over, and upset it all round! Do you not see how lovely it is now, and
are you so presumptuous as to think you can do better for it than Nature
has done already?" Her voice grew softer as she went on: "What could you
find anywhere that is as beautiful as this spot in spring-time, when,
under a sky of the tenderest blue, the little leaves are beginning to
bud on the branches, the tufts of narcissus are opening among the
marshes, and everywhere in the woods around the blackbirds are beginning
to whistle their first notes, the doves keep up a gentle cooing, and the
jays are chattering like parrots?"
"A couple of partridges calling to each other," answered the old man, "a
quail uttering its three sonorous cries, or a lark soaring into the sky
with its breathless melody, make a pleasanter sound, to my way of
thinking. But these are birds that like to build their nests among the
corn. They are not found near your kingdom."
"In summer," went on the fairy, "when the moors are flooded with
sunshine, and the heat brings out a delicious odour of resin from my
favourite shrubs, I love to look on the purple of the heather, and the
gold of gorse and broom."
"I prefer the pink clover with the drowsy bees humming over it,"
answered the old man, "and the ripening harvest, yellow like your
beautiful hair, Lady Fairy."
Fairy as she was, the queen of the moors was not displeased at the
compliment. Father Rameau saw this from her face, and said to himself
his cause was half won.
"In autumn," she retorted, though, "even here, there comes to me, out
of the depths of the thickets near, the baying of the pack when the hunt
is out, and often they traverse my domains to get from one part of the
forest to another. The poor, hunted stag, whose tongue is hanging out of
his mouth with weariness, makes for this very heap of rocks sometimes;
then I help him to elude his cruel foes and to get away safely."
"Yes," said the old man, as if he liked this idea, "the dogs get their
noses pricked on the thorn-bushes and lose trace of their prey. That is
indeed a kind action. I, too, like to put the pack on a wrong scent. The
stags are such dear things, with their soft brown eyes. Those in this
neighbourhood know me, and when I sit down to make my brooms right in
the middle of a copse, as I do sometimes, they come quite close up to
me. If only there were wheat growing on your moor, you would be able to
protect the hares, too, for they would then take refuge in the shelter
of your park."
"But when you have pulled up my holly and junipers and broom-bushes, how
shall I be able to make fires for the long winter evenings? I shall die,
pierced by the cruel breath of the keen north wind, and be buried under
a shroud of white snow."
"Oh, gracious fay, if you fear the cold, will there not always be the
place of honour kept for you by our chimney-corner, in the little home I
mean to build on the moor? You will come and get warm whenever you like
by our fireside. My god-daughter, Madeleine, will keep you company, and
some day, perhaps, I shall entreat you to be god-mother to her first
baby."
Thus Father Rameau had his answer ready for all her objections. These
last words of his touched the fairy, and the expression of her face
became very soft and kind. "I know Madeleine well," she said; "I know
how fair she is to see, in her snowy white caps. I know how her goodness
is spoken of far and wide; and I have even heard that she is to marry
that hard-working lad I saw talking with you this morning. They will be
a charming pair, and their home will be a delightful place. And you,
dear old man, who have no ambition for yourself, but only care for your
dear ones, you will have your reward for your cheerful faith in the
future. Take up your pick and have courage over your digging. I grant
you this corner of my domain. The rest I am sure you will respect, for
you are not greedy; will the others who come after you spare it, too?
Alas, when once the moor has been cleared all over and cultivated, I
shall have to die! But we will only think of the happiness of your young
folk; and, silence! not a word of all this to any one!"
And with a finger on her lips, she vanished.
By the end of October Father Rameau had dug over, cleared, and prepared
two acres of ground. All by himself? With his pickaxe and spade? Yes,
quite by himself, and with his pickaxe and spade. He had worked as if by
magic, for the fairy, always present and always invisible, had endowed
him with some of her magic power. She helped him to split the hardest
boulders, to haul up the most tenacious roots, to collect in bundles the
old tree-stumps and weeds, and every kind of rubbish, and set fire to
it, and so make the very first dressing the soil had ever had on it.
Will you believe it? By seed-sowing time the ground was ready, and was
sown with oats, which began to grow in no time, came well through all
the frosts, and by the following April was waving abroad in a luxuriant
mass of green. A lark built its nest in it, and every morning nodded its
little tufted head at Father Rameau, who was watching over its nest, as
if out of gratitude for what he had done.
[Illustration: FATHER RAMEAU CLEARS THE PATCH.]
The harvest was splendid, and fetched a high price.
George could no longer smile at Father Rameau's old arms, and had to
confess he had found his master: Father Rameau smiled slily when he
said, "After all, nephew, we shall have a gold ring for Madeleine." But
when the time came for getting it, Madeleine would not allow it. "No,
father," she said, "you have toiled and moiled this year at your
digging; buy a plough: any one will lend you a plough-horse for a few
days, and it won't be nearly such hard work for you."
So when autumn came again, the old man cleared another two acres, and
next summer his harvest was twice as big--and so were his profits.
Madeleine still refused the precious ring. "Buy a pair of oxen," she
said; "you will be independent then of every one."
Next year the old man's field was bigger than ever; and Madeleine
advised him to use the profit of his harvest for building a little
house. Her modest, sensible advice was acted upon every time, and, in
fact, when the wedding-day arrived, the gold ring had still not been
bought and at the marriage ceremony, in the church at Treigny, it was
over the old leaden rings of their betrothal that the cure pronounced
his blessing. "We have given our hearts to each other," said the young
wife; "what do we want with gold rings after that? What do you think,
George?"
"I mean to spend the money on a christening robe, then," said Father
Rameau gaily. "Bless me, things'll have to be just so then, if ever they
are! If you only knew what kind of a god-mother----"
But he stopped short just in time, remembering the fairy's injunction
about silence; and Madeleine, whom he had made very inquisitive, could
not get another word out of him. She never found out what he meant till
her first baby was born, when on the day of the christening there
stepped into the cottage, surrounded by a circle of bright light, the
marvellous god-mother, the Fairy of the Moor.
[Illustration: "THE FAIRY OF THE MOOR."]
Many tried to follow Father Rameau's example and cultivate a portion of
the moor; but very few succeeded, because the fairy could see into the
very bottom of their hearts, and would only help the true-hearted--rare
folk, alas! in this world. There is much left still to be cleared. And
she yet lives on, the little fairy of the silvery tunic embroidered with
gorse blossoms, with her crown of heather bells, and her wand a verdant
broom branch. But if ever you want to see her, as old Father Rameau did,
you must arrive at the Mid-day Rock on the first stroke of twelve, and
have a conscience perfectly clear; two conditions which seem easy
enough, and which are really very difficult of fulfilment.
Lillekort.
[Illustration]
Lillekort.
From the French of Xavier Marmier.
THERE was once a man and his wife who were very, very poor, and had a
great many children. Each year added one to the number. One day the wife
gave birth to a beautiful boy, who, on opening his eyes, cried:
"Dearest mother, give me some of my brother's old clothes, and food for
two days, and I will go into the world and seek my fortune, for I see
you have enough children here without me."
"Heaven forbid, my child!" exclaimed the mother. "You are much too young
to leave the house."
But the little one insisted; so at length his mother gave him some
clothes and some food, and he departed, full of joy. Lillekort (for so
he named himself) travelled towards the east. Presently he met an old,
one-eyed woman, and took away her eye.
"Alas!" she cried, "I can no longer see. What will become of me?"
"What will you give me for your eye?" asked Lillekort.
"A sword that will slay a whole army, no matter how numerous."
"So be it."
Lillekort took the sword and continued his journey. A little farther on
he met another old, one-eyed woman, took away her eye, and asked what
she would give him for returning it.
The old woman said she would give him a ship that would sail over land
and sea, over mountains and valleys, and on his agreeing, she gave him a
little ship so small and light that he could carry it about in his
pocket.
As soon as he was quite alone Lillekort stopped to examine his little
vessel. He drew it from his pocket and put one foot in it. Immediately
it grew larger. He put in the second foot. It grew yet larger. He sat
down in it. It increased yet more. Then he said:
"Go over the waves of the ocean, over mountains and through valleys,
until you reach the palace of the King."
