The whole neighbourhood deplored the fortune of the young farmer.
Elizabeth was inconsolable, the children lamented aloud. In half a year
the aged gardener died; the parents of Elizabeth soon followed him; and
she was forced herself to take charge of everything. Her multiplied
engagements helped a little to withdraw her from her sorrow; the
education of her children, and the management of so much property, left
little time for mourning. After two years, she determined on a new
marriage; she bestowed her hand on a young light-hearted man, who had
loved her from his youth. But, ere long, everything in their
establishment assumed another form. The cattle died; men and maid
servants proved dishonest; barns full of grain were burnt; people in the
town who owed them sums of money, fled and made no payment. In a little
while, the landlord found himself obliged to sell some fields and
meadows; but a mildew, and a year of scarcity, brought new
embarrassments. It seemed as if the gold, so strangely acquired, were
taking speedy flight in all directions. Meanwhile the family was on the
increase; and Elizabeth, as well as her husband, grew reckless and
sluggish in this scene of despair: he fled for consolation to the
bottle, he was often drunk, and therefore quarrelsome and sullen; so
that frequently Elizabeth bewailed her state with bitter tears. As their
fortune declined, their friends in the village stood aloof from them
more and more; so that after some few years they saw themselves
entirely forsaken, and were forced to struggle on, in penury and
straits, from week to week.
They had nothing but a cow and a few sheep left them; these Elizabeth
herself, with her children, often tended at their grass. She was sitting
one day with her work in the field, Leonora at her side, and a sucking
child on her breast, when they saw from afar a strange-looking shape
approaching towards them. It was a man with a garment all in tatters,
barefoot, sunburnt to a black-brown colour in the face, deformed still
farther by a long matted beard: he wore no covering on his head; but had
twisted a garland of green branches through his hair, which made his
wild appearance still more strange and haggard. On his back he bore some
heavy burden in a sack, very carefully tied, and as he walked he leaned
upon a young fir.
On coming nearer, he put down his load, and drew deep draughts of
breath. He bade Elizabeth good-day; she shuddered at the sight of him,
the girl crouched close to her mother. Having rested for a little while,
he said: "I am getting back from a very hard journey among the wildest
mountains of the Earth; but to pay me for it, I have brought along with
me the richest treasures which imagination can conceive, or heart
desire. Look here, and wonder!" Thereupon he loosed his sack, and shook
it empty: it was full of gravel, among which were to be seen large bits
of chuck-stone, and other pebbles. "These jewels," he continued, "are
not ground and polished yet, so they want the glance and the eye; the
outward fire, with its glitter, is too deeply buried in their inmost
heart; yet you have but to strike it out and frighten them, and show
that no deceit will serve, and then you see what sort of stuff they
are." So saying, he took a piece of flinty stone, and struck it hard
against another, till they gave red sparks between them. "Did you see
the glance?" cried he. "Ay, they are all fire and light; they illuminate
the darkness with their laugh, though as yet it is against their will."
With this he carefully repacked his pebbles in the bag, and tied it hard
and fast. "I know thee very well," said he then, with a saddened tone;
"thou art Elizabeth." The woman started.
"How comest thou to know my name?" cried she, with a forecasting
shudder.
"Ah, good God!" said the unhappy creature, "I am Christian, he that was
a hunter: dost thou not know me, then?"
She knew not, in her horror and deepest compassion, what to say. He
fell upon her neck and kissed her. Elizabeth exclaimed: "O Heaven! my
husband is coming!"
"Be at thy ease," said he; "I am as good as dead to thee: in the forest,
there, my fair one waits for me; she that is tall and stately, with the
black hair and the golden veil. This is my dearest child, Leonora. Come
hither, darling: come, my pretty child; and give me a kiss, too; one
kiss, that I may feel thy mouth upon my lips once again, and then I
leave you."
Leonora wept; she clasped close to her mother, who, in sobs and tears,
half held her towards the wanderer, while he half drew her towards him,
took her in his arms, and pressed her to his breast. Then he went away
in silence, and in the wood they saw him speaking with the hideous
Woodwoman.
