A Little Princess, Part 12 of 15

Good evening. Thank you so much for being here. The sleepy bookshelf wouldn't be possible without your support. Help us keep the show going and enjoy all of our episodes and free by joining our premium feed. You'll also get exclusive bonus content. There's a link in the show notes if you'd like to learn more. Aisha owns a bistro. She loves it but the admin not so much. Look at how much of her monso business bank account takes some of the strain, like expensing, with real-time visibility and spend limits all managed in one app. So she's free to cook up a storm without having to make a meal of the admin. Make the switch and join over 800,000 other UK businesses already banking with us. Search MonsoBusiness today. Team plan starts from £25 a month. UK sole traders or limited company directors only. Tees and seas apply. Hey, it's Thomas here. I'm the host of Deep Sleep Sounds. Another sleep-inducing podcast from the Samba Studios Network. On the Deep Sleep Sounds podcast, you'll find hundreds of episodes featuring relaxing nature soundscapes, sleep music, calming white noise and much more. Everything is designed with your sleep in mind. So if you're looking for another great way to ease into a restful night's samba, then just search Deep Sleep Sounds on your favourite podcast player. I'll see you there, my friends. Good evening and welcome to the Sleepy Butch South, where we put down our worries from the day and pick up a good book. I'm your host, Elizabeth. Thank you so much for coming tonight. This evening we are returning to a little princess. But before we open up, take some time here for yourself and breathe. Maybe you'd like to take a big stretch. Release any tension you might be holding in your muscles and focus on how your body feels, allowing yourself to physically let go. Next, take a deep breath in, hold it for a moment and now exhale, breathing out all your worries and concerns. Once more now, inhale, hold it a moment and exhale, wonderful. While Sarah was out helping the shivering poor near the baker's shop, two men hopped in through her attic window. One was her friend, Ram Das, and the other was the Indian gentleman's secretary. They made notes about the things in the room. Ram Das had been secretly looking out for Sarah, and he had retold his Sahib. The story Sarah had told her friends about the pretend luxuries of her room and it had brought him joy, so much so that he planned to begin silently replacing items in her room overnight so as to make her dreams come true. Once they had surveyed the Garrett, they left as quietly as they had come. When Sarah came home, misminching and the cook scolded her for doodling. When Sarah asked for some food, she was given a piece of stale bread from the pantry as she had missed dinner. Hermann guard was in her room when Sarah arrived, pocket-zempty with no crumbs for little Marquis today. Sarah lit up when she saw a stack of books Hermann guard had brought sent by her father. They agreed that Sarah would read them and she would tell Hermann guard the stories in a way she could remember them. They both fell silent when they heard misminching, accusing Becky of stealing half a meat pie from the kitchen and Sarah burst into rare, furious tears. She admitted how hungry she was to Hermann guard who raced away to fetch an untouched gift basket her aunt had sent and Sarah knocked to invite Becky over for the feast. Tonight, Hermann guard returns for the pretend party. Suggest lie back and relax as I turn to the next pages of a little princess. Chapter 15 continued 4. Almost immediately, the door of the attic opened and Becky appeared. Her eyes were red and her cat was sliding off and when she caught sight of Hermann guard, she began to rub her face nervously with her apron. Don't mind me a bit, Becky, cried Hermann guard. Miss Hermann guard has asked you to come in. Said Sarah, because she is going to bring a box of good things up here to us. Becky's cap almost fell off entirely. She broke in with such excitement. What to eat miss? She said. Things as good to eat. Yes, aunt said Sarah, and we are going to a pretend party and you shall have as much as you want to eat. Put in Hermann guard. I'll go this minute. She was in such haste that as she tipped out of the attic, she dropped her red shawl and did not know it had fallen. No one saw it for a minute or so. Becky was too much overpowered by the good luck which had fallen her. Hermann guard is she gasped. I know it was you that asked us to let me come. It makes me cry to think of it. And she went to Sarah's side and stood and looked at her worshipingly. But in Sarah's hungry eyes, the old light had begun to glow and transform her world for her. Here in the attic, with the cold night outside, with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed, with the memory of the awful, unfair look in the beggar child's eyes not yet faded. This simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic. She caught her breath. Somehow, something always happens. She cried. Just before things get to the very worst. That is if the magic did it. If I could only just remember that always, the worst thing never quite comes. She gave Becky a cheerful shake. No, no you mustn't cry. She said, we must make haste and set the table. Set the table, miss. Said Becky gazing around the room. What will we say with? Sarah looked around the attic too. There doesn't seem to be much. She answered half laughing. That moment, she saw something and pounced upon it. It was Amongard's red shore which lay upon the floor. He's the shore. She cried. I know she won't mind it, to make such a nice red tablecloth. They pulled the old table forward and threw the shore over it. Red is a wonderfully kind, uncomfortable colour. It began to make the room look furnished directly. How nice a red rug would look on the floor. Exclaimed Sarah. We must pretend there is one. Her eye swept the bare boards with a swift glance of admiration. The rug was laid down already. I've soft and thick it is. She said with the little laugh which Becky knew the meaning of. And she raised and set her foot down again delicately as if she felt something under it. Yes, miss. Answered Becky, watching her with serious rapture. She was always quite serious. What next now? Said Sarah, she stood still and put her hands over her eyes. Something will come if I think and wait a little. In a soft, expectant voice, the magic will tell. One of her favourite fancies was that on the outside as she called it, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Becky had seen her stand and wait many a time before. And knew that in a few seconds she would uncover an enlightened, laughing face. In a moment she did. There she cried. It has come. I know now. I must look among the things in the old trunk I had when I was a princess. She flew to its corner and kneeled down. It had not been put in the attic for her benefit, but because there was no room for it elsewhere. Nothing had been left in it but rubbish, but she knew she should find something. The magic always arranged that kind of thing in one way or another. In a corner, layer package so insignificant looking that it had been overlooked. And when she herself had found it, she kept it as a relic. It contained a dozen small white handkerchiefs. She seized them joyfully and ran to the table. She began to arrange them upon the red table cover, patting and coaxing them into shape with the narrow lace edge curling outward. Her magic, working it spells for her as she did it. These are the plates. She said they are golden plates. These are the richly embroidered napkins. Nons worked them in convents in Spain. Did thy miss? Breathe, Becky, her very soul uplifted by the information. You must pretend it. Said Sarah. If you pretend it enough, you will see them. Yes, miss. Said Becky. And as Sarah returned to the trunk, she devoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much to be desired. Sarah tans suddenly to find her standing by the table, looking very queer indeed. She had shot her eyes and was twisting her face in strange, convulsive contortions. Her hands hanging stiffly clenched at her sides. She looked as if she was trying to lift some enormous weight. What is the matter, Becky? Sarah cried. What are you doing? Becky opened her eyes with a start. How is it pretending this? She answered a little sheepishly. I was trying to see it like you do. I almost did. With a hope for grin. I take a lot of strength. Perhaps it does if you're not used to it. Said Sarah with friendly sympathy. But you don't know how easy it is when you've done it often. I wouldn't try so hard just at first. It will come to you after a while. I'll just tell you what things are. Look at these. She held an old summer hat in her hand, but she'd fished out the bottom of the trunk. There was a reed that flowers on it. She pulled the reed off. These are garlands for the feast. She said, grandly. They fill the air with perfume. There's a mug on the washstand, Becky. Oh, and bring the soap for a centipede. She's a Becky handed them to her reverently. What are they now, Miss? She inquired. She think there was made of crockery. I know they ain't. This is a carbon slagant. Said Sarah arranging tendrils of the reed about the mug. And this bending tenderly over the soap dish and heaping it with roses. His purest alabaster encrusted with gems. She touched the things gently, a happy smile hovering about her lips, which made her look as if she were a creature in a dream. My ain't it lovely. We're sped-becky. If we just had something for bombon dishes, Sarah murmured. There. Starting to the trunk again. I remember I saw something this minute. It was only a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white tissue paper. But the tissue paper was soon twisted into the form of little dishes and was combined with