"Where is Maria, our child?" asked the father.
"She is playing on the green," replied the mother, "with our
neighbour's son."
"Do not let them run away," said the father anxiously; "they are so
thoughtless."
The mother attended to the wants of the little ones, and gave them
their supper.
"The weather is hot, mother," said the boy; and the little maiden
longed exceedingly to have some red cherries.
"Be careful, child," said the mother; "do not run too far from the
house, or into the wood; your father and I are going into the field."
"Oh, do not be anxious on that account," was the prompt reply of
young Andrew, "for we are all afraid of the wood; we will remain here
sitting at home, where we are near to the men."
The mother went in, and soon returned with the father. They closed
their cottage, and turned towards the fields to look after the
peasants, and to see the hay-harvest in the meadows.
Their dwelling was situated on a little green eminence, fenced round
by an ornamental hedge, which enclosed a fruit and flower garden; the
town lay a little lower down; and still further there rose in the
distance the towers of the baronial castle. Martin rented a large farm
of the lord, the proprietor, and lived in a happy state of contentment
with his wife and only child, as he was enabled, year by year, to lay
by something in reserve for the future, with the prospect of becoming
one day himself a man of property; for through his toil and industry
the land was fruitful, and the Count did not oppress him with undue
exactions.
As he was walking towards the fields with his wife, he gazed joyously
around, and said, "How is it, Bridget, that the country about here is
so different from that in which we formerly lived? Here it is so green
and verdant; the whole town is beautified with thickly planted
fruit-trees; the soil teems with rich vegetation and shrubs; all the
houses are gay and cleanly--the inhabitants prosperous; indeed, it
would appear to me that the woods here are more majestic, and the sky
more blue; and as far as the eye can scan, we have pleasure in
beholding the bountiful earth."
"But," said Brigitta, "to pass over to the other side of the river is
to migrate into quite another region, every thing there wears so
gloomy and withered an aspect; but as for our own hamlet, every
traveller confesses it to be the prettiest in the whole district."
"Come, then, to the fir-plantation," answered her husband; "look back
and see how dark and dreary that spot seems in the distance, in the
midst of such a gay and animated landscape; the dusky huts behind the
dark firs; those detached buildings fallen into ruinous heaps; and
even the very stream flowing onwards so sadly and sluggishly."
"That is true," said she, as they both stood still to gaze upon the
scene. "As often as one approaches the spot, one becomes sad and
sorrowful, one knows not why."
"Who can the people really be? and why should they keep themselves at
such a distance from all the neighbourhood, avoiding any intercourse
with us, as though they were inwardly conscious of deeds of darkness?"
"They are poor folk," said the young farmer; "seemingly of a
gipsy-tribe, who rob and pilfer at a distance off, and make this spot
perhaps their head-quarters: I wonder only that the baron allows them
to remain."
"Possibly," said the woman kindly and compassionately, "they are poor
people, ashamed of their poverty; for, to speak the truth, we cannot
lay any crime, or even any trivial injury, to their charge; still it
is remarkable that they never go to church; and how they contrive to
subsist is strange enough, for their little garden, in itself a
perfect wilderness, cannot support them, and they have no
pasture-land."
"God only knows," continued Martin, as they proceeded on their
way--"God only knows what they do; this at least is certain, that they
hold no intercourse; no stranger ever comes from, or goes to them; for
the spot where they dwell is bewitched and under ban, so that the
boldest young townsmen would hardly venture into it."
This conversation continued through their walk to the fields.
That dark district of which they spoke lay beyond the town in a hollow
that was surrounded on all sides by firs; there appeared to be a hut,
and several domestic buildings fast falling to decay. Smoke was seldom
seen to curl from it, still less frequently were any human beings
visible; at times some persons, led on by curiosity to venture
somewhat nearer, had seen on the rising ground in front of the hut
frightful old women, clad in uncouth rags, dandling equally frightful
and dirty children on their laps; black dogs prowled about continually
before the stream; and in the evening a monster of a man, whom no one
knew, passed over the bridge, and disappeared into the hut; then
several figures, like dim shadows, flitted along in the darkness, and
danced round about a fire which was heaped up on the earth: this
gloomy sport, the dark firs, and the ruinous huts, formed a most
singular contrast to the gay green landscape, the clear white houses
of the town, and the splendid new castle.
The two children had eaten up all their fruit, and then began to run
races; and the little buoyant Maria outran, on each occasion, the
tardy Andrew.
"That's no proof of your skill," he cried; "come, let us try a longer
distance, and then we'll see who shall be the conqueror."
"As you please," said the little Maria; "only we must not run towards
the stream."
"No," said Andrew; "but at the summit of that hill stands a large
pear-tree, about a quarter of a mile off. I will run to the left past
the fir-plantation, and you can go to the right through the fields;
and we shall not know, till we meet, which of us is the fastest
runner."
"Good," said Maria, immediately starting off; "we shall not hinder
each other by going the same way, and our father says it is just the
same distance to the top of the hill, whether we go on this side, or
by the gipsy-huts."
Andrew had already started off, and Maria, who ran towards the right,
saw him no more.
