Once upon a time, the fairies that live up near the mountain tops got
together, and one said to another:
“Let us go travelling.”
“We’ll go as far as Geneva,” said another.
“Agreed,” they all shouted in chorus. “It will be like going from the
North Pole to the Spice Islands. We can see all sorts of landscapes and
go through many climates, before we get to Geneva. So let us all begin
our journey today!”
It was not at all strange, that they should all start off at once. The
fairies had no laundry to get home in time, nor new clothes to have
made and fitted, nor trunks to pack, nor expressmen to bother with.
There were no tickets to be bought, or reserved seats in the cars to
look after, or handbags to carry, or telegrams to send, or letters to
write. Neither did they fume or fret, because the taxicab man did not
arrive on the split second. They had no watches to wind up, or to look
at, lest they might miss the train, nor hunting cases to snap, nor
sandwiches to carry, in case there were no buffet or dining cars. No!
Happily for them, all they had to do was to jump on their ice-chairs at
once, and be off.
Now let us ask what was their palace car, in which they were to
journey, from the top of Mont Blanc to the Rhone river, and over Lake
Leman and thence by ship to Geneva the Beautiful?
It was nothing less than a glacier, twenty miles long and two miles
wide. This car, made of white snow and ice crystal, moves, as everybody
knows, steadily along, and down, from mountain top to the valley. It
does not fly as fast indeed as the Empire State lightning express. Yet
it starts on time, and is sure to arrive at its terminal. It takes only
about a thousand years, from the mountain’s tip top to the down below,
or from snow flake to Rhone river.
When motion was begun, by the fairies in the air, several hundred of
them caught, each, a snow flake at the summit, and rode on it from the
clouds to the ground, until enough had fallen from the sky to make up
the party, which sat, all together, on a snow bank, for awhile, till
the train was all ready. Then the slide downhill began.
Every day the sun would tickle the ice mass and melt it, so it had to
move on. Then, for the fairies, it was like coasting on a bob sled, and
they were as merry as if they were on a toboggan. So they mightily
enjoyed the fun. The fairies did not have to sit on a narrow line, or
hold on tight, lest they might fall off, bump against a post, or hit a
tree, or a rock.
On the contrary, it was more like going on board a big ship, or
promenading on the deck of an ocean liner. They played ball, and
hockey, and shuffle board, and danced and waltzed, and had guessing and
finger games, and leap frog for exercise. They sat in the cabins, which
were crystal ice caverns. They played hide and seek in the crevices,
and blindman’s buff among the ice ridges. They leaped merrily over the
hammocks, and they bathed and swam in the ponds of water, which the sun
melted every day toward noon. In the baths, which lasted several hours,
they sported around like a lot of mermaids.
In this way, they so amused themselves, that they forgot or did not
care to remember the passing months, or years, or centuries. They were
travelling for fun, and had no business or social engagements to attend
to, or guide books, to tell where they were going. So they were in no
hurry, for the glacier only moved at the rate of half an inch an hour,
or a few miles in a century. What cared they for rapid transit? There
were no strikes or delay, no subway or tunnel rules, no hustler to make
you “step lively,” and shut the car door on you, or tell you to “let
’em out,” or “watch your steps.” No policeman on foot, or motorcycle,
to overtake and arrest you for speeding! It was all pure fun.
The fairies had a watcher, who sat on an ice pinnacle, like a man in
the foretop of an ocean steamer. He it was, who announced anything new
in the weather, or the country, or landscape through which they passed.
Then, also, a lecturer came aboard, every ten or twenty years, to
explain the history and point out the wonderful things along the route,
or what had happened, at this or that place.
These wise prompters were also expected to tell what famous trees or
flowers lived, along the route, and in the various climates. Without a
telescope, they could see little moving specks, looking like flies, or
fleas, high up on the eternal snows. These were human beings, who had
either, like wild flowers, escaped cultivation; or, perhaps, had fled
from prison, or lunatic asylums, and were bound to get up to the
mountain tops, as if their keepers were after them with guns.
Occasionally an electric railroad, with snorting locomotive, on a track
and pinion system of cog-wheels, with central rail, carried the
passengers, fat or thin, who could not climb, or who were sane, or, it
might be, lazy.
Occasionally, in rambling through the ice halls, the fairies could
discern, embedded in the crystal walls, black spots. Asking whether
these were flies in amber, such as they had heard of, they were told
that these specks were mortals, men and women, mountain climbers, who
had fallen down precipices, or upon the ice, or slipped into crevices.
Having ended their lives thus, they were kept in the crystal for years,
until their bodies were shot out on the moraines, or washed down the
rivers. Sometimes the fairies found bits of rope and alpenstocks. They
even learned to tell the difference between blondes and brunettes.
Often some of the fairies wondered how it would feel to be born as a
baby, and drink milk, and eat candy, and first crawl over the floor,
and then walk and grow up to be a man or a woman. They could only guess
vaguely what it was to die. For that is the curious thing about
fairies, they cannot die, because they were never born. They do not
have to grow like human babies, or big elephants, or little kangaroos,
or be hatched out of eggs, like chickens, or wriggle in the ponds, or
swim in the water like frogs, or fishes, or whales, or porpoises. Once
in a while, some fairy thought she would like to try it, just once, to
live and die, just to see how it felt, but the other fairies, who did
not admire her taste, only laughed at her.
As a rule, these passengers on the glacier did not pay close attention
to such matters. They were not much interested in mortals, but more in
themselves, for they considered boys and girls, and men and women, to
be very inferior creatures. They gave more attention to what they saw,
as they traveled through the country, changing climate every few
thousand feet and every century or so.
At first, all was snow, ice and rocks, with no birds, shrubs, or trees,
or flowers, and not even moss. Indeed, some of them grumbled and
declared they would not have left home, if they thought they were to
see nothing more than mere human beings. But very soon, that is, after
a few years, ten or twenty, perhaps, their ice chariot or train had
carried them past this old scenery.
Now they began to see mosses and lichens, and occasionally a condor, or
Alpine eagle, on a crag, eating his dinner—perhaps a young lamb, or a
rabbit, or a marmot, or a chamois kid, or something from a cow’s
carcass, which the big bird of prey had stolen from some butcher’s
slaughter house. This was the first sign of that uncanny thing they
called life; which, inside of mortals and other animals, makes them
move about.
It was a stunning novelty, when the conductor called out the name of a
new station:
“Flowers!”
Then they saw, overhanging the rocks, or near the edges of the
precipices, or in the crevices and crannies of the cliffs, what they
called flowers. Yet to us folks, who live in the house and nursery,
these plants, so bundled up in white, hardly seemed to be flowers. They
rather looked like babies, ready to be taken out to ride, for they were
well swaddled in what appeared to be fur or flannel. In fact, their
flowers, so called, were so woolly, and cushiony, and flat, and low,
and they kept holding on so hard, as if for dear life, in the biting
cold wind, that they looked bleak and ghostly. Some of these Alpine
flowers were as downy as a duckling, and as hairy as a poodle. But this
was to keep the plants warm. For life is warm. Death is cold.
Even more wonderful, to most of these fairies, that had lived so long
up among the highest mountain tops, and had never been lower down than
eight thousand feet or so, was another lovely sight—that of green
meadows, spangled with blooms. It was that of the summer pastures.
Now they began to hear the tinkling of bells and saw many cows. They
laughed uproariously, as they saw that the billy goats waved their chin
beards, up and down, and stood on their hind legs. On the roofs of the
shepherds’ chalets, they noticed the big stones. These were laid in
rows, to keep down the strips of bark or shingles, when the tempests
roared. While they were wondering how funny it must feel, to be a boy
or a girl, and live in a skin, with clothes on, they heard the Alpine
horn. While listening to its sweet echoes, some of the fairies actually
began to think that perhaps, after all, mortals might have a good time,
and, possibly, as much enjoyment as fairies do, and always have had.
Most of them, however, scouted the very idea.
A real epidemic of rapture broke out and went through the fairies, like
measles among children, when they looked upon still greener meadows
rich in grass, which were spangled with flowers and these of the
loveliest hues, deep red, scarlet, crimson, pink, violet, blue and
yellow. They saw the Alpine Poa, which the cows love so dearly.
When the lecturer described its kangaroo-like mothers and babies of
this family of plants, the fairies laughed, so loud and merrily, that
some of the shepherds thought that a swift horse, with a strap of
silver sleigh bells, around its neck, was galloping over the ice.
Perhaps the greatest surprise of all was the sight of trees, which
those fairies who had never traveled, had not seen before. In one
country, that is, on one level, they found only pines and firs, which
rocked in the wind.
Several of the fairies jumped off the train, to pick up a handful of
pine needles from the ground, and to play cradle-swinging in the tree
branches. They were not afraid of being left behind, by the train
rushing past them; for, after playing two or three years under the
trees, these passengers jumped on again, and showed handfuls of the
curious things that had fallen off the trees, and covered the ground
like a brown carpet. Then there were many exclamations of wonder among
those that had kept on the train.
Lower down, in another climate, or country, or level, they found
forests of oak, birch, and maple. Yet they could not get any sweets out
of this Swiss tree, for these fairies did not live in America, where
the sugar maple grows.
Every once in a while, the fairy that was the conductor would get out
and consult the thermometer. Then, with an air of great wisdom, like an
owl, or grand daddy, it was announced that tomorrow—that is, a year, or
two, from that date—they would come into a new climate, and to such and
such a level, or place, so many feet above sea. Then they would see
this and that sort of thing, such as houses, church spires, cheese
factories, etc.