the remaining flowers to ornament the candlestick, which was to light the feast. Only the magic could have made it more than an old table covered with a red shore and sat with rubbish from a long unopened trunk. But Sarah drew back and gazed at it, seeing wonders. And Becky, after staring in delight, spoke with baited breath. This year she suggested with a glance around the attic. Is it the Bastille now, or has it turned into something different? Oh yes. Yes. Cried Sarah. Quite different. It is a banquet hall. My Highness, a jack-a-rated Becky. A blanket all. And she turned to view the splendors about her with ward bewilderment. A banquet hall, said Sarah. A vast chamber where feasts are given. It has a vaulted roof and a minstrel's gallery and a huge chimney filled with blazing open logs and it is brilliant with wax and tapers twinkling on every side. And my eye me, Sarah. Gast Becky again. Then the door opened and Hermann guard came in rather staggering under the weight of her hamper. She started back with an exclamation of joy to enter from the chill darkness outside. And find oneself confronted by a totally unanticipated, bestleboard draped with red, adorned with white napri and reed with flowers, was to feel that the preparations were brilliant indeed. Oh Sarah, she cried out. You are the cleverest girl I ever saw. Isn't it nice? Said Sarah. They are things out of my old trunk. I asked my magic and it told me to go and look. Oh miss. cried Becky. Wait till she's told you what they are. They ain't just, God miss, please tell her. Appealing to Sarah. So Sarah told her and because her magic helped her, she made her almost see it all. The golden platters, the vaulted spaces, the blazing logs, the twinkling wax and tapers, as the things were taken out of the hamper, the frosted cakes, the fruits, the bombons and the wine, the feast became a splendid thing. It's like a real party. Cryed Erman God. It's like a queen's table. Side Becky. Then Erman God had a suddenly brilliant thought. I tell you what Sarah. She said, pretend you are a princess now and this is a royal feast. But it's your feast. Said Sarah. You must be the princess and we will be your maids of honor. Oh I can't. Said Erman God. I'm too fat. And I don't know how. You be her. Well, if you want me to, said Sarah. But suddenly, she thought of something else and ran to the rusty grate. There was a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here. She exclaimed, if we light it there will be a bright blaze for a few minutes. We shall feel as if it were a real fire. She struck a match and lighted it up with a great, spacious glow which illuminated the room. By the time it stops blazing, Sarah said. She'll forget about it's not being real. She stood in the dancing glow and smiled. Doesn't it look real? She said, now we will begin the party. She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously to Erman God and Becky. She was in the midst of her dream. Advanced fair damsels. She said in her happy dream voice and be seated at the banquet's table. My noble father, the king, who is absent on a long journey, has commanded me to feast you. She turned her head slightly toward the corner of the room. What her there, Minstrels, strike up with your vials and bassoons, princesses. She explained rapidly to Erman God and Becky, always had Minstrels to play at their feast. Pretend there is a Minstrel gallery up there in the corner. Now we will begin. They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into their hands. Not one of them had time to do more. When they all three sprang to their feet and turned, pale faces toward the door, listening, listening. Someone was coming up the stairs. There was no mistake about it. Each of them recognized the angry, mounting tread and knew that the end of all things had come. Piss! The messes! Choked Becky and dropped her piece of cake upon the floor. Yes, said Sarah, her eyes growing shocked and large in her small white face. Miss Minstrel has found us out. Miss Minstrel struck the door open with a blow of her hand. She was pale herself, but it was with rage. She looked from the frightened faces to the banquet table and from the banquet table to the last flicker of the burnt paper in the grate. I have been suspecting something of this sort. She exclaimed, but I did not adream of such audacity. Lavigneur was telling the truth. So they knew that it was Lavigneur who had somehow guessed their secret and had betrayed them. Miss Minstrel strode over to Becky and boxed her ears for a second time. Shhh, impudent creature! She said, you leave the house in the morning. Sarah stood quite tall. Her eyes growing larger. Her face paler. Hermann got burst into tears. Oh, don't send her away. She sobbed. My aunt sent me the hamper we're only having a party. So I see. Said Miss Minstrel with her in the princess Sarah at the head of the table. She turned fiercely on Sarah. It is your doing, I know. She