"How very stupid he is!" said she to herself; "for if I could only
summon up courage enough to run over the bridge by the hut, and then
again out across the yard, I should certainly get there much sooner
than he will." She was already standing facing the stream and the
fir-hill. "Shall I?--No, it's too terrible." A little white dog stood
on the other side, keeping up a loud and continued bark at her. In her
fright the little animal appeared a perfect monster, and she sprang
back trembling. "Oh dear," said she, "Andrew has by this time got such
a long distance before me, while I'm stopping here to consider." The
little dog still barked on; and as she looked at it more attentively,
it no longer struck her as being so terrible, but, on the contrary,
she was quite charmed with it. It had a red collar, to which was
affixed a tiny glittering bell; and as often as it raised its head and
shook it, while barking, the tinkling noise it produced was to her
ears most musical. "Oh, I'll venture," cried little Maria; "I'll run
as fast as I can, and I shall soon be on the other side; they surely
can't eat me entirely." With this the young courageous child sprang on
the bridge, and quickly passed the little dog, who immediately ceased
his barking to fawn upon her. And now she was standing on the dread
spot; and the black firs, that were thickly grouped together, shut out
from her view the home of her fathers, and the rest of the pretty
landscape. But how amazed was she at the spectacle before her!
Around her was a most brilliant expanse of flower-garden, in which
roses, lilies, and tulips, intertwining with one another, shone in all
those gorgeous colours in which Nature loves to garb her bright
creations; blue and golden butterflies fluttered about from blossom to
blossom, glittering as the sunbeams danced upon their fairy livery;
birds, whose plumage borrowed the tints of the rainbow, and whose tiny
throats quivered again as each note swelled forth more delicious than
the last, hung on cages and on glittering perches; children in short
white garments, with golden hair hanging in luxuriant curls, and clear
blue eyes, sported about, some leading little pet-lambs, others
feeding the birds; some culled the fragrant flowers, and wove garlands
for one another; others were tasting the delicious fruits--pears,
large clusters of grapes, and red apricots: no hut was visible, but a
large handsome mansion, with gates of brass and wood of exquisite
workmanship, towered on high in the middle of this paradise. Maria was
rivetted to the spot; indeed, the beauty of the garden and the
magnificence of the mansion had taken so firm a hold on her fancy,
that some moments elapsed ere she recovered her surprise even
partially. But, as it had ever been the study of her parents to enable
her to appear composed, whatever novelty might offer itself to her,
she approached fearlessly the nearest child, and with extended hand
wished it good day.
"So you have come to see us then at last," said the little girl; "I
have often seen you dancing and sporting without there, but you were
afraid of our little dog."
"Then you are not gipsies and strollers, as Andrew says you are. Ah,
truly, he's very stupid, and talks a great deal too much."
"Only stop with us here," said her new friend; "you shall be so
happy."
"But we are running for a wager, and--"
"Oh, you'll get back to him very soon; take some of our fruit." Maria
tasted it, and it proved so delicious to her palate, that she declared
she had never before eaten any like it; and from this moment Andrew,
the race, and the prohibition of her parents, were altogether
forgotten. Then a more elderly female, whose dress was still more
beautiful than any thing Maria had hitherto seen, stepped forward, and
made inquiry about the stranger-child.
"Most beautiful lady," said Maria, "I ran in here by accident, and now
they wish to keep me here."
"You know, Zerina," said the beautiful lady, "that there is a short
time only allowed her; besides, you should first of all have asked my
permission."
"I thought," said the child, "as she had been allowed to cross the
bridge, that I might keep her; we have often seen her running about in
the fields, and you have yourself been pleased with her gay and
spirited air; and she will be obliged to leave us soon enough."
"No, I will stay here," said Maria, "it is so charming here; and I
find the best things to play with here are strawberries and pears; it
is not half so fine outside."
The golden-dressed lady now retired, smiling; and many of the children
playfully sported about Maria--laughing, and inviting her to join
their dance. Some brought her a pet-lamb or wonderful toys, others
brought novel instruments and played and sang to her; but she
preferred the little playfellow, her first friend, for she was the
most gentle and good-natured of all. The little Maria constantly cried
out, "I will always stop here, and you shall be my sisters;" at which
all the children smiled and embraced her.
"Now then," said Zerina, "we shall have a fine game;" and running
hastily into the palace, she returned with a little golden basket, in
which were very fine glittering seeds. She took some in her delicate
little fingers, and strewed the grains upon the green turf; and
immediately they saw the grass heave and float about, as it were in
waves; and after a few moments, beautiful rose-trees sprang from the
ground, grew rapidly up, and suddenly burst themselves into their full
beauty, exhaling the sweetest odours that floated round them in the
air. Maria herself took some of the seed, and scattered it; and
immediately there sprang up at her feet white lilies and cloves of
every hue. At a motion of Zerina's, these flowers all disappeared, and
others still more beautiful sprang up in their place.
"Now," said Zerina to the astonished child, "prepare yourself for
something still greater." She then placed two pine-cones in the
ground, and stamped on them violently with her feet: instantly two
green shrubs stood before them. "Grasp me firmly," said she; and Maria
threw her arms around her delicate waist, and felt herself rising up
into the air; for the trees grew beneath them with surprising
quickness. The tall pines swayed to and fro at the will of the
breeze, and the two children, locked in each other's arms, kissed each
other, while floating backwards in the red clouds of evening. The
other little ones clambered up and down the stems of the trees with
elastic step, and if by chance one impeded the progress of another,
the whole number raised a loud shout of laughter. Maria at length grew
terrified; and at some mystic words uttered by the little one, the
trees sank again gently into the earth, setting them down in the spot
from which they had raised them up. They then went through the brazen
gate of the palace; here many women, some younger, some older, all of
that degree of beauty that no pencil could portray, were seated round
a circular hall, feasting on the most delicious fruits, and listening
to a concert of most delightful and invisible harmony.
