Nain Rouge on a rabbit
The white Stone of Happiness.
“A favourite haunt of mine,” beganNain Rouge, “is a little fishing village, close to Dieppe. The maidens there are more to my mind than those on any other part of the coast; their skin is like clear pale amber, warmed into redness where the sun has kissed it, andtheir eyes—ah! you should see them! The fairest of all was Marguerite, and often I sat for hours on her window-sill to watch her at her spinning. Etienne would come and watch her too, and he thought, foolish lad, that her angel-face meant an angel temper; but I knew she had a tongue.
And such a tongue! It was like the brook, for it never stopped, and she said such sharp and bitter things that the love of her friends withered up as they heard them, just as spring lilies droop before a cruel East wind. Etienne was a stranger, or he would have known better than to woo her seriously. Strange to relate, the wayward maid was different from the day he came. I had never known her so soft and sweet, and the neighbours said that surely some good fairy had laid her under a spell.
Etienne and she were wed one summer morning, but the little new moon had not shone in the heavens a second time when there was trouble between them. Marguerite’s tongue was sharper than ever from its longrest, and Etienne could not believe it belonged to his ‘angel’ bride. He left the cottage without a word, and when he came back his mouth was grim, for his mates had hastened to make things worse by telling him many tales. A foolish man was Etienne, or he would not have heeded them; but that is neither here nor there.
From this time on he made as though he were deaf when Marguerite railed at him, and he took her no more to his breast when he came back from the sea. And Marguerite grieved, for she loved him well in her woman’s way, and longed for his caresses. The sight of his pale set face, and his sombre eyes—they were like the eyes of a dog in pain, when the hand he loves best has struck him—stung her to fresh taunts, and there came a day when he answered her back in the same way, and all but struck her. Ah! a woman’s tongue can do rare mischief! His mother had never heard an ugly word from him.
One eve I met Marguerite on the shore. She was sobbing bitterly, for she had just come out of a cave in the rocks, where dwelt a Witch who could read the future.
I had taken the form of a slim, dark, serious looking lad, and laying a gentle hand upon her arm, ‘What ails you, Madame Marguerite?’ I said. She glanced at me piteously, as one who seeks a refuge and knows not where to turn, and wrung her hands.
“What ails you, Madame Marguerite?”
I picked it up and showed it to her.
‘I have lost my Etienne’s heart for ever, for ever,’ she wailed, ‘unless I can find the White Stone of Happiness, which a mermaid throws from the depths of the sea once in a thousand years. I may search for months, and never find it; and Etienne holds aloof from me, and grows further away each day.’
Now just at her feet lay a small white stone, smooth and round as a Fairy’s plaything. I picked it up and showed it to her.
‘It shall be yours,’ I told her gravely, ‘if you give me your solemn promise to heed my words.’
‘I promise!’ she answered fervently, and the wind tossed her unbound hair until it floated round her shoulders like a Kelpie’smane. A seventh wave rushed up to her feet, and as she moved nearer the breakwater, I sang her this little song:
‘Fairy stone of fairy spell,Marguerite, O guard it well!When thine anger doth ariseElves would rob thee of thy prize.Press it ’neath thy tongue so red,Hold it firm till wrath has sped.Smile, speak softly, and behold,Love shall warm thee as of old.’
‘Fairy stone of fairy spell,Marguerite, O guard it well!When thine anger doth ariseElves would rob thee of thy prize.Press it ’neath thy tongue so red,Hold it firm till wrath has sped.Smile, speak softly, and behold,Love shall warm thee as of old.’
‘Fairy stone of fairy spell,Marguerite, O guard it well!When thine anger doth ariseElves would rob thee of thy prize.Press it ’neath thy tongue so red,Hold it firm till wrath has sped.Smile, speak softly, and behold,Love shall warm thee as of old.’
Then I gave her the stone, and she clasped it against her bosom and sped to her home.
When Etienne returned he was in a bitter mood. Luck had been against him; he had caught no fish, and his largest net had been torn on the rocks. Marguerite set a meal before him, but he pushed it angrily away; for the broth had burned while she was with the Witch, and tasted anything but pleasant.
‘Such food is not fit for a dog!’ he cried. ‘’Twas an ill day for me when I came toLe Pollet!I had done better to drown myself.’
Marguerite stayed her fierce reply that she might slip the white stone between herlips; and as she held it beneath her tongue her anger suddenly melted. She thought now of Etienne’s hunger and weariness, and was sorry that she had nought in the house for him to eat. And as he sat in moody silence she stole away, and begged some good broth from her godmother, who had always enough and to spare. This she placed before him beside the hearth, and smiled, and spoke in a gentle voice that made him turn to her with a start—it was just as if the Marguerite he loved had come back to him from the grave. Then he drew her to him, hiding his face in her dress; and for the first time since many a long day there was peace between them. Marguerite kept that white stone always, and when she was tempted to speak in anger it worked like a Fairy spell.”
“And wasn’t it one?” I asked, asNain Rougeput on his cap again, and a delicious smell of fried eggs and bacon came from the farmhouse kitchen on the breeze.
“Not it,” saidNain Rouge, laughing heartily, “there were thousands like it on thebeach, but you see it did just as well. For if once a woman can be induced to hold her tongue when she is angry, there’ll be little trouble ’twixt man and wife. This has been so from all time.”
“Cock-a-doodle doo!”cried the black cock, strutting grandly in front of us.Nain Rougedarted after him, and I left them to themselves and went in to breakfast.
I did not seeNain Rougeagain, but I heard a great deal about him from Madame Daudet, the farmer’s wife; she called him “the plague of her life.” She said he hid her spectacles every time that she laid them down, and that it was quite impossible to make good butter, for he would play tricks with the cream. I think she was fond of him, all the same, for when I mentioned his name her jolly old face crinkled up into smiles, and she looked quite pleased and happy.
One day when Father had gone to the village to see some sick child whom the peasants believed to have been gazed at with “an evil eye,” because it seemed unable to get well,Madame came to me as I stood prodding with a stick some fat black pigs who would not stir.
“Since you are so fond of Fairy Folk,” she said, “why not go to the valley, and see if you can meet a Fée? I have never seen one myself, but my great-great-grandmother came across a bevy of them in a forest near Bayeux. The loveliest one was their Queen, and my great-great-grandmother talked of her beauty until her dying day.”
“All right,” I said. And she gave me some brown bread and a golden apple, so that I need not come home for tea. Perhaps she wanted to get me out of the way, for the sick child’s aunt was coming to pay her a visit, and she liked a gossip.
The valley was very still. Even the birds seemed to have gone to sleep, and the stream that trickled down from the hill tinkled very softly, as if it had to be careful not to wake the ferns that fringed its banks. As I looked up the glade I saw a lovely little lady coming slowly towards me, and my heart began tothump in the queerest way. She wore a trailing silvery gown, with a deep band of blue at its border. Her shoes were set with tiny diamonds, and her dainty feet moved through the grass as prettily and as softly as the wind does through the corn. She did not see me until she had come quite close, for I stood in the shade of a blossoming bush. As I took off my cap, her fair face flushed deeply, and for a moment I feared she would run away. So I hastened to tell her that I was a Christmas Child, and why I had come to the valley. At this she smiled, and I saw that her eyes were as blue as the depths of the sea.
“You are welcome,” she said, “though at first I feared you. Such sorrow has come to Fées through mortals that we are wont to fly at man’s approach. But a Christmas Child is almost a Fée himself, and I may talk to you. My name is Méllisande.”
Then she asked me to walk with her through the wood, and I felt quite proud when she took my hand. A cheeky little Elf, who overheard me say that I would go with her anywhere,turned a somersault in the air and burst out laughing, but I pretended not to hear. It wasn’t his business, anyhow, and I wished that that walk through the valley had been twice as long.
At the further end, quite hidden among the larches, was a natural grotto of moss-grown stones, and just inside it a heap of ferns, piled up to make a throne that was fit for a queen. Méllisande seated herself on this, and I sat down at her feet.
We did not talk for a long while, for she seemed to be thinking as she stroked my hair, and I only wanted to look at her. After awhile I asked her if she had been one of the Fées that Madame Daudet’s great-great-grandmother had met in a forest near Bayeux. She smiled and sighed as she told me “Yes,” and a wood dove flew out of the trees and perched on her shoulder.