At last, having used up their old calendar, through centuries, and into
and out of many climates, they found that their palace car train had
itself greatly changed within. In one place, where the mountain sides
came close together, the road narrowed. Then the rate of movement
slackened, so that the ice forming the train was all squeezed up high,
and curled, and twisted up, like tooth-paste pressed out of a tube. The
glacier was cracked and fissured in every direction.
Some of the fairies had feared, lest their train should run off the
track, and bump into a hill, and a wreck follow; but the conductor
assured them all was perfectly safe, and that no accidents ever
happened on that line. One fairy tried to quote Latin, having once
heard a parson say it, in his sermon. In attempting to say Deo Volente,
she got it Dic Volente. So the knowing ones nicknamed this member of
their family “Dick,” and one, who was very irreverent, called her
“Slippery Dick.” She did not like a boy’s name, but she could not help
herself.
Dick warned them that they were near the end of the first part of their
journey and that the train would stop, when at the level of five
thousand feet. Then the temperature would be so high, that they must
all be prepared to jump overboard and swim.
At this bit of news, all the family laughed. They said they were glad,
for already the palace cars had got so wet with the thaw, inside, that
the ceiling dripped on them continually, the seats were slippery, and
fast melting away, while as for the floor, it was only a puddle, most
of the time. It was a case of watering stock. After all, however, the
fairies did not mind it much, and they were only in fun, when they
pretended to grumble.
At last, the train, after having made a quick passage of a thousand
years, or thereabouts, arrived at its terminal. Then it gradually
melted away, becoming a noisy and very muddy river. One after another,
the fairies turned themselves into water, and slid out into the stream,
rolling about until they reached the beautiful Lake Leman, at the end
of which was Geneva. Here they expected to pay a brief visit, of four
or five hundred years, before returning home to the mountain tops.
When they arrived at the entrance of the lake, and were well into the
deep water, the fairies found waiting for them one of the prettiest
craft that ever floated. It was a galley, of strange shape, with a high
deck at the bow and the stern. There was plenty of room in the middle
for the fairies to play and dance. With their pretty butterfly wings,
and lovely gauzy robes, of every tint and hue, they looked so sweet!
On the prow of the ship stood their Queen, who ruled over the lowlands
and lake waters, and was captain of this fairy vessel. The smallest of
the fairies were continually flitting round the queen, dropping flowers
and fruits, and filling the air with perfumes. The vessel had sails of
the shape called lateen, or leg-of-mutton. These were made of
embroidered silk and cloth of gold. For even more rapid movement,
several snow white swans, swift of feet and bright of eye, were
harnessed, with silver chains, to the front part, called the cut-water.
These drew the ship along gracefully, all the time singing in chorus
the sweetest songs imaginable. Accompanying this music was a large
golden harp, set in front of the mast, and this, whispered to by the
winds, made, with the swans’ songs, the most delicious melody all day
long.
Some of the fairies remembered the echo music of the Alpine horn, sent
back by the lofty mountain peaks; which, however, lasted but a few
seconds. Yet this lake melody continued from sunrise to sunset.
Whenever the Fairy Ship touched the shore, the ground, no matter how
hard and stony it had been, at once became soft with soil. Then,
grasses, and flowers, grain farms and orchards, and trees rich in
luscious fruits, sprang up. Every boy and girl, always on the lookout,
and adults, who were so fortunate as to catch a glimpse of the Fairy
Ship, would make a wish in their hearts, which was sure to be
gratified. They got what they wanted, though often in fairy time, that
is, years afterwards.
For years and years, the Fairy Ship plied up and down the lovely blue
lake, stopping here and there. A moonlight night was the best time for
catching a glimpse of it. Many old folks, still living, like to tell
about the craft of good fortune, and also what they then wished for,
when they were so happy as to see it coming, or sailing past them.
But bye and bye, when the black smoke of steamboats poisoned the air,
and set the fairies sneezing and coughing, and roughened the throats of
the swans, so that they could not sing any more, the Fairy Queen gave
up her pleasure trips on the lake and ordered the snow fairies back to
their mountains.
But, first, the mountain fairies had their visit to Geneva, where they
saw the pretty shops and streets, and there these fairies still live,
in the hearts of the children. Although nobody ever sees them nowadays,
the old folks love to talk about them, and tell of the lovely times
they had when children.
It is certain that the fairies left their blessing behind them, for to
this day, on the great Genevan holiday, in the confectionery shops, on
birthday greetings, and on Christmas and New Year’s cards, you may see
a picture of the Fairy Ship, with its brightly colored lateen sails,
inscribed with “Good Luck,” or “Happy New Year,” or “Many Joyful
Returns of the Day.” Sometimes, they who receive these cards feel as
happy as if they had seen the Fairy Ship.