till he was left alone with his masterpiece. The excitement of the day
had made him anxious for repose. He was thinking of leaving the place,
when suddenly he fell asleep, and dreamed that he was standing behind
the sheet of water in his native country, and lingering, as of old, to
watch the rays of the setting sun as they melted away from its surface.
He thought, too, that his beautiful lily was in his hand, and that while
he looked at it the leaves withered and fell at his feet. Then followed
a confused recollection of his conversation with the fairy; and after
that his thoughts became clearer, and, though still asleep, he
remembered where he was, and in what place he was sitting. His
impressions became more vivid. He dreamed that something lightly touched
his hand. He looked up, and his fairy benefactress was at his side,
standing on the arm of his chair.
"'O wonderful enchantress!' said the dreaming painter, 'do not vanish
before I have had time to thank you for your magic gift. I have nothing
to offer you but my gratitude in return; for the diamonds of this world
are too heavy for such an ethereal being, and the gold of this world is
useless to you who have no wants that it can supply. The fame I have
acquired I cannot impart to you, for few of my race believe in the
existence of yours. What, then, can I do? I can only thank you for your
goodness. But tell me at least your name, if you have a name, that I may
cut it on a ring, and wear it always on my finger.'
"'My name,' replied the fairy, 'is Perseverance.'"
"Well!" said the children, looking at each other, "she has cheated us
after all!"
A LOST WAND
More than a hundred years ago, at the foot of a wild mountain in Norway,
stood an old castle, which even at the time I write of was so much out
of repair as in some parts to be scarcely habitable.
In a hall of this castle a party of children met once on Twelfth-night
to play at Christmas games and dance with little Hulda, the only child
of the lord and lady.
The winters in Norway are very cold, and the snow and ice lie for months
on the ground; but the night on which these merry children met it froze
with more than ordinary severity, and a keen wind shook the trees
without, and roared in the wide chimneys like thunder.
Little Hulda's mother, as the evening wore on, kept calling on the
servants to heap on fresh logs of wood, and these, when the long flames
crept around them, sent up showers of sparks that lit up the brown
walls, ornamented with the horns of deer and goats, and made it look as
cheerful and gay as the faces of the children. Hulda's grandmother had
sent her a great cake, and when the children had played enough at all
the games they could think of, the old gray-headed servants brought it
in and set it on the table, together with a great many other nice things
such as people eat in Norway--pasties made of reindeer meat, and castles
of the sweet pastry sparkling with sugar ornaments of ships and flowers
and crowns, and cranberry pies, and whipped cream as white as the snow
outside; but nothing was admired so much as the great cake, and when the
children saw it they set up a shout which woke the two hounds who were
sleeping on the hearths, and they began to bark, which roused all the
four dogs in the kennels outside who had not been invited to see either
the cake or the games, and they barked, too, shaking and shivering with
cold, and then a great lump of snow slid down from the roof, and fell
with a dull sound like distant thunder on the pavement of the yard.
"Hurrah!" cried the children, "the dogs and the snow are helping us to
shout in honor of the cake."
All this time more and more nice things were coming in--fritters,
roasted grouse, frosted apples, and buttered crabs. As the old servants
came shivering along the passages, they said, "It is a good thing that
children are not late with their suppers; if the confects had been kept
long in the larder they would have frozen on the dishes."
Nobody wished to wait at all; so, as soon as the supper was ready, they
all sat down, more wood was heaped on to the fire, and when the moon
shone in at the deep casements, and glittered on the dropping snowflakes
outside, it only served to make the children more merry over their
supper to think how bright and warm everything was inside.
This cake was a real treasure, such as in the days of the fairies, who
still lived in certain parts of Norway, was known to be of the kind they
loved. A piece of it was always cut and laid outside in the snow, in
case they should wish to taste it. Hulda's grandmother had also dropped
a ring into this cake before it was put into the oven, and it is well
known that whoever gets such a ring in his or her slice of cake has only
to wish for something directly, and the fairies are bound to give it,
_if they possibly can_. There have been cases known when the fairies
could not give it, and then, of course, they were not to blame.
On this occasion the children said: "Let us all be ready with our
wishes, because sometimes people have been known to lose them from being
so long making up their minds when the ring has come to them."
"Yes," cried the eldest boy. "It does not seem fair that only one should
wish. I am the eldest. I begin. I shall wish that Twelfth-night would
come twice a year."
