Chapter 3

Why that is rather a puzzling question. Some people say that she never did: others believe that the Fairy made her the offer of them, but that she declined it, thinking that she should, perhaps, grow too fond of them again: while some other people say, that the Fairy gave her back those things which her high station as a princess required, but, that the young lady herself begged her to keep those things which would only have tended to make her vain and self-indulgent. And I am very much disposed myself to think that this account of the matter is the true one.

THE DISCONTENTED CAT.

Once upon a time--I can't say exactly when it was--there stood a neat, tidy little hut on the borders of a wild forest. A poor old woman dwelt in this hut. She lived on the whole pretty comfortably; for, though she was poor, she was able to keep a few goats, that supplied her with milk, and a flock of chickens, that gave her fresh eggs every morning: and then she had a small garden, which she cultivated with her own hands, and that supplied her with cabbages and other vegetables, besides gooseberries and apples for dumplings. Her goats browsed upon the short grass just outside the garden, and her chickens ran about everywhere, and picked up everything they could find. There were some fine old trees which defended the cottage on three sides from the cold winds, and the front was to the south; so it was very snug and sheltered. The forest afforded her sticks and young logs for fuel, so that she never was in want of a fire; and, altogether, she managed to make out a pretty comfortable life of it, as times went.

The only friend and companion the old woman had, was her gray cat. Now, the cat was a middle-aged cat: she had arrived at a time of life when people grow reflective; and she sat by the hearth and reflected very often. What did she reflect about? That is rather a long story. You must know, then, that a few leagues from the old woman's hut, on the other side of the forest, there rose a grand castle, belonging to a very great baron. And sometimes, on fine summer mornings, as the old woman and the cat were sitting in the sunshine, by the door, the old woman at her spinning-wheel, and puss curled up for a nap after her breakfast, the forest would suddenly ring with the sound of hunting-horns, shouts and laughter; and a train of gay ladies and richly dressed gentlemen would sweep by on horseback, with hawk and hound, and followed by servants in splendid liveries; for the baron was fond of hawking and hunting, and frequently took those diversions in the neighboring forests. Now, it so happened, that in one of the tall trees behind the cottage, there lived a magpie: not by any means an ordinary magpie, but a bird that had seen a good deal of the world; indeed, at one time of her life, she had, as she took care to inform every body, lived in the service of the Countess Von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg. How she happened to leave such a grand situation, the magpie never explained: to be sure, some ill-natured people _did_ say that there had been an awkward story about the loss of one of the countess's diamond bracelets, which was found one fine morning, in the inside of a hollow tree in the garden; and that Mag was turned away in disgrace directly. But how the matter really was, I cannot say: all that I know is, that she took up her abode half-way up one of the large oaks, behind the old woman's hut, a long time before our story begins; and that, being of a particularly sociable and chatty disposition, she soon established an ardent friendship with the cat, and they became the greatest cronies in the world. So when, as I said just now, the baron's grand hunting parties swept past, they afforded the magpie a fine opportunity for displaying her knowledge of life and the world. And sometimes, too, she would dwell at great length on the splendor and happiness she had enjoyed while she lived with the countess in her palace, till the cat's fur almost stood on end to hear the wonders she related.--What a place that palace must have been! very different, indeed, from the old woman's cottage!

Now, these conversations with the magpie sadly unsettled the mind of the cat; more particularly when the magpie related to her how daintily the Countess Von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg's cat always lived--what nice bits of chicken she dined upon, what delicious morsels of buttered crumpet she often had for breakfast, what soft cushions she lay upon, and a great deal more to the same purpose: all which made a powerful impression upon our humble friend. So she sate and reflected by the fire, while the good old woman, her mistress, went on spinning the wool which she sold afterwards at the nearest town, to buy food and clothes.

