Fairy dreams or, Wanderings in Elf-land
other of the maidens of the sea. On the night we are sixteen (our
birthdays always come in the full moon), if we can by any means
persuade a mortal maiden to leap into the sea, and catch her in our
arms as she falls, we are able to change conditions with her,--she
becoming a mer-maiden, and we a child of earth. This is possible, but
rarely attempted by us; partly because we love our own natures so well
we do not care to change, and partly from the difficulty of inducing
any earthly maiden to make the exchange. Sometimes, however, one of us
has done it; my eldest sister did. She ascended to the upper waters on
her birth-night, and found herself near a ship moving slowly through
the sea; floating quietly about it she perceived a beautiful girl
leaning over the side, and looking sadly into the water. My sister, who
had a harp like mine, began to play and sing softly, and the maiden,
fixing her eyes upon the spot where my sister’s hair, floating behind
her, looked like what the sailors call a moon-glade, drooped lower and
lower over the side of the vessel, until Neria, holding out her arms,
the maiden sunk into them, and in the next moment floated away a
mer-maiden, while my sister clambered into the ship and took her place.”
“But did they look alike?” asked Ernest.
“Oh, the two change faces as well as forms, you understand.”
“But then you would not be my Sulemair any more,” said Ernest,
discontentedly.
“Foolish boy, you will find some one so much more beautiful to take my
place, that you will be glad to make the change,” said the princess,
laughing merrily.
“_I_ shall find, little Susu? What does that mean?” asked the
lover.
“Why, my plan is, that you shall return immediately to the earth, and
spend the time from now to my birthday, which will not be for ten more
full moons, in trying to find a maiden (a beautiful one, mind--I
won’t change with an ugly one), who will leap into the sea of her own
freewill. I don’t think it right to charm one, as Neria did, although I
dare say I could”--
“As you charmed me,” suggested Ernest.
“No, I didn’t charm you, I only sung to you,” replied Sulemair
innocently.
“All the same; but go on with your little plan, darling.”
“Well, if you can find one who will change with me willingly, bring her
to a place which I will show you, the night of the tenth full moon from
that now shining; let her leap into my arms, and the next moment you
will have me, a mortal maiden, ready to live and die with you in your
own way.”
“Let me set out immediately,” exclaimed Ernest, starting up, “I shall
find not one, but twenty maidens, with whom to purchase my Sulemair’s
life.”
“Not twenty, but one will be enough,” smiled the princess, as, winding
her arms about Ernest, she floated with him to the surface of the
ocean, directing her course obliquely, as if to reach some particular
point. Emerging at length, they found themselves near the shore, and
directly opposite a high cliff of peculiar shape, which overhung the
water like a petrified cataract.
“There, Ernest,” said the princess, pointing at the cliff, “you see
that--we call it ‘the frozen fall’--now if you can find a maiden
willing to exchange with me, bring her there, and let her leap, just as
the moon reaches the summit of the heavens, into my arms, which shall
be open to catch her. Farewell till then.”
And Sulemair, with a little laugh and a playful gesture, sunk beneath
the surface and was gone immediately. Ernest would have followed,
to assure her once more that he would certainly return; but to his
surprise he found the water, which had so long been like a native
element to him, had suddenly become a foreign one, and he was obliged
to swim vigorously to gain the shore, which, while he was floating with
Sulemair, had seemed so near and easy of access.
Once landed, Ernest immediately set out upon his strange search. He
travelled far and wide, and tried to persuade many beautiful maidens
to change their earthly condition for a life beneath the sea. But some
laughed in his face, some told him he was a madman who should be shut
up, some shuddered, and said they were frightened at the very idea,
and some tried to persuade him to stay with them instead.
So one month after another slipped away, until the tenth moon had grown
from a crescent to half its full size, and still the maiden was not
found.
Gloomy and despairing, Ernest had almost abandoned hope; and one day
finding himself in a thick wood just outside a great city, he threw
himself upon the ground, and covering his face with his hands, began to
lament and groan aloud; but after a while, his grief becoming a little
calmer, he lay quite still and quiet; to his great surprise, however,
the sounds of lamentation still echoed through the stillness of the
wood, as if the very trees were mourning with him. Thinking that this
could hardly be the case, Ernest looked about him in every direction,
and presently perceived at a little distance a female figure seated
upon the ground, her face covered with her hands, and her whole form
shaken with the violence of her grief.
Full of compassion and some little curiosity, Ernest arose, and
approaching the stranger, asked kindly what was the matter with her.
Looking up, with a little startled cry, the mourner showed the face of
a young girl, with so striking resemblance to Sulemair, that the lover
uttered an exclamation of astonishment; but without heeding this, the
young girl said sadly,--
“You ask what is the matter, sir, that I thus weep and lament. I
will tell you; for you look kind and good. My father, whom they call
a traitor, though no man is less so, is to be beheaded at sunrise
to-morrow, and I shall be left alone in the wide world.” Saying this,
she burst into fresh tears and sobs. Ernest sat down beside her, and
when her grief had a little subsided, told her how sorry he felt for
her, and that if he could in any way help her or her father, he would
do so. Then he told her his own story, and asked if she could help him.