"What ails you?" said the husband, as he found mother and daughter pale
and melting in tears. Neither of them answered.
The ill-fated creature was never seen again from that day.
THE ELVES.
"Where is our little Mary?" said the father.
"She is playing out upon the green there with our neighbour's boy,"
replied the mother.
"I wish they may not run away and lose themselves," said he; "they are
so thoughtless."
The mother looked for the little ones, and brought them their evening
luncheon. "It is warm," said the boy; "and Mary had a longing for the
red cherries."
"Have a care, children," said the mother, "and do not run too far from
home, and not into the wood; Father and I are going to the fields."
Little Andres answered: "Never fear, the wood frightens us; we shall sit
here by the house, where there are people near us."
The mother went in, and soon came out again with her husband. They
locked the door, and turned towards the fields to look after their
labourers, and see their hay-harvest in the meadow. Their house lay upon
a little green height, encircled by a pretty ring of paling, which
likewise enclosed their fruit and flower garden. The hamlet stretched
somewhat deeper down, and on the other side lay the castle of the Count.
Martin rented the large farm from this nobleman; and was living in
contentment with his wife and only child; for he yearly saved some
money, and had the prospect of becoming a man of substance by his
industry, for the ground was productive, and the Count not illiberal.
As he walked with his wife to the fields, he gazed cheerfully round,
and said: "What a different look this quarter has, Brigitta, from the
place we lived in formerly! Here it is all so green; the whole village
is bedecked with thick-spreading fruit-trees; the ground is full of
beautiful herbs and flowers; all the houses are cheerful and cleanly,
the inhabitants are at their ease: nay I could almost fancy that the
woods are greener here than elsewhere, and the sky bluer; and, so far as
the eye can reach, you have pleasure and delight in beholding the
bountiful Earth."
"And whenever you cross the stream," said Brigitta, "you are, as it
were, in another world, all is so dreary and withered; but every
traveller declares that our village is the fairest in the country far
and near."
"All but that fir-ground," said her husband; "do but look back to it,
how dark and dismal that solitary spot is lying in the gay scene: the
dingy fir-trees with the smoky huts behind them, the ruined stalls, the
brook flowing past with a sluggish melancholy."
"It is true," replied Brigitta; "if you but approach that spot, you grow
disconsolate and sad, you know not why. What sort of people can they be
that live there, and keep themselves so separate from the rest of us, as
if they had an evil conscience?"
"A miserable crew," replied the young Farmer: "gipsies, seemingly, that
steal and cheat in other quarters, and have their hoard and hiding-place
here. I wonder only that his Lordship suffers them."
"Who knows," said the wife, with an accent of pity, "but perhaps they
may be poor people, wishing, out of shame, to conceal their poverty;
for, after all, no one can say aught ill of them; the only thing is,
that they do not go to church, and none knows how they live; for the
little garden, which indeed seems altogether waste, cannot possibly
support them; and fields they have none."
"God knows," said Martin, as they went along, "what trade they follow;
no mortal comes to them; for the place they live in is as if bewitched
and excommunicated, so that even our wildest fellows will not venture
into it."
Such conversation they pursued, while walking to the fields. That gloomy
spot they spoke of lay aside from the hamlet. In a dell, begirt with
firs, you might behold a hut, and various ruined office-houses; rarely
was smoke seen to mount from it, still more rarely did men appear
there; though at times curious people, venturing somewhat nearer, had
perceived upon the bench before the hut, some hideous women, in ragged
clothes, dandling in their arms some children equally dirty and
ill-favoured; black dogs were running up and down upon the boundary;
and, of an evening, a man of monstrous size was seen to cross the
footbridge of the brook, and disappear in the hut; and, in the darkness,
various shapes were observed, moving like shadows round a fire in the
open air. This piece of ground, the firs and the ruined huts, formed in
truth a strange contrast with the bright green landscape, the white
houses of the hamlet, and the stately new-built castle.
The two little ones had now eaten their fruit; it came into their heads
to run races; and the little nimble Mary always got the start of the
less active Andres. "It is not fair," cried Andres at last: "let us try
it for some length, then we shall see who wins."
