things like this lady that I had been conscious of, which nobody else
seemed to care about. Sometimes I had tried to tell. More often I had
instinctively kept still. Now slowly I thought that I understood: I was
different. Different from the whole world. Did I not remember how, when
I walked on the street, groups of children would sometimes whisper:
“There she is--there she is!” Or, “Here she comes!” I had thought, poor
child, that this would be because my hair was long, like little Eva’s
in the only play that most of us had seen. But now I thought I knew
what they had known and I had not known: That I was different.
I dropped my face in the crook of my arm and cried--silently, because
to cry aloud seemed always to have about it a kind of nakedness; but I
cried sorely, pantingly, with aching throat, and tried to think it out.
What was this difference? I had heard them say in the house that my
head was large, my hair too long to let me be healthy; and the four
Eversleys always wanted me to shut my eyes so that I should look dead.
But it was something other than these. Maybe--I shall never forget the
grip of that fear--maybe I was not human. Maybe I was Adopted. I had no
clear idea what Adopted meant, but my impression was that it meant not
to have been born at all. That was it. I was like the apple-blossoms
that would never be apples. I was just a Pretend little girl, a kind of
secret one, somebody who could never, never be the same as the rest.
I turned from that deep afternoon and ran for the wood-pile where I had
a hiding-place. Down the path I met Mother and clung to her.
“Mother, Mother!” I sobbed. “Am I adopted?”
“No, dear,” she said seriously. “You are mine. What is it?”
“Promise me I’m not!” I begged.
“I promise,” she said. “Who has been talking to you? You little lamb,
come in the house,” she added. “You’re tired out, playing.”
I went with her. But the moment had entered me. I was not like the
rest. I said it over, and every time it hurt. There is no more
passionate believer in democracy than a child.
Across the street Delia was sitting on the gate-post, ostentatiously
eating chocolate layer cake, and with her free hand twisting into
a curl the end of her short braid. Between us there seemed to have
revealed itself a gulf, life-wide. Had Delia always known about me? Did
the Rodman girls know? And Calista? The four Eversleys must know--this
was why they laughed so.... But I remember how, most of all, I hoped
that Mary Elizabeth did not know--yet.
From that day I faced the truth: I was different. I was somehow not
really-truly. And it seemed to me that nothing could ever be done about
it.
VII
THE PRINCESS ROMANCIA
That night I could not go to sleep with the knowledge. If only I, as I
am now, might have sat on the edge of the bed and told a story to me
as I was then! I am always wishing that we two might have known each
other--I as I am now and I as I was then. We should have been so much
more interested in each other than anybody else could ever be. I can
picture us looking curiously at each other through the dark, and each
would have wished to be the other--how hard we would have wished that.
But neither of us would have got it, as sometimes happens with wishes.
Looking back on that night, and knowing how much I wanted to be like
the rest, I think this would be the story that I, as I am now, would
have told that Little Me.
* * * * *
Once upon a time to the fairy king and queen there was born a little
daughter. And the king, being a modern fairy, determined to invite to
the christening of his daughter twelve mortals--a thing never before
countenanced in fairy ceremony. And of course all unreal people are
always very particular about their ceremonies being _just_ so.
It was a delicate and difficult task to make out that mortal invitation
list, for it was very hard to find in the world twelve human beings
who, at a fairy party, would exactly fit in. After long thought and
consultation with all his ministers and councillors, the king made out
the following list:--
A child; a poet; a scientist; a carpenter; a prophet; an artist; an
artisan; a gardener; a philosopher; a woman who was also a mother; a
man who was also a father; and a day labourer.
“Do you think that will do _at all_?” the fairy king asked the fairy
queen, tossing over the list.
“Well, dear,” she replied, “it’s probably the best you can do. You know
what people are.” She hesitated a mere breath--a fairy’s breath--and
added: “I do wonder a little, though, just _why_ the day labourer.”
“My dear,” said the king, “some day you will understand that, and many
other things as well.”
The christening room was a Vasty Hall, whose deep blue ceiling was as
high as the sky and as strange as night. Lamps, dim as the stars, hung
very high, and there was one silver central chandelier, globed like the
moon, and there were frescoes like clouds. The furnishings of the Vasty
Hall were most magnificent. There were pillars like trees spreading out
into capitals of intricate and leafy design. Lengths of fair carpet ran
here and there, as soft and shining as little streams; there were thick
rugs as deep as moss, seats of native carved stone, and tapestries as
splendid as vistas curtaining the distance. And the music was like the
music of All-night, all done at once.
To honour the occasion the fairy guests had all come dressed as
something else--for by now, of course, the fairies are copying many
human fashions. One was disguised as a Butterfly with her own wings
prettily painted. One represented a Rose, and she could hardly be
distinguished from an American Beauty. One was made up as a Light,
whom nobody could recognize. One was a White Moth and one was a
Thistle-down, and there were several fantastic toilettes, such as a
great Tulle Bow, a Paper Doll, and an Hour-glass. As for the Human
Beings present, they all came masked as themselves, as usual; and their
names I cannot give you, though sometimes I see someone with dreaming
eyes whom I think may possibly have been one of those twelve--for of
course it must have made a difference in their looks ever afterward.
It was a very brilliant assemblage indeed, and everyone was most
intangible and elusive, which are fairy terms for well-behaved.
While the guests were waiting for the fairy baby princess to be brought
in, they idled about, with that delightful going-to-be-ice-cream
feeling which you have at any party in some form or another, only
you must _never_ say so, and they exchanged the usual pleasant
nothing-at-alls. It is curious how very like human nothings fairy
nothings are.
For example:--
“There is a great deal of night about,” said the Butterfly Fairy with a
little shiver. “If I were a truly butterfly, I should never be able to
find my way home.”
“And there is such a fad for thunder-and-lightning this season,” added
the Paper Doll Fairy, agreeably.
“Do you remember,” asked the White Moth Fairy, “the night that we all
dressed as white moths and went to meet the moon? We flew until we were
all in the moonlight, and then we knew that we had met her. I wonder
why more people do not meet the moon-rise?”
“That reminds me,” said the Thistle-down Fairy, “of the day we all made
up as snowflakes and went to find the Spring. Don’t you know how she
surprised us, in the hollow of the lowland? And what a good talk we
had? I wonder why more people do not go to meet the Spring?”
“A charming idea!” cried the Rose Fairy to the Light Fairy, and the
Light Fairy shone softly upon her, precisely like an answer.
Then somebody observed that the wind that night was a pure soprano, and
the guests amused themselves comparing wind-notes; how on some nights
the wind is deep bass, like a man’s voice, raging through the world;
and sometimes it is tenor, sweet, and singing only serenades; and
sometimes it is all contralto and like a lullaby; and sometimes, but
not often, it is like harp music played on the trees.
Suddenly the whole dark lifted, like a garment; and moonlight flooded
the Vasty Hall. And as if they had filtered down the air with the
light, the fairy christening party entered--not as we enter a room, by
thresholds and steps, but the way that a thought comes in your head and
you don’t know how it got there.
The christening party wore robes of colours that lie deep between
the colours and may hardly be named. And, in a secret ceremony, such
as attends the blooming of flowers, the fairy baby was christened
Romancia. Then the fairies brought her many offerings; and these having
been received and admired, a great hush fell on the whole assembly,
for now the twelve Human Beings came forward with their gifts. And
everyone, except, indeed, the princess herself, was wild with curiosity
to see what they had brought.
No one left a card with any gift, but when the fairy king came to look
them over afterward, he felt certain who had brought each one. The
gifts were these: A little embroidered gown which should make everyone
love the princess while she wore it; a gazing crystal which would
enable the princess to see one hundred times as much as anybody else
saw; certain sea secrets and sea spells; a lyre which played itself;
a flask containing a draught which should keep the princess young; a
vial of colours which hardly anyone ever sees; flowers and grasses and
leaves which could be used almost like a dictionary to spell out other
things; an assortment of wonderful happy fancies of every variety; a
new rainbow; a box of picture cards of the world, every one of which
should come true if one only went far enough; and a tapestry of the
universe, wrapped around a brand-new idea in a box.
When these things had been graciously accepted by the king, there was
a stir in the company, and sweeping into its midst came another Human
Being, one who thought that she had every right to be invited to the
christening, but who had not been invited. All the fairies shrank back,
for it was an extraordinary-looking Human Being. She was tall and lithe
and wore a sparkling gown, and her face had the look of many cities,
and now it was like the painted cover of an empty box, and all the time
it had the meaning only of those who never look at the stars, or walk
in gardens, or think about others rather than themselves, or listen to
hear what it is right for them to do. This kind of Human Being is one
who not often has any good gift to give to anyone, and this the fairies
knew.
The Vasty Hall became very quiet to see what she had brought, for no
one understood what she could possibly have to bestow upon a baby. And
without asking leave of the king or the queen, she bent over the child
and clasped on her wrist the tiniest bracelet that was ever made in the
world, and she snapped its lock as fast as the lock on a fetter, and
held up the tiniest key that ever was wrought.
“The princess,” she cried, “shall seem _different from everyone else_.
She shall seem like nobody who is or ever has been. As long as she
wears her bracelet, this shall be true; and that she may never lose it,
I shall hold her bracelet’s key. Hail to this little princess child,
who shall seem like nobody in the world!”
Now, no one present was quite certain what this might mean, but the
lady’s robe was so beautifully embroidered and sparkling, and her voice
was such a thing of loops and curves, that nearly everyone accepted the
gift as something fine after all, and the queen gave her her hand to
kiss. But the king, who was a very wise fairy, said nothing at all, and
merely bowed and eyed the bracelet, in deep thought.
His meditation was interrupted by a most awkward incident. In the
excitement of the bestowal of gifts by the Human Beings, and in the
confusion of the entrance of the thirteenth and uninvited Human Being,
one of them all had been forgotten and had got himself shuffled well
at the back of everyone. And now he came pressing forward in great
embarrassment, to bring his gift. It was the day labourer, and several
of the Human Beings drew hastily back as he approached the dais. But
everyone fell still farther back in consternation when it was seen
what he had brought. For on the delicate cobweb coverlet of the little
princess’s bed, he cast a spadeful of earth.
“It’s all I’ve got,” the man said, “or I’d brought a better.”
The earth all but covered the little bed of the princess, and it was
necessary to lift her from it, which the fairy queen did with her own
hands, flashing a reproachful glance at her husband, the king. But
when the party had trooped away for the dancing,--with the orchestra
playing the way a Summer night would sound if it were to steep itself
in music, so that it could only be heard and not seen,--then the king
came quietly back to the christening chamber and ordered the spadeful
of earth to be gathered up and put in a certain part of the palace
garden.
And so (the Human Beings having gone home at once and forgotten that
they had been present), when the music lessened to silence and the
fairies stole from note to note and at last drifted away as invisibly
as the hours leave a dial, they passed, in the palace garden, a great
corner of the rich black earth which the day labourer had brought to
the princess. And it was ready for seed sowing.
The Princess Romancia grew with the days and the years, and from the
first it was easily to be seen that certainly she seemed different
from everyone in the world. As a baby she began talking in her cradle
without having been taught--not very plainly, to be sure, or so that
anybody in particular excepting the fairy queen understood her--but
still she talked. As a little girl she seemed always to be listening
to things as if she understood them as well as she did people, or
better. When she grew older, nobody knew quite how she differed, but
everybody agreed that she seemed different. And this the princess knew
better than anybody, and most of the time it made her hurt all over.
When the fairies played at thistle-down ball, the princess often played
too, but she never felt really like one of them all. She felt that they
were obliged to have her play with them because she was the princess,
and not because they wanted her. When they played at hide-and-go-seek
in a flower bed, somehow the others always hid together in the big
flowers, and the princess hid alone in a tulip or a poppy. And whenever
they whispered among themselves, she always fancied that they were
whispering of her. She imagined herself often looked at with a smile or
a shrug; she began to believe that she was not wanted but only endured
because she was the princess, and she was certain that no one liked
her for herself alone, because she was somehow so different. Little by
little she grew silent, and refused to join in the games, and sat apart
alone. Presently she began to give blunt answers and to take exception
and even to disagree. And, of course, little by little the court began
secretly to dislike her, and to cease to try to understand her, and
they told one another that she was hopelessly different and that that
was all that there was to be said about her.
[Illustration: LITTLE BY LITTLE SHE GREW SILENT AND REFUSED TO JOIN
IN THE GAMES.]
But in spite of all this, the Princess Romancia was very beautiful, and
the fame of her beauty went over the whole of fairyland. When enough
years had gone by, fairy princes from this and that dominion began to
come to the king’s palace to see her. But though they all admired the
princess’s great beauty, many were of course repelled by her sharp
answers and her constant suspicions.
But at last the news of the princess’s beauty and strangeness reached
the farthest border of fairyland and came to the ears of the young
Prince Hesperus. Now Prince Hesperus, who was the darling of his
father’s court and beloved of everybody, was tired of everybody. “Every
fairy is like every other fairy,” he was often heard saying wearily.
“I do wish I could find somebody with a few new ways. One would think
fairies were all cut from one pattern!” Therefore, when word came to
him of the strange and beautiful Princess Romancia, who was believed
to be different from everyone else in the world, you can imagine with
what haste he made ready and set out for her father’s place.
Prince Hesperus arrived at the palace at twilight, when the king’s
garden was wrapped in that shadow light which no one can step through,
_if he looks_, without feeling somewhat like a fairy himself and
glad to be one. He sent his servants on ahead, folded his wings, and
proceeded on foot through the silent gardens. And in a little arbour
made of fallen petals, renewed each day, he came on the Princess
Romancia, asleep. He, of course, did not recognize her, but never,
since for him the world began, had the prince seen anyone so beautiful.
His step roused her and she sprang to her feet. And as soon as he
looked at her, Prince Hesperus found himself wanting to tell her of
what he had just been thinking, and before he knew it he was doing so.
“I have just been thinking,” he said, “what a delightful pet a
leaf-shadow would make, if one could catch it and tame it. I wonder if
one could do it? Think how it would dance for one, all day long.”
The Princess Romancia stared a little.
“But when the sun went down,” she was surprised into saying, “the
shadow would be dead.”
“Not at all,” the prince replied, “it would only be asleep. And it
would never have to be fed, and it could live in one’s palace.”
“I would like such a pet,” said the princess, thoughtfully.
“If I may walk with you,” said the prince, “we will talk more about it.”
They walked together toward the palace and talked more about it, so
that the Princess Romancia quite forgot to be more different than she
was, and the prince forgot all about everything save his companion.
And he saw about her all the gifts of tenderness and vision and magic,
of sea secrets and sea spells, of music and colours and knowledge and
charming notions which the Human Beings had brought her at her birth,
though these hardly ever were visible _because_ the princess seemed
so different from everybody else. And when, as they drew near the
palace, their servants came hastening to escort them, the two looked at
each other in the greatest surprise to find that they were prince and
princess. For all other things had seemed so much more important.
Their formal meeting took place that evening in the Vasty Hall, where,
years before, the princess had been christened. Prince Hesperus was
filled with the most joyous anticipation and awaited his presentation
to the princess with the feeling that fairyland was just beginning. But
the princess, on the other hand, was no sooner back in the palace among
her ladies than the curse of her terrible christening present descended
upon her as she had never felt it before. How, the poor princess
thought, could the prince possibly like her, who was so different from
everybody in the world? While she was being dressed, every time that
her ladies spoke in a low tone, she imagined that they were speaking of
her; every time that one smiled and shook her head, the princess was
certain that it was in pity of her. She fancied that they knew that
her walk was awkward, her voice harsh, her robe in bad taste, and an
old fear came upon her that the palace mirrors had all been changed
to conceal from her that she was really very ugly. In short, by the
time that she was expected to descend, poor Princess Romancia had made
herself utterly miserable.
Therefore, when, in her gown of fresh cobweb, the princess entered the
hall and the prince hastened eagerly forward, she hardly looked at him.
And when, at the banquet that followed, he sat beside her and tried to
continue their talk of the arbour and the walk, she barely replied at
all.
“How beautiful you are,” he murmured.