The more the cat talked to the magpie, the more dissatisfied she became with her present condition; till, at last, I am sadly afraid that when, in a morning, the old woman gave her her breakfast of goats' milk with some nice brown bread broken into it, she began rather to despise it, instead of taking it thankfully, as she ought to have done, for she was really very comfortably off in the cottage--having bread and milk every morning and night, and something for dinner too; besides what mice she could catch, to say nothing of a stray robin or sparrow now and then. But, as I said just now, the magpie's chattering stories unsettled her; she thought it would be so charming to dine upon bits of roast chicken, and have buttered crumpets for breakfast, and fine cushions to lie upon, like the countess's cat. All this was very silly, no doubt; but she wanted experience: she knew nothing of the thousands and thousands of poor cats who would have thought _her_ life quite luxurious. It is a very bad thing to get unsettled; it sets people wishing and doing many foolish things.

One fine bright evening, the magpie was perched upon a projecting bough of her oak, and the cat, who thought the cottage particularly dull that day, had come out for a little gossip.

'Good evening!' screamed the magpie, as soon as she saw her; 'do come up here and let us talk politics a little.' So the cat climbed up, and seated herself on another bough a little below.

'You look out of spirits to-day;' began the magpie, bending down a very inquisitive eye to her friend's face; I am afraid you are not well; but I'm not surprised: that old sparrow I saw you eating for dinner must have been as tough as leather; it is no wonder you are ill after it! You should really be more careful, and only catch the nice tender young ones.'

'Thank you,' replied the cat, in a rather melancholy tone; 'I am perfectly well.'

'Then what in the world ails you, my dear friend?'

'I don't know,' answered the cat; 'but I believe I am getting rather tired of staying here all my life.'

'Ah!' exclaimed the magpie, 'I know what that is--I feel for you, puss! you may well be moped, living in that stupid cottage all day. You are not like myself, now; _I_ have had such advantages! I declare to you I can amuse myself the whole day with the recollection of the wonderful things I have seen when I lived in the great world.'

'There it is!' interrupted the cat; 'to think of the difference in people's situations! Just compare my condition, in this wretched hole of a hut, with the life that you say the countess's cat lives. I'm sure I can hardly eat my sop in the morning for thinking of her buttered crumpets--dear! dear! it's a fine thing to be born in a palace!'

'Indeed,' replied the magpie, 'there is a great deal of truth in what you say; and sometimes I half repent of having retired from her service myself; but there's a great charm in liberty--it is pleasant to feel able to fly about wherever one likes, and have no impertinent questions asked.'

'Does the countess's cat ever do any work?' inquired puss.

'Not a bit,' answered the magpie. 'I don't suppose she ever caught a mouse in her life; why should she? She has plenty to eat and drink, and nothing to do but to sleep or play all day long.'

'What a life!' ejaculated the cat; 'and here am I, obliged to take the trouble to catch birds or anything I can, if I want to make out my dinner,--what a world it is!'

'Your most obedient servant, ladies!' just at that moment hooted an old owl from a neighboring fir-tree; 'a fine evening to you!'

'Dear me, Mr. Owl! how you made me jump!' cried the magpie, rather pettishly; 'I had nearly toppled down from the bough--'

To say the truth, the magpie did not particularly fancy the owl's company--he was apt to come out with very rude things sometimes; besides, he was reckoned a very sensible bird, and Mag always declared she hated sensible birds--they were so dreadfully dull, and thought themselves so much wiser than other people.

'I beg pardon--I am afraid I have interrupted an interesting discourse,' began the owl, observing that his salutation had rather discomposed the magpie.

The cat, however, was not sorry to have the opportunity of imparting her griefs and perplexities to a bird who was so generally respected for his wisdom; so she replied:--

'Why, indeed, my dear sir, we were conversing upon the lamentable differences there are in the world.'

'You may well say that,' answered the owl, giving a blink with his left eye. 'I suppose, now, ma'am,' he added, rather dryly, turning to the magpie, 'your ladyship finds a good deal of difference between your present abode, and the countess's grand palace-garden? I only wonder how you could bring yourself to make such a change--at your time of life, especially.'

