by E. Nesbit
Every day the Prince discovered something fresh to like in the White Cat, and when at last only one day of the year was left he was so sad that after supper the White Cat asked him what was the matter.
“I don’t want to leave you,” said he.
“I don’t want you to go,” said she; “but you must come back to me.”
“I shall live for nothing else,” said the Prince.
“Here’s your little dog,” said the White Cat, and gave him a walnut. “The dog’s inside. Listen; you can hear it bark.”
He listened, and sure enough he did hear a very faint little far-away bark.
Then when he had thanked her she held out her white paws for goodbye, and he pressed them gently.
“Goodbye,” she said, “and come back to me.”
Next day he set out for his father’s house—not on the clockwork horse, which people would certainly have laughed at, but on a big real charger, caparisoned in a manner proper to his condition.
“Now, then,” said the King upon his throne, when all the courtiers were assembled and the three princes were standing together on the throne steps, “let’s see these dogs of yours.”
Artemesius pulled a little dog out of his breast pocket—a dog so small and so handsome that everyone thought there could not be one handsomer and smaller in all the world. And all the courtiers clapped and shouted.
“You wait a bit,” said Demetrius, and pulled out a little box. It had cotton-wool in it, and nestling in the cotton-wool a dog smaller and handsomer by far than his brother’s.
So every one clapped more than ever. “I’m afraid you’re out of it this time, Hyacinth, my boy,” said the King.
But Hyacinth said, “I think not, sir,” pulled out his walnut, cracked it, and out jumped the tiniest and most beautiful little white dog that ever was. It jumped from Hyacinth’s hand into the King’s state-velvet lap, and when his Majesty took off his state signet-ring and held it up the little dog leaped through it like a harlequin through a paper hoop.
And the courtiers and everybody else cheered so that you could hear them ten miles off.
But the King said:
“You’re all very good boys, and I’m very pleased with you. Now just run along, like dear fellows, and get me a piece of cloth so fine that it will go through the eye of a needle. Take time—I sha’n’t expect you till a year is out; and meantime I’ll be getting on with those nice new laws I’m just making about trade arbitration.”
Very disappointed indeed, the elder brothers bowed and turned away. This new quest was a nuisance, but they cheered up, and reminded each other that anything was better than that Hyacinth should have the throne. So they sent out messengers to collect fine cloth, and went back to their castles to enjoy themselves in their own way.
But Hyacinth went back to his White Cat, and the year went by so quickly that it seemed it had only just begun when it was time to return to the King with the piece of cloth so fine that it could go through the eye of a needle. The year was spent in study, and good talk, with music and all sorts of pleasures, and when its end came it was much harder than before to part with the White Cat.
However, it had to be done. He kissed the White Cat on the top of her furry head, and with tears in his eyes said “Goodbye.”
She gave him an acorn, inside which, she said, he would find the fine cloth.
“And come back to me, Hyacinth,” she said, “come back once more—even if you win the kingdom.”
“I shall live for nothing else,” said the Prince, and rode away very sad indeed.
Once more the King sat on his throne with all his courtiers about him, and the brothers produced their pieces of cloth. Both were wonderfully fine, much finer than you would think possible, but neither of them would begin to go through the eye of a needle, though the keeper of the King’s laundry did her best and used a number six darner.
Then Hyacinth took out his acorn, and said, “My piece of cloth is inside.” Of course everyone laughed, because it seemed impossible. He cracked the acorn, and instead of finding the cloth he found only a beech nut. Everyone laughed louder, but he cracked the beech nut, only to find a cherry stone. Then indeed everyone laughed in good earnest, the brothers more than any one, and the King rocked himself upon his golden throne, with tears of laughter in his eyes. Hyacinth flushed scarlet, but he cracked the cherry stone with his teeth, and inside it was a grain of wheat.
“Oh, White Cat, my White Cat,” he said in his heart, “is it possible that you have betrayed me?”
And he hesitated, with the wheat grain in his hand. Then he remembered her wise, green eyes, her soft, purring voice, her kindness and cleverness and fondness. He thought of her soft, velvety paws, and almost fancied he felt their touch on his hands.
“No,” he thought, straightening himself and looking proudly round the hall, “she would never betray me.”
So he took out his penknife and opened the wheat grain. Inside was a grain of millet; and by this time there was not a dry eye in the room, because everybody had laughed till they cried.
Hyacinth set his teeth. “I won’t fail in faith,” he said, and split the millet seed on the knife-edge. And then all the laughter stopped short as if it had been turned off by a tap. For out of the tiny split millet seed tumbled heaps on heaps and yards on yards of white cambric, an ell wide, and so fine that it passed easily through the eye of a number ten sewing needle.
There was a great silence in the Court. Then a shout went up that shook the old banners on the walls.
But the King did not shout. He only said, “Very nice—very nice indeed. I’m very pleased with you all, and in a year from now you must each bring me the loveliest princess you can find, and then I’ll retire from business, and the one with the handsomest wife can have the throne.”
