15 Cont. A Little Princess-(Bedtime Story) Stephanie Poppins
This is chapter 15 (continued) of Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic Cinderella story. A young girl who maintains kindness above all as she goes from riches to rags and back again. Sara Crewe is the privileged daughter of a wealthy merchant and is treated like the princess of Miss Minchin's boarding school. Until tragedy strikes, that is. In this episode, Miss Minchin discovers all.
Transcript
A LITTLE PRINCESS by Frances Hodgson-Burnett Chapter 15 continued Ermengarde was in such a haste to get the things for the party that as she tiptoed 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 befallen her.
Oh miss,
Oh miss,
She gasped.
I know it was you that asked her 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 worshippingly.
But in Sarah's hungry eyes the old light had begun to glow and transform the world for her.
Here in the attic with a cold night outside,
With the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely past,
With the memory of the awful,
Unfed look in the beggar's child's eyes not yet faded,
This simple,
Cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic.
Somehow,
Something always happens,
She cried,
Just before the things get to the very worst.
It's as if the magic did it.
If I could only just remember that always.
The worst thing never quite comes.
She gave Becky a little 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 are we saying,
Viv?
Sarah looked around the attic.
There doesn't seem to be much,
She answered,
Half laughing.
But that moment she saw something and pounced upon it.
It was Irmengard's red shawl.
Here,
She cried,
I know she won't mind it.
It'll make such a nice red tablecloth.
They pulled the old table forward and threw the shawl over it.
Red is a wonderfully kind and comfortable 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 eyes swept the bare boards with a swift glance of admiration.
The rug was laid down already.
How soft and thick it is,
She said,
With a 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.
What next now?
Said Sarah,
And she stood still and put her hands over her eyes.
Something will come if I think and wait a little.
The magic will tell me.
One of her favourite fancies was 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 in a moment,
There,
She cried,
It's come.
I must look among the things in the old trunk I had when I was a princess.
She flew to the corner,
Kneeled down.
The trunk had not been put in the attic for herself,
But there was no room for it elsewhere.
Nothing was left in it but rubbish.
But in a corner lay a package so insignificant-looking it had been overlooked.
It contained a dozen small white handkerchiefs.
Sarah seized them joyfully and ran up to the table.
These are the plates,
She said.
They're golden plates,
Richly embroidered napkins.
Nuns worked them in convents in Spain.
Did they,
Miss?
Breathed Becky,
Her very soul uplifted by the information.
You must pretend it,
Said Sarah.
If you pretend it enough,
You'll see them.
Yes,
Miss,
Said Becky.
And Sarah returned to the trunk to find a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white tissue paper.
She twisted the tissue paper into the form of little dishes.
Only the magic could have made it more than the old table covered with a red shawl.
But Sarah drew back and gazed at it,
Seeing wonders.
And Becky,
After staring in delight,
Spoke with bared breath.
This here,
She suggested,
Is the Bastille now.
Or has it turned into something different?
Oh yes,
Said Sarah.
Quite different.
It's a banquet hall.
A banquet hall with a vast chamber where feasts are given.
It has a vaulted roof and a minstrel's gallery and a huge chimney filled with blazing oaken blocks.
And it's brilliant with wax and tapers twinkling on every side.
My eye,
Miss Sarah,
Gasped Becky again.
Then the door opened and Ermengarde 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 board draped with red and adorned with white knapery was to feel the preparations were brilliant indeed.
Oh Sarah,
She cried out,
You're the cleverest girl I ever saw.
Isn't it nice,
Said Sarah.
They're things out of my old trunk.
I asked my magic and it told me to go and look.
It's like a real party,
Cried Ermengarde.
It's like a queen's table,
Sighed Becky.
Then Ermengarde had a brilliant thought.
I'll tell you what Sarah,
She said,
Pretend you're 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 honour.
Oh no,
I can't,
Said Ermengarde.
I'm too fat and I don't know how.
You be her.
Well,
If you want me to,
Said Sarah.
But then she thought of something else and ran to the rusty grate.
There's a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here,
She exclaimed.
If we light it there'll be a bright blaze for a few minutes and we shall feel as if it was a real fire.
She struck a match and lighted it up with a great specious glow which illuminated the room.
Then she led the way to the table and waved her hand graciously to Ermengarde and Becky.
Advance fair damsels,
She said in her happy dream voice,
And be seated at the banquet table.
But they had barely time to take their pieces of cake into their hands when they all three jumped to their feet and turned their pale faces towards the door.