What an abominable uncivil speech, thought the magpie; she fidgeted upon the branch, drew herself up, and muttered something between her beak about the propriety of people attending to their own concerns.

'But _you_, my dear cat,' continued the owl, 'you have every reason, I should think, to be perfectly satisfied with your lot in life?'

'I am not so sure of that,' said the cat; '_I_ think I have a good many reasons for being quite the contrary; the countess's cat has buttered crumpets and cream for breakfast, and sleeps on a beautiful soft cushion all night, and all day too, if she likes it: and just look what a dull life of it I lead here! and I have nothing but the hearth to lie upon, and nothing for breakfast but milk and brown bread!'

'And you ought to be thankful you can get that!' cried the owl, quite angrily. 'I tell you what, Mrs. Puss, I have seen more of the world than you have, and I just say this for your comfort--if you could see how _some_ poor cats live, you would be glad enough of your present condition.'

'Humph!' muttered the cat, 'I really don't know how you have contrived to see so much of the world, sitting as you do in a tree all day, blinking your eyes as if you couldn't bear a ray of sunshine: now, with all due submission to your superior wisdom, I should think the magpie ought to know something of life, after the high society she has lived in,--and I do say it is a shame that one cat should have buttered crumpets and cream for breakfast, just because she happens to live in a palace, while another has only brown sop, because _she_ happens to live in a cottage!'

'But suppose,' replied the owl, 'that some other cat, who lives in a cellar, and never gets anything to eat, except what she can pick up in the gutters, should take it into her head to say, "What a shame it is that some cats should have nice snug cottages over their heads, and warm hearths to sit by, and bread and milk for breakfast, while I am obliged to live in this horrid cold cellar, and never know how to get a mouthful?"'

The cat was rather disconcerted by this observation at first; but presently answered:

'My dear Mr. Owl, don't let us exaggerate,--you can't seriously mean to say there are any cats in the world in such a condition as you speak of? I am sure the magpie, with all her experience of life, would have told me about it, if it were really so--you must be mistaken.'

The magpie, by this time, had become exceedingly tired of such a long silence, and was beginning to think that she had stood upon her dignity quite long enough.

'You will excuse me, my worthy friend,' she said, turning to the owl, 'but really you do sit there so, day after day, blinking in the sun, without a soul to speak to, that I don't wonder at your taking very strange fancies into your head. I can only say, that during the whole of my residence in the palace of the Countess Von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, my late respected mistress, _I_ never came in contact with any cat in the condition you are pleased to imagine; and I should know something of the world, I think.'

'Well,' replied the owl, quietly, 'I will not dispute your ladyship's knowledge of the world, but I strongly advise our friend Mrs. Puss to remain contented at home, and not try to improve her fortune by going into the town: people should learn to know when they are well off.'

Just then, patter, patter, patter, came a few large drops through the leaves; the magpie making a prodigious chattering, and declaring that a tremendous storm was coming on, flew down from the bough; and, whispering the cat not to mind what the owl said--'a stupid old bird!'--she presently hid herself, very snug, in a hollow place in the trunk: not very sorry, to say the truth, to break up the conversation. The owl very deliberately nestled himself in a thick bush of ivy that grew near, and the cat ran into the cottage, to sit by the fire and reflect; for between her two friends, her mind was a little perplexed.

The old woman shut the cottage door, heaped some dry fir-logs on the fire, and sate down to her spinning-wheel. The rain pelted against the shutters, the wind howled in the tree-tops, and roared loudly in the forest behind the hut; it was a terrible night out of doors, but within the cottage it was snug enough,--the fire was blazing merrily, the old woman's wheel turned briskly round, the kettle was singing a low quiet song to itself beside the crackling logs, and the cat was sitting on the hearth, looking warm and comfortable. But I am afraid she was not at all comfortable--in her mind; for discontented people seldom are. It never entered her head to consider whether there were any poor cats abroad that night, without a shelter over them; for grumblers are always selfish, and never think of the wants of others. In fact, she could think of nothing, just at that time, but the luxuries enjoyed by the fortunate cats who might happen to be born in grand palaces; so, curled up in the warmest corner of the hearth, she sate watching the little spouts of flame that kept flashing up from the pine logs, and wishing, for the hundredth time that day, that she had had the good luck to be a palace cat. Presently a very strange thing happened to her.

