The Phoenix And The Carpet, Final Chapter 12

In this final chapter of E Nesbit's wonderful story, the children feel that life with the golden bird and the magic carpet has become too eventful in the wrong sort of way. The carpet's threadbare state makes it ever more dangerous and they worry about how to tell the Phoenix to leave.

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Transcript

Hello there, It's Mandy here again. We've come up very sadly to the very last chapter of The Phoenix and the Carpet by E. Nesbitt and it's chapter 12 and very fittingly it's called The End of the End. I'd just like to thank you for listening as I always do but I'd like to thank you especially if you've listened to all the 12 chapters and have been on this journey with me because I've really really appreciated your company and before I start reading I'll say the usual thing. Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable and I'll begin. Chapter 12, The End of the End. Egg, Toast, Tea, Milk, Teacup and sugar. Saucer, Egg spoon, Knife. That's all I think, Remarked Anthea as she put the last touches to Mother's breakfast tray and went very carefully up the stairs. She crept into Mother's room and set the tray on a chair. Is your head better, Mummy dear? She asked. In the soft little voice she kept expressly for Mother's headaches. I've brought your bracky. That's very nice, Said Mother sleepily. Anthea knew exactly what to do for Mothers with headaches who had breakfast in bed. She fetched warm water and put eau de cologne in it and bathed Mother's face and hands. Then Mother was able to think about breakfast. But what's the matter with my girl, She asked when her eyes got used to the light. Oh I'm just so sorry you're ill, Anthea said. It's that horrible fire and you being so frightened. Father said so and we all feel as if it was our faults. It wasn't your fault a bit, You darling goosey, Said Mother. How could it be? That's just what I can't tell you, Said Anthea. Mother laughed. The fire wasn't your fault. No, I don't want the egg, Dear. I'll go to sleep again. Tell Cook not to bother me about meals. You can order what you like for lunch. Anthea closed the door very mousily and instantly went downstairs and ordered what she liked for lunch. She ordered a pair of turkeys, A large plum pudding, Cheesecakes and almonds and raisins. Cook told her to go along, Do. And when lunch came it was just hashed mutton and semolina pudding, Burnt. When Anthea rejoined the others, She found them all plunged in the gloom where she was herself. For everyone knew that the days of the carpet were numbered. Indeed so worn was it that you could almost have numbered its threads. After a month of magic happenings, The time was at hand when life would go back to its dull ordinary way. Mother's going to send away the carpet as soon as she's well enough, Said Robert. Fancy us with coconut matting when we've walked under live coconut trees on the island where you can't have whooping cough. Pretty island, Said the lamb. Paint, Box, Sands and sea all shiny sparkly. His brothers and sisters had often wondered whether he remembered the island. Now they knew that he did. Yes, Said Cyril. No more cheap return trips by carpet for us. That's a dead cert. They were talking about the carpet, But what they were thinking about was the phoenix. The golden bird had been so kind, So friendly, So polite and so instructive, And now it had set fire to a theatre and made mother ill. Nobody blamed the bird, But everyone saw it must not be asked to prolong its visit. In fact, In plain English, It must be asked to go. The four children felt like base spies and treacherous friends. Each child was quite sure that one of them ought to speak out in a fair and firm way, But nobody wanted to be the one. They couldn't talk the whole thing over as they would have liked to do, Because the phoenix was in the nursery cupboard among the black beetles and the odd shoes and the broken chessmen. But Anthea tried. It's very horrid, She said. I do hate thinking things about people and not being able to say the things you're thinking, Because of the way they would feel when they wondered what they'd done to make you think things like that. Anthea was so anxious that the phoenix should not understand what she said, That her speech completely baffled everyone. It was not until she pointed to the cupboard, In which all believed the phoenix to be, That Cyril understood. Yes, He said, While Jane and Robert were trying to tell each other how deeply they didn't understand. But after recent eventfulness, A new leaf has to be turned over, And after all, Mother is more important than the feelings of any of the lower forms of creation. How beautifully you do it, Said Anthea, Absently beginning to build a card house for the lamb. Mixing up what you're saying, I mean. We ought to practice doing it so as to be ready for mysterious occasions. We're talking about that, She said to Jane and Robert, Nodding towards the cupboard where the phoenix was. The ancient philosophers, Said a golden voice, Well understood the art of which you speak. Of course, It was the phoenix, Who had not been in the cupboard at all, But had been cocking a golden eye at them, From the coolness during the whole conversation. Pretty dicky, Remarked the lamb, Canary dicky. Poor misguided infant, Said the phoenix. There was a painful pause, The phoenix must have understood their veiled illusions. It wasn't wanting an intelligence. We were just saying, Cyril began, And