So they had to pretend not to be disappointed, and went off to their castles—all but Hyacinth, who went to his White Cat.
She was more pleased than ever to see him, and the third year passed more quickly than even the first two had done. She promised to find him a beautiful princess at the end of the year; but when the year’s end came he suddenly said to her, as they sat in the rose-garden where the sun-dial was:
“Oh, White Cat, my White Cat, what do I want with princesses? I only want you.”
“Oh, but that’s nonsense,” said the White Cat.
“It’s the only wisdom in the world,” said Hyacinth. “You are wise and witty and kind, and very, very dear, and I can’t part with you for any princess, however beautiful. Oh, if you were only a princess! It’s only your cat shape that stands between us. Is there no magician in the world that can turn you into a princess for my sake—or else turn me into a cat for yours?”
The White Cat looked long at him with her beautiful green eyes.
Then she said, “Do you really mean it?”
“I mean nothing else,” said he. “I care for nothing else but you. Is there no magician who can do this?”
“No one,” said the White Cat, “can do it but you. If you care for me so much as you say, take out your sword, cut off my head and tail, and throw them into the fire.”
“I’d rather die,” said he.
“Then you don’t really love me,” said she. “Dear, it’s the only way. You’ve trusted me before. Trust me this once again.”
She led him into the great hall, where a fire burned always, winter and summer, and reached down his sword from the hook where it hung.
“Oh, my White Cat!” he said, “my dear, own White Cat!”
“Strike!” she said, and raised her furry head. “Have faith, and strike!”
So he had faith, and struck, and the round head rolled on the floor. And still he had faith, and struck off the long white tail, and picked up the head and the tail and threw both into the fire, and the flames licked the white fur to brown.
“Oh, my own White Cat,” he said, “then this is the end of everything!” And the tears ran down his face so that he could n
ot see.
But suddenly he felt kind arms round his neck, a soft face laid against his, and a voice spoke, and it was the voice of his own White Cat.
“My own Prince,” she said, “look at me, and see how beautiful I am!”
And he looked, and she was indeed as beautiful as any dream, tall and fair and strong—a splendid Princess.
“I was changed into a white cat,” she explained as well as she could, for his kisses and love-words, “by a wicked fairy, and doomed to keep that shape till some one loved me enough to trust me utterly. You have loved me enough for that, and we are going to be the happiest lovers in all the world.”
There seemed to be no doubt of that.
Next day they journeyed to the Court of the King, followed by a long and glorious train of noble ladies and gallant knights and stalwart men-at-arms, and the procession was like a magnificent ribbon laid across the green country, so long it was, and so bright with silk and velvet and with gold and jewels. For the stroke of Hyacinth’s sword had freed from enchantment not only the White Cat herself, but all her Court, who had been enchanted with her.
Demetrius and Artemesius had found two lovely princesses, but their beauty paled as starlight before sunshine in the presence of the beauty of the White Cat Princess.
“Well, Hyacinth, my boy,” said the King, sighing heavily, “I suppose there’s no getting out of it this time. I’m sure I hope you’ll be very happy, my dears,” he added forlornly.
Then the White Cat Princess rose up from the silver throne that had hastily been wheeled forward for her by the King’s orders, and kneeled in front of the King, and said:
“Please, your Majesty and dear father-in-law, keep your kingdom and go on governing it. You do do it so nicely. I have three kingdoms of my own. Hyacinth and I will take one of them, and the other two we will give to Demetrius and Artemesius, as soon as your Majesty is satisfied that they have learned on their own estates the way to rule wisely.”
And she smiled so kindly and gently at the elder princes that they were not angry or ashamed at her words, only grateful for her splendid present. And the courtiers shouted till you could have heard them twenty miles off; and they cleared away the chairs and tables, and thrones, and carpets and things, and had a dance then and there, because every one was so happy.
“You know, my dear,” said the old King, mopping his forehead and putting his crown straight after leading off with the White Cat Princess in the first country dance, “you know I really do think it’s best for me to go on being King. It’s the only business I really understand, and I couldn’t learn another trade so late in life, and I never could bear to be idle.”
“Exactly,” said she; “so now everybody’s pleased.”
And, so beyond doubt, everybody was.
HOP-O’-MY-THUMB
IN A VERY small hut beside a very big forest there once lived a poor man whose only way of getting a living was to pick up sticks, tie them in bundles, and carry them to the town, where he sold them. He managed in this way to make just enough to keep himself and his wife, but not enough to keep his family. He had seven children, all boys, and none of them ever had quite enough to eat. The father’s spirit had been broken by long poverty, or he would certainly have cut a purse on the high-road or robbed a till rather than do the dreadful thing which in the end he did. As for his wife, she must have been an idiot, or worse.