All of a sudden she felt something very lightly touch her coat; and looking round, there stood, close by her, the most beautiful little thing that anybody ever dreamt of. She was not many inches high; her robe seemed made of gold and silver threads, fine as gossamer, woven together: on her head she wore a circlet of diamonds, so small and bright, that they looked like sparks of fire, and in her tiny hand she bore a long and very slight silver wand--it was more like a very, _very_ fine knitting-pin than anything else.

The cat looked at her with unutterable astonishment: it was very odd that the old woman did not seem to see her at all.

The beautiful little lady looked at the cat for a minute or two very steadily, and then said, 'You are wishing for something; what is it?'

By this time the cat had sufficiently recovered from her consternation to be able to speak: so she answered, 'Please your majesty, whoever you are, you have guessed right for once--I _am_ wishing for something: I wish to live in the palace of the magpie's grand countess!'

Wonderful to relate--the words were no sooner spoken, than the Fairy struck her wand upon the floor three times, and lo! and behold! instantly there appeared--though how it got there, I can't imagine--a car made of four large scallop shells joined together, and lined with rich velvet; the wheels were studded with the whitest pearls, and it was drawn by eight silver pheasants. The Fairy seated herself inside, and told the cat to jump in after her. Puss obeyed, and in an instant the hut, the old woman, the little garden, all had vanished! and she and the Fairy were sailing through the air as fast as the eight pheasants could fly.

'Where in the world are we going, please your majesty?' said poor puss, in a dreadfully frightened tone, clinging to the sides of the car with her claws, that she might not be tossed out. 'Hush!' said the Fairy, in a voice so solemn, that the cat did not venture to ask another question.

On--on--on they flew, till the gloomy forest was left far behind; the storm had subsided; and, as the moon came out from behind the clouds, the cat perceived they were passing over a wild moorland country. On--on, the birds flew, and the wild heath swelled into mountains, and sank again into plain and valley; and they heard beneath them, like the distant sea, the rustling of the wind among clumps of pine-trees. On--on, the birds flew, till, at length there appeared, far before them, the glimmering lights and dim outlines of a stately city. On--on, the birds flew, and the city grew nearer and nearer; turrets and spires and ancient gables rose in the bright moonlight, and the houses grew thicker and thicker together.

At length the pheasants flew more slowly, and the cat saw that they were approaching a very magnificent palace. How her heart beat, partly with fright, partly with the rapid motion, partly with expectation! Yes, they were evidently drawing near to a magnificent palace. It had high towers and curiously carved gateways, that threw strange deep shadows upon the walls, and the panes of the lattices glittered like diamonds in the moon-beams, and the smoke from the chimneys curled up into the cat's face, and got down her throat, and made her sneeze dreadfully--she wondered how the Fairy could bear it. But now, slowly, slowly, slowly, the wonderful car began to descend, till it was just on a level with one of the windows, which happened, very conveniently, to have been left wide open: so in flew the pheasants, car and all, and alighted on the hearth-rug. 'Jump out--be quick!' cried the Fairy. The cat did not wait to be told twice--she was out in a twinkling; but before she could turn her head round, car, Fairy, and pheasants had vanished, and she was left alone in the strange room. 'To be sure,' she exclaimed to herself, 'was there ever anything so extraordinary?' What an adventure! And what a room it was! It was so large, that three or four huts, like her old mistress's, would have stood in it. The floor was covered with something so thick, so warm, and so beautiful, all over flowers in bright colors, that she had never seen anything like it before: in short, everything in the room was so fine, or so soft, or so large, or so bright, that the cat could not conceive what such strange things could be meant for.