Then she asked me to walk with her
Chapter VI The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou.
“Once upon a time,” said Méllisande,“there dwelt at the Castle of Argouges a noble lord who was famous not only for his bravery, but for the extreme beauty of his dark features and slender form. All women loved him, but though he served them with chivalry, as became a knight, he sought his pleasure in the woods and fields rather than in their company. He knew what the brook was humming as it gurgled over the stones, and the wind told him all its secrets as it rustled among the pines. Sometimes he wrote these things on a sheet of paper and read them to himself aloud as he lay on the green sward. The Fées in the forest drew near to listen, for the voice of this lord of Argouges was sweet as the lute of Orpheus, and their lovely Queen lost her heart to him. Day after day she hovered by his side, sighing when he was sad, and rejoicing when the words he sought came quickly to his pen.
Once when he looked up suddenly he saw her as in a vision. A silvery veil of misty gauze half hid her exquisite form; and out of this her face looked down upon him, pure asan angel’s, but with the love of a woman in her lustrous eyes. As he sprang to his feet, she melted away in a white cloud, and close to his ear he heard a mournful sigh, as if her spirit grieved to part from his. And he wrote no longer of flowing water or whispering wind, but of the Lady of the Woods.
For many a day he saw her no more, for Henry I of England coveted Normandy, the ancient patrimony of his house, and sent his armies to take possession of it. When the city of Bayeux was besieged, the Lord of Argouges was amongst its most gallant defenders, and his resource and daring were the talk of all. None who crossed swords with him lived to tell the tale, for his courage was equalled by his skill.
One morn a giant sprang from the enemy’s ranks—a lusty German, well over seven feet, with the limbs of a prize-fed ox.
‘I dare you to fight me singly, Lord of Argouges!’ he cried, for he knew with whom he had to deal. The soldiers near stayed their hands to watch; the hearts of the Normansalmost stood still, but the English exulted, for surely now would the Lord of Argouges bite the dust, and his fiery sword no more work havoc in their ranks! Their dismay was great when he proved himself victor, though they would not have wondered had they had vision to see how ever beside him moved the shadowy form of his Lady of the Woods, directing his arm that his aim might be swift and sure, and oft-times interposing her tender body between him and the German’s thrusts. Later on, when the gallant knight fainted from his wounds and was left for dead, she tended him pitifully as he lay on the blood-stained earth, moistening his lips with the dew of heaven, and whispering such sweet thoughts to him that the weary hours were eased by blissful dreams. He was still alive when morning dawned, and was found by his friends and carried into camp. Though visible to him alone, the Lady of the Woods was there beside his couch, and the terrible sights and sounds that accompanied the merciful efforts of those who tended the woundedcould not scare her away from him. When his suffering was over, and he could raise himself to eat and drink, she came to him no more, and as his strength slowly returned he was consumed with a passionate desire to find her.
At length he was able to go home to his castle, and once more he roamed the forest. The songs of the birds were hushed by now, and the trees under which he used to rest were almost bare. It was autumn, for he had been long absent, and even yet his step was slow and his proud head bent with weakness. He was sick with longing for his gentle lady; ‘If I do not find her, I shall die!’ he cried.
Presently he came to a glade where the naked boughs formed a splendid arch above his head, and he saw a troop of horsewomen riding toward him on snow-white steeds. In their midst was his Lady of the Woods, a bridal veil on her star-crowned hair, and myrtle at her breast. He awaited her approach in a trance of delight; nearer and nearer camethe prancing horses, their skins of satin glinting in the sun. The cavalcade reached his side; the Queen of the Fées dismounted and stood beside him, while the ground at her feet became a bed of lilies. The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees amidst their fragrance, gazing up at her with enraptured eyes, as softly and shyly she bent toward him.
“The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees”“The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees”
‘Once more I greet you, dear lord!’ she said, and as she touched his forehead with her lips, the birds still lingering in the forest burst into joyful song. When the knight found words to tell her of his great love, she plighted her troth to him, but only he heard her whispered promise that she would be his wife.