This poor man used to look at his children as they sat round the table eating at one meal the bread that would have kept him and his wife for three days, and by degrees the idea got into his head that if he could only get rid of his seven children he and his wife would have enough to eat, which at present they never did have. And one night when the children had gone to bed in the cock-loft that served for a dormitory, he leaned his elbows on the table, and his head in his hands, and said:
“Wife, our children are starving, and so are we. I can’t bear to see them die of starvation—now don’t contradict me, because I won’t stand it. If you can bear it, I can’t. Tomorrow I shall take them into the forest and lose them there. Perhaps some rich man may find them—such things have happened. Anyway, you and I will get enough to eat when they are gone.”
“Never,” said his wife. “How can you dare to think of doing such a wicked thing? Take me out and lose me in the forest. I don’t mind starving or being eaten by wolves, but I won’t have it done to my babies, so I tell you.”
And she began to cry—very loudly, and very miserably.
“Hold your noise,” said the father, “and listen to me. If we keep the children here we shall starve together. But if I take them into the forest they’re not at all certain to be eaten by wolves. The King might come riding by, and adopt the lot of them; or some richer woodcutter than I might take them as servants; or they might find a pot of gold. Anyhow, tomorrow morning I’m going to take them out and lose them; and if you dare to interfere I’ll kill you first, and then I’ll kill the children, and then I’ll kill myself, and the matter will be settled once for all.”
So the mother, being, as I said, a very silly woman, said, “Very well, I see it’s the best thing we can do.” And then they talked over their horrible plan for a while, and at last raked the ashes together, to keep the fire alive for next day, and went to bed.
Now someone had been listening at the key-hole, and this someone was Hop-o’-my-Thumb. He was the youngest of the seven children, and when he was born he was only as long as his father’s thumb, so they gave him that name. And he was a very silent child, who hardly ever spoke, but he listened to everything. His brothers used to make fun of him, and call him “Silly Billy,” and he had to do most of the housework, that ought to have been done by all seven—share and share alike.
Now when Hop-o’-my-Thumb woke up and heard his mother crying he crept out of bed, and, as I said, he listened at the door, which is considered a very dishonourable thing to do, except in case of war. But I suppose if you happen to have a father and mother like that faggot-maker and his wife it is quite as dangerous as war, and you have to act accordingly.
Hop-o’-my-Thumb heard all their plans, and he thought and thought. Being such a silent child, he had had a good deal of practice in thinking, and he did it rather well. When he thought he had thought enough, he curled up in the ragged blanket and went to sleep.
Next morning the children went down to the brook to wash their hands and faces, and Hop-o’-my-Thumb filled all his pockets with small white stones from the brook’s edge, and when his father said, “Come, children, let’s go into the forest, and I’ll show you how to set a snare for bears,” and all the children eagerly followed, Hop-o’-my-Thumb lagged behind, and every ten paces he dropped a white stone, so that the road should be marked by them, and he should be able to find his way back again. The father led them by ways they did not know, and he turned this way and he turned that way, till none of the boys knew even in which direction their home lay, much less the way to get to it.
Then this odd sort of father set the children to dig a pit to trap bears in, and when the poor little dears were working their hardest, and thinking how pleased he would be to see them so industrious, he just slipped away and left them, and went hurrying back to his wife, to tell her he had succeeded in losing their seven sons, and now there would be enough for father and mother to eat. I am glad the fathers and mothers that we have now are not like that.
When the seven children had dug as much as they could, they stopped digging—which was bound to hap-pen—and then they found that they were lost in the wood, or rather their father was lost, for they could not find him. And of course that came to the same thing. They all began to cry, except Hop-o’-my-Thumb; and little Robin, who was his mother’s blue-eyed darling, cried more and louder than any of the others.
Then Hop-o’-my-Thumb put his legs very far apart, and stuck his hands on his hips, and looked as manly as he could, and “Cry-babies!” said he.
“Cry-baby yourself,” said his eldest brother.
So saying, he turned and walked away; and the others followed him, because there seemed nothing else to do.
He led the way to the place where he had dropped the last of the white stones. “Now,” he said, “keep your eyes open, for by these white stones we shall find our way home. And keep your mouths shut when you get there, for we may have to do this little trick again.”
Now when the wood-cutter got back from the forest after getting rid of his children he was met at the door by a servant who had come on horseback from the King to pay eight crowns that had been owing for firewood. So now there was money to get things to eat, and he sent his wife down to the village to buy food. And she did; and when she had cooked supper they sat down to eat it; and it was not till they had satisfied their hunger that the mother began to cry because the children were not there to clear up the dish. The children by this time had found their way home, and were listening outside the door, and when they heard their mother say, “I wish the dear children were here to share this supper with us,” they rushed in, and their father and mother were really glad to see them.
But the eight silver crowns were presently spent, and the family as poor as ever. And again the father decided to lose the children, and again Hop-o’-my-Thumb overheard their cruel plans. He was not much troubled. He felt that he could get out of the forest as before, by laying a track of white pebbles. But he reckoned without that little sneak and mother’s darling, Robin, who had told all about the pebbles; so that when Hop-o’-my-Thumb got up early to fill his pockets he found the door locked.
“Never mind,” he said to himself; “I won’t eat my breakfast, and I’ll crumble the bread—the crumbs will do instead of pebbles to mark the way home.”