However, she soon decided that the hearth-rug was the most delightful bed she had ever reposed upon; and, stretching out her limbs upon it, before the huge fire that was burning in the grate, she strove to collect her bewildered ideas ere she proceeded any further to investigate these unknown regions. Suddenly the door opened.

'Dear! what a pretty cat!' exclaimed a waiting-maid, entering the room; 'and just as we were wanting another, too: my lady, the countess, will be quite pleased.' Then, coming up to the cat, she took her in her arms, and began stroking her most affectionately. 'Pretty pussy! how could you ever get into the room? O I see they have left the window open, so you have wandered in out of the street, poor little cat! It's really quite lucky, just as the old one is dead.' So saying, she again stroked the cat, and carried her away with her into an inner room, where there sat an old lady in an easy chair by the fire, apparently employed in eating her supper.

'Please your ladyship,' said the waiting-woman, 'here's a poor cat come into the house to-night, just as we were wanting one--will your ladyship be pleased to let it remain here?'

'To be sure,' said the old Countess Von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg (for it was she); 'it has just come in to supply the place of poor old Finette: put it into Finette's bed to-night, Ermengarde, and give it a good meal first, for I dare say it is hungry enough, poor creature! But, first, bring it here, and let me stroke it.'

You may imagine how puss purred her very loudest as the countess patted her, and called her a pretty cat. She thought herself now the luckiest cat in the world: how she wished that spiteful old owl could but know about it! Ermengarde, the waiting-woman, now took her back into the room she had first entered, and setting her down on the hearth-rug, went out. Presently she returned, and placed before the cat a dish, containing such a supper, as had never entered her imagination till the magpie enlightened her on these subjects: it was some minutes before she could believe it; was it _real_? However, she did it full justice in time; and then, after a great deal more patting and petting, the maid again took her up, and deposited her by the side of the fire, in a very pretty basket lined with soft cushions. And could she go to sleep? Not for some time, in spite of her long ride. It all seemed so strange--so wonderful! that she, who had been longing for months to belong to the household of the Countess Von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, should now be actually in her palace! It was extraordinary indeed. But she fell asleep at last.

The next morning the cat was awake early, and the sun was shining through the satin curtains of the splendid room, and everything in it looked so _very_ beautiful! How different from the old woman's hut! So the cat sate up in the basket, and looked about her. After she had thus amused herself in this way for some time, Ermengarde opened the door.

'Well, Pussy,' she said, 'so you are wide awake, and ready, I dare say, for your breakfast.'

Now for the buttered crumpets! thought the cat. The maid went out, and quickly returned with a large saucer full of rich milk, with some roll crumbled into it. No buttered crumpets.

The cat felt a sort of blank feeling of disappointment; it was very odd: but perhaps she should have some another morning. However, she made an exceedingly good breakfast, as it was; but it must be confessed she was a little cross all day. Soon after breakfast, the old countess came in, followed by a lap-dog--a fat, spoilt, disagreeable looking animal, and the cat took a dislike to him at first sight. And as for the dog, he almost growled out aloud when the countess stooped down to stroke the cat. It was evident that the hatred was quite mutual.

'Now, Viper,' said the old lady, 'be good! you know you are my own darling, that you are; but you must not quarrel with poor pussy: no fighting you know, Viper!'

Whereupon Viper struggled down out of his mistress's arms, for she had taken him up to bestow a kiss upon him, and giving a short snarl, by way of showing his perfect contempt for her admonition, he mounted upon a stool before the fire, and sat eyeing his new acquaintance with such a fierce pair of eyes, that the poor cat really shook all over, and wished herself safe out of the palace again. However, whenever the countess left the room, she always called Viper away too; so they were not left together at all the first day. On the following, the cat began to get used to Viper's cross looks, and did not mind him so much: and the old lady petted and made so much of her, that she thought no cat had ever been so fortunate before. As to that, we shall see.