The Princess with the Sea-Green hair.
The cliffs were hidden in the mist when we left Dover, and the sky was
dull and grey. But very soon it began to clear; a silvery light shone
behind the clouds, and then the sun came out, and the rolling waves
turned emerald green. They tossed our steamer up and down as if it were
a cork, and Father soon went below, but I begged so hard to be allowed
to stay on deck that he said I might if I would promise, "honour
bright," not to get into mischief.
When he had gone I put my cap into my pocket, so that it might not blow
off, and leaned over the rails to watch the swell of the sea. I wasn't
thinking of Fairies then, nor of being a Christmas child, but of how it
must feel to be shipwrecked. So when the spray blew in my face and made
me blink, I was surprised to see a merry red face grinning up at me from
the foam. It had curls of seaweed upon its forehead, and a mouth like a
big round "O".
"I'm Father Neptune," it roared, so loudly that I could hear it quite
distinctly above the noise of the wind. "Why not take a header, and
come and ride one of my fine sea horses? 'Father wouldn't like it?'
Ho! ho! ho! What a molly-coddle of a boy!"
A big wave tossed him on one side, and on its crest was a beautiful girl
with a shining tail, and hair like a stream of gold. Of course I knew
she was a mermaid, and would want me to go to her coral caves.
"Won't you come with me and play with my sheeny pearls?" she cried.
"They gleam like the dawn on a summer morning, and you shall choose the
loveliest for your very own."
She held out her arms and I nearly sprang into them, for I thought that
a pearl would be splendid for Father's pin. But just behind her I saw
two ugly mermen, with horrid green teeth and bright red eyes, and ropes
of seaweed in their long thin hands. Then I remembered that mermaids
were dangerous, and I ran straight over to the other side of the steamer
and put my fingers into my ears, so that I might not hear her call. She
spoke so sweetly that it was difficult to resist, but I did not trust
her.
The water was calmer on this side, and I wondered why until I saw some
funny brown men, rather like Brownies, but ever so much bigger and
stronger, stretched out at full length on the tops of the waves.
They were blowing on conchs as hard as they could, and wherever
they blew, the waves grew quieter. I guessed at once that they were
Tritons--seafolk who live with Neptune in his crystal palace under the
sea. I was still watching them when Father came up behind me, and told
me that we were really in.
We stayed the night at a big hotel where almost everyone spoke in a
language which I did not understand, and I had a grown-up dinner with
Father, with heaps of different dishes, most of them tasting much alike.
Next day we went on for hours in the train, and the air grew warmer and
warmer, and the grass more green, until at last we were in the south of
France. There were palms and orange groves and heaps of flowers, and it
would have been just splendid if Father had been all right. He hadn't
had time to be ill at home you see, and now there were no sick people
to worry him, he was so tired that he couldn't do anything. But he told
me not to worry, for once he was really rested, he would soon get well.
And so he did, though it took a long time to rest him, and we couldn't
explore a bit. In the mornings we strolled through the gardens, or down
to the sea, and most afternoons we did nothing at all. Very often, as I
sat beside him on the verandah, with the sun shining full on the green
awning, and the roses nodding to us over the balcony, he would fall
asleep; and then a Flower-Fairy would peep through the ferns, and tell
me the loveliest stories. The Rose-Fairy came, and the Queen of the
Lilies, with a lovely gold crown upon her head; but my favourite Fairy
lived in a bed of violets. Her frock was purple, and I knew when she was
coming because the air all round grew sweet. Her stories were the best
of all. She had heard them from the wind, she said, as he played with
her leaves at dawn. My favourite was one that she said he had brought
from Provence.
[Illustration]
The Princess with the Sea-Green Hair.
"A worthy couple at Marseilles," she began, "had longed for a child
for years in vain, and great was their joy when they knew at last that
their wish was about to be granted. The boy was born during a fearful
storm, and the first sound he heard was the crash of the sea as it broke
on the shore. He was christened Paul, and grew up into a handsome lad
with a quantity of thick fair hair which curled like the tips of the
waves, and piercing blue eyes which were always twinkling with fun and
mischief.
