Once upon a time there lived in the same village two children, one
called Sylvain and the other Jocosa, who were both remarkable for beauty
and intelligence. It happened that their parents were not on terms of
friendship with one another, on account of some old quarrel, which had,
however, taken place so long ago, that they had quite forgotten what it
was all about, and only kept up the feud from force of habit. Sylvain
and Jocosa for their parts were far from sharing this enmity, and indeed
were never happy when apart. Day after day they fed their flocks of
sheep together, and spent the long sunshiny hours in playing, or resting
upon some shady bank. It happened one day that the Fairy of the Meadows
passed by and saw them, and was so much attracted by their pretty faces
and gentle manners that she took them under her protection, and the
older they grew the dearer they became to her. At first she showed her
interest by leaving in their favourite haunts many little gifts such as
they delighted to offer one to the other, for they loved each other so
much that their first thought was always, ‘What will Jocosa like?’ or,
‘What will please Sylvain?’ And the Fairy took a great delight in their
innocent enjoyment of the cakes and sweetmeats she gave them nearly
every day. When they were grown up she resolved to make herself known to
them, and chose a time when they were sheltering from the noonday sun in
the deep shade of a flowery hedgerow. They were startled at first by the
sudden apparition of a tall and slender lady, dressed all in green, and
crowned with a garland of flowers. But when she spoke to them sweetly,
and told them how she had always loved them, and that it was she who had
given them all the pretty things which it had so surprised them to
find, they thanked her gratefully, and took pleasure in answering the
questions she put to them. When she presently bade them farewell, she
told them never to tell anyone else that they had seen her. ‘You will
often see me again,’ added she, ‘and I shall be with you frequently,
even when you do not see me.’ So saying she vanished, leaving them in
a state of great wonder and excitement. After this she came often, and
taught them numbers of things, and showed them many of the marvels of
her beautiful kingdom, and at last one day she said to them, ‘You know
that I have always been kind to you; now I think it is time you did
something for me in your turn. You both remember the fountain I call my
favourite? Promise me that every morning before the sun rises you will
go to it and clear away every stone that impedes its course, and every
dead leaf or broken twig that sullies its clear waters. I shall take it
as a proof of your gratitude to me if you neither forget nor delay this
duty, and I promise that so long as the sun’s earliest rays find my
favourite spring the clearest and sweetest in all my meadows, you two
shall not be parted from one another.’
Sylvain and Jocosa willingly undertook this service, and indeed felt
that it was but a very small thing in return for all that the fairy had
given and promised to them. So for a long time the fountain was tended
with the most scrupulous care, and was the clearest and prettiest in all
the country round. But one morning in the spring, long before the sun
rose, they were hastening towards it from opposite directions, when,
tempted by the beauty of the myriads of gay flowers which grew thickly
on all sides, they paused each to gather some for the other.
‘I will make Sylvain a garland,’ said Jocosa, and ‘How pretty Jocosa
will look in this crown!’ thought Sylvain.
Hither and thither they strayed, led ever farther and farther, for the
brightest flowers seemed always just beyond them, until at last they
were startled by the first bright rays of the rising sun. With one
accord they turned and ran towards the fountain, reaching it at the same
moment, though from opposite sides. But what was their horror to see its
usually tranquil waters seething and bubbling, and even as they looked
down rushed a mighty stream, which entirely engulfed it, and Sylvain and
Jocosa found themselves parted by a wide and swiftly-rushing river. All
this had happened with such rapidity that they had only time to utter a
cry, and each to hold up to the other the flowers they had gathered; but
this was explanation enough. Twenty times did Sylvain throw himself into
the turbulent waters, hoping to be able to swim to the other side, but
each time an irresistible force drove him back upon the bank he had just
quitted, while, as for Jocosa, she even essayed to cross the flood upon
a tree which came floating down torn up by the roots, but her efforts
were equally useless. Then with heavy hearts they set out to follow the
course of the stream, which had now grown so wide that it was only
with difficulty they could distinguish each other. Night and day, over
mountains and through valleys, in cold or in heat, they struggled on,
enduring fatigue and hunger and every hardship, and consoled only by
the hope of meeting once more--until three years had passed, and at last
they stood upon the cliffs where the river flowed into the mighty sea.
And now they seemed farther apart than ever, and in despair they tried
once more to throw themselves into the foaming waves. But the Fairy of
the Meadows, who had really never ceased to watch over them, did not
intend that they should be drowned at last, so she hastily waved her
wand, and immediately they found themselves standing side by side
upon the golden sand. You may imagine their joy and delight when
they realised that their weary struggle was ended, and their utter
contentment as they clasped each other by the hand. They had so much
to say that they hardly knew where to begin, but they agreed in blaming
themselves bitterly for the negligence which had caused all their
trouble; and when she heard this the Fairy immediately appeared to them.
They threw themselves at her feet and implored her forgiveness, which
she granted freely, and promised at the same time that now their
punishment was ended she would always befriend them. Then she sent for
her chariot of green rushes, ornamented with May dewdrops, which she
particularly valued and always collected with great care; and ordered
her six short-tailed moles to carry them all back to the well-known
pastures, which they did in a remarkably short time; and Sylvain and
Jocosa were overjoyed to see their dearly-loved home once more after all
their toilful wanderings. The Fairy, who had set her mind upon securing
their happiness, had in their absence quite made up the quarrel between
their parents, and gained their consent to the marriage of the faithful
lovers; and now she conducted them to the most charming little cottage
that can be imagined, close to the fountain, which had once more resumed
its peaceful aspect, and flowed gently down into the little brook
which enclosed the garden and orchard and pasture which belonged to the
cottage. Indeed, nothing more could have been thought of, either for
Sylvain and Jocosa or for their flocks; and their delight satisfied even
the Fairy who had planned it all to please them. When they had explored
and admired until they were tired they sat down to rest under the
rose-covered porch, and the Fairy said that to pass the time until the
wedding guests whom she had invited could arrive she would tell them a
story. This is it: