Part 6

So _Cinderella_ ran in and found the mouse trap she had set; and, sure enough, there was a whole family of six--father and mother, a maiden aunt, and three naughty children who had led them into the trap. In high glee _Cinderella_ ran back to her godmother and showed her.

'Yes, yes; that is quite good, but we're going a bit too fast. Here are six horses--though they don't look it at present--but we must first have a coachman to manage them. Now I don't suppose, by any chance, you've got a----'

'A rat?' cried _Cinderella_, her eyes sparkling with excitement. 'Well, now, I _did_ set a rat trap in the scullery--not a guillotine, you know, but just a thing to catch them alive: I always think they much prefer to be caught alive and then drowned.'

'Run, then, and see, child. We can do nothing without a coachman,--nothing at all.'

So _Cinderella_ ran and fetched the rat trap. In it were three large rats, and the two inspected them closely.

'I think that's the best one,' said _Cinderella_; 'look at his enormous whiskers! He'd make a lovely coachman.'

'You're right, child; I was just thinking that myself: he's got a good eye for horse-flesh too.'

With this the fairy godmother touched him with the tip of her wand, and instantly he stood before them--a fat coachman with tremendous whiskers, saluting and waiting for orders.

'Now,' said the fairy godmother to _Cinderella_, 'open the door of the mouse trap and let one out at a time.'

_Cinderella_ did so, and, as each mouse came out, the godmother tapped it with her wand, and it was immediately changed into a magnificent horse, richly harnessed and equipped. The coachman took charge of them and harnessed them to the coach as a six-in-hand.

'That's that!' said the fairy. 'Now for the footmen. Run, child, down to the farther end of the garden. There, in the corner, behind the old broken water-pot, something tells me you will find six lizards in a nest. Bring them here to me.'

_Cinderella_ ran off, and soon returned with the identical six lizards. A tap of the wand on each and there stood six imposing footmen, such as are only seen in kings' palaces. Their liveries were dazzling with purple and gold. To the manner born they took their places on the coach and waited.

'But--but,' cried _Cinderella_, who saw by now that she was bound for the ball, 'how can I go like this? They would all jeer at me.'

Her godmother laughed and chided her on having so little faith. 'Tut, tut,' she said, and tapped her on the shoulder with her wand.

What a transformation! The girl, lovely indeed in herself, that stood a moment ago in rags, now stood there a splendid woman--for there is always a moment when a child becomes a woman--and a woman clothed in cloth of gold and silver, all bespangled with jewels. The tiring-maids of Fairyland had done her hair up to show its beauty, and in it was fastened a diamond clasp that challenged the sparkling stars. An osprey, too, quivered and danced to the beating of her heart. 'But,' said _Cinderella_, when she had recovered from her amazement, 'I see that I have lovely silk stockings, yet, O my godmother, where are my shoes?'

'Ah! that is just the point.' And her godmother drew from the folds of her dress a pair of glass slippers. 'Glass is glass, I know, my dear; and it is not one in a hundred thousand that could wear such things; but perfect fit is everything, and, as for these, I doubt if there is any in the world but yourself who could fit them exactly.'

_Cinderella_ took the slippers and poked her toes into them very carefully, for, as her godmother had said, glass is glass, and you have to be measured very carefully for it. But what was her delight to find that they were, indeed, an absolute fit. Either her feet had been made for the slippers or the slippers had been made for her feet, it did not matter: it was the same thing, and not a little surprising.

Now _Cinderella_ stood up, a perfect picture, and kissed her godmother and thanked her. The carriage was waiting, the horses were restive, the coachman sat on the box, and the footmen were in their places.

'Now, there's just one thing which is rather important,' said the fairy godmother, as _Cinderella_ entered the coach, 'and you must not forget it. I can do this, that, and the other, but at midnight there's an end to it all. You must leave the ball before the clock strikes twelve, for, if you don't, you'll be in a pretty pickle. Your coach will turn into a pumpkin again, your coachman into a rat, your horses into mice, and your footmen into lizards; and there you will be in the ballroom in nothing but your dirty rags for all to laugh at. Now, remember; it all ends at the stroke of twelve.'

'Never fear,' said _Cinderella_. 'I shall not forget. Good-bye!'

'Good-bye, child!'

Then the coachman cracked his whip and the prancing horses sprang forward. _Cinderella_ was off to the ball.

'That's that!' said the fairy godmother, as she looked after the coach for a moment. Then the blue flame at the tip of her wand went out, and so did she--flick!

* * * * *

It was a glorious night. The same moon that had looked down on _Cinderella's_ pumpkins now shone upon the king's palace and the royal gardens. Within, the ball was at its height. The movement of the dance was a fascinating spectacle. In the great hall the light of a thousand candles was reflected from the polished floor; from the recesses came the soft plash of cool fountains and the fragrance of the rarest flowers; while, to the sweet strains of the violins, many pairs of feet glided as if on air. Without, among the trees, where hanging lanterns shed a dim light and the music throbbed faintly on the warm night air, couples strayed and lingered, speaking in voices sweet and low, while from cloud to cloud wandered the moon, withdrawing to hide a maiden's blushes, shining forth again to light her smiles.

Suddenly a note of something unusual seemed to run through the whole scene. The chamberlain was seen to speed hither and thither on some quest that left his dignity to see after itself. Breathless he sought the _Prince_, and at last he found him.

'Your Serene Highness,' he gasped, 'a princess of high degree has just arrived in state and desires admission. She will not give her name, but--if you will permit me to be skilled in these matters--she is a lady that cannot be denied. Beautiful as a goddess and proud as a queen; why, the very jewels in her hair are worth a thousand square miles of territory. Believe me, your Serene Highness, she is a princess of exalted dignity.'

The _Prince_ followed the chamberlain to the gate, where they found the fair unknown waiting in her coach. The _Prince_, silent for want of words--she was so very beautiful--handed her down and escorted her through the palace gardens, where, as they passed, the guests started and sighed at sight of one so rare. So they reached the ballroom, and immediately the dance ceased. Even the music fainted away as this vision of beauty came upon the scene. All was at a silent standstill as the _Prince_ led the unknown down the hall, and nothing could be heard but whispers of 'Ah! how beautiful she is!' and 'Never, never have I seen such loveliness!' Even the old king was altogether fascinated. 'My dear!' he said to the queen in a whisper, 'what an adorable woman! Ah! she and those very words remind me of you yourself.' From which the queen, by a rapid retrospect, inferred that the stranger was indeed a very beautiful woman, and did not hesitate to admit it.

The _Prince_ presented the stranger with few words--for beauty speaks for itself--and then led her out to dance. _Tara tara tara ra ra ra!_--the fiddles struck up a sprightly measure, and all the couples footed it with glee; but one after another they wilted away to watch the graceful pair, so exquisitely did they dance. And then, as if by common consent, the music fell to a dreamy waltz; the _Prince_ and the fair unknown passed into the rhythm, and all were spellbound as this perfect couple danced before them. Even the hard-featured step-sisters were lost in admiration, for little they guessed who the beautiful stranger really was.

The night wore on, and _Cinderella_ danced with the stateliest of the land, and again and again with the _Prince_. And when supper was over, and the _Prince_ had claimed her for yet another dance, she almost fainted in his arms when she happened to glance at the clock and saw that it was just two minutes to twelve. Alas! her godmother's warning! She had fallen madly in love with the _Prince_, as he with her, and she had forgotten everything beside. But now it was a case of quick action or she would soon be in rags and coachless; how they would all laugh at her then!

With a wrench she tore herself away, and, concealing her haste till she got clear of the ballroom, sped like a deer through the ways of the palace till she reached the marble steps leading down to the gate, when she heard with dismay the ominous sound of a great clock striking twelve.

Down she went three steps at a time, a flying figure of haste in the moonlight. One of her glass slippers came off, but she had to leave it. There--there was the coach waiting for her. She rushed towards it, when, lo and behold, as the last stroke of twelve died away, there was no coach at all; nothing but a hollow pumpkin by the kerb, and six mice and a heavily whiskered rat nibbling at it, to say nothing of six lizards wriggling away. And that was not all. She looked at herself in horror. She was in rags!

With the one thought to hide herself, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her in the direction of her home. She had scarcely covered half the distance when it came on to rain hard, and, before she reached her doorstep, she was drenched to the skin. Then, when she had crept to her chimney corner in the kitchen, she made a strange discovery. As you know, the coach and all that appertained to it had disappeared; her splendid attire had gone; but--how was this?--one real glass slipper still remained. The other, she remembered, she had dropped on the steps of the palace.

'Well, child?' said a clear voice from the other side of the fireplace; and _Cinderella_, looking up, saw her godmother standing there gazing down at her with a quizzical smile.

'The slippers!' she went on. 'Oh no; however forgetful you might have been, they could never have vanished like the other things. Don't you remember, I brought them with me? They were _real_. But where is the other one?'

'In my haste to get away I dropped it on the palace steps.' And _Cinderella_ began to cry.

'There, there; never mind. Perhaps somebody with a capital S has picked it up. You were certainly very careless, but you are not unlucky--at least, not if I can help it.' And when _Cinderella_ looked up through her tears her godmother had gone.

'Somebody with a capital S,' mused _Cinderella_, as she gazed into the dying fire. 'I wonder!' But just then the bell rang announcing the return of her step-sisters. Oh! they were full of it! A most beautiful princess had been to the ball, they said, and they had actually spoken with her. She was most gentle and condescending. Their faces shone with reflected glory. And she had left suddenly at midnight, and the _Prince_ was beside himself; and there was nothing to show for it all but a glass slipper which he had picked up on the steps of the palace. What a night! And so they rambled on, little thinking that _Cinderella_ had the other glass slipper hidden in her bosom along with other state secrets.

The next day events followed one another with great rapidity. First, came a royal proclamation. Whereas a lady had cast a slipper at the ball it must be returned to the rightful owner, and so forth. Secondly, came news that the slipper had been tried on the princesses, duchesses, marchionesses, countesses, and viscountesses, and finally on the baronesses of the Court, but all in vain. It fitted none of them. Thirdly, it gradually became known that any lady with a foot that betokened good breeding was invited to call at the palace and try on the slipper. This went on for weeks, and finally the prime minister, who carried the glass slipper on a velvet cushion, went out himself to search for the fitting foot, for the _Prince_ was leading him a dog's life, and threatening all kinds of things unless that foot and all that was joined to it were found.

At last, going from house to house, he came to _Cinderella's_ sisters, who, of course, tried all they could to squeeze a foot into the slipper, but without success. _Cinderella_ looked on and laughed to herself to see how hard they tried, and, when they had given it up, she said gaily, 'Let me try and see if I can get it on.'

Her sisters laughed loudly at the idea of a little kitchen slut trying her luck, and began to mock and abuse her; but the chamberlain, seeing what a beautiful girl she was, maintained that his orders were to try it upon every one.

So _Cinderella_ held out her little foot, and the chamberlain put the slipper on quite easily. It fitted like wax. This was an astonishing thing, but it was more astonishing still when _Cinderella_ produced the other slipper and put it on the other foot. Then, to show that wonders could never cease, the door flew open, and in came the fairy godmother. One touch of her wand on _Cinderella's_ clothes, and there she stood again dressed as on the night of the ball, only this time there were not only jewels in her hair but orange blossoms as well.

There was a breathless silence for a while. Then, when _Cinderella's_ step-sisters realised that she was the same beautiful unknown that they had seen at the ball, they prostrated themselves before her, begging her to forgive all. _Cinderella_ took them by the hand and raised them up and kissed them. And it melted their hard natures to hear her say that she would love them always.