There was not any question as to what calling he should follow, for the
sea claimed him as a son of her own, and he was never content on dry
land. When his ship came home and the crew was dismissed, he could not
rest, and every evening at sunset he would row himself out in a little
boat as far as he could go. One summer night, when a thousand ripples
danced on the waves, he leaned over the side of his boat, gazing
down--down--down. He did not know why, but he felt quite sure that
someone was calling him, and with all his heart he longed to obey the
summons. Presently he felt himself lifted gently, and drawn through
the gleaming water by hands which he could not see. It was black as
night before they released him, for neither sun nor moon pierce the
depths of the ocean. He would have been in total darkness but for the
strange-shaped fish who carried lanterns on their heads, and guided
him to the gates of a palace, formed of millions of barnacles. These
were piled one on the top of the other until they reached an enormous
height, and were decorated with what looked like a row of human eyes.
The gates flew open as Paul approached them, and through a passage of
mother-of-pearl he reached a chamber that flashed with opal lights. Here
a Fairy Princess awaited him--a Princess so exquisitely beautiful in
spite of her sea-green hair, that though his heart did not go out to
her, he was not repelled by the love she showed him.
She kept him with her for many hours, and at dawn of day she bade him
return to his home, giving him two golden fish which he was to show
to all who asked him where he had spent the night, telling them he
had been a'fishing. The invisible hands which had brought him thither
bore him back to his boat, and he landed just at sunrise. His golden
fish were a source of awe and wonder to his neighbours, who had never
seen their like before; but the priest shook his head, and warned him to
have no dealings with the powers of darkness.
[Illustration: Here a Fairy Princess awaited him--]
[Illustration]
But Paul could not resist rowing out to the edge of the sunset. Evening
after evening he plied his oars, and always at twilight he was drawn
down--down, to the palace of the strange Princess with the sea-green
hair. When he went on a voyage all was well with him, for his vessel
bore him to other seas, where no one called him when the sky grew red;
but he was no sooner at home with his parents than something within him
made him row out to the west.
At last it seemed as if he had forgotten the Princess, for he fell in
love with sweet Lucile, who was as good and gentle as she was fair, and
willingly gave him her troth. Their wedding was fixed for Easter Day,
and the night before, Paul wandered down to the sea-shore, thinking
of the bliss in store for him on the morrow. His love-lit eyes fell
dreamily on his boat, which had lain for months in the shallow cove
where he had moored her, and without thinking what he was doing, he
stepped inside and took the oars in his hands. Alas! No sooner did he
feel the boat moving under him, than he was seized by the old wild
longing to sail towards the west.
All happened as before, until he reached the Princess's palace; but now,
instead of smiling sweetly, she received him with threatening looks
which showed an array of cruel teeth behind her rose-red lips.
'So! you have been unfaithful to me!' she cried. 'I will not slay you,
since I have greater punishments in store than death.... You shall stay
in the depths of the sea until your yellow hair is bleached and white,
and your face a mask of hideous wrinkles. Then, and then only, shall you
return to land, and those who have loved you best shall spurn you from
them as something loathsome. Scorn for scorn, and pain for pain. Thus
will I take my revenge.'
So for seven long years Paul was a prisoner in the darkness of the deep,
his bed the black and slimy ooze, and his companions fearsome monsters
who would fain have devoured him. At last, when his hair was white
as snow, and his face so wrinkled and ugly that the children of the
mer-folk shuddered as they passed, he was seized by a sprawling octopus,
and dragged up through the water. The loathsome creature held him fast
until they reached a spot not far from the little brown cottage where
Lucile had lived with her old father, and here it loosened its coils;
and a great wave cast Paul on shore. The cottage was empty and deserted,
and the winding path he had trodden so often was covered with moss.
Close by, however, was another cottage, far more spacious, and through
the open door of this Paul saw his old sweetheart sitting beside a
cradle. She sang as she rocked it gently with her foot, and her shining
needles flew in and out of a fisherman's coarse blue sock.
As the shadow fell across the threshold she looked up brightly,
expecting to see her husband. Meeting Paul's gaze instead, her own
grew strained with horror, and snatching her baby from the cradle she
fled to the inner room. Without a word Paul hastened away. He knew his
doom, and hastened to throw himself back to the sea.
In his headlong flight he stumbled against an old, old woman, gathering
drift-wood on the wreck-strewn coast. She would have fallen if he had
not caught her in his arms, and as he held her she saw his eyes. They
alone were unchanged, and his mother knew them.
'My boy--my dear boy!' she cried with a sob of joy. And she drew his
seared face down to her bosom, murmuring over it the same fond words she
had used when he was a child. She kissed him, and the spell was broken;
once more he was good to look upon.... The Princess had not known, you
see, that a mother's love is immortal."
* * * * *
Father was still asleep when the story came to an end, so I implored the
Fairy to tell me another.
"This comes from Provence, too," she said in answer to my pleading, "and
will show you that sea-folk can sometimes be merciful."
[Illustration]
The Sailor and the Porpoise.
"Among the crew of the good ship _L'Oiseau_, was a sailor named Antoine,
who kept all on board alive with his merry wit. One day, while sailing
the waters of the Mediterranean, the sea only faintly ruffled by the
breeze that helped them on their way, they espied what at first appeared
to be a huge sea-serpent making its way towards them. For a few moments
the mariners watched it in much alarm; then, to their immense relief,
they found that their 'sea-serpent' was a string of harmless porpoises,
swimming in a row, with their shining black backs just appearing above
the surface of the water. As they neared the ship they broke their
ranks, and evidently regarding the sailors as their friends, gambolled
upon the waves like boisterous children. No man dreamt of interfering
with them until Antoine thoughtlessly picked up a rusty spear and threw
it at one of those farthest away. He did not do this from any desire to
kill, but only to show how excellent was his aim, and when he saw his
shaft strike home, tinging the sea with red as his victim sank with a
convulsive shudder, he was seized with self-reproach and a nameless
dread.
And behold! a great storm shook the sea, as if the gods themselves were
angry. Thunder and lightning rolled and flashed, and raindrops heavy as
leaden balls fell in swift torrents. So fearful was the tempest that it
threatened to overwhelm the ship, and the Captain was in despair.
In this dire extremity a knight on a magnificent black charger came
riding over the waves.
'Surrender him who threw the spear!' he cried, and the sea stayed its
turmoil to listen. 'Do this, and I will save the ship. Else shall it
perish, with all on board, and sea creatures shall gnaw your bones.'
The sailors were exceedingly afraid, but they would not betray their
comrade. Seeing this, Antoine stepped forth of his own accord, for he
would not let his shipmates suffer for his fault. Leaping from the deck,
he landed upon the haunches of the charger, behind the knight, and that
moment the sea became smooth as glass, and the strange steed disappeared
with his two riders.
The ship made good way, and his shipmates never expected to see poor
Antoine again, but to the amazement and joy of all, he rejoined
the vessel a few days later as though it had stood by for him. The
excitement of the men was great as they gathered round him to hear of
his adventures.
And truly he had a marvellous story to relate. He had ridden, he told
them, to a distant island, where in a castle of shimmering gold, on a
bed of the softest eiderdown, he found a knight stretched in agony. It
was he whom he had wounded, while in the form of a porpoise, and the
spear he had thrown so thoughtlessly was still sticking in his side.
He drew this out, with tears of shame, and then, with his guilty right
hand, he cleansed and bathed the wound. When this was done, the knight
fell into a deep sleep, and woke at dawn well as ever. Taking Antoine's
hand, he led him through many corridors lit with gems to a resplendent
banquet hall, where the walls were encrusted with star-shaped sapphires,
and the floor was of beaten gold. Many other knights were assembled
here, and maidens so fair that Antoine sighed to think of them. When he
had feasted on curious dishes of rich fruits, the same knight who had
brought him thither took him back to the sea-shore, where the same black
horse awaited their coming. Mounting as before, the charger sped like
the wind over the sea until the ship hove in sight. When they came to
within one hundred yards of the vessel, the black steed and his rider
disappeared as mysteriously as they had come, and Antoine was left
struggling in the water. However, he was an excellent swimmer, and soon
reached the ship's side, up which he easily clambered by the aid of a
rope which fortunately happened to be trailing in the water.
This was the tale that Antoine told his shipmates, and in memory of the
clemency of the porpoise-knight, the sailors vowed that never again
would they injure a porpoise. Not only were they as good as their word,
but the vow is kept to this day by their children's children."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]