On a Pincushion · A Toy Princess (1/2)

A Toy Princess

More than a thousand years ago, in a country quite on the other side of the world, it fell out that the people all grew so very polite that they hardly ever spoke to each other. And they never said more than was quite necessary, as “Just so,” “Yes indeed,” “Thank you,” and “If you please.” And it was thought to be the rudest thing in the world for anyone to say they liked or disliked, or loved or hated, or were happy or miserable. No one ever laughed aloud, and if anyone had been seen to cry they would at once have been avoided by their friends.

The King of this country married a Princess from a neighbouring land, who was very good and beautiful, but the people in her own home were as unlike her husband’s people as it was possible to be. They laughed, and talked, and were noisy and merry when they were happy, and cried and lamented if they were sad. In fact, whatever they felt they showed at once, and the Princess was just like them.

So when she came to her new home, she could not at all understand her subjects, or make out why there was no shouting and cheering to welcome her, and why everyone was so distant and formal. After a time, when she found they never changed, but were always the same, just as stiff and quiet, she wept, and began to pine for her own old home.

Every day she grew thinner and paler. The courtiers were much too polite to notice how ill their young Queen looked; but she knew it herself, and believed she was going to die.

Now she had a fairy godmother, named Taboret, whom she loved very dearly, and who was always kind to her. When she knew her end was drawing near she sent for her godmother, and when she came had a long talk with her quite alone.

No one knew what was said, and soon afterwards a little Princess was born, and the Queen died. Of course all the courtiers were sorry for the poor Queen’s death, but it would have been thought rude to say so. So, although there was a grand funeral, and the court put on mourning, everything else went on much as it had done before.

The little baby was christened Ursula, and given to some court ladies to be taken charge of. Poor little Princess! She cried hard enough, and nothing could stop her.

All her ladies were frightened, and said that they had not heard such a dreadful noise for a long time. But, till she was about two years old, nothing could stop her crying when she was cold or hungry, or crowing when she was pleased.

After that she began to understand a little what was meant when her nurses told her, in cold, polite tones, that she was being naughty, and she grew much quieter.

She was a pretty little girl, with a round baby face and big merry blue eyes; but as she grew older, her eyes grew less and less merry and bright, and her fat little face grew thin and pale. She was not allowed to play with any other children, lest she might learn bad manners; and she was not taught any games or given any toys. So she passed most of her time, when she was not at her lessons, looking out of the window at the birds flying against the clear blue sky; and sometimes she would give a sad little sigh when her ladies were not listening.

One day the old fairy Taboret made herself invisible, and flew over to the King’s palace to see how things were going on there. She went straight up to the nursery, where she found poor little Ursula sitting by the window, with her head leaning on her hand.

It was a very grand room, but there were no toys or dolls about, and when the fairy saw this, she frowned to herself and shook her head.

“Your Royal Highness’s dinner is now ready,” said the head nurse to Ursula.

“I don’t want any dinner,” said Ursula, without turning her head.

“I think I have told your Royal Highness before that it is not polite to say you don’t want anything, or that you don’t like it,” said the nurse. “We are waiting for your Royal Highness.”

So the Princess got up and went to the dinner-table, and Taboret watched them all the time. When she saw how pale little Ursula was, and how little she ate, and that there was no talking or laughing allowed, she sighed and frowned even more than before, and then she flew back to her fairy home, where she sat for some hours in deep thought.

At last she rose, and went out to pay a visit to the largest shop in Fairyland.

It was a queer sort of shop. It was neither a grocer’s, nor a draper’s, nor a hatter’s. Yet it contained sugar, and dresses, and hats. But the sugar was magic sugar, which transformed any liquid into which it was put; the dresses each had some special charm, and the hats were wishing-caps. It was, in fact, a shop where every sort of spell or charm was sold.

Into this shop Taboret flew; and as she was well known there as a good customer, the master of the shop came forward to meet her at once, and bowing, begged to know what he could get for her.

“I want,” said Taboret, “a Princess.”

“A Princess!” said the shopman, who was in reality an old wizard. “What size do you want it? I have one or two in stock.”

“It must look now about six years old. But it must grow.”

“I can make you one,” said the wizard, “but it’ll come rather expensive.”

“I don’t mind that,” said Taboret. “See! I want it to look exactly like this,” and so saying she took a portrait of Ursula out of her bosom and gave it to the old man, who examined it carefully.

“I’ll get it for you,” he said. “When will you want it?”

“As soon as possible,” said Taboret. “By tomorrow evening if possible. How much will it cost?”

“It’ll come to a good deal,” said the wizard, thoughtfully. “I have such difficulty in getting these things properly made in these days. What sort of a voice is it to have?”

“It need not be at all talkative,” said Taboret, “so that won’t add much to the price. It need only say, ‘If you please,’ ‘No, thank you,’ ‘Certainly,’ and ‘Just so.’ ”

“Well, under those circumstances,” said the wizard, “I will do it for four cat’s footfalls, two fish’s screams, and two swan’s songs.”

“It is too much,” cried Taboret. “I’ll give you the footfalls and the screams, but to ask for swans’ songs!”

She did not really think it dear, but she always made a point of trying to beat tradesmen down.

“I can’t do it for less,” said the wizard, “and if you think it too much, you’d better try another shop.”

“As I am really in a hurry for it, and cannot spend time in searching about, I suppose I must have it,” said Taboret; “but I consider the price very high. When will it be ready?”

“By tomorrow evening.”

“Very well, then, be sure it is ready for me by the time I call for it, and whatever you do, don’t make it at all noisy or rough in its ways;” and Taboret swept out of the shop and returned to her home.

Next evening she returned and asked if her job was done.

“I will fetch it, and I am sure you will like it,” said the wizard, leaving the shop as he spoke. Presently he came back, leading by the hand a pretty little girl of about six years old⁠—a little girl so like the Princess Ursula that no one could have told them apart.

“Well,” said Taboret, “it looks well enough. But are you sure that it’s a good piece of workmanship, and won’t give way anywhere?”

“It’s as good a piece of work as ever was done,” said the wizard, proudly, striking the child on the back as he spoke, “Look at it! Examine it all over, and see if you find a flaw anywhere. There’s not one fairy in twenty who could tell it from the real thing, and no mortal could.”

“It seems to be fairly made,” said Taboret, approvingly, as she turned the little girl round. “Now I’ll pay you, and then will be off;” with which she raised her wand in the air and waved it three times, and there arose a series of strange sounds.

The first was a low tramping, the second shrill and piercing screams, the third voices of wonderful beauty, singing a very sorrowful song.

The wizard caught all the sounds and pocketed them at once, and Taboret, without ceremony, picked up the child, took her head downwards under her arm, and flew away.

At court that night the little Princess had been naughty, and had refused to go to bed. It was a long time before her ladies could get her into her crib, and when she was there, she did not really go to sleep, only lay still and pretended, till everyone went away; then she got up and stole noiselessly to the window, and sat down on the window-seat all curled up in a little bunch, while she looked out wistfully at the moon. She was such a pretty soft little thing, with all her warm bright hair falling over her shoulders, that it would have been hard for most people to be angry with her. She leaned her chin on her tiny white hands, and as she gazed out, the tears rose to her great blue eyes; but remembering that her ladies would call this naughty, she wiped them hastily away with her nightgown sleeve.

“Ah moon, pretty bright moon!” she said to herself, “I wonder if they let you cry when you want to. I think I’d like to go up there and live with you; I’m sure it would be nicer than being here.”

“Would you like to go away with me?” said a voice close beside her; and looking up she saw a funny old woman in a red cloak, standing near to her. She was not frightened, for the old woman had a kind smile and bright black eyes, though her nose was hooked and her chin long.

“Where would you take me?” said the little Princess, sucking her thumb, and staring with all her might.

“I’d take you to the seashore, where you’d be able to play about on the sands, and where you’d have-some little boys and girls to play with, and no one to tell you not to make a noise.”

“I’ll go,” cried Ursula, springing up at once.

“Come along,” said the old woman, taking her tenderly in her arms and folding her in her warm red cloak. Then they rose up in the air, and flew out of the window, right away over the tops of the houses.

The night air was sharp, and Ursula soon fell asleep; but still they kept flying on, on, over hill and dale, for miles and miles, away from the palace, towards the sea.

Far away from the court and the palace, in a tiny fishing village, on the sea, was a little hut where a fisherman named Mark lived with his wife and three children. He was a poor man, and lived on the fish he caught in his little boat. The children, Oliver, Philip, and little Bell, were rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. They played all day long on the shore, and shouted till they were hoarse. To this village the fairy bore the still sleeping Ursula, and gently placed her on the doorstep of Mark’s cottage; then she kissed her cheeks, and with one gust blew the door open, and disappeared before anyone could come to see who it was.

The fisherman and his wife were sitting quietly within. She was making the children clothes, and he was mending his net, when without any noise the door opened and the cold night air blew in.

“Wife,” said the fisherman, “just see who’s at the door.”

The wife got up and went to the door, and there lay Ursula, still sleeping soundly, in her little white nightdress.

The woman gave a little scream at sight of the child, and called to her husband.

“Husband, see, here’s a little girl!” and so saying she lifted her in her arms, and carried her into the cottage. When she was brought into the warmth and light, Ursula awoke, and sitting up, stared about her in fright. She did not cry, as another child might have done, but she trembled very much, and was almost too frightened to speak.

Oddly enough, she had forgotten all about her strange flight through the air, and could remember nothing to tell the fisherman and his wife, but that she was the Princess Ursula; and, on hearing this, the good man and woman thought the poor little girl must be a trifle mad. However, when they examined her little nightdress, made of white fine linen and embroidery, with a crown worked in one corner, they agreed that she must belong to very grand people. They said it would be cruel to send the poor little thing away on such a cold night, and they must of course keep her till she was claimed. So the woman gave her some warm bread-and-milk, and put her to bed with their own little girl.

In the morning, when the court ladies came to wake Princess Ursula, they found her sleeping as usual in her little bed, and little did they think it was not she, but a toy Princess placed there in her stead. Indeed the ladies were much pleased; for when they said, “It is time for your Royal Highness to arise,” she only answered, “Certainly,” and let herself be dressed without another word. And as the time passed, and she was never naughty, and scarcely ever spoke, all said she was vastly improved, and she grew to be a great favourite.

The ladies all said that the young Princess bid fair to have the most elegant manners in the country, and the King smiled and noticed her with pleasure.

In the meantime, in the fisherman’s cottage far away, the real Ursula grew tall and straight as an alder, and merry and lighthearted as a bird.

No one came to claim her, so the good fisherman and his wife kept her and brought her up among their own little ones. She played with them on the beach, and learned her lessons with them at school, and her old life had become like a dream she barely remembered.

But sometimes the mother would take out the little embroidered nightgown and show it to her, and wonder whence she came, and to whom she belonged.

“I don’t care who I belong to,” said Ursula; “they won’t come and take me from you, and that’s all I care about.” So she grew tall and fair, and as she grew, the toy Princess, in her place at the court, grew too, and always was just like her, only that whereas Ursula’s face was sunburnt and her cheeks red, the face of the toy Princess was pale, with only a very slight tint in her cheeks.

Years passed, and Ursula at the cottage was a tall young woman, and Ursula at the court was thought to be the most beautiful there, and everyone admired her manners, though she never said anything but “If you please,” “No, thank you,” “Certainly,” and “Just so.”

The King was now an old man, and the fisherman Mark and his wife were grey-headed. Most of their fishing was now done by their eldest son, Oliver, who was their great pride. Ursula waited on them, and cleaned the house, and did the needlework, and was so useful that they could not have done without her. The fairy Taboret had come to the cottage from time to time, unseen by anyone, to see Ursula, and always finding her healthy and merry, was pleased to think of how she had saved her from a dreadful life. But one evening when she paid them a visit, not having been there for some time, she saw something which made her pause and consider. Oliver and Ursula were standing together watching the waves, and Taboret stopped to hear what they said⁠—

“When we are married,” said Oliver, softly, “we will live in that little cottage yonder, so that we can come and see them every day. But that will not be till little Bell is old enough to take your place, for how would my mother do without you?”

“And we had better not tell them,” said Ursula, “that we mean to marry, or else the thought that they are preventing us will make them unhappy.”

When Taboret heard this she became grave, and pondered for a long time. At last she flew back to the court to see how things were going on there. She found the King in the middle of a state council. On seeing this, she at once made herself visible, when the King begged her to be seated near him, as he was always glad of her help and advice.

“You find us,” said his Majesty, “just about to resign our sceptre into younger and more vigorous hands; in fact, we think we are growing too old to reign, and mean to abdicate in favour of our dear daughter, who will reign in our stead.”

“Before you do any such thing,” said Taboret, “just let me have a little private conversation with you;” and she led the King into a corner, much to his surprise and alarm.