I hope he was going to say nothing but the truth, But the phoenix interrupted him, And all breathed more freely as it spoke. I gather, It said, That you have some tidings of a fatal nature to communicate to our degraded brothers, Who run to and fro forever yonder. It pointed a claw at the cupboard, Where the black beetles lived. Canary, Talk, Said the lamb joyously. Go and show mummy, He wriggled Darth Anthea's lap. Mum is asleep, Said Jane hastily. Meanwhile, The carpet lay bare to sight, With all its holes. Ah, Said the bird, It isn't long for this world. Everything comes to an end, Said Robert, It's awful. Sometimes the end is peace, Remarked the phoenix. I imagine that unless it comes soon, The end of your carpet will be in pieces. Yes, Said Cyril, Respectfully kicking what was left of the carpet. The movement of its bright colours caught the eye of the lamb, Who went down on all fours instantly, And began to pull at the red and blue threads. Agadidagadigagadi, He murmured. And before anyone could have winked, Even if they had wanted to, And it wouldn't have been the slightest use, The middle of the floor showed bare, An island of boards, Surrounded by a sea of linoleum. The magic carpet was gone, And so was the lamb. There was a horrible silence. The lamb, The baby, All alone, Had been wafted away on the untrustworthy carpet, So full of holes and magic. And no one could know where he was, And no one could follow him, Because there was now no carpet to follow on. Jane burst into tears. But the lamb never wished, Said Cyril, He was only talking bosh. The carpet understands all speech, Said the phoenix, Even bosh. I know not this bosh land, But be assured that its tongue is not unknown to the carpet. Do you mean then, Said Anthea, In terror, That when he was saying agadidag, Or whatever it was, That he meant something by it? All speech has meaning, Said the phoenix. There, I think you're wrong, Said Cyril. People sometimes say things that don't mean anything in particular. Oh, Never mind that now, Moaned Anthea. Do you think agadidag meant something to him, And the carpet? Beyond doubt it held the same meaning to the carpet, As to the luckless infant, The phoenix said calmly. But what did it mean? Oh what? Unfortunately, The bird rejoined, I never studied bosh. Jane sobbed noisily, But the others were calm, With what is sometimes called the calmness of despair. The lamb was gone, The lamb, Their own precious baby brother, Who had never been for a moment out of sight of eyes that loved him. He was gone. He had gone alone into the great world, With no other companion and protector than a carpet with holes in it. The children had never really understood before what an enormously big place the world is, And the lamb might be anywhere in it. It's no use going to look for him. Cyril, In flat and wretched tones, Only said what the others were thinking. Do you wish him to return, The phoenix asked. It seemed to speak with some surprise. Of course we do, Replied everybody. Isn't he more trouble than he's worth, Asked the bird doubtfully. No, No, We want him back, We do. Then, Said the wearer of gold plumage, If you'll excuse me, I'll just pop out and see what I can do. Cyril flung open the window and the phoenix popped out. And at that moment, Mother's bell rang. A breathless stillness held the children. Robert, Said Amphia, You go out, Oh I don't know where, To the dustbin anywhere, And I shall tell mother you and the lamb are out. Deceit is very wrong, We know, But it seemed to Amphia that it was her plain duty to keep her mother from being frightened about the lamb for as long as possible. Mother's bell rang again. Oh, Eliza's never answered it, Cried Amphia. She never does, Oh I must go, And she went. Her heart beat bumpingly as she climbed the stairs and opened the door softly. Yes, Mother, She said. Dearest, Said mother, The lamb. Amphia tried to be brave, She tried to say that the lamb and Robert were out. Perhaps she tried too hard. Anyway, When she opened her mouth, No words came, Though she stood with it open. It seemed easier to keep from crying with one's mouth in that unusual position. The lamb, Mother went on, He was very good at first, But he's pulled the toilet cover off the dressing table with all the brushes and pots and things, And now he's so quiet I'm sure he's in some dreadful mischief, And I can't see him from here, And if I got out of bed to see, I'm sure I should have fainted. Do you mean he's here, Said Amphia. Of course he's here, Said mother impatiently. Where did you think he was? Amphia went round the foot of the big mahogany bed. He's not here now, She said. That he had been there was plain, From the toilet cover on the floor, The scattered pots and bottles, The wandering brushes and combs. He must have crept out then, Said mother. Do keep him with you, There's a darling. If I don't get some sleep, I shall be a wreck when father comes home. Amphia closed the door softly, Then she tore downstairs and burst into the nursery crying. He must have wished he was with mother. He's been there all the time, Aggoty dag. The unusual word was frozen on her lip, As people say in books. For there, On the floor, Lay the carpet, And on the carpet, Surrounded by his brothers and by Jane, Sat the lamb. He had covered his face and clothes with vaseline and violet powder, But he was easily recognisable, In spite of this disguise. You were right, Said the phoenix, Who was also present. It is evident that, As you say, Aggoty dag is bosh for, I want