章节正文
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.
CHAPTER 23
Curdie and His Mother
Curdie went up the mountain neither whistling nor singing, for he
was vexed with Irene for taking him in, as he called it; and he was
vexed with himself for having spoken to her so angrily. His mother
gave a cry of joy when she saw him, and at once set about getting
him something to eat, asking him questions all the time, which he
did not answer so cheerfully as usual. When his meal was ready,
she left him to eat it, and hurried to the mine to let his father
know he was safe. When she came back, she found him fast asleep
upon her bed; nor did he wake until his father came home in the
evening.
'Now, Curdie,' his mother said, as they sat at supper, 'tell us the
whole story from beginning to end, just as it all happened.'
Curdie obeyed, and told everything to the point where they came out
upon the lawn in the garden of the king's house.
'And what happened after that?' asked his mother. 'You haven't
told us all. You ought to be very happy at having got away from
those demons, and instead of that I never saw you so gloomy. There
must be something more. Besides, you do not speak of that lovely
child as I should like to hear you. She saved your life at the
risk of her own, and yet somehow you don't seem to think much of
it.'
'She talked such nonsense' answered Curdie, 'and told me a pack of
things that weren't a bit true; and I can't get over it.'
'What were they?' asked his father. 'Your mother may be able to
throw some light upon them.'
Then Curdie made a clean breast of it, and told them everything.
They all sat silent for some time, pondering the strange tale. At
last Curdie's mother spoke.
'You confess, my boy,' she said, 'there is something about the
whole affair you do not understand?'
'Yes, of course, mother,' he answered. 'I cannot understand how a
child knowing nothing about the mountain, or even that I was shut
up in it, should come all that way alone, straight to where I was;
and then, after getting me out of the hole, lead me out of the
mountain too, where I should not have known a step of the way if it
had been as light as in the open air.'
'Then you have no right to say what she told you was not true. She
did take you out, and she must have had something to guide her: why
not a thread as well as a rope, or anything else? There is
something you cannot explain, and her explanation may be the right
one.'
'It's no explanation at all, mother; and I can't believe it.'
'That may be only because you do not understand it. If you did,
you would probably find it was an explanation, and believe it
thoroughly. I don't blame you for not being able to believe it,
but I do blame you for fancying such a child would try to deceive
you. Why should she? Depend upon it, she told you all she knew.
Until you had found a better way of accounting for it all, you
might at least have been more sparing of your judgement.'
'That is what something inside me has been saying all the time,'
said Curdie, hanging down his head. 'But what do you make of the
grandmother? That is what I can't get over. To take me up to an
old garret, and try to persuade me against the sight of my own eyes
that it was a beautiful room, with blue walls and silver stars, and
no end of things in it, when there was nothing there but an old tub
and a withered apple and a heap of straw and a sunbeam! It was too
bad! She might have had some old woman there at least to pass for
her precious grandmother!'
'Didn't she speak as if she saw those other things herself,
Curdie?'
'Yes. That's what bothers me. You would have thought she really
meant and believed that she saw every one of the things she talked
about. And not one of them there! It was too bad, I say.'
'Perhaps some people can see things other people can't see,
Curdie,' said his mother very gravely. 'I think I will tell you
something I saw myself once - only Perhaps You won't believe me
either!'
'Oh, mother, mother!' cried Curdie, bursting into tears; 'I don't
deserve that, surely!'
'But what I am going to tell you is very strange,' persisted his
mother; 'and if having heard it you were to say I must have been
dreaming, I don't know that I should have any right to be vexed
with you, though I know at least that I was not asleep.'
'Do tell me, mother. Perhaps it will help me to think better of
the princess.'
'That's why I am tempted to tell you,' replied his mother. 'But
first, I may as well mention that, according to old whispers, there
is something more than common about the king's family; and the
queen was of the same blood, for they were cousins of some degree.