"As thou wilt," said Mary; "only to the brook we must not run."
"No," said Andres; "but there, on the hill, stands the large pear-tree,
a quarter of a mile from this. I shall run by the left, round past the
fir-ground; thou canst try it by the right over the fields; so we do not
meet till we get up, and then we shall see which of us is swifter."
"Done," cried Mary, and began to run; "for we shall not mar one another
by the way, and my father says it is as far to the hill by that side of
the Gipsies' house as by this."
Andres had already started, and Mary, turning to the right, could no
longer see him. "It is very silly," said she to herself: "I have only to
take heart, and run along the bridge, past the hut, and through the
yard, and I shall certainly be first." She was already standing by the
brook and the clump of firs. "Shall I? No; it is too frightful," said
she. A little white dog was standing on the farther side, and barking
with might and main. In her terror, Mary thought the dog some monster,
and sprang back. "Fy! fy!" said she: "the dolt is gone half way by this
time, while I stand here considering." The little dog kept barking, and,
as she looked at it more narrowly, it seemed no longer frightful, but,
on the contrary, quite pretty: it had a red collar round its neck, with
a glittering bell; and as it raised its head, and shook itself in
barking, the little bell sounded with the finest tinkle. "Well, I must
risk it!" cried she: "I will run for life; quick, quick, I am through;
certainly to Heaven, they cannot eat me up alive in half a minute!" And
with this, the gay, courageous little Mary sprang along the footbridge;
passed the dog, which ceased its barking and began to fawn on her; and
in a moment she was standing on the other bank, and the black firs all
round concealed from view her father's house, and the rest of the
landscape.
But what was her astonishment when here! The loveliest, most variegated
flower-garden, lay round her; tulips, roses and lilies were glittering
in the fairest colours; blue and gold-red butterflies were wavering in
the blossoms; cages of shining wire were hung on the espaliers, with
many-coloured birds in them, singing beautiful songs; and children, in
short white frocks, with flowing yellow hair and brilliant eyes, were
frolicking about; some playing with lambkins, some feeding the birds, or
gathering flowers, and giving them to one another; some, again, were
eating cherries, grapes and ruddy apricots. No hut was to be seen; but
instead of it, a large fair house, with a brazen door and lofty statues,
stood glancing in the middle of the space. Mary was confounded with
surprise, and knew not what to think; but, not being bashful, she went
right up to the first of the children, held out her hand, and wished the
little creature good-even.
"Art thou come to visit us, then?" said the glittering child; "I saw
thee running, playing on the other side, but thou wert frightened at our
little dog."
"So you are not gipsies and rogues," said Mary, "as Andres always told
me? He is a stupid thing, and talks of much he does not understand."
"Stay with us," said the strange little girl; "thou wilt like it well."
"But we are running a race."
"Thou wilt find thy comrade soon enough. There, take and eat."
Mary ate, and found the fruit more sweet than any she had ever tasted in
her life before; and Andres, and the race, and the prohibition of her
parents, were entirely forgotten.
A stately woman, in a shining robe, came towards them, and asked about
the stranger child. "Fairest lady," said Mary, "I came running hither by
chance, and now they wish to keep me."
"Thou art aware, Zerina," said the lady, "that she can be here but for
a little while; besides, thou shouldst have asked my leave."
"I thought," said Zerina, "when I saw her admitted across the bridge,
that I might do it; we have often seen her running in the fields, and
thou thyself hast taken pleasure in her lively temper. She will have to
leave us soon enough."
"No, I will stay here," said the little stranger; "for here it is so
beautiful, and here I shall find the prettiest playthings, and store of
berries and cherries to boot. On the other side it is not half so
grand."
The gold-robed lady went away with a smile; and many of the children now
came bounding round the happy Mary in their mirth, and twitched her, and
incited her to dance; others brought her lambs, or curious playthings;
others made music on instruments, and sang to it.