Round the ceiling of the hall, which was studded with gold and gems,
representing the starry sphere, were palm-trees, plants, and shrubs,
between which children clambered and sported in most graceful groups.
The figures varied and glowed in more burning colours, according to
the tones of the music. At one time, green and blue, sparkling like
clear rays of light, prevailed. Then the colours paled away, and
purple and gold burst forth: then the naked children, amid the
fanciful clusters that the different flowers wove, seemed to be full
of life, and to inhale and exhale breath with their ruby-red lips, so
that their beautiful white teeth were visible, and the bright glances
of their clear blue eyes were seen from beneath their dark fringe.
From the hall, some steps of marble and jasper led into a large
subterraneous chamber. The floor of this room was covered with vast
heaps of gold and silver; diamonds, pearls, and gems of all colours
dazzled the eyes; large deep vessels stood around the walls, all
filled with precious stones, and gold wrought into curious devices,
and mystic characters, with such ingenuity as no artisan, however
skilful, could form. Many little dwarfs were occupied in sorting the
precious heaps, and in filling vessels with the riches; others, with
crooked legs and long red noses, dragged in heavy sacks, as millers
carry their corn, and bending forward, poured out the grains on the
earth: then they jumped to the right and left, and seized the
treasures as they rolled away; and it often happened, that through
their zeal and eagerness to recover them, they rolled one against the
other and fell heavily on the ground. They made frightful faces
whenever Maria laughed at their grotesque manner and hideous
deformity. Behind sat a little old man, wrinkled by age, whom Maria
saluted very respectfully, but he merely bent his head in answer to
her deferential salutation: he had a sceptre in his right hand, and a
crown encircled his brow; all the other dwarfs seemed to look up to
him as their chief and superior; his fiat was instantly obeyed, though
his commands were given by signs and motions.
"What is the matter now?" said he in a surly tone, as the children
approached nearer to him. The timid Maria kept silence, but her little
playfellow answered, that they had only come to see the chamber.
"What," said the old man peevishly, "will there always be these
childish freaks? is there never to be an end to this idling?" He then
turned his attention again to his work, and ordered the pieces of gold
to be weighed and collected together. Some of the dwarfs he despatched
in different directions; many, too, he scolded right heartily.
At length Maria's curiosity got the better of her fear, and in an
eager manner she said to her little friend, "Who is that old man?"
"Our metal-prince," said the little one, as they left the chamber.
They soon found themselves in the open air, by the side of a large
lake; still no sun had appeared hitherto, nor could they see any sky
above them. Here a little boat received them, and Zerina took the helm
and steered their course very skilfully. They floated rapidly down the
lake, and when they had arrived at about the middle, Maria saw that a
thousand canals, streams, and rivulets, branched off in every
direction from this miniature sea.
"These waters," said the bright-beaming child, "flow exactly under
your garden, irrigating the soil around; and hence it is that your
flowers bloom more beautifully and more fragrantly than others, and
that your fruits are so superior in flavour; from this stream we
launch into the great canal." On a sudden there rose to the surface
from every branch of these blue waters a countless number of beautiful
children, swimming and plunging up and down among the mimic waves;
many wore graceful coronets of flags and water-lilies, glittering as
though with gems from the drops of spray; others waved branches of red
and white coral; others again carried curious horns, tastefully
decorated with blue ribbons; then several beautiful women rose to the
surface, swimming about among the group of younger naiads, and at
times the children might be seen hanging on the necks of the women,
covering them with kisses. They all saluted the stranger party; and
through the midst of this grouped assemblage the little barque floated
on from the main stream into a smaller rivulet, which became gradually
narrower and narrower, and at the same time the depth of water
diminished till the little boat grounded on the shore. Here the group
of naiads, who had accompanied their tiny vessel, took leave of them;
and Zerina knocked against the rock, which immediately opened like a
magnificent doorway to admit them, and a female figure, of a glowing
red colour, assisted them to disembark.
"Is all going on merrily?" inquired Zerina.
"Ay, merrily indeed," replied the other; "you are ever on the wing; no
cloud of sorrow ever darkens your brow, but the sunshine of happiness
always lights up those features of yours, curling that lip with a
smile of joy."
They mounted a winding staircase, and Maria suddenly found herself in
a most glittering hall, so that on entering, her eyes were dazzled
with the brilliant lights that burst in their full splendour upon
her. Deep-red tapestry covered the walls with a brilliant glow; and as
soon as her eye was familiar with the unusual halo that invested the
whole chamber, she perceived figures moving gracefully up and down in
the tapestry, of such exquisite beauty and delicate symmetry of form,
that her imagination could not paint any thing more lovely. Their
bodies appeared to be formed of crystal of a reddish tint, and so
transparent, that one might see the life-blood circulating in their
veins. They smiled at the stranger-child, and bowed courteously: but
when the little Maria wished to approach nearer, Zerina held her back
forcibly, exclaiming, "You will burn yourself, little Maria; what you
are gazing upon is all fire."