Once more she mounted her snow-white steed; he seated himself behind her, and thus they rode to the castle gates, accompanied by her maidens. Here the Lord of Argouges sprang to the ground; light as a wisp of thistledown, she floated into his arms, and to the amaze of the household, who had watched the approach of the procession from the castlewindows, her horse, thrice neighing, changed into a bird, and fluttered sorrowfully away.
‘Farewell, sweet Queen!’ her maidens cried, and kissing their hands to her, rode swiftly back to the depths of the forest.
Then the Lord of the Argouges drew the Lady of the Woods across the threshold of the castle, and so queenly was her beauty and so gracious her demeanour, that even his aged mother, jealous of the son for whom she would have shed her life-blood, found no word to say against his choice.
‘My love for him is nought beside thine,’ the Fée Queen pleaded very sweetly, ‘for thou didst bring him into the world, and hast anguished for him as none else can. But I too have suffered on his behalf; I pray thee, let me love him too!’
Then his mother looked long and deeply into the eyes of the woman who had dethroned her from her dear son’s heart, and what she saw there filled her with peace. ‘Be it as thou wilt,’ she said, and that self-same night the Lord of Argouges wedded his Lady of theWoods in the castle chapel, which was decked with the fragrant lilies that sprang wherever her feet had trod. The rejoicings lasted for seven days, and the Lord of Argouges looked as one to whom the gates of Paradise had opened.
The Queen of the Fées was now to all seeming a mortal woman, and so far from regretting that she had laid aside her rank, each day found her more content in her husband’s love, and by every womanly art she knew she sought to please him. One favour only she asked of him—that never in her hearing would he mention the word ‘Death.’
‘If you do, you will lose me for ever,’ she told him fearfully, and he vowed by all that he held most sacred that this dread word should not cross his lips.
The years went on. The lovely Lady of the Woods bore him fair daughters and gallant sons, and all was well with the Lord of Argouges. But one thing grieved him; since the Fées’ sweet Queen had linked her lot with his, she too was subject to the laws of Time,and her beauty waned with increasing age. The gold of her hair was streaked with silver, and her face lost some of its soft pink bloom. Her lord spake no word of what was in his mind as he looked at her earnestly one bright spring morn, but she divined his regretful thoughts, and full sorrowful were her own.
The Fées could not help her, since she had left her fairy kindred to throw in her lot with mortal man, and so, with woman’s wit, she determined that at the forthcoming festival at the Court the splendour of her attire should make her lord forget Time’s changes. She therefore summoned to the castle the most skilful workers in silks and broideries, who toiled in her service day and night, that she might be richly adorned at the Royal Tournament.
Her gown was of azure satin, encrusted with many gems, and her long court train glittered and shone with gold and silver. Diamonds blazed at her breast and neck, while a circlet of rubies glowed in her hair. But their rich red lustre made her pale sweet face look palerthan ever, and she still gazed wistfully at her glass though the Lord of Argouges waited below, wondering what delayed her. At length he sought her himself, and in spite of his impatience, he could but admire her resplendent attire.
‘You have robbed the sky of his morning glories!’ he told her gallantly. Then, as she lingered still, his impatience returned: ‘Fair spouse,’ he said, ‘it were well if Death should send you as his messenger, for you tarry long when you are bidden to haste!—Forgive me, Sweet! I should not have said that word!’
His remorse came too late, for the ominous sound had scarcely crossed his lips when with a cry of bitter anguish, his lady became once more a Fée, and vanished from his sight. Long and vainly did he seek her, for though her footmarks are still to be seen on the battlements of the Castle, and night after night she wandered round it clad in a misty robe of white, they two met on earth no more. She is pictured still in the crest of the house of Argouges, over its motto, ‘A la Fe!’”
I liked this story, but I wished that it had not ended quite so sadly. When I said so to Méllisande she turned her face away from me, and I think it was a tear drop that glittered on her hand.
“Then I will tell you neither of Pressina nor Melusina,” she said, “for both these Fées lived to rue the day when they put faith in the word of man. It was different with the fair Norina. She demanded no pledge, for doubt and distrust came not nigh her path, and her love brought her only gladness.”
