Chương Chương 22 · The Old Lady and Curdie

. The Old Lady and Curdie

Up the stair then they went, and the next and the next, and through the

long rows of empty rooms, and up the little tower stair, Irene growing

happier and happier as she ascended. There was no answer when she

knocked at length at the door of the workroom, nor could she hear any

sound 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 Irene

opened the door and entered, followed by Curdie.

'You darling!' cried the lady, who was seated by a fire of red roses

mingled with white. 'I've been waiting for you, and indeed getting a

little anxious about you, and beginning to think whether I had not

better go and fetch you myself.'

As she spoke she took the little princess in her arms and placed her

upon her lap. She was dressed in white now, and looking if possible

more lovely than ever.

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

and so I've brought him.'

'Yes--I see him. He is a good boy, Curdie, and a brave boy. Aren't you

glad you've got him out?'

'Yes, grandmother. But it wasn't very good of him not to believe me

when I was telling him the truth.'

'People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must not

be hard upon those who believe less. I doubt if you would have

believed 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'll

believe now.'

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

'Won't you, Curdie?' said Irene, looking round at him as she asked the

question. He was standing in the middle of the floor, staring, and

looking strangely bewildered. This she thought came of his

astonishment 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 the

princess.

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

'Don't you see the lovely fire of roses--white ones amongst them this

time?' 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 the

beautiful light, like the moon, hanging from the roof?'

'You're making game of me, Your Royal Highness; and after what we have

come through together this day, I don't think it is kind of you,' said

Curdie, feeling very much hurt.

'Then what do you see?' asked Irene, who perceived at once that for her

not 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, only

big enough to take the cottage itself in, and leave a good margin all

round,' answered Curdie.

'And what more do you see?'

'I see a tub, and a heap of musty straw, and a withered apple, and a

ray of sunlight coming through a hole in the middle of the roof and

shining on your head, and making all the place look a curious dusky

brown. I think you had better drop it, princess, and go down to the

nursery, like a good girl.'

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

crying.

'No. I hear the cooing of a lot of pigeons. If you won't come down, I

will go without you. I think that will be better anyhow, for I'm sure

nobody who met us would believe a word we said to them. They would

think we made it all up. I don't expect anybody but my own father and

mother to believe me. They know I wouldn't tell a story.'

'And yet you won't believe me, Curdie?' expostulated the princess, now

fairly crying with vexation and sorrow at the gulf between her and

Curdie.

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

room.

'What SHALL I do, grandmother?' sobbed the princess, turning her face

round upon the lady's bosom, and shaking with suppressed sobs.

'You must give him time,' said her grandmother; 'and you must be

content not to be believed for a while. It is very hard to bear; but I

have had to bear it, and shall have to bear it many a time yet. I will

take care of what Curdie thinks of you in the end. You must let him go

now.'

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

'No, Curdie; my grandmother says I must let you go. Turn to the right

when you get to the bottom of all the stairs, and that will take you to

the hall where the great door is.'

'Oh! I don't doubt I can find my way--without you, princess, or your

old 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 of

me afterwards.'

He said this as he opened the door, which he left open, and, without

another word, went down the stair. Irene listened with dismay to his

departing footsteps. Then turning again to the lady:

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

tears.

'It means, my love, that I did not mean to show myself. Curdie is not

yet able to believe some things. Seeing is not believing--it is only

seeing. You remember I told you that if Lootie were to see me, she

would rub her eyes, forget the half she saw, and call the other half

nonsense.'

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

'You are right. Curdie is much farther on than Lootie, and you will

see what will come of it. But in the meantime you must be content, I

say, to be misunderstood for a while. We are all very anxious to be

understood, and it is very hard not to be. But there is one thing much

more necessary.'

'What is that, grandmother?'

'To understand other people.'

'Yes, grandmother. I must be fair--for if I'm not fair to other

people, I'm not worth being understood myself. I see. So as Curdie

can't help it, I will not be vexed with him, but just wait.'

'There's my own dear child,' said her grandmother, and pressed her

close to her bosom.

'Why weren't you in your workroom when we came up, grandmother?' asked

Irene, after a few moments' silence.

'If I had been there, Curdie would have seen me well enough. But why

should 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 knowing

for whom I am spinning.'

'That reminds me--there is one thing that puzzles me,' said the

princess: '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 a

trouble!'

The lady set her down and rose and went to the fire. Putting in her

hand, she drew it out again and held up the shining ball between her

finger and thumb.

'I've got it now, you see,' she said, coming back to the princess, 'all

ready 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 of

her 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 hurt

with the stones, and I have counted nine bruises on you. Just look

what you are like.'

And she held up to her a little mirror which she had brought from the

cabinet. The princess burst into a merry laugh at the sight. She was

so draggled with the stream and dirty with creeping through narrow

places, that if she had seen the reflection without knowing it was a

reflection, she would have taken herself for some gipsy child whose

face was washed and hair combed about once in a month. The lady laughed

too, and lifting her again upon her knee, took off her cloak and

night-gown. Then she carried her to the side of the room. Irene

wondered what she was going to do with her, but asked no

questions--only starting a little when she found that she was going to

lay her in the large silver bath; for as she looked into it, again she

saw no bottom, but the stars shining miles away, as it seemed, in a

great blue gulf. Her hands closed involuntarily on the beautiful arms

that 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 the

next instant she sank in the clear cool water.

When she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but a strange lovely blue

over and beneath and all about her. The lady, and the beautiful room,

had vanished from her sight, and she seemed utterly alone. But instead

of being afraid, she felt more than happy--perfectly blissful. And

from somewhere came the voice of the lady, singing a strange sweet

song, of which she could distinguish every word; but of the sense she

had only a feeling--no understanding. Nor could she remember a single

line after it was gone. It vanished, like the poetry in a dream, as

fast as it came. In after years, however, she would sometimes fancy

that snatches of melody suddenly rising in her brain must be little

phrases and fragments of the air of that song; and the very fancy would

make her happier, and abler to do her duty.

How long she lay in the water she did not know. It seemed a long

time--not from weariness but from pleasure. But at last she felt the

beautiful hands lay hold of her, and through the gurgling water she was

lifted out into the lovely room. The lady carried her to the fire, and

sat down with her in her lap, and dried her tenderly with the softest

towel. It was so different from Lootie's drying. When the lady had

done, she stooped to the fire, and drew from it her night-gown, as

white as snow.

'How delicious!' exclaimed the princess. 'It smells of all the roses

in the world, I think.'

When she stood up on the floor she felt as if she had been made over

again. Every bruise and all weariness were gone, and her hands were

soft and whole as ever.

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

grandmother.

'But what will Lootie be thinking? And what am I to say to her when

she 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 rosy

counterpane.

'There is just one thing more,' said Irene. 'I am a little anxious

about Curdie. As I brought him into the house, I ought to have seen

him safe on his way home.'

'I took care of all that,' answered the lady. 'I told you to let him

go, and therefore I was bound to look after him. Nobody saw him, and

he is now eating a good dinner in his mother's cottage far up in the

mountain.'

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

fast asleep.