Maria perceived the heat, and said to Zerina, "Why don't these
charming creatures come out and play with us?"
"It is impossible," answered Zerina; "as you live in air, so they live
in fire; if you were to be taken out of your peculiar element, you
would languish and droop; in the same manner, if you were to transport
them into your element, they would perish."
"Only look," said Maria, "how happy and joyous they seem; listen how
they shout and sing."
"Below," said her little friend, "the fire-streams spread in every
direction throughout the whole earth, imparting heat to the
vegetation, and ripening the seed, till it shoots upward into a
fruitful plant: hence you have your flowers and fruits. These
fire-streams go side by side with the water-streams; and to their
mutual agency you owe all the herbage of your pasture-land, all the
beauties of your flower-garden, all the luscious produce of your
orchards: they are your great benefactors: without them your present
fruitful land would be a desolate wilderness; your flower-gardens
overrun with noxious weeds, and your orchard-trees blighted and dying
away. In consequence of such benefits resulting from them, they are
ever active, ever happy. But this heat is too great for a child of
air; come, let us return to the garden."
There had been a great change in the atmosphere; the moonshine lay on
all the flowers, the birds were hushed, and the children were
slumbering on the greensward.
"Happy, holy calmness," thought Maria; "Peace has certainly chosen her
retreat in these lovely regions; Contentment is linked with her; and
wherever they roam hand in hand, all is joy, all is tranquillity."
But did Maria slumber? No; she and her little friend felt no
weariness; they roamed through the live-long summer night amid the
groves and sylvan avenues, prattling in youthful eloquence on the
wondrous spectacles that were before them. At day-break they refreshed
themselves with fruits and milk; and Maria said to her little
companion, "Let us go out to the fir-trees yonder; it will be a change
for us."
"With all my heart," said Zerina; "then you can see our sentries at
the same time, and they will be sure to please you. They take their
stand upon the rampart between the trees."
They walked on through the flower-garden, through beautiful thickets
peopled with nightingales; then they mounted the vine-hills, and
following the course of a clear crystal stream in its winding channel,
they arrived at the firs, and the high ground that formed the boundary
of the district.
"How is it," said Maria, "that we have had such a long walk to reach
the firs here within, when the circuit on the outside is so small?"
"I cannot say how it is," said the other; "but so it is."
They ascended the hill to the dark firs, and the cold breeze blew upon
them from without. A dark cloud, extending far across the horizon,
seemed to hang over the whole district; and above them stood wondrous
forms with whitened faces, not unlike the hideous heads of the white
owl, and clad in folding mantles of coarse and shaggy wool, fanning
themselves from time to time with bats' wings.
"How I long to laugh!" said Maria; "but yet I'm afraid."
"Those," said Zerina, "are our careful watchmen; they stand here in
order to strike awe and consternation into any that may venture to
approach, and to deter any curious folks from getting an insight into
our regions. You see they are wrapped up closely, and protected from
the weather; that is because it is raining and freezing without; but
neither snow, nor wind, nor hail, can penetrate here within: here is
eternal spring--here the bright garb of summer never fades. Our
sentinels are very devoted to us; so that, although they are seldom
relieved, yet they willingly keep watch at their posts."
"But who are you?" at length asked Maria; "have you any names by which
we may call you?"
"We are called Elves," said her little friend; "they speak well of us
too in the world, as I understand."
On retracing their way into the flower-garden they heard a great shout
in the meadows, which grew louder as they approached nearer to the
spot.
"A large beautiful bird has arrived," shouted the children, as they
followed the flight of the majestic creature, as it sailed through the
air: all pushed on hastily in its track, and Maria and her young
friend could see young and old all pressing forward to the spot with
hasty steps: songs of rejoicing were heard on every side, and a sweet
strain of triumphal music from within came floating through the air to
them. They entered the hall, and saw the whole circuit filled with the
elfin-tribe, all gazing up at a vast bird of beautiful plumage, which
was describing slowly many revolutions around the dome of the
building. The music burst forth more gaily than ever, and the colours
and lights in the ceiling revolved more rapidly, and shot forth again
in brighter colours and more fantastic groups. At length the music
died away softly, and the majestic bird fluttered down upon a
splendid throne, suspended mid-way from the ceiling, beneath the
window which lighted the apartment from above. His plumage was a
mixture of purple and green, through which the most brilliant golden
streaks were to be seen; on his head was a clear, shining coronet of
feathers, glittering as though it were studded with precious stones;
his beak was of a deep red tint, and his legs of bright blue. When he
rose again into the air, all the colours blended together so uniquely
that the eye was perfectly enraptured with the gorgeous galaxy of
magnificence which it presented. But soon he opened his brilliant
beak, and warbled sweet melody more delicious than that of the
nightingale: his song swelled forth and grew more powerful, gushing
out like lovely rays of light, till the whole assembly shed tears of
delight.
When he had ceased his song, all present bowed low before him; again
he flew around the cupola in circles, and sailing swiftly through the
entrance, soared again up to the blue sky, where he was soon lost to
the eye, appearing for a time a mere bright speck upon the horizon.