The shadows lengthened; the wood dove flew off to rejoin her mate; and Méllisande’s lips began to smile as she thought of another story.
The wood dove flew off
The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou.
“Long, long ago,” she went on presently, “when our beautiful Normandy was known by another name, and formed part of the kingdom of Neustria, which was given to the Duke of Paris by Charles the Bald, there lived a wise and noble lord who was said to havemagic powers. So gentle was he that the very birds would perch on his shoulder and twitter their joys to him, yet so brave and strong that the proudest knight cared not to provoke his wrath. He was skilled in the lore of plants and herbs, and by means of a slender hazel from the woods could tell where crystal waters flowed deep in the bowels of the earth. Full many a maid would have flown to him had he lifted his little finger, but though he was often lonely as he wandered beneath the stars, his heart went out to none, whether of high or low degree, and he preferred his own company to that of a mate whom he could not love.
One Mayday he was up at dawn, searching the fields for a tiny plant which had some special gift of healing. The grass was spangled with myriad flowers, but he passed them all till he came to the one he sought—a small pale blossom of faintest lilac, with perfume as sweet as a rose’s. While yet he held it in his hand he heard a cry; it was that of some creature in pain, and forcing his waythrough a prickly hedge, he found a pure white dove with a broken wing lying under a thornbush.
‘Poor bird!’ he exclaimed compassionately. ‘Who has dared to injure so fair a thing?’ With tender hands he set the broken wing, binding it to her side with three green leaves and some long-stemmed grass, and fed her with juice from the lilac flower as he soothed her with gentle words. When he had stilled her flutterings, he laid her on his breast, that he might bear her home and tend her until she could fly once more under the vault of heaven.
On he strode through the meadow, and high in the sky the larks trilled their pæans of joy. Never to him had seemed the earth so fair, and the morning sun tinged his cheek with gladness. Suddenly he felt the burden on his breast grow heavy, and stayed his footsteps in surprise. No longer did he hold a wounded dove against his bosom, but a beauteous maiden in pure white garb, with three green leaves bound about her arm with stems of grass.
He set her on her feet and stared at her in amaze; she met his enraptured gaze with eyes that shone like twin blue stars. Then her eyelids fell; she drooped beneath his glance as a fragile flower beneath the sun’s fierce wooing.
And as the wind sweeps over a field of corn when it is ripe for reaping, love took possession of him. Fée or woman, he swore, this beauteous maid should be his wife if she were willing, and he would guard her through good and ill while life should last.
‘Art thou mine?’ he asked her presently, hoarse for very joy.
‘I am thine!’ she said, for she had loved him long, and had but taken the form of a dove to try him. And taking her home to his castle, they were wedded by the holy priest.
No longer now was he lonely, no longer did he wander solitary beneath the stars, for the lovely Fée was as true and tender as mortal woman, and made him a faithful wife. Sons were denied them, but seven fair daughterscame, and he called them after the seven gems that graced their mother’s diadem.
The maidens were of such supreme loveliness that as they grew up to womanhood they were known as the Seven Fair Queens; each was without rival in her own style of beauty. Pearl was fair as day, with a skin like milk; Ruby’s dark splendour was a gift from the Queen of Night, and her red, red mouth the bud of a perfect flower. The glorious hair of Amber fell round her shoulders in shimmering waves of light, and sunbeams lost themselves in her lashes. Sweet Turquoise had her mother’s eyes of blue forget-me-not, while Sapphire’s were of deeper hue, and Amethyst’s that of the violet. Chrysolite’s were a misty green, like the sky in the early morning, and no mermaid sang sweeter songs than she as she sat on the rocks at low tide.
There came a time when the father of the Seven Fair Queens fell very sick, and not all his potions could prolong his days. His call had come, and so closely were he and Norina united, that one eve at sunset her life went outwith his. For awhile their orphaned daughters wept with grief as they paced the gardens, or sat by the crackling fire in the great hall. But youth cannot mourn for ever, and with a second spring, glad hopes came back to them, and once more they rode in the chase. Since they were rich as well as beautiful you may be sure they had many wooers, but all preferred to reign alone.