“So is the night,” said the princess, “and you do not tell the night
that it is beautiful.”
“Your eyes are like stars,” the prince said.
“There are real stars above,” said the princess.
“You are like no one else!” cried the prince.
“At least you need not charge me with that,” said the poor princess.
Nor would she dance with him or with anyone else. For she imagined that
they did not wish to dance with her, and that her dancing was worse
than anyone’s. And as soon as she was able, and long before cock-crow,
she slipped away from them all and went to sleep in a handy crocus cup.
Now at all this the king and queen were nearly as distressed as the
prince, and they were obliged to tell Prince Hesperus the whole story
of the christening. When he heard about the uninvited Human Being who
had given the baby princess this dreadful present and had kept the key
to the bracelet which was its bond, he sprang up and grasped his tiny
sword.
“I will go out in the world and find this Human Being,” he cried, “and
I will bring back the bracelet key.”
Without again seeing the princess, Prince Hesperus left the palace and
fared forth on his quest. And when she found that he was gone, she was
more wretched than ever before. For in her life no one had ever talked
to her as he had talked, speaking his inmost fancies, and when she had
lost him, she wanted more than ever to talk with him. But the king, who
was a very wise fairy, did not tell her where the prince had gone.
And now the Princess Romancia did not know what to do with herself. The
court was unbearable; all her trivial occupations bored her; and the
whole world seemed to have been made different from all other worlds.
Worst to endure was the presence of her companions, who all seemed to
love and to understand one another, while she only was alone and out of
their sympathy.
“Oh,” she cried, “if only I had a game or a task to do with somebody or
something that didn’t know I am different--that wouldn’t know who I am!”
And she thought longingly of the prince’s fancy about the leaf-shadow
for a pet which should dance with one all day long.
“A leaf-shadow would not know that I am not like everybody else!” the
poor princess thought.
One night, when a fairy ring had been formed in an open grassy space
among old oaks, the princess could bear it all no longer. When the
music was at its merriest and a band of strolling goblin musicians were
playing their maddest, she slipped away and returned to the palace by
an unfrequented path and entered a long-disused part of the garden.
And there, in a corner where she had never before walked, she came on
a great place of rich, black earth, which, in the sweet Spring air,
lay ready for the sowing. It was the spadeful of earth which the day
labourer had brought to her christening; and there, for all these
years, the king had caused it to remain untouched, its own rank weed
growth enriching its richness, until but a touch would now turn it
to fruitage. And seeing it so, and being filled with her wish for
something which should take her thought away from herself and from her
difference from all the world, the Princess Romancia was instantly
minded to make a garden.
Night being the work time and play time of the fairies, the princess
went at once to the palace granaries and selected seeds of many kinds,
flower and vegetable and fern seeds, and she brought them to this
corner of rich earth, and there she planted them, under the moon. She
would call no servants to help her, fearing lest they would smile among
themselves at her strange doing. All night she worked at the planting,
and when morning came, she fell asleep in a mandrake blossom, and woke
hungry for a breakfast of honeydew and thinking of nothing save getting
back to her new gardening.
The Wind helped her, and as the days passed, the Sun and the Rain
helped her, and she used certain magic which she knew, so that
presently her garden was a glory. Poppies and corn, beans and berries,
green peas and sweet peas, pinks and potatoes, celery and white phlox,
melons and cardinal flowers--all these grew wonderfully together, as
it were, hand in hand, as they will grow for fairy folk, and in such
great luxuriance that the princess wrought early and late to keep them
ordered and watered. She would have no servants to help her, for she
grew more and more to love her task. For here at last in her garden
she had found those whom she could not imagine to be smiling among
themselves at anything that she said or did; but all the green things
responded to her hands like friends answering to a hand clasp, and when
the flowers nodded to one another, this meant only that a company of
little leaf-shadows were set dancing on the earth, almost as if they
had been tamed to be her pets, according to the prince’s fancy.
Up at the palace the queen and the ladies-in-waiting to the queen and
the princess regarded all this as but another sign of poor Romancia’s
strangeness. From her tower window the queen peered anxiously down at
her daughter toiling away at sunrise.