Fairy Tales for Young Readers (11 page)

“Well,” he told himself, “if I keep on walking I shall certainly get somewhere”; and that, as you know, is usually the case with all of us, even if we are not princes. And it happened just as he expected. When he had been walking for three hours and three-quarters through the dripping-wet wood he saw a light, and, with the intelligence that marks the youngest son in fairy stories, made for it. It grew brighter and brighter, and presently he came out of the thick wood into a broad park-like place, and then he saw the light came from the many windows of a great building.

“If it's an inn,” he told himself, “I can get a bed and a supper. If it's a king's palace I shall have a welcome, and luxury. If it's a lunatic asylum—which is what it looks like—what place more suited to a prince who lets his horse rub him off against the branches of trees? And if it's a museum they can't refuse me shelter as a natural curiosity—a prince who knows when he's made an idiot of himself!”

So he went on boldly.

The park ended in a great avenue of quiet trees; the avenue ended in a garden of dripping rose alleys, and the garden ended at a marble terrace, from which marble steps led up to a very grand front door. It was shut.

“What shall I do now?” Hyacinth asked himself. And himself answered with some common-sense, “Ring the front-door bell.” So he did.

And immediately the front door opened; and before the Prince could say, “Please, is your master at home?” he saw that there was no ear there to hear him. There was no ear, but there were hands, twelve pairs of them, with little blue clouds at the part where the wrist turns into the arm
in ordinary people. And, without saying a word—for they did not seem to know the deaf-and-dumb language—the hands caught hold of him, pulled him in, and shut the door.

“This is a magic castle,” said Hyacinth, who was not without intelligence. “I've read of such things, of course, but I've never seen one. How interesting!”

The hands led him through the warm, softly lighted hall, into a bath-room, where they undressed him, just as they do the poor men who have to go into workhouses—only much more gently. They pushed him into the water, which was warm and scented, and filled a silver bath sunk below the level of the marble floor. And when he was warm and clean these kind hands fetched him clean, soft new clothes, which fitted perfectly, brushed his hair for him, gave him a clean pocket-handkerchief, and took him straight away into a beautiful banqueting hall, built of carved spar that glittered like diamonds in the light of a thousand candles. A little round table was laid ready for dinner.

“Now,” said Hyacinth, “I shall see my host, the wicked magician.” He was not afraid of wicked magicians, because he carried the only amulet that has power against them—a clear-as-crystal heart.

The hands put a chair for him, and pushed it in behind him so decidedly that he sat down with great suddenness. Then a door at the end of the hall, where the dais was, opened suddenly, and a little person, about eighteen inches high, veiled in black lace, walked with slow dignity towards him. This little person was attended, not by courtiers or men-at-arms, but by cats, dressed as maids-of-honour or as cavaliers; and when it came close to him, and raised its veil, Hyacinth saw that it too was a cat—a beautiful blue-eyed, white cat.

He got up and bowed. It was the only thing he could think of. It would never have done, he felt, to stroke this cat, who was, from the manner of her courtiers, quite plainly the mistress of the house, or to call her “Poor pussy then!”

She returned his bow, and then, to his amazement, spoke.

“I am very pleased to see you,” she said. “Do sit down, and we will have dinner.”

“Thank you very much,” said the Prince, trying to conceal his surprise. “It is very kind of you to make a stranger so welcome.”

So they sat down and had dinner.

“This,” said the White Cat, “is a dish of stewed field-mice, and this——”

“Oh, thank you so much,” said the Prince hastily. “I don't know how it is—it's a curious thing, but somehow I'm not hungry.”

“Did you really think,” said the White Cat gently, “that I should feed you on mice? The second dish is roasted pigeons; and you may be quite sure that everything that is offered you at my table will be real Prince's food, not cat's food.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Hyacinth, in confusion. “I might have known.”

When you have been waited on by armless hands, and have had a short conversation with a cat, nothing can surprise you much. All your surprisedness seems to be used up. So Hyacinth was hardly astonished at all to find, as dinner went on, that the White Cat had read all the books that he had read and more besides, that she loved good music, and had seen all the beautiful pictures in all the fine picture galleries of the world. Her conversation was wise and witty, and full of gentle fun; also she seemed to be one of those people who make you trust them, so that you tell them things that you never meant to tell anyone; and long before the evening was over Hyacinth had told her the whole story of his life, his hopes, his dreams, his ambitions, as well as the fact that he was just now on a journey looking for the smallest and handsomest dog in the world. And the cat said:

“Do you trust me?”

And Hyacinth said, “Yes,” which was quite true.

And then the White Cat promised that if he would stay a year at her castle she would give him at the end of that time exactly the dog he wanted.

Then they talked again of all sorts of things, as people do whose minds are in accord, and when at last it was time to say good-night Hyacinth told himself that never in all his life had he spent so pleasant an evening.

The next morning brought clear blue sky, and the trees and grass that had been drenched in last night's rain sparkled and glistened in the fresh sunlight. Hyacinth awoke with the feeling that he had something very pleasant to look forward to. He laughed at himself when he remembered that what he was looking forward to was the companionship of a white cat!

The morning was spent in hunting. Hyacinth rode a clockwork horse, that carried him across country as gaily as any horse in the King's stables could have done, and the White Cat rode a big monkey. They had very good sport, and brought home plenty of game, both cat-game and prince-game. The evening passed in conversation and the music of an invisible orchestra, and the whole day seemed shorter than an hour. And as time went on the weeks were as short as days, and the months as short as weeks; and the year came to an end only too soon.

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.