The ship immediately sped through space with the rapidity of a bird, and
stopped in front of a magnificent palace. From one of the windows of
this palace several persons beheld, with astonishment and interest, this
boy who travelled in a manner so strange, and they hastened out to
obtain a nearer view of the wonder. But Lillekort had already put his
ship in his pocket. They asked who he was and whence he came. To these
different questions he knew not how to reply; but in a firm voice said
he wished to enter the service of the King, no matter in what capacity;
if need be, as a servant of the servants.
His humble request was granted. He was ordered to fetch wood and water
for the kitchen. Arriving at the palace he saw with surprise that all
the walls were hung with black, both without and within.
"Wherefore," he asked the cook, "this appearance of mourning?"
"Alas!" she replied, "the only daughter of our King has been promised to
three trolls, enormous ogres, and Thursday next the first comes to claim
her. A knight, whose name is Rend, has undertaken to defend her. But how
should he succeed? In the meantime we are all plunged in anguish and
affliction."
Thursday evening Rend led the Princess to the sea-shore. It was here he
had to defend her. But he was not very brave, so instead of waiting near
her he climbed a tree and hid among the branches. In vain the Princess
begged him to assist her.
"No, no," said he; "why two victims? One is sufficient."
At that moment Lillekort asked the cook's permission to go to the
sea-shore.
"Go," said she, "but be sure you return by the time I prepare supper,
and do not forget to bring me a good load of wood."
Lillekort promised, and ran toward the beach. At the same time the
troll appeared, making a noise like thunder. His body was of enormous
dimensions and he had five frightful heads.
"Madman!" he cried, on seeing the little kitchen-boy.
"Madman!" repeated Lillekort.
"Do you know how to fight?"
"If I do not know I will learn."
The troll then threw a bar of iron at Lillekort, which, falling on the
ground, raised a pile of sand and dust.
"A beautiful tower of strength," cried Lillekort. "Now, see mine."
With these words he drew his sword, and with one blow smote off the
monster's five heads.
Finding herself delivered, the Princess began to dance and sing gaily,
then she said to the young boy: "Rest, lay your head on my knees."
Whilst he thus rested she placed on him a suit of golden armour.
All danger being over, Rend came down from the tree, took the tongues
and lungs of the monster, and then told the Princess he would kill her
unless she promised to acknowledge him publicly as her deliverer. She
yielded to his threats, and he returned with her in triumph to the
palace. The King loaded him with honours, and at supper seated him at
his right hand. Meanwhile, Lillekort entered the giant's ship, and
brought from thence a quantity of gold and silver trinkets.
"From whence all these riches?" asked the cook anxiously, for she feared
he had stolen them.
"Reassure yourself," he replied. "I went home for a moment; these
trinkets fell from an old piece of furniture, so I brought them back for
you."
"What beautiful things! A thousand thanks!"
[Illustration: "WHILST HE THUS RESTED SHE PLACED ON HIM A SUIT OF GOLDEN
ARMOUR" (_p._ 162).]
The Thursday following, fresh grief, fresh anguish. However, Rend said
as he had vanquished the first troll, he reckoned he could conquer the
second. But this time also he took refuge among the branches of a tree,
saying: "Why two victims? One is surely sufficient."
Lillekort again obtained the cook's permission to go out, he said to
play with some children on the sea-shore; so he hastened forth, after
promising to return by the time she prepared supper, and bring a good
load of wood.
As he reached the shore he saw the troll approaching. He was twice as
colossal as the first, and had ten heads.
"Madman!" exclaimed the troll, on seeing Lillekort.
"Madman!" repeated the valiant boy, and on the troll asking if he could
fight, replied, as on the former occasion, that he could learn.
The giant then threw a bar of iron at him, which, falling on the ground,
raised a column of dust thirty feet high.
"A beautiful tower of strength," said the boy. "Now, see mine." And
drawing his sword, he, with one blow, smote off the monster's ten heads.
Again the Princess desired him to rest his head on her knees, and this
time she placed on him a suit of silver armour.
Rend now came down from the tree, took the tongues and lungs of the
troll, and returned with the Princess in triumph to the palace, after
having declared he would kill her if she did not acknowledge him
publicly as her deliverer. The King received him with enthusiasm, and
knew not how to show his gratitude.
Lillekort returned to the kitchen, carrying a quantity of gold and
silver he had taken from the troll's ship.
[Illustration: "HE HAD FIFTEEN HEADS" (_p._ 166).]
