|The Princess and the Goblin|
|by George MacDonald|
|A marvelous tale of how the princess and Curdie, with the help of the great-great-grandmother, overcome the wicked goblins of the mountain. In the sphere of fantasy, author George MacDonald has few equals, and his rare touch of many aspects of life invariably gives to his stories a deeper meaning of the highest value. A contemporary writes of The Princess and the Goblin: "It is a graceful story, full of romance and adventure, with a deep meaning underlying the beauty of the surface, which gives it the life and mystery which forms the subtle charm MacDonald weaves into all his works, especially those for the young. Faith in that which is invisible, and the courage of that which we believe, are what he tries to teach. He speaks with a tender, earnest eloquence which draws a response from the reader, like music from the harp of a master minstrel." Ages 7-10 |
UST as the consolation of this resolve dawned upon his mind and he
was turning away for the cellar to follow the goblins into their
hole, something touched his hand. It was the slightest touch, and
when he looked he could see nothing. Feeling and peering about in
the grey of the dawn, his fingers came upon a tight thread. He
looked again, and narrowly, but still could see nothing. It
flashed upon him that this must be the princess's thread. Without
saying a word, for he knew no one would believe him any more than
he had believed the princess, he followed the thread with his
finger, contrived to give Lootie the slip, and was soon out of the
house and on the mountainside—surprised that, if the thread were
indeed the grandmother's messenger, it should have led the
princess, as he supposed it must, into the mountain, where she
would be certain to meet
 the goblins rushing back enraged from
their defeat. But he hurried on in the hope of overtaking her
first. When he arrived, however, at the place where the path
turned off for the mine, he found that the thread did not turn with
it, but went straight up the mountain. Could it be that the thread
was leading him home to his mother's cottage? Could the princess
be there? He bounded up the mountain like one of its own goats,
and before the sun was up the thread had brought him indeed to his
mother's door. There it vanished from his fingers, and he could
not find it, search as he might.
The door was on the latch, and he entered. There sat his mother by
the fire, and in her arms lay the princess, fast asleep.
"Hush, Curdie!" said his mother. "Do not wake her. I'm so glad
you're come! I thought the cobs must have got you again!"
"HUSH CURDIE!" SAID HIS MOTHER. "DO NOT WAKEN HER."
With a heart full of delight, Curdie sat down at a corner of the
hearth, on a stool opposite his mother's chair, and gazed at the
princess, who slept as peacefully as if she had been in her own
bed. All at once she opened her eyes and fixed them on him.
 "Oh, Curdie! you're come!" she said quietly. "I thought you
Curdie rose and stood before her with downcast eyes.
"Irene," he said, "I am very sorry I did not believe you."
"Oh, never mind, Curdie!" answered the princess. "You couldn't,
you know. You do believe me now, don't you?"
"I can't help it now. I ought to have helped it before."
"Why can't you help it now?"
"Because, just as I was going into the mountain to look for you, I
got hold of your thread, and it brought me here."
"Then you've come from my house, have you?"
"Yes, I have."
"I didn't know you were there."
"I've been there two or three days, I believe."
"And I never knew it!—Then perhaps you can tell me why my
grandmother has brought me here? I can't think. Something woke me—I
didn't know what, but I was frightened, and I felt for the
thread, and there it was! I was more
 frightened still when it
brought me out on the mountain, for I thought it was going to take
me into it again, and I like the outside of it best. I supposed
you were in trouble again, and I had to get you out. But it
brought me here instead; and, oh, Curdie! your mother has been so
kind to me—just like my own grandmother!"
Here Curdie's mother gave the princess a hug, and the princess
turned and gave her a sweet smile, and held up her mouth to kiss
"Then you didn't see the cobs?" asked Curdie.
"No; I haven't been into the mountain, I told you, Curdie."
"But the cobs have been into your house—all over it—and into
your bedroom, making such a row!"
"What did they want there? It was very rude of them."
"They wanted you—to carry you off into the mountain with them,
for a wife to their prince Harelip."
"Oh, how dreadful" cried the princess, shuddering.
"But you needn't be afraid, you know. Your grandmother takes care
 "Ah! you do believe in my grandmother, then? I'm so glad! She
made me think you would some day."
All at once Curdie remembered his dream, and was silent, thinking.
"But how did you come to be in my house, and me not know it?" asked
Then Curdie had to explain everything—how he had watched for her
sake, how he had been wounded and shut up by the soldiers, how he
heard the noises and could not rise, and how the beautiful old lady
had come to him, and all that followed.
"Poor Curdie! to lie there hurt and ill, and me never to know it!"
exclaimed the princess, stroking his rough hand. "I would have
come and nursed you, if they had told me."
"I didn't see you were lame," said his mother.
"Am I, mother? Oh—yes—I suppose I ought to be! I declare I've
never thought of it since I got up to go down amongst the cobs!"
"Let me see the wound," said his mother.
He pulled down his stocking—when behold, except a great scar, his
leg was perfectly sound!
 Curdie and his mother gazed in each other's eyes, full of wonder,
but Irene called out:
"I thought so, Curdie! I was sure it wasn't a dream. I was sure
my grandmother had been to see you.—Don't you smell the roses? It
was my grandmother healed your leg, and sent you to help me."
"No, Princess Irene," said Curdie; "I wasn't good enough to be
allowed to help you: I didn't believe you. Your grandmother took
care of you without me."
"She sent you to help my people, anyhow. I wish my king-papa would
come. I do want so to tell him how good you have been!"
"But," said the mother, "we are forgetting how frightened your
people must be. You must take the princess home at once, Curdie -
or at least go and tell them where she is."
"Yes, mother. Only I'm dreadfully hungry. Do let me have some
breakfast first. They ought to have listened to me, and then they
wouldn't have been taken by surprise as they were."
"That is true, Curdie; but it is not for you to blame them much.
 "Yes, mother, I do. Only I must really have something to eat."
"You shall, my boy—as fast as I can get it," said his mother,
rising and setting the princess on her chair.
But before his breakfast was ready, Curdie jumped up so suddenly as
to startle both his companions.
"Mother, mother!" he cried, "I was forgetting. You must take the
princess home yourself. I must go and wake my father."
Without a word of explanation, he rushed to the place where his
father was sleeping. Having thoroughly roused him with what he
told him he darted out of the cottage.
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