to be where my mother is, And so the faithful carpet understood it. But how, Said Amphia, Catching up the lamb and hugging him, How did he get back here? Oh, Said the phoenix, I flew to my friend the Samoyed, And wished that your infant brother were restored to your midst, And immediately it was so. Oh, I am glad, I am glad, Cried Amphia, Hugging the baby. Cyril, You and Robert roll that carpet up and put it in the beetle cupboard. He might say aggoty dag again, And it might mean something completely different next time. Now, My lamb, Panther will clean you a little. Come on. I hope the beetles don't go wishing, Said Cyril, As they rolled up the carpet. Two days later, Mother was well enough to go out, And that evening the coconut matting came home. The children had talked and talked and thought and thought, But they had not found any polite way of telling the phoenix that they didn't want it to stay any longer. The matting was laid down, And the phoenix awoke and fluttered down onto it. It shook its crested head. I like not this carpet, It said. It is harsh and unyielding, And it hurts my golden feet. We've jolly well got to get used to it hurting our golden feet, Said Cyril. This then, Said the bird, Supersedes the wishing carpet. Yes, Said Robert, If you mean that it's instead of it. And the magic web, Inquired the phoenix with sudden eagerness. It's the rag and bottle man's day tomorrow, Said Anthea, In a low voice. He will take it away. The phoenix fluttered up to its favourite perch on the chair back. Hear me, It cried, O youthful children of men, And restrain your tears of misery and despair, For what must be, Must be, And I would not remember you, Thousands of years hence, As base ingrates and crawling worms of low selfishness. I should hope not indeed, Said Cyril. Weep not, The bird went on. I really do beg that you won't weep. I will not seek to break the news to you gently. Let the blow fall at once. The time has come when I must leave you. All four children breathed a long sigh of relief. Needn't have bothered so about how to break the news to it, Whispered Cyril. Ah, Sigh not so, Said the bird gently. All meetings end in partings. I must leave you. I have sought to prepare you for this. Ah, Do not give way. Must you really go so soon, Murmured Anthea. It was what she'd often heard her mother say, To calling ladies in the afternoon. I must really. Thank you so much, Dear, Replied the bird, Just as though it had been one of the ladies. I am weary, It went on. I desire to rest. After all the happenings of this last moon, I do desire really to rest, And I ask of you one last boon. Any little thing we can do, Said Robert. Now that it had really come to parting with the phoenix, Whose favourite he had always been, Robert did feel almost as miserable as the phoenix thought they all did. I ask but the relic designed for the rag and bottle man. Give me what is left of the carpet, And let me go. Dare we, Said Anthea. Would mother mind? I have dared greatly for your sakes, Remarked the bird. Well then, We will, Said Robert. The phoenix fluffed out its feathers joyously. Nor shall you regret it, Children of golden hearts, It said. Quick, Spread the carpet and leave me alone, But first pile high the fire. Then, While I am immersed in the sacred preliminary rites, Do ye prepare sweet-smelling woods and spices for the last act of parting. The children spread out what was left of the carpet, And after all, Though this was just what they would have wished to have happened, All hearts were sad. Then they put half a scuttle of coal on the fire and went out, Closing the door on the phoenix, Left at last alone with the carpet. One of us must keep watch, Said Robert excitedly, As soon as they were all out of the room, And the others can go and buy sweet woods and spices. Get the very best that money can buy, And plenty of them. I want it to have a jolly good send-off. It's the only thing that'll make us feel less horrid inside. It was felt that Robert, As the pet of the phoenix, Ought to have the last melancholy pleasure of choosing the materials for its funeral pyre. I'll keep watch if you like, Said Cyril. I don't mind. And besides, It's raining hard and my boots let in the wet. So they left Cyril, Standing like a Roman sentinel, Outside the door, Inside which the phoenix was getting ready for the great change, And they all went out to buy the precious things for their last sad rites. Robert is right, Anthea said. This is no time for being careful about money. Let's go to the stationers first and buy a whole pack of lead pencils. They're cheaper if you buy them by the packet. This was a thing that they had always wanted to do, But it needed the great excitement of a funeral pyre and a parting from a beloved phoenix to screw them up to the extravagance. The people at the stationers said the pencils were real cedar wood, So I hope they were. The stationers should always speak the truth. At any rate, They cost one and four pence. Also, They spent seven pence three farthings on a little sandalwood box. Because, Said Anthea, I know sandalwood smells sweet, And when it's burned it smells very sweet indeed. At the grocers, They bought all the spices they could remember the names of. Shell-like mace, Cloves like blunt nails, Peppercorns, Ginger, Fragrant cinnamon. Allspice too, And caraway seeds. Camphor and oil of lavender were bought at the chemist's, And also a little scent sachet labelled Violette de Palme. They took the things home and found Cyril still on