The third Thursday, the palace was again hung with black, and the people
were plunged in grief. But Rend said he had already conquered two
formidable monsters and would overcome the third. But, as on the
preceding Thursdays, he hid in the tree, and when the Princess implored
him to remain with her, said one victim was sufficient.
Lillekort, who had again obtained the cook's permission to go out,
reached the shore at the same time as the monster, who was much more
terrible than either of the two former. He had fifteen heads, and the
bar of iron he threw at his brave little adversary raised a column of
earth forty feet high. Lillekort, however, with his magic sword, struck
off the fifteen heads at one blow.
"Rest," said the Princess; "rest your head on my knees."
Whilst he thus rested, she put on him a suit of bronze armour, and said:
"How can we make it known that it is you who saved me?"
"Listen," replied Lillekort, "this is my idea. Rend will go without
scruple to claim the reward promised to your deliverer: your hand and
the half of your father's kingdom. When the day for your marriage
arrives say you wish to be served at table by the boy who carries wood
and water to the kitchen. I will let a few drops of wine fall on Rend's
plate. He will strike me. A second and a third time I will do the same,
and again he will strike me; then you shall say: 'For shame to strike
him whom I love--he who saved me--he whom I should wed!'"
Seeing the troll was dead, Rend came down from the tree and led the
Princess back to the palace, after having made her swear a third time
to proclaim him as her deliverer.
[Illustration: "Lillekort with his magic sword struck off the fifteen
heads at one blow." _page 166_]
The King announced that his daughter's deliverer should receive in the
most splendid manner the reward he had so well deserved. The cowardly
knight was betrothed to the Princess, and half the kingdom was given
him. The day of the Princess's marriage she would be served by the boy
who carried wood and water to the kitchen.
[Illustration: "IN ARMOUR OF GLITTERING GOLD" (_p._ 168).]
"What!" exclaimed Rend, in disgust, "you wish that dirty, hideous little
varlet to come near you?"
"Yes, I wish it."
Lillekort was summoned, and, as he had said, he once, twice, thrice let
some drops of wine fall in Rend's plate.
The first time he was struck the coarse garments he wore fell off, and
the valiant boy appeared in a suit of bronze armour, the second time in
silver armour, and the third time in armour of glittering gold.
Then the Princess cried: "For shame to strike him whom I love--he who
saved me--he whom I should wed!"
Rend swore loudly that it was he who had saved her.
"Let us see the proofs of the victors," said the King.
The knight immediately showed the tongues and lungs of the trolls.
Lillekort fetched the treasures he had taken from the monsters' ships.
At the sight of the gold, silver, and diamonds, no one had the slightest
doubt.
"The trolls alone have such treasures," said the King, "and only he who
kills them can obtain possession of their riches."
Rend, the coward and impostor, was thrown into a ditch full of serpents,
and the Princess's hand was given to Lillekort, together with half of
the kingdom.
The Ten Little Fairies.
[Illustration]
THE TEN LITTLE FAIRIES.
FROM THE FRENCH of GEORGES MITCHELL.
VAINLY I try to recall from my recollections of yesterday, still vividly
remembered, and from those of the long past, grown tenderly dim in the
mists of intervening time, from whom I learned the powerfully moral
story I am here going to repeat to children great and small, to men and
their companions: I cannot determine from whom it was I learned it.
Did I first read it in some old book laden with the dust of ages? Was it
told to me by my mother, by my nurse, one evening when I would not go to
sleep--or one night when, sleeping soundly, a fairy came and sang it to
me in my slumber? I cannot tell. I cannot remember. I have forgotten
all the details, of which there only remains with me the subtle
perfume--too fine and evanescent for me to seize it in its passage
through my mind. But I retain--perfectly retain--the moral, which is the
daughter of all things healthy and strong.
The things which I am going to recount happened in a charming
country--one of those bright lands which we see only in delightful
dreams, where the men are all good and the women all as amiable as they
are beautiful.
In that happy country there lived a great nobleman who, left a widower
early in life, had an only daughter whom he loved more than anything in
the whole world.
Rosebelle was seventeen years old--a pure marvel of grace and beauty;
gay as a joyous heart, good as a happy one. For ten leagues round she
was known to be the most beautiful and best. She was simple and gentle,
and her exquisite ingenuousness caused her everywhere--in the mansion
and the cottage--to be beloved.
