conceal all traces of their foul crime, even as they had concealed the choicest portions in their capacious stomachs. In vain I told them what I had learnt by costly peril at the hands of the giant rukh, foretelling the dire vengeance of those fierce monsters of the sky. Indeed, from the experiences of a former voyage, as you know, I had every reason to fear them. But the merchants, smacking their lips at the memory of their repast, laughed in my face. 'We have dined,' said they, 'and your fearsome rukhs cannot touch us.' To this I returned no word, but a stern face; for I knew the power of the rukh.
We returned towards the ship, but we had no sooner reached the seashore when we saw the master making signs of wild alarm. Shouting loudly to us to make all haste he pointed towards the horizon. He had sailed those seas before, and he knew, as did I, the sign of a terrible danger. There in the distance were two black clouds, growing rapidly larger.
'A storm!' cried some among us.
'Nay, nay,' I answered. 'I would it were, even a twofold storm. Storms come not so. Yonder come the rukh and his mate to attend the hatching of their young. Aboard! aboard! We may yet escape.'
As soon as I had given this warning there were hurry and scurry among the merchants. The flesh of the young rukh seemed to have turned within them, and it now cried out for vengeance. With all haste we made our way on board the ship.
'What have ye done?' cried the master in alarm.
They were silent.
'They have roasted and eaten the young of the rukh,' I said. The master wrung his hands and his face blanched. Then he sprang to action.
'All sail! all sail!' he cried out. 'Woe be on us if we escape not quickly. They know not yet, but when they learn they will rest not until——'
Instantly the crew leapt to the ropes, while the merchants stood around in terror, regarding the two black clouds as they drew rapidly towards us, side by side. Now they loomed nearer as monstrous birds, and presently they passed overhead, darkening the sky as they craned their gigantic necks and looked down upon us with suspicion.
With the utmost speed the ship was put upon her way, the while we watched the rukhs hover and settle inland. We were already speeding fast for the open sea when we saw them rise and circle in the air, heard their hoarse complaint and clamour for vengeance, and noted their swift swoop towards the rocky heights of the interior. We gave a sigh of relief. We thought we had escaped, so well did the breeze serve us; but we had forgotten, or did not yet know, the power of wings.
Soon there arose from the far heights of the island two gigantic shapes. As they moved towards us they grew bigger and bigger, and now we heard the oarage of their wings, ever louder and louder on our ears. They were coming, the rukhs, to wreak vengeance; and, now we saw it with fear, in the talons of each was a granite crag torn from the bedrock of the island. Their purpose was as plain as it was terrible.
We cowered as they drew overhead. They circled round the ship, each clutching its mighty rock and giving forth cries of rage and fury. Now they hovered above us, and one let go his missile of destruction. Our steersman, bent on taking the vessel this way and then that, evaded the falling crag, which fell a caster's throw astern. The ship danced high on the mountain waves raised by the falling mass, and then fell as deep into the watery valleys between them. We thought our time had come, but it was not yet, though it was soon to be. No sooner had we come to rest on a level tide than the other rukh hovered above us and dropped its crag. It struck the ship in the middle and split it to pieces.
In that moment all was a swirl of confusion. The crash of the rock, the cries of the giant birds, the wash of the waves on my ears—these were the last things I knew. It seems to me that I gripped some wreckage, and, lying thereupon in a swoon, was borne onwards by the tide to the shores of an island; for, when I awoke to life, I found myself on a sandy slope, with my head on the high-water mark and my feet against the stranded wreckage that had supported me.
As if from death's door I crawled up and away, gaining strength as I went, until I reached a point from which I could view the nature of the island. Allah! What a paradise it was! Streams of fresh, pure water wimpled down between banks where grew the lordliest trees laden with the rarest fruits. The sight gave me fresh strength. I rose and wandered from stream to stream, drinking the cool water and plucking and eating the delicious fruit. But, O Sindbad the Landsman, though I knew it not, there was a vile snake in this paradise, as I was soon to discover to my cost.