‘When we wed, it will be with Fées!’ they said disdainfully. This angered their lovers, and presently they were left in peace.
Full wisely did they use their parents’ wealth, improving the land and making sure provision for all dependant on their bounty. On the coast of the Cotentin they built the Castle of Pirou, which gave work to the poor for several succeeding years, and when it was finished they filled it with gorgeous tapestries and all the treasures of art they could collect. Here they lived in splendour, keeping open house; no passing wayfarer, however humble, need miss a welcome if he cared to claim it.
They were still in the first full bloom of their beauty when their fame reached the ears of one of the great sea pirates, the dreaded Vikings who rode the waves like giant birds of prey. North, South, East and West, from Norway and Sweden, and little Denmark, they sailed in search of plunder, and such was their love of fighting that they would, if need be, challenge each other rather than allow their swords to rust with disuse. Although they robbed, they were brave men, and believed themselves entitled to all they took. Their vessels were small, and light of draught, so they could penetrate many rivers, but the great chiefs chose the sea for their battle ground, and ravaged many a town and village on the coast of France.
When the mighty Siegmund heard of the Seven Fair Queens of Pirou, he resolved to storm their castle and take the loveliest for his bride. With this intent he set sail for the coast of Cotentin with a gallant fleet. The wind and the tide were with him; he reached it one soft spring morning when the sea was a sheet of blue.
As the vessel which bore him neared the shore, the Viking espied a bevy of maidens in a sheltered cove, where the sand lay in golden ripples. Ruby and Pearl, and the gentle Turquoise sported in a sun-kissed pool; while Sapphire and Amethyst wove wreaths of seaweed, and Amber was smoothing her shining hair with a slender shell of mother-of-pearl that the waves had thrown at her feet. Chrysolite sat on a dark rock, singing, and her soft clear notes rang over the waters, enchanting Siegmund with their music.
‘By Thor and Odin,’ he thundered, ‘our journey was well planned. Haste thee, my men, and get me to that rock! That maiden shall be my bride.’
The boat sped swiftly, with Siegmund sitting in the stern. His yellow locks streamed over his stalwart shoulders, and his face was like that of some eager god as he noted Chrysolite’s beauty. The maiden saw his approach; and now the glad notes of her exquisite song changed to a mournful rhythm. She waschanting the words that her mother had breathed to her seven daughters as she lay a’dying:
‘Women ye, my daughters fair(Cloudless spreads the sky);But when menace fills the air,Fées, as once was I.Slender arm shall change that dayInto snow-white plume;Winged as birds, haste swift awayFrom thy threatening doom!’
‘Women ye, my daughters fair(Cloudless spreads the sky);But when menace fills the air,Fées, as once was I.Slender arm shall change that dayInto snow-white plume;Winged as birds, haste swift awayFrom thy threatening doom!’
‘Women ye, my daughters fair(Cloudless spreads the sky);But when menace fills the air,Fées, as once was I.Slender arm shall change that dayInto snow-white plume;Winged as birds, haste swift awayFrom thy threatening doom!’
As the last words left her sorrowful lips, Chrysolite’s sisters gathered round her; the boat’s keel grated on the sand, and Siegmund sprang eagerly forward. At the same moment the Seven Fair Queens of Pirou raised their arms, and instantly these changed, before his eyes, to fluttering wings. High in the air mounted the maidens, and to the bewildered gaze of Siegmund they were nought but a line of snow-white birds flying westward in single file high up in the sky.
“They instantly changed into snow-white birds.”
The bewildered gaze of Siegmund
When Siegmund had somewhat recovered from his amazement, he and his followers sacked the castle, and pillaged the surrounding country; it did them but little good, for a stormblew up as they sailed back northward, and the ships that carried the stolen treasure were wrecked on the rocks. As for the Seven Fair Queens, they mated with Fées, and were glad as the morning. Every year as spring comes round, they return to Pirou with their numerous descendants, in the form of a flock of wild geese, and take possession of the nests which they have hollowed out in the crumbling walls. They also appear when a child is born to the house of Pirou; if it be a daughter, and Fate has destined her for a nun, one sits apart in a corner of the courtyard, and sighs as if in sore distress. If a son is born, the male birds display their plumage, and show by their mien that they rejoice.”
Méllisande rose from her throne of ferns, “It will be twilight soon,” she said, “and we must go. See! the mists are already rising in the valley, and the night-birds awake and call. Farewell, dear Christmas Child, farewell!”
And, stooping down, she kissed my forehead.
She kissed my forehead
Chapter VII In the Dwarf’s Palace.
Now I knew that Germany was thevery country for Dwarfs and Fairies, and when I heard that this was where we were going next I determined to be on the look out. I did not see them, though, for a long time after we arrived, for I was so tremendously interested in everything else. Even in the big cities where Father spent hours and hours in the hospitals, watching the wonderful things that the German doctors did, most of the children looked plump and rosy, and I didn’t see any so thin and pale as those we had left at home. One of the Herr Professors, with whom we stayed, said that this was because the State made so kind a Grandmother, but when I asked him what he meant, he only laughed.
I liked this professor best of all—he had such a nice way of talking, and he loved Fairies as much as I do. He said “Ach! So!”when I told him I was a Christmas Child, and smiled all over his kind old face. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, and told me that I must remember to do my part to make my birthday the gladdest day in the year for everyone around me.
“It is different in your country,” he went on, “but here, in the Fatherland, there is scarcely a cottage home which has not its Christmas tree, even if this is only a branch of fir stuck in a broken pot, and hung with oranges and golden balls. No child is so poor but has his Christmas presents of cakes and toys, for if his mother cannot provide them, she tells his teacher in good time, and the teacher sees that he is not forgotten.”
I thought this was a ripping plan, for it is horrid when Santa Claus forgets you, and your stockings hang all limp and flat, like mine did last year. And I made up my mind, then and there, that next Christmas there should be a tree for all the littlest and grubbiest children in my old home.
Fat little things, with big blue eyes.
While Father was at the hospitals with the Herr Professor, I stayed with Rudolf and Gretchen, two of his grandchildren—fat little things with big blue eyes, who stared at me as if I had seven heads when I told them about the Korrigans. Gretchen believed in Fairies of all kinds, but Rudolf only in Dwarfs andGiants. He even said that Santa Claus was just his own father dressed up, and declared he had seen his old brown pipe peeping out of Santa Claus’ pocket the last time he paid them a visit. Gretchen said that if so, Santa Claus had taken away the old brown pipe to bring a lovely new one in its place, and Rudolf told her girls knew too much. They were both angry by this time, and their faces looked very red. So I thought we had better talk about Dwarfs and Giants.
“Grandfather says there are no Giants now,” Rudolph said seriously, “but there are plenty of Dwarfs in the hill which looks down on the forest. I saw one there myself last summer; he ran away and wouldn’t speak to me, as if he were afraid.”
Without saying anything to Rudolf, who might have wanted to come too, I started for the hill directly after dinner, while he and Gretchen were arguing again over the pipe and Santa Claus. The Professor’s house was just at the end of the town, so I didn’t have far to go; but the hill took much longer toclimb than I thought it would, and I was quite out of breath when I reached the top and sat down on a flat white stone. As I looked about me, I swung my foot, and it tapped against a biggish rock that was just in front. The third time that I did this, a little brown man hopped briskly out of a crevice and stood before me. He wore a bright red coat trimmed with green buttons, and carried in his hand a close-fitting cap of grey.
“Gently, gently, good child!” he cried. “One knock is enough, if we want to hear it, for our ears are as keen as we could wish.Why did you call me, and what would you have?”
“I would hear of you, and of your kinsmen, Master Dwarf!” I said. “I am a Christmas Child, and the Fairies are all my friends.”
At this he bowed, and said he was glad to meet me, nodding his head with a sort of grunt as I told him where I had met Titania.
“If it be your pleasure,” he said, looking round to see that no one was near but me, “I will take you within the hill, and introduce you to my wife. The ground whereon you stand is hollow, as you will soon perceive, and we are less than a stone’s throw from my palace.”
I told him that nothing would please me more than to pay him a visit, and muttering a word in some strange language, he rapped his knuckles on a cleft in the rock. It widened sufficiently to let us both through, and closed again with a thud.
