The Princess and the Goblin

by George MacDonald

  CHAPTER 22

  The Old Lady and Curdie

  Up the stair then they went, and the next and the next, and through thelong rows of empty rooms, and up the little tower stair, Irene growinghappier and happier as she ascended. There was no answer when sheknocked at length at the door of the workroom, nor could she hear anysound of the spinning-wheel, and once more her heart sank within her,but only for one moment, as she turned and knocked at the other door.

  'Come in,' answered the sweet voice of her grandmother, and Ireneopened the door and entered, followed by Curdie.

  'You darling!' cried the lady, who was seated by a fire of red rosesmingled with white. 'I've been waiting for you, and indeed getting alittle anxious about you, and beginning to think whether I had notbetter go and fetch you myself.'

  As she spoke she took the little princess in her arms and placed herupon her lap. She was dressed in white now, and looking if possiblemore lovely than ever.

  'I've brought Curdie, grandmother. He wouldn't believe what I told himand so I've brought him.'

  'Yes--I see him. He is a good boy, Curdie, and a brave boy. Aren't youglad you've got him out?'

  'Yes, grandmother. But it wasn't very good of him not to believe mewhen I was telling him the truth.'

  'People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must notbe hard upon those who believe less. I doubt if you would havebelieved it all yourself if you hadn't seen some of it.'

  'Ah! yes, grandmother, I dare say. I'm sure you are right. But he'llbelieve now.'

  'I don't know that,' replied her grandmother.

  'Won't you, Curdie?' said Irene, looking round at him as she asked thequestion. He was standing in the middle of the floor, staring, andlooking strangely bewildered. This she thought came of hisastonishment at the beauty of the lady.

  'Make a bow to my grandmother, Curdie,' she said.

  'I don't see any grandmother,' answered Curdie rather gruffly.

  'Don't see my grandmother, when I'm sitting in her lap?' exclaimed theprincess.

  'No, I don't,' reiterated Curdie, in an offended tone.

  'Don't you see the lovely fire of roses--white ones amongst them thistime?' asked Irene, almost as bewildered as he.

  'No, I don't,' answered Curdie, almost sulkily.

  'Nor the blue bed? Nor the rose-coloured counterpane?--Nor thebeautiful light, like the moon, hanging from the roof?'

  'You're making game of me, Your Royal Highness; and after what we havecome through together this day, I don't think it is kind of you,' saidCurdie, feeling very much hurt.

  'Then what do you see?' asked Irene, who perceived at once that for hernot to believe him was at least as bad as for him not to believe her.

  'I see a big, bare, garret-room--like the one in mother's cottage, onlybig enough to take the cottage itself in, and leave a good margin allround,' answered Curdie.

  'And what more do you see?'

  'I see a tub, and a heap of musty straw, and a withered apple, and aray of sunlight coming through a hole in the middle of the roof andshining on your head, and making all the place look a curious duskybrown. I think you had better drop it, princess, and go down to thenursery, like a good girl.'

  'But don't you hear my grandmother talking to me?' asked Irene, almostcrying.

  'No. I hear the cooing of a lot of pigeons. If you won't come down, Iwill go without you. I think that will be better anyhow, for I'm surenobody who met us would believe a word we said to them. They wouldthink we made it all up. I don't expect anybody but my own father andmother to believe me. They know I wouldn't tell a story.'

  'And yet you won't believe me, Curdie?' expostulated the princess, nowfairly crying with vexation and sorrow at the gulf between her andCurdie.

  'No. I can't, and I can't help it,' said Curdie, turning to leave theroom.

  'What SHALL I do, grandmother?' sobbed the princess, turning her faceround upon the lady's bosom, and shaking with suppressed sobs.

  'You must give him time,' said her grandmother; 'and you must becontent not to be believed for a while. It is very hard to bear; but Ihave had to bear it, and shall have to bear it many a time yet. I willtake care of what Curdie thinks of you in the end. You must let him gonow.'

  'You're not coming, are you?' asked Curdie.

  'No, Curdie; my grandmother says I must let you go. Turn to the rightwhen you get to the bottom of all the stairs, and that will take you tothe hall where the great door is.'

  'Oh! I don't doubt I can find my way--without you, princess, or yourold grannie's thread either,' said Curdie quite rudely.

  'Oh, Curdie! Curdie!'

  'I wish I had gone home at once. I'm very much obliged to you, Irene,for getting me out of that hole, but I wish you hadn't made a fool ofme afterwards.'

  He said this as he opened the door, which he left open, and, withoutanother word, went down the stair. Irene listened with dismay to hisdeparting footsteps. Then turning again to the lady:

  'What does it all mean, grandmother?' she sobbed, and burst into freshtears.