"Why are you all so glad?" asked Maria, bending down to the beautiful
child, who appeared to her smaller than the day before.
"The king is coming," answered the child; "many of us have never yet
seen him; and wherever he goes, thither happiness and prosperity
follow him. We have been eagerly longing for his presence for some
time past, and looking forward to his coming as anxiously as you
children of air look forward to spring and spring-flowers after a
tedious winter. And now he has announced to us his approach through
that beautiful and intelligent messenger, the Phoenix. He dwells
afar off in Arabia, and there only appears one of the species at the
same time in the world: when he grows old, he builds himself a nest of
balm and incense, and, setting it on fire, burns to death, singing at
the same time as beautifully as you have heard him to-day; then from
the odoriferous ashes he rises again into a new existence, and soars
aloft with fresh vigour and beauty. But now, dear little Maria, you
must go; the period of your stay with us has expired: when the king
comes, no stranger must dwell with us, nor even see him once."
"But he will soon leave you again," said Maria fondly, "and then I
will return to you, and never quit you."
"It cannot be," answered her friend; "the king will stay here twenty
years, or even longer; but he will make every thing change for you for
the better: there will be no storms to harm your crops, no hail to
destroy the early blossoms of your fruit-trees, no floods to overflow
your pasture-land."
Here the golden-dressed lady stepped up to Maria.
"You must indeed go," she said; "though we must all be sorry that the
time for your visit has elapsed. Take this ring, and wear it always in
remembrance of your elfin friends; but remember, when you quit this
spot, never to mention to any living soul the place where you have
been staying--never to reveal aught of the wonders you have been
permitted to see here. Should you ever be tempted to disclose this
great secret, beware of the evil results that must ensue--they will
fall heavily upon you, as well as upon us: we shall be obliged to quit
the spot for ever, and your fruitful fields will be transformed to a
desolate wilderness. Come, kiss your little playfellow once more, and
then farewell. Remember my last caution."
Maria bade them a sad farewell, and retraced her steps to her own
home. As she was crossing the bridge, the little white dog barked at
her again, as he had done when she first approached, and shook his
little bell. She crossed over, and began for the first time to think
of her parents, and the happy home she had deserted through her
disobedience. She pictured to herself the anguish of a loving mother,
the silent though deep sorrow of her father, the alarm of the whole
hamlet, as soon as the news of her disappearance was noised abroad.
She then thought of Andrew's glee when he reached the winning-post,
and how his eager eye was turned in the direction that she had agreed
to come by, expecting to see her downcast look. She then called to
mind the caution she had received not to make the communication known,
for fear of the evil results: "however," said she, "if I were to tell
them, and insist upon the truth of my statement, I should find no one
to credit my story." As she was indulging in her reveries, two men
passed her and saluted her.
"What a pretty girl!" said they, "where can such a beautiful creature
have come from?"
She quickened her pace; but on looking round her she was struck with
amazement: the flowers that she had left yesterday so lovely and
fragrant were dead, and their sweet odour was gone; the trees,
yesterday so verdant, were now leafless and withered; new buildings
had sprung up around her--indeed it would seem that some mystic agency
had been at work on the spot--that the spirit of enchantment had
passed over the district, and wrought a change indeed.
"Then it must all be a dream," said Maria, rubbing her eyes as though
wakening up from a deep slumber; "it must all be a dream; and the
strange and wonderful sights I have seen must be the effects of
fancy.--No, it certainly is reality, and I am standing near the bridge
where our house stood yesterday."
She proceeded on to her home, perfectly bewildered by the change that
a day had wrought; and, with a feeling of embarrassment that can be
more naturally conceived than portrayed, she opened the door, and saw
her father sitting behind a table, at which were seated a lady and a
youth, both of whom Maria fancied she had never seen before.
"Father, dear father," cried Maria, gazing round her with a look of
deep amazement, "say, where is my mother?"
The lady immediately rose from her seat, and, rushing towards her,
looked at her with an earnestness of feeling that itself would have
told the grand secret, that it was no other than her mother, and
exclaimed, "Yes, you are,--no;" and then she seemed for a minute to
distrust her powers of recollection,--"yes, you are our dear, lost
Maria;" and the mother and daughter were instantly clasped in each
other's arms.
Still Maria scarcely seemed to credit her senses.--"How," said she to
herself, "can one single day have produced this change?--not only are
the buildings altered, and the general appearance of the country, but
my mother also wears a more aged appearance: can this be the effect of
one little day?"
"Who, then, is that young man?" she inquired of her mother, who was by
this time fully satisfied of her daughter's identity.
"That," replied Martin, "is your old playfellow Andrew; you surely
have not entirely forgotten him; though certainly a lapse of seven
years must have made some little change in all of us. Seven years have
now passed away since you disappeared so suddenly; and so many
continued years of sorrow and anxiety rarely, I trust, fall to the lot
of any mortals. Where have you been this long time? Why did we not
hear of you?--for, although we all rejoice exceedingly to receive you
again, still you must satisfy us with the cause of your disappearance,
and with an account of what has befallen you in your separation from
us."
"Seven years!" exclaimed Maria; "seven years do you say have passed?"
"Yes," said Andrew, "it is so indeed. I arrived first at the
pear-tree, and that was seven years ago; and as you have only this
moment returned, I think I can claim the prize as victor."