The winding passage in which I found myself was lit by a soft red glow, coming from hundreds of rubies set deep in the walls,which seemed to be of oxidised silver. After several twists and turns, it ended in a wide hall, where I could just stand upright under the jewelled dome! As soon as my eyes grew accustomed to the blaze of light which came from the diamond stars set round it, I saw a sweet little creature in a frock of pale purple silk, cut short in the sleeves to show her pretty white arms, on which she wore many bracelets.
“My wife!” said the Dwarf proudly, and he explained to her who I was and what I wanted, and a great deal more about me that I was astonished he should know. My surprise amused him a good deal, and as his wife led the way to her boudoir he chuckled merrily.
“There are Kobolds, or House-Spirits in most old houses,” he remarked, “and it is more than two hundred years since the first stone was laid of the Herr Professor’s. I knew this noon that you were coming, and the Kobold spoke well of you, and said that you were not above taking advice from others wiser than yourself. Now, sir! What doyou think of this?” And he opened a door with a great flourish, holding it back for me to enter.
“It’s grand!” I said, for so it was. The silver floor was inlaid with a gold scroll; the walls, of tinted mother-o’-pearl, were adorned with wreaths of forget-me-nots, each tiny turquoise flower having an amber centre. The furniture was of filigree silver, so fragile to look at that I was afraid to touch it, much less to sit down on one of the tiny chairs, even if I could have fitted myself in. The Dwarf invited me to be seated, and his small wife gave me a roguish smile as she brought a velvet cushion from an inner room, and placed this on the ground. I found afterwards that it was the Dwarfs own bed, and that his pillow was made of spun spider silk, filled with scented roseleaves and wild thyme.
The Dwarf invited me to be seated.
His little spouse offered me a sip of nectar
“When you are rested and refreshed,” said the Dwarf kindly, as his little spouse offered me a sip of nectar from a crystal goblet, “I will show you my palace. There is not much to see, for we are humble folk, and this hillcomparatively a small one. The estates of some of our nobles extend for miles, and that of our Emperor runs through a range of mountains. In times gone by we welcomed mortals as our guests, for we were anxious to be their friends. But they grudged us even a handful of peas in return, and met our advances with jeers. Now we keep to our hills as far as possible, and when we desire to walk abroad, we are careful to wear our mist caps, which render us quite invisible.”
He sighed so deeply that the dainty lace cap poised on his wee wife’s hair was almost blown away, and then, straightening his bent shoulders, he took me to see his Banquet Hall. The curtains were all of filigree silver, fine as lace, and on the walls of the kitchen, where silent little men in big white aprons kneaded cakes on crystal slabs, shone ruby and sapphire butterflies.
But this was nothing to what I saw in the long low vault where the Dwarf kept his treasures. At one end was a shimmering heap of pearls, some larger than pigeons’ eggs;at another, a conical mound of diamonds, which threw out marvellous lights as the Dwarf stirred them gently with one small hand.
“We know the properties of each stone,” he said; “how some give strength, and some wisdom and power to rule, while others still stir up strife and envy, and make men merciless as beasts of prey. That ruby you see has an evil history; a woman gave her soul for it, and thousands were slain in her cause.”
I picked up the beautiful, glowing gem, and fancied I saw the face of an evil demon grinning at me from its depths. Dropping it quickly, I looked instead at a pile of rings at the other side of the vault. One in particular drew my attention; it was of beaten gold, with a curious stone set deep in its centre. As I held it aloof and stared at it, I caught a glimpse of a waving meadow, with a tiny path leading past a brook.
“That is the ring which the Queen of Lombardy gave to her son, Otnit,” said the Dwarf. “Come with me to the Court of Rest, and you shall hear the story.”
This was the loveliest place which I had yet seen in the palace. A circle of orange trees in full bloom enclosed a space round a rippling fountain, where from the gleaming beak of an opal bird a stream of water splashed into an emerald basin. The invisible wind that stirred the petals of the orange blossom brought with it the swish of the sea, and somewhere, far off, a nightingale was singing.
The Dwarf seated himself on one of the velvet cushions strewn on the ground, and motioning me to take another, began his tale.