Veria (this was the maiden’s name) listened attentively to Ernest’s
story, and when he had finished, sat for a moment thinking. Then,
holding out her hand to the youth, she said,--
“I will be the maiden for whom you search, Ernest, if you will find
means to save my father’s life. Gladly will I give mine for his; and if
I can make you and Sulemair happy at the same time, it will be so much
the more joy. Will you try, Ernest?”
“I will try, Veria,” said the young man, sadly; for he did not quite
like the idea, after all, of seeing Veria throw herself into the sea,
and become a mer-maiden.
Nevertheless, he rose, and walked quickly toward the city, leaving the
maiden still weeping in the wood.
Having engaged a lodging at a small inn near the city gate, Ernest
mingled with a group of men at the door of the inn, who were busily
talking in a low voice, and who did not notice that a stranger had
joined them.
“But what will they do for an executioner to-morrow,” said one, “since
Vincent cannot be found?”
“Do you suppose some of Hugo’s friends hired him to run away, that the
execution might be deferred?” asked another.
“Like enough,” responded a third; “and if it could be put off
altogether, I don’t think any one would be sorry; for, after all, what
has this Hugo done, to have his head chopped off? There are more worse
than better men, I’ll be bound.”
“Yes,” said the first cautiously, “and I, for my part, would gladly
help to set him free, if it could be done.”
“Aye,” responded the second, “but how is that to be accomplished?”
“I will tell you, good friends,” interrupted Ernest, “_I_ will set
him free, if you will only help me.”
“You, young man? How will you do it?”
“Come close to me, and I will tell you my plan.”
The citizens crowded about Ernest, who in a very low voice told them a
plan which had just occurred to him, and which they all agreed was an
excellent one. Each promised to help him in every way that he should
point out, and all kept their word.
That very night Ernest presented himself to the governor of the city
as an executioner from another town, who was willing to take the
place of Vincent, the missing officer, who had suddenly disappeared.
The governor asked, of course, for his certificates of character and
ability, but Ernest was ready for him; for his good friends of the
tavern had provided him with papers, which, if not quite as genuine,
were just as good looking as any executioner could have shown.
The governor read all the papers carefully, examined the signatures,
asked Ernest a good many questions, and finished by engaging him,
offering to pay him half the price for which they agreed in advance;
but Ernest, who was too honest to take money for work which he never
meant to do, said he preferred to wait, and have it altogether.
The next morning at sunrise was the time appointed, and a great crowd
had collected to witness the execution; but Ernest saw with pleasure
that his new friends had contrived to get places next the scaffold, and
all looked determined and ready.
Presently the criminal, Hugo, as he was called, was brought from the
interior of the prison, and Ernest felt a double longing to save him
when he saw how much he resembled Veria.
Making a pretence of arranging his dress that it might not interfere
with the blow, he whispered rapidly that he was no executioner, but
was there to save him; and as he stood close behind him he slyly cut
the cords which bound Hugo’s arms, and, slipping a strong knife into
his hand, bid him do just as he did.
Hugo, although startled for a moment, soon recovered his
self-possession, and, in a whisper, said he was ready.
Then Ernest, springing from the scaffold into the midst of the group of
friends who were waiting for him, brandished his axe about his head,
crying,--
“Rescue! rescue! Good men, rescue!”
Hugo, flourishing his knife, and crying out, “Help! friends, help!”
followed immediately; and the little group, each of whom drew a knife,
a dagger, a pistol, or some other weapon, closed about them, all
crying, “Rescue! rescue!” which induced many others to join them.
More than this, the people, who all wished well to Hugo, made way for
him and his friends to pass, but closed up when the soldiers tried to
follow them, which caused much delay and vexation to the pursuers.
Reaching the city gates, Hugo, Ernest, and one or two others, rushed
out, and their friends, snatching the keys from the astonished guard,
locked the gates, and threw the keys over the wall; then, hiding their
weapons and mingling in the crowd, they escaped unrecognized.
The little group outside meantime had gained the wood, where horses
were waiting for them; and Hugo, with one hurried kiss and good-by
to Veria (who also was there waiting for him), mounted with one or
two friends and rode off at full speed, and that same night left the
country forever.
Ernest and Veria, at the same time mounting the two remaining horses,
set out in another direction, and when the angry soldiers from the
city had at last forced the gate and reached the forest, they found it
silent and deserted; nor did they ever again see one of the fugitives.
Ernest and Veria, saying but little to each other, and both exceedingly
sorrowful, rode all that day, and the next, and the next, until, the
very evening when the tenth full moon was rising majestically from the
sea, they turned loose their exhausted horses at the foot of the cliff
which Sulemair had named the Frozen Fall.
Silently the two climbed the cliff, until they had nearly reached its
crest, and then, Ernest motioning his companion to seat herself on
a flat, gray rock which lay there, threw himself at her feet, and,
looking up in her face, said,--