When the fairy godmother had witnessed all this she said to herself, 'That's that!' and vanished. But she never lost sight of _Cinderella_. She guided and guarded her in all her ways, and, when the _Prince_ claimed his willing bride, their way of happiness was strewn with roses.

THE CHILLY LOVER

A SONG FROM THE FRENCH

BEHOLD me here, my dear to meet! Alas, I must have come too soon! The wind that blows beneath the moon In winter is not over-sweet. Ah! never think my love is backward turning, It still increases by a thousand-fold; O Ursula, for thee My heart is burning,-- But I'm so cold!

I would I had thy hand to kiss, That pledge of faith so white and small, Instead of these great flakes that fall And chill me to the bone like this! Upon my back they tumble helter-skelter, And yet, beyond whatever could be told, O Ursula, for thee I simply swelter,-- But I'm so cold!

While thus my deathless love I trill, My soft guitar for thee I play; Alas, the north wind fierce and grey Plays upon me a measure shrill! On me his miserable music making, Seizing each finger in his icy hold.-- O Ursula, for thee My heart is baking,-- But I'm so cold!

Within thy room with friendly glow I see the hearthfire shining clear; The crackling faggots I can hear,-- And I am numb from top to toe! Oh, must I freeze while thou art toasting? Shall not my suffering be consoled? Sweet Ursula, for thee I am just roasting,-- But I'm so cold!

THE STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE

AN OLD WORLD IDYLL

COUNT GARIN DE BIAUCAIRE, being attacked and besieged by his mortal enemy, Count Bougars de Valence, was hard beset and in evil plight. He therefore besought his only son, _Aucassin_, a stalwart and handsome young man of excellent virtue, to take arms against the foe. _Aucassin_ refused to enter to battle unless he were given to wife his true love _Nicolette_; but his father answered that _Nicolette_ was a slave-girl and a stranger, bought long ago from the Saracens, and no fit mate for his son. _Aucassin_ declared that _Nicolette_ was fit to occupy any queen's throne, and he would not be dissuaded from his love. So the Count Garin de Biaucaire spoke privily with his vassal, the captain of the city, that he should send away _Nicolette_ forthwith, 'for, if I could do my will upon her,' said the Count, 'I would burn her in a fire.' The captain of the city, _Nicolette's_ foster-father, who had bought her, had her baptized, and brought her up, was distressed at this; but, having knowledge that _Aucassin_ was enamoured of the maiden, he shut her up in a richly painted chamber in his palace, which looked through one small window into the garden. There _Nicolette_ was kept in durance, with one old woman to attend her; and she saw the roses, and heard the birds in the garden, and resolved that she would escape to her own true love.

_Nicolette_ being thus shut away, it was rumoured through all the land how she was lost; and some said that Count Garin de Biaucaire had slain her. Thereupon _Aucassin_, in great sorrow and anger, went and demanded her of the captain. But he got no satisfaction from the captain, who advised him, even as his father had done, to take a maiden of high degree to wife, and think no more of _Nicolette_. So _Aucassin_ went home to his chamber and lamented for his love. And at this hour the castle was suddenly assaulted by the army of Count Bougars de Valence. Count Garin de Biaucaire, again seeking that _Aucassin_ should take arms to the defence of his heritage, came in and found him making moan for _Nicolette_. Hot words passed between them; but presently _Aucassin_ covenanted with his father that, if he overcame the foe, he should be allowed to see _Nicolette_, if only for a moment.

So he rode forth into the fray. But so full was his mind of his love, that he dreamed instead of doing, and was taken prisoner and about to be slain. Then he aroused himself and struck down all around, and rode back home with Count Bougars de Valence as his captive. And when he claimed his father's promise, the Count Garin de Biaucaire not only forbade him any sight of _Nicolette_, but flung him into a dungeon till he should forgo the love of her.

So _Aucassin_ lay bewailing in his dungeon; but _Nicolette_ one night escaped, letting herself down by the window, wrapped in a silken cloak, and crept along through the streets of Biaucaire until she came to the tower where her lover was. And they had speech of each other; and she cut off her golden curls and cast them to _Aucassin_ through a crevice. But when she told him that she must leave that land, he was greatly angered and forbade her. Then the sentinel on the tower, who was aware of _Nicolette_, took pity on her, warning her that the town-guard were even now seeking her with swords to slay her.