She kept, however, by the playmate who had first met her; for Zerina was
the kindest and loveliest of them all. Little Mary cried and cried
again: "I will stay with you forever; I will stay with you, and you
shall be my sisters;" at which the children all laughed, and embraced
her. "Now we shall have a royal sport," said Zerina. She ran into the
Palace, and returned with a little golden box, in which lay a quantity
of seeds, like glittering dust. She lifted of it with her little hand,
and scattered some grains on the green earth. Instantly the grass began
to move, as in waves; and, after a few moments, bright rose-bushes
started from the ground, shot rapidly up, and budded all at once, while
the sweetest perfume filled the place. Mary also took a little of the
dust, and, having scattered it, she saw white lilies, and the most
variegated pinks, pushing up. At a signal from Zerina, the flowers
disappeared, and others rose in their room. "Now," said Zerina, "look
for something greater." She laid two pine-seeds in the ground, and
stamped them in sharply with her foot. Two green bushes stood before
them. "Grasp me fast," said she; and Mary threw her arms about the
slender form. She felt herself borne upwards; for the trees were
springing under them with the greatest speed; the tall pines waved to
and fro, and the two children held each other fast embraced, swinging
this way and that in the red clouds of the twilight, and kissed each
other; while the rest were climbing up and down the trunks with quick
dexterity, pushing and teasing one another with loud laughter when they
met; if any one fell down in the press, it flew through the air, and
sank slowly and surely to the ground. At length Mary was beginning to
be frightened; and the other little child sang a few loud tones, and the
trees again sank down, and set them on the ground as gradually as they
had lifted them before to the clouds.
They next went through the brazen door of the palace. Here many fair
women, elderly and young, were sitting in the round hall, partaking of
the fairest fruits, and listening to glorious invisible music. In the
vaulting of the ceiling, palms, flowers and groves stood painted, among
which little figures of children were sporting and winding in every
graceful posture; and with the tones of the music, the images altered
and glowed with the most burning colours; now the blue and green were
sparkling like radiant light, now these tints faded back in paleness,
the purple flamed up, and the gold took fire; and then the naked
children seemed to be alive among the flower-garlands, and to draw
breath, and emit it through their ruby-coloured lips; so that by fits
you could see the glance of their little white teeth, and the lighting
up of their azure eyes.
From the hall, a stair of brass led down to a subterranean chamber. Here
lay much gold and silver, and precious stones of every hue shone out
between them. Strange vessels stood along the walls, and all seemed
filled with costly things. The gold was worked into many forms, and
glittered with the friendliest red. Many little dwarfs were busied
sorting the pieces from the heap, and putting them in the vessels;
others, hunchbacked and bandy-legged, with long red noses, were
tottering slowly along, half-bent to the ground, under full sacks, which
they bore as millers do their grain; and, with much panting, shaking out
the gold-dust on the ground. Then they darted awkwardly to the right and
left, and caught the rolling balls that were like to run away; and it
happened now and then that one in his eagerness overset the other, so
that both fell heavily and clumsily to the ground. They made angry
faces, and looked askance, as Mary laughed at their gestures and their
ugliness. Behind them sat an old crumpled little man, whom Zerina
reverently greeted; he thanked her with a grave inclination of his head.
He held a sceptre in his hand, and wore a crown upon his brow, and all
the other dwarfs appeared to regard him as their master, and obey his
nod.
"What more wanted?" asked he, with a surly voice, as the children came a
little nearer. Mary was afraid, and did not speak; but her companion
answered; they were only come to look about them in the chambers.
"Still your old child's tricks!" replied the dwarf: "Will there never be
an end to idleness?" With this, he turned again to his employment, kept
his people weighing and sorting the ingots; some he sent away on
errands, some he chid with angry tones.
"Who is the gentleman?" said Mary.
"Our Metal-Prince," replied Zerina, as they walked along.