"You remember," said her father, "our leaving you with Andrew, while
we went into the harvest-field: on our return you were missing. Andrew
told us the story of the race, and that he saw no more of you after
the start. We searched diligently for you, and everybody through the
hamlet offered their assistance to endeavour to discover you. But our
attempts were fruitless, and we returned to our home broken-hearted,
having lost all we prized on earth, our only child. But tell us, how
did you contrive to lose yourself?--we thought you were so well
acquainted with the whole district as to render it a matter of
impossibility. Where have you been? how have you been living?"
These questions embarrassed the poor Maria in no slight degree: for
how could she tell of the wondrous elves--of her dear little
playfellow Zerina--of the gold and precious stones, the lovely fruits,
the variegated flower-beds, the streams of gentle water, the children
sporting in the rivulets? How could she describe the crystal
fire-beings--the beautifully-feathered phoenix, the palace of the
elf-king, with its brazen-wrought gates, and its highly decorated
ceilings? How could she trace to their imaginations the hideous form
of the metal-prince, and the strange figures of the sentinels on the
rampart? But even if she had been able to depict all the spectacles
she had witnessed in their proper colours, would such a strange story
have appeared credible, or even plausible? But she had not forgotten
the last parting admonition of the golden lady--no, it was still
ringing in her ears--"tell not aught of the things you have seen or
heard; evil results will happen to you and us:" and then the smiling
features of her little elfin friend were visible to her mind's
eye,--and could she harm so dear a head? No, it was not in her
disposition to injure any one, even should it not be likely to draw
down danger upon herself.
"Where have you been?" again asked Martin.
"As soon as I started off in the race," said Maria, "I was snatched
up, and carried off to a distance. I did not know the country," she
continued, "and could not get any communication to you: I seized the
first opportunity to make my escape, and have once more reached you."
However strange and incredible this may have appeared, as it certainly
did, to her parents, still they were so happy to receive their lost
child, and to heap blessings on her head for cherishing such feelings
of love and affection towards them during her long absence, that they
forgot the mystery that seemed to invest her statement, in the joy
they experienced in having her again beneath the roof of her fathers.
He who can appreciate the joy with which a parent clasps to her bosom
a long-lost child, can readily pardon the seeming indifference as to
the cause of her separation. Andrew remained the whole evening, and
shared their frugal supper. But how great was the change to poor
Maria! Where were the chambers glittering with gold and gems? where
the costly tapestries? where the sweet odours floating about in the
air? where the strains of divine harmony that were wafted to her ears
but yesterday by every breeze? They were no longer--they lived but in
her memory. And she gazed with a dissatisfied air at the meanness of
her father's dwelling; and thought how gloomy it was after the
brightness of the palace; and, indulging her fancy, she dreamt of
Zerina and the little elves, and gladly availed herself of an
opportunity to seek her chamber for the night, where she might dwell
upon the strange events of one day apparently--of seven years in
reality.
Andrew returned on the following morning, seemingly anxious to spend
as much time as possible in the society of his first playfellow,
Maria. The news of her return spread rapidly through the hamlet, and
many were the hearty congratulations poured forth, mingled with
blessings, on her youthful head. It at length reached the ears of the
noble proprietor of the castle, who sent for her, and listened to her
statement with no little surprise and wonder: they were struck with
her vivacity of spirit, tempered with unassuming modesty, and with her
plain unvarnished tale;--so well hitherto had she concealed in her own
bosom any feeling that might have thrown a shade of suspicion on her
story, and brought to light the awful secret of which she was
possessed. It was now the month of February; but the whole country
wore that rich appearance which a more matured season of the year
induces: the trees were clad in their brilliant green livery; the
nightingale's notes were already to be heard in the woods; and never
had such an early or so lovely a spring gladdened the earth before in
the recollection of the most aged villager. The hills seemed to
increase in size; the vines planted on them shot forth more numerous
tendrils, and the thick clusters, that promised an abundant vintage,
were already peeping forth among the leaves; the fruit-trees were
covered with blossoms, and there had been no hail to crush the produce
in the bud, no blight to destroy the hopes of the farmer at a more
advanced season. The following year wore the same happy appearance;
the harvest was still more abundant than before, and at the conclusion
of their toil Maria assented to the wishes of her parents and crowned
their joy by becoming Andrew's bride. Still she would often dwell upon
the happy days that were passed behind the fir-trees, till she grew
silent and serious, but more beautiful each succeeding day. It pained
her too, as often as Andrew talked of the gipsies and vagabonds, and
prayed that the Baron might some day purge his estate of such
worthless characters, as he styled them. On such occasions the
temptation of defending her benefactors was great indeed; but whenever
Andrew mentioned the subject she was more silent than before, in
consequence of her knowledge of the result of such a communication.
Thus matters went on steadily for a year, at the end of which time
they were blessed with a daughter, whom Maria named Elfrida--the name
doubtless having reference to those kind beings whose home she had
once shared, and who were at that time the secret agents in working
the grand changes that had taken place.
Elfrida was a very intelligent child from her birth, and ran about
alone and prattled ere a twelvemonth had passed over her head. As she
grew older, her singular beauty was the remark of every one, and her
quick perception astonished them: she did not associate with other
children, but seemed to shun their sports, and avoid their company,
retiring frequently into an arbour or some secret spot, and passing
the hours in reading or working, and indulging her love of solitude.