_Nicolette_ sank into the shadow till the guard passed by; then she made her farewell to _Aucassin_, and with hardship let herself down the castle wall into the fosse, being assured that she would be burned by Count Garin if she still abode in Biaucaire. And she hid herself in the outskirts of the forest until next day at noon. There came some shepherd lads then, and ate bread on the fringe of the forest. By these _Nicolette_ sent a secret message to _Aucassin_, which none but he might understand, and she built herself a little lodge of oak-leaf boughs and lily flowers--and hither, after much quest, came _Aucassin_, searching vainly for his love. Then the lovers had much joy of this meeting; and they rode away together on one horse until they reached the seashore and took ship. But a storm arose and drove their vessel upon the coast of the country of Torelore. In this land men did battle with eggs, baked apples, and fresh cheeses; and _Aucassin_ with his sword put the foes of the king to flight.

When _Aucassin_ and _Nicolette_ had dwelt here for three years in great delight, a company of Saracens stormed the castle of Torelore, and carried them off separately captive; and the ship which held _Aucassin_ was drifted by a tempest back home to Biaucaire, where his father and mother were dead. So now he was lord of that land; but he cared for nothing in the world but to regain his love _Nicolette_. As for her, she was also at home; for the ship which carried her pertained to the king of Carthage, her father, from whom she had been stolen as a little child. And when her father and brothers knew her, they made much of her, and would have wedded her to a Paynim king. But _Nicolette_ obtained a viol, and learned to play it; then she dyed herself all brown with a certain herb, and attired herself as a harper-boy. She persuaded a shipmaster to carry her to the land of Provence, and there she came to the castle of Biaucaire, and sang to her viol what had befallen _Nicolette_. _Aucassin_ was overjoyed to know that _Nicolette_ was living, and he bade the harper-boy to go fetch _Nicolette_ from Carthage that he might wed her. _Nicolette_ then went to her foster-mother, the captain's wife, and rested there eight days, till she was washed and anointed and richly clothed, and fairer than ever. And she sent that lady to bring _Aucassin_ her love, who was weeping in the palace for lack of her. So were these true lovers reunited and wedded, and for all their sorrows they had a double happiness, their whole lives long.

BLUE BEARD

AN OLD TALE FROM THE FRENCH

THINK of it! A man rich as a prince, of fine upstanding presence and commanding manner; a man of great moment in Baghdad!

Think of it again! A man cursed by nature with a beard that was quite blue, from the roots of the hairs to their very tips!

To be sure, he had three alternatives in the matter. First, he might shave it off, thus avoiding earthly ugliness while renouncing all hope of a place in Paradise; secondly, he might marry a scold, and so become prematurely grey; and last, he might keep his blue beard and remain the ugliest man in all the world. There was no other alternative, for the beard was so deadly blue that no dye could touch it.

He had staked his chances on the second point: he _had_ married, and more than once; but, although his wives had disappeared mysteriously, his blue beard still remained, as blue as ever. How it was that he had ever found any woman blind enough to marry him it is difficult to imagine, for he was so frightfully ugly that most women at sight of him ran away screaming, and hid in the cellar. But it is only fair to say that _Blue Beard_ had such a way with him that, given two hours' start, he could snap his fingers at any rival.

Now it so happened that in his neighbourhood there lived a lady of quality, who had two sons and two daughters; and, in his walks abroad, _Blue Beard_ often met the two girls, and soon fell into the lowest depths of love. Both were adorable, and he really could not decide which one he preferred. Always in exquisite doubt on the point, he finally approached the mother and asked her for the hand of one of her daughters, leaving the choice to her. And she, like a wise woman, said nothing, but simply introduced _Blue Beard_ to _Anne_ and _Fatima_, and left the rest to nature and their own fancies.