They seemed once more to reach the open air, for they were standing by a
lake, yet no sun appeared, and they saw no sky above their heads. A
little boat received them, and Zerina steered it diligently forwards. It
shot rapidly along. On gaining the middle of the lake, the stranger saw
that multitudes of pipes, channels and brooks, were spreading from the
little sea in every direction. "These waters to the right," said Zerina,
"flow beneath your garden, and this is why it blooms so freshly; by the
other side we get down into the great stream." On a sudden, out of all
the channels, and from every quarter of the lake, came a crowd of little
children swimming up; some wore garlands of sedge and water-lily; some
had red stems of coral, others were blowing on crooked shells; a
tumultuous noise echoed merrily from the dark shores; among the children
might be seen the fairest women sporting in the waters, and often
several of the children sprang about some one of them, and with kisses
hung upon her neck and shoulders. All saluted the strangers; and these
steered onwards through the revelry out of the lake, into a little
river, which grew narrower and narrower. At last the boat came aground.
The strangers took their leave, and Zerina knocked against the cliff.
This opened like a door, and a female form, all red, assisted them to
mount. "Are you all brisk here?" inquired Zerina. "They are just at
work," replied the other, "and happy as they could wish; indeed, the
heat is very pleasant."
They went up a winding stair, and on a sudden Mary found herself in a
most resplendent hall, so that as she entered, her eyes were dazzled by
the radiance. Flame-coloured tapestry covered the walls with a purple
glow; and when her eye had grown a little used to it, the stranger saw,
to her astonishment, that, in the tapestry, there were figures moving up
and down in dancing joyfulness; in form so beautiful, and of so fair
proportions, that nothing could be seen more graceful; their bodies were
as of red crystal, so that it appeared as if the blood were visible
within them, flowing and playing in its courses. They smiled on the
stranger, and saluted her with various bows; but as Mary was about
approaching nearer them, Zerina plucked her sharply back, crying: "Thou
wilt burn thyself, my little Mary, for the whole of it is fire."
Mary felt the heat. "Why do the pretty creatures not come out," said
she, "and play with us?"
"As thou livest in the Air," replied the other, "so are they obliged to
stay continually in Fire, and would faint and languish if they left it.
Look now, how glad they are, how they laugh and shout; those down below
spread out the fire-floods everywhere beneath the earth, and thereby the
flowers, and fruits, and wine, are made to flourish; these red streams
again, are to run beside the brooks of water; and thus the fiery
creatures are kept ever busy and glad. But for thee it is too hot here;
let us return to the garden."
In the garden, the scene had changed since they left it. The moonshine
was lying on every flower; the birds were silent, and the children were
asleep in complicated groups, among the green groves. Mary and her
friend, however, did not feel fatigue, but walked about in the warm
summer night, in abundant talk, till morning.
When the day dawned, they refreshed themselves on fruit and milk, and
Mary said: "Suppose we go, by way of change, to the firs, and see how
things look there?"
"With all my heart," replied Zerina; "thou wilt see our watchmen too,
and they will surely please thee; they are standing up among the trees
on the mound." The two proceeded through the flower-garden by pleasant
groves, full of nightingales; then they ascended a vine-hill; and at
last, after long following the windings of a clear brook, arrived at the
firs, and the height which bounded the domain. "How does it come," said
Mary, "that we have to walk so far here, when without, the circuit is so
narrow?"
"I know not," said her friend; "but so it is."
They mounted to the dark firs, and a chill wind blew from without in
their faces; a haze seemed lying far and wide over the landscape. On the
top were many strange forms standing; with mealy, dusty faces; their
misshapen heads not unlike those of white owls; they were clad in folded
cloaks of shaggy wool; they held umbrellas of curious skins stretched
out above them; and they waved and fanned themselves incessantly with
large bat's wings, which flared out curiously beside the woollen
roquelaures. "I could laugh, yet I am frightened," cried Mary.
"These are our good trusty watchmen," said her playmate; "they stand
here and wave their fans, that cold anxiety and inexplicable fear may
fall on every one that attempts to approach us. They are covered so,
because without it is now cold and rainy, which they cannot bear. But
snow, or wind, or cold air, never reaches down to us; here is an
everlasting spring and summer: yet if these poor people on the top were
not frequently relieved, they would certainly perish."
"But who are you, then?" said Mary, while again descending to the
flowery fragrance; "or have you no name at all?"
"We are called the Elves," replied the friendly child; "people talk
about us in the Earth, as I have heard."