Coming at length to a stream of some width, I sat down upon a mossy bank with my back against a tree to watch the rippling current purling by. Lulled by this and the songs of the birds, I became drowsy and turned to find a soft bed on the moss, when I caught sight of an object which arrested my attention. There, sitting against the tree next to mine, was an aged man of comely and benevolent aspect.
I regarded him intently. What a kindly old man he looked, with his flowing silver locks and his ample white beard! The more did I consider him one of nature's innocent children from the fact that his body was clothed from the waist downwards with the green leaves of trees—a raiment neatly threaded together on the fibres of some plant. As I scrutinised his appearance intently for some moments I felt that here was one of the simplest and kindliest disposition, who knew not the meaning of wrong. I arose and advanced towards him, but, when I spoke, he shook his head sadly and sighed. Alas! Was he deprived of the power of speech? To make certain, I saluted him, saying, 'Allah be with thee!' But he merely bowed his head, making no other reply. All my questions brought never a word: he was, indeed, dumb. But he could make intelligent signs, and I perceived by these that it was his greatest wish to be carried across the stream. Seeing that he was old and infirm as well as dumb, I readily consented. My heart was sorry for him, and I stooped down and told him to climb upon my shoulders. This he did with alacrity, and so I carried him over the stream.
But, when I stooped for him to dismount on the further bank, he showed no manner of inclination to do so. On the contrary, he gripped me with both hands round my throat, and beat me violently in the ribs with his heels. What with the throttling, and the hard blows with his heels, I swooned away; but, notwithstanding, when I regained my senses I found the old fellow still clinging like a leech to my neck. And now he belaboured me so unmercifully that I was forced to rise against my will.
Once on my feet I determined to shake him off, but he rode me well, and even my efforts to crush him against the trunks of trees were of no avail. I ran hither and thither wildly, employing every trick against him, but all in vain: he kept his seat, and with hand and heel punished me severely. In less than an hour I was broken to the will of this truculent fellow, and he guided me hither and thither among the fruit-trees, pulling me up when he would gather fruit and eat, and urging me on again when he so desired.
In this fashion he stuck to me all that day, and such was his behaviour that I forswore my first opinion of him. He was by no means the gentle being I had thought him. Though he clung so close we were not friends, nor likely to become such. I was his bond-slave, and he ceased not to remind me of it by his utterly vile behaviour. When I dallied he thrashed me unmercifully with his feet; when I thought to brush him off against the overhanging branch of a tree he would duck his head and throttle me with his long bony hands. At night, when I slept exhausted, I woke to find him digging his heels into me in his sleep; indeed, once it seemed that I had thwarted him in a dream, for he thrashed me up and treated me abominably. I thought my end had come.
Thus for many days and nights was I beridden by this abandoned fellow, forced hither and thither at his will, with never a word from him, though he had many from me. So great was my agony that I turned upon myself, crying, 'By the living Allah! never again will I do a kindness to any; never again will I show mercy!'
Long I pondered by what subtle trick I might unseat him. I thought of many things, but dared not try one of them, lest it should fail and I be punished unmercifully. But at last Allah took pity on me and threw a strange opportunity in my way.
It chanced that, one day, while I was being goaded about the island, we came upon a place where pumpkins grew. They were ripe and luscious, and, while the old fellow was eating greedily, I bethought me of a fashion of our own country. I gathered some of the largest, and, having scooped them out, I filled them with the juice squeezed from grapes which I found growing in abundance near by. Then I sealed them up and set them in the sun. In this way I obtained in a few days a good quantity of pure wine.
The old man did not notice my curious behaviour—he was always engaged in eating pumpkins—until one day I drank so deep of my new-made wine that I became exalted, and danced and rollicked about with him among the trees. With fist and heel he sought to sober me, requiring to know the reason of my merriment. At length I took him to the spot where I had laid my pumpkins in the sun, and then, laughing and dancing again, signed to him that they contained pure wine.
The idea was new to him, but, when he understood that I had drunk with such pleasant results, he insisted on drinking also. So I unsealed one of the pumpkins and handed it to him, whereupon he drank and smacked his lips. Then he drank again and again and again, with evident satisfaction, until the wine taking effect, and the pumpkin being empty, he broke it over my head and bade me hand him another. This also he emptied and broke in the same manner. Being by this time in a state of vile intoxication, he thrashed me thrice round the open space, and then in among the trees, behaving in the wildest manner possible, rocking and rolling from side to side with laughter.
Now I had not drunk so much of the wine that I could not see my chance. I adopted the utmost docility, and, never letting him suspect my purpose, contrived to regain the place where I had laid the pumpkins in the sun. As I had expected, he demanded another, and I gave it him. This time he drank half the wine and emptied the remainder over my face,—so vile was this creature of sin. Then I perceived with joy that he was losing control of his limbs. He swayed from side to side, and his head lolled. Slowly I unwound his legs from my neck, and then, with a vicious twist, I flung him on the ground.
As I looked upon him lying there, my joy turned for the moment to uncontrollable fury. I thought of what I had endured at the hands of this aged villain. Should I allow him to live he would surely serve some other poor shipwrecked traveller in the same abominable fashion. The island would be well rid of such an inhuman monster. Without another thought I slew him then and there. May his accurséd spirit be ridden for ever by a worse than himself!
I went forth upon the island like one walking on air. Never was mortal man rid of so heavy a burden as I had just flung from me. Even the very atmosphere of the place seemed light and joyous with relief. The streams rippled more merrily, the birds sang more sweetly, the dreamy trees sighed with content as if at a great and long-desired riddance. They all seemed to feel that this terrible old man no longer oppressed them: his legs were no longer round their necks, his masterful feet and hands no longer gripped them in a vice. Rid—all was rid of an intolerable burden. Having found a shady spot, I sank down on the bank of a stream and wiped my brow, thanking Allah devoutly for this sweet deliverance.
For long days thereafter I sat by the seashore scanning the ocean for the speck of a sail. But none came in sight, and I was abandoning myself to the thought that Allah had rescued me from one peril only to consign me into the hands of another—that of death by desolation—when one morning I descried a large ship standing in towards the shore. She cast her anchor, and many passengers landed on the island. With a great shout of joy I ran down to greet them. Many voices answered mine, and all plied me with questions respecting my condition. Presently, perceiving that my case was extraordinary, they ceased questioning while I told them my story. They listened with amazement. Then some one said:
'In my travels in these seas I have heard many tales of such an old man of whom thou speakest, dwelling alone upon an island, and lying in wait for shipwrecked sailors. I know not how these tales were spread abroad, for it is said that of those he has ridden none has survived. Thou art the only survivor. His name is called the Old Man of the Sea. But now he is no more: Allah be praised for that! and thou hast escaped: Allah be praised for that also!' And all extolled the greatness of Allah.
I returned with them to the ship, and they clothed me in rich apparel and set food and wine before me; and, when I had refreshed myself, we made merry as the ship set sail.
We were bound for El-Basrah, and my thoughts flew further,—to Baghdad, the Abode of Peace.
Great as had been the sufferings I endured, I soon forgot the perils which had threatened me by sea and in unknown lands. Lapped in luxury in the bosom of my family, I lived in Baghdad, the Abode of Peace, in the utmost joy and happiness.
And now, O Sindbad the Landsman, thou shalt dwell here with me for ever in content, and be my well-beloved boon companion. Thou hast suffered much on land, but thou hast never been in far-off lands and seas where I, as you shall further hear, have suffered enough for the two of us. Wherefore, remain thou beneath my roof, for I have conceived an affection for thee; and together we shall live in happiness, praising Allah (whose name be exalted!) the Omnipotent Creator of Land and Sea and all the wealth which cometh therefrom.
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.
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.
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?'