"They cannot give you that, I am sure," said Friedrich, his brother, who
sat by him.
"Then," said the boy, "I wish father may take me with him the next time
he goes out bear-shooting."
"I wish for a white kitten with blue eyes," said a little girl whose
name was Therese.
"I shall wish to find an amber necklace that does not belong to any
one," said another little girl.
"I wish to be a king," said a boy whose name was Karl. "No, I think I
shall wish to be the burgomaster, that I may go on board the ships in
the harbor, and make their captains show me what is in them. I shall see
how the sailors make their sails go up."
"I shall wish to marry Hulda," said another boy; "when I am a man I
mean. And besides that, I wish I may find a black puppy in my room at
home, for I love dogs."
"But that is not fair," said the other children. "You must only wish for
one thing, as we did."
"But I really wish for both," said the boy.
"If you wish for both perhaps you will get neither," said little Hulda.
"Well, then," answered the boy, "I wish for the puppy."
And so they all went on wishing till at last it came to Hulda's turn.
"What do you wish for, my child?" said her mother.
"Not for anything at all," she answered, shaking her head.
"Oh, but you must wish for something!" cried all the children.
"Yes," said her mother, "and I am now going to cut the cake. See, Hulda,
the knife is going into it. Think of something."
"Well, then," answered the little girl, "I cannot think of anything
else, so I shall wish that you may all have your wishes."
Upon this the knife went crunching down into the cake, the children gave
three cheers, and the white waxen tulip bud at the top came tumbling on
the table, and while they were all looking it opened its leaves, and out
of the middle of it stepped a beautiful little fairy woman, no taller
than your finger. She had a white robe on, a little crown on her long
yellow hair; there were two wings on her shoulders, just like the downy
brown wings of a butterfly, and in her hand she had a little sceptre
sparkling with precious stones.
"Only one wish," she said, jumping down on to the table, and speaking
with the smallest little voice you ever heard. "Your fathers and mothers
were always contented if we gave them one wish every year."
As she spoke, Hulda's mother gave a slice of cake to each child, and,
when Hulda took hers, out dropped the ring, and fell clattering on her
platter.
"Only one wish," repeated the fairy. And the children were all so much
astonished (for even in those days fairies were but rarely seen) that
none of them spoke a word, not even in a whisper. "Only one wish. Speak,
then, little Hulda, for I am one of that race which delights to give
pleasure and to do good. Is there really nothing that you wish, for you
shall certainly have it if there is?"
"There was nothing, dear fairy, before I saw you," answered the little
girl, in a hesitating tone.
"But now there is?" asked the fairy. "Tell it me, then, and you shall
have it."
"I wish for that pretty little sceptre of yours," said Hulda, pointing
to the fairy's wand.
The moment Hulda said this the fairy shuddered and became pale, her
brilliant colors faded, and she looked to the children's eyes like a
thin white mist standing still in her place. The sceptre, on the
contrary, became brighter than ever, and the precious stones glowed like
burning coals.
"Dear child," she sighed, in a faint, mournful voice, "I had better have
left you with the gift of your satisfied, contented heart, than thus
have urged you to form a wish to my destruction. Alas! alas! my power
and my happiness fade from me, and are as if they had never been. My
wand must now go to you, who can make no use of it, and I must flutter
about forlornly and alone in the cold world, with no more ability to do
good, and waste away my time--a helpless and defenceless thing."
"Oh, no, no!" replied little Hulda. "Do not speak so mournfully, dear
fairy. I did not wish at first to ask for it. I will not take the wand
if it is of value to you, and I should be grieved to have it against
your will."
"Child," said the fairy, "you do not know our nature. I have said
whatever you wished should be yours. I cannot alter this decree; it
_must_ be so. Take my wand; and I entreat you to guard it carefully, and
never to give it away lest it should get into the hands of my enemy; for
if once it should, I shall become his miserable little slave. Keep my
wand with care; it is of no use to you, but in the course of years it is
possible I may be able to regain it, and on Midsummer night I shall for
a few hours return to my present shape, and be able for a short time to
talk with you again."
"Dear fairy," said little Hulda, weeping, and putting out her hand for
the wand, which the fairy held to her, "is there nothing else that I can
do for you?"
"Nothing, nothing," said the fairy, who had now become so transparent
and dim that they could scarcely see her; only the wings on her
shoulders remained, and their bright colors had changed to a dusky
brown. "I have long contended with my bitter enemy, the chief of the
tribe of the gnomes--the ill-natured, spiteful gnomes. Their desire is
as much to do harm to mortals as it is mine to do them good. If now he
should find me I shall be at his mercy. It was decreed long ages ago
that I should one day lose my wand, and it depends in some degree upon
you, little Hulda, whether I shall ever receive it again. Farewell."
And now nothing was visible but the wings; the fairy had changed into a
moth, with large brown wings freckled with dark eyes, and it stood
trembling upon the table, till at length, when the children had watched
it some time, it fluttered toward the window and beat against the panes,
as if it wished to be released, so they opened the casement and let it
out in the wind and cold.
Poor little thing! They were very sorry for it; but after a while they
nearly forgot it, for they were but children. Little Hulda only
remembered it, and she carefully enclosed the beautiful sceptre in a
small box. But Midsummer day passed by, and several other Midsummer
days, and still Hulda saw nothing and heard nothing of the fairy. She
then began to fear that she must be dead, and it was a long time since
she had looked at the wand, when one day in the middle of the Norway
summer, as she was playing on one of the deep bay windows of the castle,
she saw a pedlar with a pack on his back coming slowly up the avenue of
pine-trees, and singing a merry song.
"Can I speak to the lady of this castle?" he said to Hulda, making at
the same time a very low bow.
Hulda did not much like him, he had such restless black eyes and such a
cunning smile. His face showed that he was a foreigner; it was as brown
as a nut. His dress also was very strange; he wore a red turban, and had
large earrings in his ears, and silver chains wound round and round his
ankles.
Hulda replied that her mother was gone to the fair at Christiana, and
would not be back for several days.
"Can I then speak with the lord of the castle?" asked the pedlar.
"My father is gone out to fish in the fiord," replied little Hulda; "he
will not return for some time, and the maids and the men are all gone to
make hay in the fields; there is no one left at home but me and my old
nurse."
The pedlar was very much delighted to hear this. However, he pretended
to be disappointed.
"It is very unfortunate," he said, "that your honored parents are not at
home, for I have got some things here of such wonderful beauty that
nothing could have given them so much pleasure as to have feasted their
eyes with the sight of them--rings, bracelets, lockets, pictures--in
short, there is nothing beautiful that I have not got in my pack, and if
your parents could have seen them they would have given all the money
they had in the world rather than not have bought some of them."
"Good pedlar," said little Hulda, "could you not be so very kind as just
to let me have a sight of them?"
The pedlar at first pretended to be unwilling, but after he had looked
all across the wide heath and seen that there was no one coming, and
that the hounds by the doorway were fast asleep in the sun, and the very
pigeons on the roof had all got their heads under their wings, he
ventured to step across the threshold into the bay window, and begin to
open his pack and display all his fine things, taking care to set them
out in the sunshine, which, made them glitter like glowworms.
Little Hulda had never seen anything half so splendid before. There were
little glasses set round with diamonds, and hung with small tinkling
bells which made delightful music whenever they were shaken; ropes of
pearls which had a more fragrant scent than bean-fields or hyacinths;
rings, the precious stones of which changed color as you frowned or
smiled upon them; silver boxes that could play tunes; pictures of
beautiful ladies and gentlemen, set with emeralds, with devices in coral
at the back; little golden snakes, with brilliant eyes that would move
about; and so many other rare and splendid jewels that Hulda was quite
dazzled, and stood looking at them with blushing cheeks and a beating
heart, so much she wished that she might have one of them.
"Well, young lady," said the cunning pedlar, "how do you find these
jewels? Did I boast too much of their beauty?"
"Oh, no!" said Hulda, "I did not think there had been anything so
beautiful in the world. I did not think even our queen had such fine
jewels as these. Thank you, pedlar, for the sight of them."
"Will you buy something, then, of a poor man?" answered the pedlar.
"I've travelled a great distance, and not sold anything this many a
day."
"I should be very glad to buy," said little Hulda, "but I have scarcely
any money; not half the price of one of these jewels, I am sure."
Now there was lying on the table an ancient signet-ring set with a large
opal.
"Maybe the young lady would not mind parting with this?" said he, taking
it up. "I could give her a new one for it of the latest fashion."