  'It means, my love, that I did not mean to show myself. Curdie is notyet able to believe some things. Seeing is not believing--it is onlyseeing. You remember I told you that if Lootie were to see me, shewould rub her eyes, forget the half she saw, and call the other halfnonsense.'

  'Yes; but I should have thought Curdie--'

  'You are right. Curdie is much farther on than Lootie, and you willsee what will come of it. But in the meantime you must be content, Isay, to be misunderstood for a while. We are all very anxious to beunderstood, and it is very hard not to be. But there is one thing muchmore necessary.'

  'What is that, grandmother?'

  'To understand other people.'

  'Yes, grandmother. I must be fair--for if I'm not fair to otherpeople, I'm not worth being understood myself. I see. So as Curdiecan't help it, I will not be vexed with him, but just wait.'

  'There's my own dear child,' said her grandmother, and pressed herclose to her bosom.

  'Why weren't you in your workroom when we came up, grandmother?' askedIrene, after a few moments' silence.

  'If I had been there, Curdie would have seen me well enough. But whyshould I be there rather than in this beautiful room?'

  'I thought you would be spinning.'

  'I've nobody to spin for just at present. I never spin without knowingfor whom I am spinning.'

  'That reminds me--there is one thing that puzzles me,' said theprincess: 'how are you to get the thread out of the mountain again?Surely you won't have to make another for me? That would be such atrouble!'

  The lady set her down and rose and went to the fire. Putting in herhand, she drew it out again and held up the shining ball between herfinger and thumb.

  'I've got it now, you see,' she said, coming back to the princess, 'allready for you when you want it.'

  Going to her cabinet, she laid it in the same drawer as before.

  'And here is your ring,' she added, taking it from the little finger ofher left hand and putting it on the forefinger of Irene's right hand.

  'Oh, thank you, grandmother! I feel so safe now!'

  'You are very tired, my child,' the lady went on. 'Your hands are hurtwith the stones, and I have counted nine bruises on you. Just lookwhat you are like.'

  And she held up to her a little mirror which she had brought from thecabinet. The princess burst into a merry laugh at the sight. She wasso draggled with the stream and dirty with creeping through narrowplaces, that if she had seen the reflection without knowing it was areflection, she would have taken herself for some gipsy child whoseface was washed and hair combed about once in a month. The lady laughedtoo, and lifting her again upon her knee, took off her cloak andnight-gown. Then she carried her to the side of the room. Irenewondered what she was going to do with her, but asked noquestions--only starting a little when she found that she was going tolay her in the large silver bath; for as she looked into it, agai
n shesaw no bottom, but the stars shining miles away, as it seemed, in agreat blue gulf. Her hands closed involuntarily on the beautiful armsthat held her, and that was all.

  The lady pressed her once more to her bosom, saying:

  'Do not be afraid, my child.'

  'No, grandmother,' answered the princess, with a little gasp; and thenext instant she sank in the clear cool water.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but a strange lovely blueover and beneath and all about her. The lady, and the beautiful room,had vanished from her sight, and she seemed utterly alone. But insteadof being afraid, she felt more than happy--perfectly blissful. Andfrom somewhere came the voice of the lady, singing a strange sweetsong, of which she could distinguish every word; but of the sense shehad only a feeling--no understanding. Nor could she remember a singleline after it was gone. It vanished, like the poetry in a dream, asfast as it came. In after years, however, she would sometimes fancythat snatches of melody suddenly rising in her brain must be littlephrases and fragments of the air of that song; and the very fancy wouldmake her happier, and abler to do her duty.

  How long she lay in the water she did not know. It seemed a longtime--not from weariness but from pleasure. But at last she felt thebeautiful hands lay hold of her, and through the gurgling water she waslifted out into the lovely room. The lady carried her to the fire, andsat down with her in her lap, and dried her tenderly with the softesttowel. It was so different from Lootie's drying. When the lady haddone, she stooped to the fire, and drew from it her night-gown, aswhite as snow.

  'How delicious!' exclaimed the princess. 'It smells of all the rosesin the world, I think.'

  When she stood up on the floor she felt as if she had been made overagain. Every bruise and all weariness were gone, and her hands weresoft and whole as ever.

  'Now I am going to put you to bed for a good sleep,' said hergrandmother.

  'But what will Lootie be thinking? And what am I to say to her whenshe asks me where I have been?'

  'Don't trouble yourself about it. You will find it all come right,'said her grandmother, and laid her into the blue bed, under the rosycounterpane.

  'There is just one thing more,' said Irene. 'I am a little anxiousabout Curdie. As I brought him into the house, I ought to have seenhim safe on his way home.'

  'I took care of all that,' answered the lady. 'I told you to let himgo, and therefore I was bound to look after him. Nobody saw him, andhe is now eating a good dinner in his mother's cottage far up in themountain.'

  'Then I will go to sleep,' said Irene, and in a few minutes she wasfast asleep.