There were strange stories told concerning them - all good stories
- but strange, very strange. What they were I cannot tell, for I
only remember the faces of my grandmother and my mother as they
talked together about them. There was wonder and awe - not fear -
in their eyes, and they whispered, and never spoke aloud. But what
I saw myself was this: Your father was going to work in the mine
one night, and I had been down with his supper. It was soon after
we were married, and not very long before you were born. He came
with me to the mouth of the mine, and left me to go home alone, for
I knew the way almost as well as the floor of our own cottage. It
was pretty dark, and in some parts of the road where the rocks
overhung nearly quite dark. But I got along perfectly well, never
thinking of being afraid, until I reached a spot you know well
enough, Curdie, where the path has to make a sharp turn out of the
way of a great rock on the left-hand side. When I got there, I was
suddenly surrounded by about half a dozen of the cobs, the first I
had ever seen, although I had heard tell of them often enough. One
of them blocked up the path, and they all began tormenting and
teasing me in a way it makes me shudder to think of even now.'
'If I had only been with you!' cried father and son in a breath.
The mother gave a funny little smile, and went on.
'They had some of their horrible creatures with them too, and I
must confess I was dreadfully frightened. They had torn my clothes
very much, and I was afraid they were going to tear myself to
pieces, when suddenly a great white soft light shone upon me. I
looked up. A broad ray, like a shining road, came down from a
large globe of silvery light, not very high up, indeed not quite so
high as the horizon - so it could not have been a new star or
another moon or anything of that sort. The cobs dropped
persecuting me, and looked dazed, and I thought they were going to
run away, but presently they began again. The same moment,
however, down the path from the globe of light came a bird, shining
like silver in the sun. It gave a few rapid flaps first, and then,
with its wings straight out, shot,sliding down the slope of the
light. It looked to me just like a white pigeon. But whatever it
was, when the cobs caught sight of it coming straight down upon
them, they took to their heels and scampered away across the
mountain, leaving me safe, only much frightened. As soon as it had
sent them off, the bird went gliding again up the light, and the
moment it reached the globe the light disappeared, just as if a
shutter had been closed over a window, and I saw it no More. But
I had no more trouble with the cobs that night or ever after.'
'How strange!' exclaimed Curdie.
'Yes, it was strange; but I can't help believing it, whether you do
or not,' said his mother.
'It's exactly as your mother told it to me the very next morning,'
said his father.
'You don't think I'm doubting my own mother?' cried Curdie.
'There are other people in the world quite as well worth believing
as your own mother,' said his mother. 'I don't know that she's so
much the fitter to be believed that she happens to be your mother,
Mr. Curdie. There are mothers far more likely to tell lies than
the little girl I saw talking to the primroses a few weeks ago. If
she were to lie I should begin to doubt my own word.'
'But princesses have told lies as well as other people,' said
Curdie.
'Yes, but not princesses like that child. She's a good girl, I am
certain, and that's more than being a princess. Depend upon it you
will have to be sorry for behaving so to her, Curdie. You ought at
least to have held your tongue.'
'I am sorry now,' answered Curdie.
'You ought to go and tell her so, then.'
'I don't see how I could manage that. They wouldn't let a miner
boy like me have a word with her alone; and I couldn't tell her
before that nurse of hers. She'd be asking ever so many questions,
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.
CHAPTER 23
Curdie and His Mother
Curdie went up the mountain neither whistling nor singing, for he
was vexed with Irene for taking him in, as he called it; and he was
vexed with himself for having spoken to her so angrily. His mother
gave a cry of joy when she saw him, and at once set about getting
him something to eat, asking him questions all the time, which he
did not answer so cheerfully as usual. When his meal was ready,
she left him to eat it, and hurried to the mine to let his father
know he was safe. When she came back, she found him fast asleep
upon her bed; nor did he wake until his father came home in the
evening.
'Now, Curdie,' his mother said, as they sat at supper, 'tell us the
whole story from beginning to end, just as it all happened.'
Curdie obeyed, and told everything to the point where they came out
upon the lawn in the garden of the king's house.
'And what happened after that?' asked his mother. 'You haven't
told us all. You ought to be very happy at having got away from
those demons, and instead of that I never saw you so gloomy. There
must be something more. Besides, you do not speak of that lovely
child as I should like to hear you. She saved your life at the
risk of her own, and yet somehow you don't seem to think much of
it.'
'She talked such nonsense' answered Curdie, 'and told me a pack of
things that weren't a bit true; and I can't get over it.'
'What were they?' asked his father. 'Your mother may be able to
throw some light upon them.'
Then Curdie made a clean breast of it, and told them everything.
They all sat silent for some time, pondering the strange tale. At
last Curdie's mother spoke.
'You confess, my boy,' she said, 'there is something about the
whole affair you do not understand?'
'Yes, of course, mother,' he answered. 'I cannot understand how a
child knowing nothing about the mountain, or even that I was shut
up in it, should come all that way alone, straight to where I was;
and then, after getting me out of the hole, lead me out of the
mountain too, where I should not have known a step of the way if it
had been as light as in the open air.'
'Then you have no right to say what she told you was not true. She
did take you out, and she must have had something to guide her: why
not a thread as well as a rope, or anything else? There is
something you cannot explain, and her explanation may be the right
one.'
'It's no explanation at all, mother; and I can't believe it.'
'That may be only because you do not understand it. If you did,
you would probably find it was an explanation, and believe it
thoroughly. I don't blame you for not being able to believe it,
but I do blame you for fancying such a child would try to deceive
you. Why should she? Depend upon it, she told you all she knew.
Until you had found a better way of accounting for it all, you
might at least have been more sparing of your judgement.'
'That is what something inside me has been saying all the time,'
said Curdie, hanging down his head. 'But what do you make of the
grandmother? That is what I can't get over. To take me up to an
old garret, and try to persuade me against the sight of my own eyes
that it was a beautiful room, with blue walls and silver stars, and
no end of things in it, when there was nothing there but an old tub
and a withered apple and a heap of straw and a sunbeam! It was too
bad! She might have had some old woman there at least to pass for
her precious grandmother!'
'Didn't she speak as if she saw those other things herself,
Curdie?'
'Yes. That's what bothers me. You would have thought she really
meant and believed that she saw every one of the things she talked
about. And not one of them there! It was too bad, I say.'
'Perhaps some people can see things other people can't see,
Curdie,' said his mother very gravely. 'I think I will tell you
something I saw myself once - only Perhaps You won't believe me
either!'
'Oh, mother, mother!' cried Curdie, bursting into tears; 'I don't
deserve that, surely!'
'But what I am going to tell you is very strange,' persisted his
mother; 'and if having heard it you were to say I must have been
dreaming, I don't know that I should have any right to be vexed
with you, though I know at least that I was not asleep.'
'Do tell me, mother. Perhaps it will help me to think better of
the princess.'
'That's why I am tempted to tell you,' replied his mother. 'But
first, I may as well mention that, according to old whispers, there
is something more than common about the king's family; and the
queen was of the same blood, for they were cousins of some degree.
There were strange stories told concerning them - all good stories
- but strange, very strange. What they were I cannot tell, for I
only remember the faces of my grandmother and my mother as they
talked together about them. There was wonder and awe - not fear -
in their eyes, and they whispered, and never spoke aloud. But what
I saw myself was this: Your father was going to work in the mine
one night, and I had been down with his supper. It was soon after
we were married, and not very long before you were born. He came
with me to the mouth of the mine, and left me to go home alone, for
I knew the way almost as well as the floor of our own cottage. It
was pretty dark, and in some parts of the road where the rocks
overhung nearly quite dark. But I got along perfectly well, never
thinking of being afraid, until I reached a spot you know well
enough, Curdie, where the path has to make a sharp turn out of the
way of a great rock on the left-hand side. When I got there, I was
suddenly surrounded by about half a dozen of the cobs, the first I
had ever seen, although I had heard tell of them often enough. One
of them blocked up the path, and they all began tormenting and
teasing me in a way it makes me shudder to think of even now.'
'If I had only been with you!' cried father and son in a breath.
The mother gave a funny little smile, and went on.
'They had some of their horrible creatures with them too, and I
must confess I was dreadfully frightened. They had torn my clothes
very much, and I was afraid they were going to tear myself to
pieces, when suddenly a great white soft light shone upon me. I
looked up. A broad ray, like a shining road, came down from a
large globe of silvery light, not very high up, indeed not quite so
high as the horizon - so it could not have been a new star or
another moon or anything of that sort. The cobs dropped
persecuting me, and looked dazed, and I thought they were going to
run away, but presently they began again. The same moment,
however, down the path from the globe of light came a bird, shining
like silver in the sun. It gave a few rapid flaps first, and then,
with its wings straight out, shot,sliding down the slope of the
light. It looked to me just like a white pigeon. But whatever it
was, when the cobs caught sight of it coming straight down upon
them, they took to their heels and scampered away across the
mountain, leaving me safe, only much frightened. As soon as it had
sent them off, the bird went gliding again up the light, and the
moment it reached the globe the light disappeared, just as if a
shutter had been closed over a window, and I saw it no More. But
I had no more trouble with the cobs that night or ever after.'
'How strange!' exclaimed Curdie.
'Yes, it was strange; but I can't help believing it, whether you do
or not,' said his mother.
'It's exactly as your mother told it to me the very next morning,'
said his father.
'You don't think I'm doubting my own mother?' cried Curdie.
'There are other people in the world quite as well worth believing
as your own mother,' said his mother. 'I don't know that she's so
much the fitter to be believed that she happens to be your mother,
Mr. Curdie. There are mothers far more likely to tell lies than
the little girl I saw talking to the primroses a few weeks ago. If
she were to lie I should begin to doubt my own word.'
'But princesses have told lies as well as other people,' said
Curdie.
'Yes, but not princesses like that child. She's a good girl, I am
certain, and that's more than being a princess. Depend upon it you
will have to be sorry for behaving so to her, Curdie. You ought at
least to have held your tongue.'
'I am sorry now,' answered Curdie.
'You ought to go and tell her so, then.'
'I don't see how I could manage that. They wouldn't let a miner
boy like me have a word with her alone; and I couldn't tell her
before that nurse of hers. She'd be asking ever so many questions,
- princess [,prin´ses]
n.公主；王妃；亲王夫人 (初中英语单词) - instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- distinguish [di´stiŋgwiʃ] v.区分；识别；立功 (初中英语单词)
- poetry [´pəuitri] n.诗；诗意 (初中英语单词)
- grandmother [´græn,mʌðə] n.(外)祖母 (初中英语单词)
- therefore [´ðeəfɔ:] ad.&conj.因此；所以 (初中英语单词)
- cottage [´kɔtidʒ] n.村舍；小屋；小别墅 (初中英语单词)
- spoken [´spəukən] speak的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- confess [kən´fes] vt.供认；坦白；承认 (初中英语单词)
- knowing [´nəuiŋ] a.会意的，心照不宣的 (初中英语单词)
- explanation [,eksplə´neiʃən] n.解释；说明；辩解 (初中英语单词)
- persuade [pə´sweid] v.(被)说服；使相信 (初中英语单词)
- gravely [´greivli] ad.庄重地，严肃地 (初中英语单词)
- horrible [´hɔrəbəl] a.可怕的；恐怖的 (初中英语单词)
- dreadfully [dredfuli] ad.可怕地；糟透地 (初中英语单词)
- horizon [hə´raizən] n.地平线；范围；视野 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- pigeon [pidʒin] n.鸽子 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- melody [´melədi] n.悦耳的音调；乐曲 (高中英语单词)
- bruise [bru:z] n.伤痕 v.打(碰)伤 (高中英语单词)
- angrily [´æŋgrili] ad.生气地；愤怒地 (高中英语单词)
- cheerfully [´tʃiəfuli] ad.高兴地，愉快地 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- gloomy [´glu:mi] a.昏暗的；忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- concerning [kən´sə:niŋ] prep.关于 (高中英语单词)
- perfectly [´pə:fiktli] ad.理想地；完美地 (高中英语单词)
- shudder [´ʃʌdə] n.&vi.震颤；发抖 (高中英语单词)
- weariness [wiərinis] n.疲倦；厌烦 (英语四级单词)
- garret [´gærit] n.阁楼，顶楼 (英语四级单词)
- silvery [´silvəri] a.银一般的 (英语四级单词)
- involuntarily [in´vɔləntərili] ad.不 自觉地 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
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