"Oh, no, thank you!" cried Hulda, hastily, "I must not do so. This ring
is my mother's, and was left her by my grandmother."
The pedlar looked disappointed. However, he put the ring down, and said,
"But if my young lady has no money, perhaps she has some old trinkets or
toys that she would not mind parting with--a coral and bells, or a
silver mug, or a necklace, or, in short, anything that she keeps put
away, and that is of no use to her?"
"No," said the little girl, "I don't think I have got anything of the
kind. Oh, yes! to be sure, I have got somewhere up-stairs a little gold
wand, which I was told not to give away; but I'm afraid she who gave it
me must have been dead a long while, and it is of no use keeping it any
longer."
Now this pedlar was the fairy's enemy. He had long suspected that the
wand must be concealed somewhere in that region, and near the sea, and
he had disguised himself, and gone out wandering among the farmhouses
and huts and castles to try if he could hear some tidings of it, and get
it if possible into his power. The moment he heard Hulda mention her
gold wand, he became excessively anxious to see it. He was a gnome, and
when his malicious eyes gleamed with delight they shot out a burning
ray, which scorched the hound who was lying asleep close at hand, and he
sprang up and barked at him.
"Peace, peace, Rhan!" cried little Hulda; "lie down, you unmannerly
hound!" The dog shrank back again growling, and the pedlar said in a
careless tone to Hulda:
"Well, lady, I have no objection just to look at the little gold wand,
and see if it is worth anything."
"But I am not sure that I could part with it," said Hulda.
"Very well," replied the pedlar, "as you please; but I may as well look
at it. I should hope these beautiful things need not go begging." As he
spoke he began carefully to lock up some of the jewels in their little
boxes, as if he meant to go away.
"Oh, don't go," cried Hulda. "I am going up-stairs to fetch my wand. I
shall not be long; pray wait for me."
[Illustration: "'OH, DON'T GO,' CRIED HULDA. 'I AM GOING UP-STAIRS TO
FETCH MY WAND.'"]
Nothing was further from the pedlar's thought than to go away, and while
little Hulda was running up to look for the wand he panted so hard for
fear that after all he might not be able to get it that he woke the
other hound, who came up to him, and smelt his leg.
"What sort of a creature is this?" said the old hound to his companion,
speaking, of course, in the dogs' language.
"I'm sure I can't say," answered the other. "I wonder what he is made
of,--he smells of mushrooms! quite earthy, I declare! as if he had lived
underground all his life."
"Let us stand one on each side of him, and watch that he doesn't steal
anything."
So the two dogs stood staring at him; but the pedlar was too cunning for
them. He looked out of the window, and said, "I think I see the master
coming," upon which they both turned to look across the heath, and the
pedlar snatched up the opal ring, and hid it in his vest. When they
turned around he was folding up his trinkets again as calmly as
possible. "One cannot be too careful to count one's goods," he said,
gravely. "Honest people often get cheated in houses like these, and
honest as these two dogs look, I know where one of them hid that
leg-of-mutton bone that he stole yesterday!" Upon hearing this the dogs
sneaked under the table ashamed of themselves. "I would not have it on
my conscience that I robbed my master for the best bone in the world,"
continued the pedlar, and as he said this he took up a little silver
horn belonging to the lord of the castle, and, having tapped it with his
knuckle to see whether the metal was pure, folded it up in cotton, and
put it in his pack with the rest of his curiosities.
Presently Hulda came down with a little box in her hand, out of which
she took the fairy's wand.
The pedlar was so transported at the sight of it that he could scarcely
conceal his joy; but he knew that unless he could get it by fair means
it would be of no use to him.
"How dim it looks!" said little Hulda; "the stones used to be so very
bright when first I had it."
"Ah! that is a sign that the person who gave it you is dead," said the
deceitful pedlar.
"I am sorry to hear she is dead," said Hulda, with a sigh. "Well, then,
pedlar, as that is the case, I will part with the wand if you can give
me one of your fine bracelets instead of it."
The pedlar's hand trembled with anxiety as he held it out for the wand,
but the moment he had got possession of it all his politeness vanished.
"There," he said, "you have got a very handsome bracelet in your hand.
It is worth a great deal more than the wand. You may keep it. I have no
time to waste; I must be gone." So saying, he hastily snatched up the
rest of his jewels, thrust them into his pack, and slung it over his
shoulder, leaving Hulda looking after him with the bracelet in her hand.