Her father, fearful lest the least of the distresses of our poor
existence should overtake her, watched over her with jealous care, so
that no harm should come to her; while she passed her days in calmly
thinking of the time before her, sure that it would not be other than
delightful.
When she was eighteen, her father consented to her being betrothed to
the son of a Prince--to Greatheart, a handsome youth, who had been
carefully reared, and detested the false excitements and factitious
pleasures of cities loving enthusiastically the fresh charms of
Nature--of the common mother who claims us all, the Earth.
Rosebelle loved her _fiance_, married, and adored him.
With him she went to live in the admirable calm of the country, in the
midst of great trees that gave back the plaint of winds, by a river with
its ever-flowing song, winding under willowy banks, and overshadowed by
tall poplars.
She lived in a very old, old castle, where the sires of her husband had
been born--a great castle reached by roads hewn out of the solid rock; a
great castle, with immense, cold halls, where echo answered echo
mysteriously; where the night-owl drearily replied to the early thrush's
song to the rising sun, and the other awakened birds singing and
chirping on the borders of the deep woods, where the sun enters
timidly--almost with the hesitation of a trespasser.
When the time for parting came, her father had said to her, through his
tears:
"You are going from me--your happiness claims that I should let you go:
go, therefore, but take all care of yourself for love of me, who have
only you in the world to love."
To his son-in-law he said:
"Watch over her, I intrust her to you. Surround her with a thousand
safeguards; screen her from the least chance of harm or pain. Remember
that even in stooping to pluck a flower she may fall and wound herself,
that in gathering a fruit she may tear her hand. See that all is done
for her that can be done, keep her for me ever beautiful."
Absorbed in her love for her husband, Rosebelle realised the sweet
dreams of her young girlhood. Then she dreamed--languorously--Heaven
knows what! The delightful future which she had seen in the visions of
the past was still present with her, however.
Her husband, tender and good, wished that she should do nothing but live
and love. He had surrounded her with numerous servants, all ready to
obey the least of her desires, the slightest of her fancies, to
comprehend the most trivial of her wants. She had nothing to do but to
let time glide slowly by her.
At length she wearied--languished mysteriously.
Her father, to whom she communicated this strange experience, was
astounded. He reminded her of all the sources of happiness which ought
to have existed in her case. He took her in his arms and said all he
could think of in laudation of the husband who so greatly loved her;
gave her innumerable reasons why her happiness ought to have been
unparalleled; offered money--more money--wishful to give all the
felicities in the world.
She wished for nothing of all that; it only tired, enervated her.
He besought her to be happy; she replied:
"I wish I could be so, for your sake and for that of my husband, whom I
love so dearly."
And she struggled against the strange evil which so weighed upon her,
against the deadly _ennui_ that was sapping her young life. But the
mysterious ill which tormented her soul grew and grew until it became
overwhelming.
Greatheart speedily detected her distress, and sought to discover its
cause, but ineffectually; and from alarm he passed into despair.
[Illustration: "SHE VOWED FOR HIM A BOUNDLESS LOVE" (_p._ 176).]
Now, when he returned from the plain, the fields, or the camp, when he
embraced her he pressed against his bosom a bosom cold and filled with
sadness and tears--a bosom so cold that it might have been thought to
contain a block of ice in place of a heart--and he redoubled his
tenderness towards her. Seeing how much he was suffering on her account,
she vowed for him a boundless love.
Courageous, energetic even, she tried to shake off the languor which
possessed her, endeavouring to intoxicate her soul and drown her
self-consciousness in the love of her adored husband; but all her
efforts were made in vain; she became more and more oppressed with
weariness, and the crowd of servants about her, all eager to realise her
wishes, were utterly unable to mitigate her condition by anything they
could do.
At last she fell into a state of the deepest melancholy. The rose-tints
faded from her cheeks, her beauty paled like that of a languishing
flower; the light in her eyes grew each day more dim. She was very ill.
The most learned doctors in the healing art were called to her, brought,
regardless of cost, from the most distant countries, only to confess
their complete inability; excusing themselves by affirming that there
was no remedy for an indefinable ailment--an ailment impalpable,
incomprehensible.