Someone was coming up the stairs.
There was no mistake about it.
Each of them recognised the angry mounting tread and knew the end of all things had come.
It's the missus,
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.
Then Miss Minchin 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 dream of such audacity.
Lavinia was telling the truth.
You injured creature,
She strode over to Becky and boxed her ears for a second time.
You won't leave the house in the morning.
Oh,
Don't send her away,
Ermengarde sobbed.
My aunt sent me the hand,
But we're only having a party.
So I see,
Said Miss Minchin,
With Princess Sarah at the head of the table.
She turned fiercely on Sarah.
It is your doing,
I know.
Ermengarde would never have thought of such a thing.
You've decorated the table,
I suppose,
With all this rubbish.
Go to your attic,
Becky,
She commanded and Becky stole away,
Her face hidden in her apron.
I will attend to you tomorrow,
She said to Sarah.
You shall have neither breakfast,
Dinner nor supper.
I have not had either dinner or supper today,
Miss Minchin,
Said Sarah rather faintly.
Then all the better,
You will have something to remember.
Don't just stand there,
Put those things into the hamper again.
And you,
She said to Ermengarde,
Have brought your beautiful new books into this dirty attic.
Pick them up and go back to bed.
You will stay there all day tomorrow and I shall write to your papa.
What would he say if he knew where you were tonight?
Then she left,
Shutting the door behind herself and the poor stumbling Ermengarde.
As Sarah stood there quite alone.
The dream was at an end.
The last spark had died out of the paper in the grate and left only black tinder.
The table was now bare.
Everything was gone.
Emily sat with her back against the wall,
Staring very hard.
Sarah saw her and went and picked her up with trembling hands.
There isn't any banquet left,
Emily,
She said.
And there isn't any princess.
There's nothing left but the prisoners in the Bastille.
And then she sat down and hid her face.
What would have happened if she had not hidden it just then?
And if she had a chance to look up in the skylight?
I do not know.
Perhaps the end of this chapter might have been very different.
Because if she had glanced up at the skylight,
She would have seen exactly the same face pressed against the glass and peering in at her as it appeared early in the evening when she'd been talking to Ermengarde.
But Sarah did not look up.
She suddenly felt so tired,
Perhaps through want of food,
That she sat down on the end of the bed quite weakly.
She did not know how long she slept,
But she had been tired enough to sleep deeply and profoundly.
Too deeply to be disturbed by anything else.
And when at last she did awaken,
It was rather suddenly.
At first she did not open her eyes.
She felt too sleepy and curiously enough,
Far too warm and comfortable.
She was never as warm and cosy as this,
Except in some dream.
How nice,
She murmured.
I feel quite warm and I don't want to wake up.
But then her eyes opened in spite of herself and she actually smiled for what she saw she had never seen in the attic before.
In the grate 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 was a folding chair with cushions on it.
By the chair a small folding table covered with a white cloth and upon that spread some covered dishes.
A cup,
A saucer,
A teapot.
On the bed were new warm coverings and a satin-covered quilt.
At the foot of that a curious wadded silk robe,
A pair of quilted slippers and some books.
The room of her dream seemed changed into a 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.
Oh,
It's true,
She said,
But it can't be true.
But how true it seems.
The blazing fire drew her closer and she knelt down and held up her hands close to it.
So close that the heat made her stop back.
A fire only dreamed wouldn't be hot,
She cried.
She sprang up,
Touched the table,
The dishes and the rug and went to the bed and touched the blankets.
She took up the dressing gown and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it to her warm cheek.
It's soft,
She sobbed,
It's real,
It must be.
She threw it over her shoulders and put her feet into the slippers.
I'm not dreaming,
She said to herself.
She almost staggered up to the books and she opened the one which lay upon the top.
Something had been written on the flyleaf.
To the little girl in the attic,
From a friend.
When Sarah saw that,
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.
She took her candle and stalled out of her own room and into Becky's.
Becky,
Becky,
She whispered as loudly as she dared,
Wake up.
When Becky wakened,
She sat upright staring aghast,
Her face still smudged with traces of tears.
She looked at Sarah,
Dressed in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson silk.
The Princess Sarah was standing at her very bedside holding a candle in her hand.
Come,
Said Sarah,
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 reel and her hungry senses faint.
It's true,
It's true,
She cried.
I've touched them all,
They're as real as we are.
Yes,
Said Sarah,
The magic has come and done it,
Becky,
While we were asleep.
The magic that won't let those worst things ever quite happen.