She saw him walk rapidly along the heath till he came to a gravel-pit,
very deep, and with overhanging sides. He swung himself over by the
branches of the trees.
"What can he be going to do there?" she said to herself. "But I will run
after him, for I don't like this bracelet half so well as some of the
others."
So Hulda ran till she came to the edge of the gravel-pit, but was so
much surprised that she could not say a word. There were the great
footmarks made by the pedlar down the steep sides of the pit; and at the
bottom she saw him sitting in the mud, digging a hole with his hands.
"Hi!" he said, putting his head down. "Some of you come up. I've got the
wand at last. Come and help me down with my pack."
"I'm coming," answered a voice, speaking under the ground; and presently
up came a head, all covered with earth, through the hole the pedlar had
made. It was shaggy with hair, and had two little bright eyes, like
those of a mole. Hulda thought she had never seen such a curious little
man. He was dressed in brown clothes, and had a red-peaked cap on his
head; and he and the pedlar soon laid the pack at the bottom of the
hole, and began to stamp upon it, dancing and singing with great
vehemence. As they went on the pack sank lower and lower, till at last,
as they still stood upon it, Hulda could see only their heads and
shoulders. In a little time longer she could only see the top of the red
cap; and then the two little men disappeared altogether, and the ground
closed over them, and the white nettles and marsh marigolds waved their
heads over the place as if nothing had happened.
Hulda walked away sadly and slowly. She looked at the beautiful
bracelet, and wished she had not parted with the wand for it, for she
now began to fear that the pedlar had deceived her. Nevertheless, who
would not be delighted to have such a fine jewel? It consisted of a gold
hoop, set with turquoise, and on the clasp was a beautiful bird, with
open wings, all made of gold, and which quivered as Hulda carried it.
Hulda looked at its bright eyes--ruby eyes, which sparkled in the
sunshine--and at its crest, all powdered with pearls, and she forgot her
regret.
"My beautiful bird!" she said, "I will not hide you in a dark box, as
the pedlar did. I will wear you on my wrist, and let you see all my
toys, and you shall be carried every day into the garden, that the
flowers may see how elegant you are. But stop! I think I see a little
dust on your wings. I must rub it off." So saying, Hulda took up her
frock and began gently rubbing the bird's wings, when, to her utter
astonishment, it opened its pretty beak and sang:
"My master, oh, my master,
The brown hard-hearted gnome,
He goes down faster, faster,
To his dreary home.
Little Hulda sold her
Golden wand for me,
Though the fairy told her
That must never be--
Never--she must never
Let the treasure go.
Ah! lost forever,
Woe! woe! woe!"
The bird sang in such a sorrowful voice, and fluttered its golden wings
so mournfully, that Hulda wept.
"Alas! alas!" she said, "I have done very wrong. I have lost the wand
forever! Oh, what shall I do, dear little bird? Do tell me."
But the bird did not sing again, and it was now time to go to bed. The
old nurse came out to fetch Hulda. She had been looking all over the
castle for her, and been wondering where she could have hidden herself.
In Norway, at midsummer, the nights are so short that the sun only dips
under the hills time enough to let one or two stars peep out before he
appears again. The people, therefore, go to bed in the broad sunlight.
"Child," said the old nurse, "look how late you are--it is nearly
midnight. Come, it is full time for bed. This is Midsummer day."
"Midsummer day!" repeated Hulda. "Ah, how sorry I am! Then this is a day
when I might have seen the fairy. How very, very foolish I have been!"
Hulda laid her beautiful bracelet upon a table in her room, where she
could see it, and kissed the little bird before she got into bed. She
had been asleep a long time when a little sobbing voice suddenly awoke
her, and she sat up to listen. The house was perfectly still; her cat
was curled up at the door, fast asleep; her bird's head was under its
wing; a long sunbeam was slanting down through an opening in the green
window-curtain, and the motes danced merrily in it.
"What could that noise have been?" said little Hulda, lying down again.
She had no sooner laid her head on the pillow than she heard it again;
and, turning round quickly to look at the bracelet, she saw the little
bird fluttering its wings, and close to it, with her hands covering her
face, the beautiful, long lost fairy.
"Oh, fairy, fairy! what have I done!" said Hulda. "You will never see
your wand again. The gnome has got it, and he has carried it down under
the ground, where he will hide it from us forever."