Old Martin rejoiced to see the bloom of health on the cheek of his
grandchild, and to trace the rapid development of her intellect; but
Brigitta was constantly saying, "That child will not see many
years--she is too good, too beautiful for earth; she will smile on us
here for a time, but she will soon be carried off to a happier home
than we can give her." The child was never in need of any
assistance--she rose with the lark, and was off immediately to her
chosen retreat: but on one occasion, when they were going to the
castle, Maria insisted on dressing her child, who resisted her with
prayers and tears, begging and entreating that her mother would leave
her. Maria persevered, and on stripping her discovered a singular
piece of gold, corresponding exactly to the treasures which she had
seen in the elves' chambers, fastened to her bosom by a silken thread.
The child, terrified at the discovery, declared that she knew not how
she had come by it, but at the same time prayed that her mother would
not remove it, but allow her still to keep the treasure. At the
child's earnest entreaty Maria replaced it by its thread, and took her
to the castle; but it made a deep impression on her heart, and she was
from that moment full of thought.
By the side of old Martin's house were some detached buildings,
erected as storehouses for fruits and corn; behind them was a
grass-plat, where stood an old arbour, which no one was in the habit
of visiting, in consequence of its distance from the new
dwelling-house. This was the favourite retreat of Elfrida, and no one
disturbed her, even though she were to spend the greater part of the
day there in solitude. One afternoon Maria went to the arbour to find
an article she had mislaid, and observed a bright stream of light
issuing through a chink in the wall: she hastily removed a few loose
stones, and, peeping in, saw Elfrida seated on a little rustic bench,
and by her side Zerina, sporting with her. The elf embraced the child,
and said, "Ah, my dear little thing, I played with your mother once as
I do with you, when she visited us: you are growing so fast, and
becoming so rational--'tis a sad pity."
"How I wish," said Elfrida, "how I wish I could remain a child all my
life, to please you!"
"Ah," said Zerina, "it is with you as with the blossoms of the trees:
how beautiful the bloom is! but ere you have had time to admire the
bud, the warm sun shoots down on it, the blossom bursts and comes to
its full maturity."
"How I wish I could see you in your home, if it were only once!" said
the child.
"That is impossible," said Zerina; "since our king has come, no child
of earth can visit us: but I can come often to you--no one knows it,
either here or there; I fly to and fro like a bird; so that we can be
happy with one another as long as we live."
"What can I do to please you, dear Zerina?" said the child.
"Let us make a crown again," answered Zerina, taking a golden box from
her bosom. She shook two grains upon the earth, and there arose a
greenish bush with two red roses, which bent towards each other, and
seemed to kiss. They plucked the two roses, and the bush sank again
into the earth.
"I wish my rose would not die so soon," said the child.
"Give it to me," said the elf; and breathing on it she kissed it three
times, and gave it back to the child, and said, "now it will live till
the winter."
"How sweet!" said Elfrida; "I'll set it up in my room like a picture,
and kiss it morning and evening."
"Now, dear Elfrida, I must leave you," said Zerina; "the sun is going
down, and my time has passed;" and she disappeared from the arbour,
and soon regained her fairy home.
From this moment Maria looked with a certain degree of awe and
reverence upon her child, and let her roam at her will even more than
she had done before--soothing and quieting her husband whenever he
wished to go in search of the little fugitive. Maria frequently crept
to the hole, and always discovered the elf there playing or chattering
with the child.
"Should you like to be able to fly?" asked the elf one day of her
little friend.
"Willingly," replied Elfrida.
Zerina embraced her, and they floated up together from the earth to
the top of the arbour. The mother, in her anxiety for her darling
child, leant forward from her hiding-place to look for them, when
Zerina perceived her, and, holding up her finger in a threatening
manner, she smiled sweetly on her, and brought down the child to earth
again, and disappeared.
Maria was in the habit of shaking her head kindly at her husband in
their disputes concerning the occupants of the district behind the
fir-plantations: on one occasion she said, "You are unjust in your
ideas of them;" but when pressed by her husband for an explanation,
she was silent. Scarce a day passed without a serious conversation
between them on the same subject; and on another occasion Andrew was
more than usually enraged against them, and said, "The Baron ought to
expel them; they are injurious to the hamlet."
"Silence!" cried Maria, "they are benefactors, and no vagabonds!" and,
binding him by a promise never to divulge aught of what she was about
to mention, she related to him the story of her youth, with all the
particulars of the elfin regions. As he continued incredulous, she led
him to the arbour, where he saw the elf caressing his child. On his
approach Zerina grew pale, and trembled exceedingly, and lifted her
finger in a threatening manner at Maria, no longer smiling as before.
"It is not your fault," said she to the child, "but I must leave you
for ever;" and embracing Elfrida, she flew in the form of a raven,
with most discordant shrieks, towards the fir-plantation.
The little child silently kissed her rose, and wept incessantly;
Andrew spoke little. At length night came on: the trees moaned as the
blast swept by, the owls whooped mournfully, the thunder boomed along
the sky, and the earth rocked violently. Maria and Andrew lay
trembling with fear, and endeavouring to shut out all the fury of the
storm, and the roar of the thunder from their thoughts. How eagerly
did they long for the morning! At length day dawned, and the sun shone
forth again. Andrew dressed himself hastily, and, opening his door,
looked forth on the scene around him. What a change was there!--the
prospect could not even be recognised; the verdant freshness of the
wood was gone, the hill had sunk into the ground, the stream wound
slowly on, with scarce a sufficient depth of water to cover its
channel; the sky wore a grey gloomy hue, and the fir-trees, that had
ever been so unusually dark, wore the same appearance as the rest of
the vegetation. Maria looked at her ring, the gift of the elf, and saw
that the stone was of a strange palish colour, having lost all its
fire and brilliancy.
The villagers, in different groups, were discussing the events of the
singular night; some had passed over the heath by the gipsy-huts early
in the morning, and found no trace of living creature. The huts were
certainly still standing, but they were tenantless; and the whole spot
was so entirely changed that there was no feature in it to distinguish
it from the hamlet in which they themselves dwelt. In the course of
the day Elfrida sought a conference with her mother, and said, "I was
so restless last night, dear mother, I could not close my eyes; and,
being terrified by the storm, I prayed fervently for safety during the
many dark hours that still remained before morning dawned; and in the
midst of my prayers the door opened suddenly, and my little playfellow
entered to take leave of me. She was equipped as though for a long
journey, and had a pilgrim's staff. She was angry, dear mother, very
angry with you; for she has undergone severe and painful punishments
on your account, and that too when she was so fond of you: and even
amid all this trouble, resulting from your want of prudence, she says
she is sorry to leave the district on your account." Maria begged her
to conceal the whole matter from her father, and to mention it to none
of the villagers.
Meantime the ferry-man, who plied on the stream near which their
gardens were situated, came, with terror depicted on his face, to tell
the strange things he had seen and heard. "At twilight," said he, "a
man of gigantic stature called to hire the ferry till sunrise this
morning, on one condition, that I would promise to keep myself within
doors, and not venture to peep forth to see what was being done. I was
afraid that some trick was to be played off; and although I retired to
rest, I could not sleep for thinking on the strange bargain. I crept
silently to the window, and looked forth; the dark dusky clouds chased
one another restlessly through the expanse of sky; the distant woods
moaned heavily, strange noises floated in the air, and the cottage
shook from its very foundations. Suddenly I saw a white stream of
light, brightening ever and anon, like many thousand twinkling stars;
it floated on from the direction of the firs, waving to and fro over
the fields, and spreading towards the stream. I heard a tramping of
footsteps, and a buzzing, rustling noise, which grew by degrees more
and more distinct: then I saw many thousand glittering figures--men,
women, and children--pass on to the ferry-boat and embark, and the
gigantic man ferried them across; many beautiful creatures swam over
by the boat, and lively clouds of white and blue floated over their
heads; melancholy music was wafted by the breeze around me, and the
sounds of lamentation, as though of colonies parting for a distant
country from their father-land: the stroke of the oar fell heavily on
my ear, and then all again was silence for a while. Then the boat
returned, and was laden anew: many hideous dwarfs rolled along heavy
vessels; but whether they were demons of earth or not, I cannot say.
Then there came a brilliant and stately procession, in the midst of
which appeared an aged man, on a small white horse, the head of which
was adorned by precious stones of every colour. The old man's head was
surrounded by a coronet, which shone so vividly, that, as he passed,
methought the sun was rising, and that the beams of early day were
piercing through the mists of midnight. This procession lasted during
the whole night, till at length, worn out with fatigue, I fell into a
deep slumber. In the morning all seemed quiet; but when I rose to look
after my ferry-boat, I observed that the stream was almost dry, and
the water so low, that I must altogether remove my ferry."
This was the strange recital on the part of the ferry-man, who had
been an eye-witness of the wondrous spectacle. In the same year a
dreadful famine prevailed through the whole district; the corn was
blighted; the fruit-trees withered away; the foliage of the woods
became of a sickly yellow colour; the springs dried up; and soon that
pretty hamlet, which had been for years the delight of the traveller,
was nothing more than a barren desert, naked and sterile; a vast
expanse of sand, with here and there a tuft of grass, and even that
discoloured and dying. The vines, that were formerly the pride of the
district, afforded no more rich clusters; and the whole spot wore so
melancholy and gloomy an aspect, that in the following year the Count
and his family removed from the once magnificent castle, which soon
afterwards fell to ruins.
Elfrida gazed fondly at the rose day and night, and kissed it,
dreaming of her dear little playfellow; and as the flower drooped and
faded, so did her little head droop; and ere the balmy breezes of
spring returned with their freshness, she was gone. Maria would often
stand before the door of the cottage, weeping for her lost child, and
dreaming of that happiness once her own, never again to return. On her
fell all the misery that was predicted by the golden lady, if she
should ever divulge aught of the elves or their fairy regions: she
bowed her head to the stroke, and like her child faded slowly away,
and followed her to the grave. The broken-hearted parents could no
longer dwell in the spot, embittered as it was by the recollection of
former days of happiness, and the prospect of heaviness and gloom for
the future; and since the link that bound them to all that was dear
had been rudely snapt asunder, old Martin, Brigitta, and Andrew,
quitted the spot, and retired to a district where the old man had
passed his first happy days.