cried. Hermann God would never have thought of such a thing. You had decorated the table, I suppose, with this rubbish. She stumped her foot at Becky. Go to your attic. She commanded. And Becky stole away. Her face hidden in her apron. Her shoulders shaking. Then it was Sarah's turn again. I will attend to you tomorrow. You shall have neither breakfast, dinner, nor supper. I've not had either dinner or supper today, Miss Minstrel. Said Sarah rather faintly. Then all the better. You will have something to remember. Don't stand there. Put those things into the hamper again. She began to sweep them off the table into the hamper herself and caught sight of Hermann God's new books. And you, to Hermann God, have brought your beautiful new books into this dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. You would stay there all day tomorrow and I shall write to your papa what would he say if he knew where you are tonight. Something she saw in Sarah's grave fixed gaze at this moment made her turn on her fiercely. What are you thinking of? She demanded. Why do you look at me like that? I was wondering. Answered Sarah as she had answered that notable day in the schoolroom. What were you wondering? It was very like that scene in the schoolroom. There was no pertinence in Sarah's manner. It was only sad and quiet. I was wondering. She said in a low voice. What my papa would say if he knew where I am tonight. Miss Minchin was infuriated just as she had been before and her anger expressed itself as before in an intemperate fashion. She flew at her and shook her. Insolent, unmanageable child. She cried. How dare you? How dare you? She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back into the hamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Hermann God's arms and pushed her before her toward the door. I will leave you to wonder. She said, go to bed, this instant. And she shot the door behind herself and poor, stumbling Hermann God and left Sarah standing quite alone. The dream was at an end. The last spark had died out of the paper in the great and left only black tinder. The table was left bare. The golden plates and richly embroidered napkins. The garlands were transformed again into old hangatures, scraps of red and white paper. And discarded artificial flowers all scattered on the floor. The minstrels in the minstrel gallery had stolen away and the vials and bassoons were still. Emily was sitting with her back against the wall, staring very hard. Sarah saw her and went and picked her up with trembling cans. There is a tiny banquet left, Emily. She said, a mericent, any princess. There is nothing left but the prisoners in the Bastille. And she sat down and hid her face. What would have happened if she had not hidden it just then? And if she had chance to look up at the skylight at the wrong moment, I do not know. Perhaps the end of this chapter might have been quite different. Because if she had glanced at the skylight, she would certainly have been startled by what she would have seen. She would have seen exactly the same face pressed against the glass and peering in at her, as it had peered in earlier in the evening when she had been talking to Amangard. But she did not look up. She sat with her little black head in her arms for some time. She always sat like that when she was trying to bear something in silence. Then she got up and went slowly to the bed. I can't pretend anything else while I am away. She said, there wouldn't be any use in trying. If I go to sleep, perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me. She suddenly felt so tired, perhaps through want of food that she sat down on the edge of the bed quite weekly. Suppose there was a bright fire in the great with lots of little dancing flames. She murmured. Suppose there was a comfortable chair before it. And suppose there was a small table there with a little hot, hot supper on it. And suppose as she drew the thin coverings over her. Suppose this was a beautiful soft bed with fleecy blankets and large, downy pillows. Suppose, suppose, and her very weariness was good to her for her eyes closed. And she fell fast asleep. She did not know how long she slept, but she had been tired enough to sleep deeply and profoundly. Too deeply and soundly to be disturbed by anything. Even by the squeaks and scamping of Melchizedek's entire family, if all his sons and daughters had chosen to come out of their hole to fight and tumble and play. When she awakened, it was rather suddenly. And she did not know that any particular thing had called her out of her sleep. The truth was, however, that it was a sound which had called her back. A real sound. The click of the skylight as it fell in closing after a light, white figure which slipped through it and crouched down close by upon the slates of the roof. Just near enough to see what happened in the attic, but not near enough to be seen. At first, she did not open her eyes. She felt too sleepy and curiously enough to warm, uncomfortable. She was so warm and comfortable indeed that she did not believe she was really awake. She never was as warm and cozy as this, except in some lovely vision. Not a nice dream. She murmured. I feel quite warm. I don't want to wake up. Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful bedclothes were heaped upon her. She could actually feel blankets. And when she put out her hand, it touched something exactly like a satin covered, idled down quilt. She must not awaken from this delight. She must be quite still and make it last. But she could not. Even though she kept her eyes closed tightly, she could not. Something was forcing her to awaken. Something in the room. It was a sense of light. The sound. The sound of a crackling. Roaring little fire. Oh, I'm awakening. She said mournfully. I can't help it. I can't. Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And then she actually smiled. For what she saw she had never seen in the attic before and knew she never should see. Oh, I haven't awakened. She whispered, daring to rise on her elbow and look all about her. I'm dreaming yet. She knew it must be a dream. For if she were awake such things could not, could not be. Do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth? This is what she saw. In the great there was a glowing blazing fire. On the hob was a little brass kettle, hissing and boiling. Spread upon the floor was a thick, warm crimson rug. Before the fire a folding chair unfolded and with cushions on it. By the chair a small folding table unfolded, covered with a white cloth. And upon it spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer, a teapot. On the bed were new warm coverings and a satin covered down quilt. At the foot a curious, wadded silk robe, a pair of quilted slippers and some books. The room of her dreams seemed changed into fairyland. And it was flooded with warm light for a bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade. She sat up resting on her elbow and her breathing came short and fast. It does not melt away. She panted. I never had such a dream before. She scarcely dared to stir. But at last she pushed the bedclothes aside and put her feet on the floor with a rapturous smile. I am dreaming. I am getting out of bed. She heard her own voice say. And then as she stood up in the midst of it all, turning slowly from side to side. I am dreaming it stays. Real. I am dreaming it feels real. It has been waged. Oh, I am bewitched. I only think I see it. Her words began to hurry themselves. If I can only keep on thinking it, she cried. I don't care. I don't care. She stood panting a moment longer and then cried out again. Oh, it isn't true. She said it can't be true, but how true it seems. The blazing fire drew her to it and she knelt down and held out her hands close to it. So close that the heat made her start back. Fire I only dreamed wouldn't be hot. She cried. She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug. She went to the bed and touched the blankets. She took up the soft, wadded dressing gown and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it to her cheek. It's warm. It's soft. She almost sobbed. It's real. It must be. She threw it over her shoulders and put her feet into the slippers. They are real too. It's all real. She cried. I am not. I am not dreaming. She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay on the top. Something was written on the flyleave, just a few words and they were these. To the little girl in the attic from a friend. When she saw that, wasn't it a strange thing for her to do? She put her face down upon the page and burst into tears. I don't know who it is. She said, but somebody cares for me a little. I have a friend. She took her candle and stole out of her own room and into beckys and stood by her bedside. Becky. Becky. She whispered as loudly as she dared. Wake up. When Becky wakened and she sat upright, staring at gas, her face still smudged with traces of tears. Beside her stood a little figure in a luxurious, wadded robe of crimson silk. The face she saw was a shining, wonderful thing. The princess Sarah, as she remembered her, stood at her very bedside, holding a candle in her hand. Come. She said, oh becky come. Becky was too frightened to speak. She simply got up and followed her with her mouth and eyes open and without a word. And when they crossed the threshold, Sarah shut the door gently and drew her into the warm, glowing midst of things which made her brain real and her hungry senses faint. It's true. It's true. She cried, I've touched them all. They are as real as we are. The magic has come and done it Becky. While we were asleep, the magic that won't let those worst things ever quite happen. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. The magic of the magic has come and done it Becky. 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