guard. When they had knocked in the golden voice of the phoenix that had come in, They went in. There lay the carpet, Or what was left of it, And on it lay an egg, Exactly like the one out of which the phoenix had been hatched. The phoenix was walking round and round the egg, Clucking with joy and pride. It's as fine an egg as I ever laid in all my born days, It said. Everyone said yes, It was indeed a beauty. The things the children had bought were now taken out of their papers and arranged on the table. When the phoenix had been persuaded to leave its egg for a moment and look at the materials for its last fire, It was quite overcome. Never, Never have I had a finer pyre than this will be. You shall not regret it, It said, Wiping away a golden tear. Then a paper was written ordering the carpet to take the egg somewhere where it wouldn't be hatched for another 2, 000 years. The phoenix tore itself away from its cherished egg, Which it watched with yearning tenderness, Till, The paper being pinned on, The carpet hastily rolled itself up round the egg, And both vanished forever from the nursery of the house in Camden Town. Oh dear, Oh dear, Said everybody. Bear up, Said the bird. Do you think I don't suffer, Being parted from my precious new laid egg like this? Come, Conquer your emotions and build my fire. Oh, Cried Robert suddenly, Completely breaking down. I can't bear you to go. The phoenix perched on his shoulder and rubbed its beak softly against his ear. The sorrows of youth soon appear but as dreams, It said. Farewell, Robert of my heart. I have loved you well. The fire had burnt to a red glow. One by one, The spices and sweet words were laid on it. Some smelt nice and some, The caraway seeds and the violet palm sachet among them, Smelt worse than you would think possible. Farewell, Farewell, Farewell, Said the phoenix in a faraway voice. Oh, Goodbye, Said everyone. And now all were in tears. The bright bird fluttered seven times around the rim and settled in the hot heart of the fire. The sweet gums and spices and woods flared and flickered around it, But its golden feathers did not burn. It seemed to grow red hot to the very inside heart of it. And then, Before the eight eyes of its friends, It fell together, A heap of white ashes, And the flames met and joined above it. Whatever have you done with the carpet? Asked Mother next day. We gave it to someone who wanted it very much. The name began with a P, Said Jane. The others instantly hushed her. Oh, Well, It wasn't worth tuppence, Said Mother. The person who began with a P said we shouldn't lose by it, Jane went on, Before she could be stopped. I dare say, Said Mother, Laughing. But that very night a great box came, Addressed to the children by all their names. Eliza never could remember the name of the carrier who brought it. It wasn't Carter Patterson, All the parcels delivery. It was a big wooden box, And it had to be opened with a hammer and the kitchen poker. The long nails came squeaking out, And boards scrunched as they were wrenched off. Inside the box was soft paper, With beautiful Chinese patterns on it, Blue and green and red and violet. And under the paper, Well, Almost everything lovely that you can think of. Everything of reasonable size, I mean, For of course there were no motors or flying machines or thoroughbred chargers. But there really was almost everything else. Everything the children had always wanted. Toys and games and books, Chocolate, Candid cherries, Paint boxes and photographic cameras. And all the presents they'd always wanted to give to Father and Mother and the lamb, Only they never had the money for them. At the very bottom of the box was a tiny golden feather. No one saw it but Robert, And he picked it up and hid it in the rest of his jacket, Which had been so often the nesting place of the golden bird. When he went to bed, The feather was gone. It was the last he ever saw of the phoenix. Pinned to the lovely fur cloak that Mother had always wanted was a paper, And it said, In return for the carpet, With gratitude, P. You may guess how Father and Mother turned it over. They decided at last the person who'd have the carpet and whom, Curiously enough, The children were quite unable to describe, Must be an insane millionaire who amused himself by playing at being a rag and bone man. But the children knew better. They knew that this glorious and delightful box of treasures was really the very, Very, Very end of the phoenix and the carpet.

Reviews

What a fantastic journey and you've read it so beautifully Mandy! Thank you so very much! Now, to find my next book! Any suggestions?

Thank you for the suggestions! I don't know how to reply back to you in this app, so i am just editing my first review. Yes! I've listened entirely to both of those books! LOVED your memoire about your Dad, and The Diary of a Nobody was hilarious!. I'll look on your profile and find something soon. You're one of my absolute favorites on this app! Thank you again!

Thank you! 🙏 I have loved listenibg to the stories of The Phoenix and the Carpet , each evening.

With a second listen I heard the ending. What a delightful story! Thank you Mandy for your fine reading!! 📖 ❤️

What a grand, grand tale! Thank you so much for sharing, you are incredible. Ps I got my copy of your book Bush meat, only a chapter or so in and I’m hooked!
Big love—

Dear Mandy, what a delightful tale, and how I have enjoyed every moment of your readings. Thank you. Sending every good wish for your happiness and wellbeing. 🌻