Fairy dreams or, Wanderings in Elf-land
“Veria, I will not have it so. Why are you to sacrifice yourself that
Sulemair should be happy? She has never known any other life than that
beneath the sea, and she will soon forget me and her wild dream of
becoming a mortal. I will stay with you, Veria, and we shall all be
happy in our own way.”
Veria smiled sadly in the moonlight.
“No, Ernest,” said she, “I have bought my father’s life, and I will pay
the price. Sulemair trusted you, and brought you back to earth that you
might win for her the means of living always with you. Shall we be so
base as to deceive and defraud her?”
Ernest, covering his face, groaned aloud, but did not speak; nor did
either utter another word until the moon, sailing slowly through the
calm, blue ocean of heaven, stood in the zenith smiling down at the
twin moon, which smiled up to her from the ocean of waters beneath.
Then Veria, rising, pointed upward, and said softly,--
“Ernest, do you see?”
The young man slowly raised his pale face and looked. Veria, standing
on the very verge of the cliff, the soft night wind floating back her
snow-white dress and golden hair, her hands clasped and raised, as were
her soft eyes, to heaven,--stood ready for the leap.
Below, gazing up at her, as the moon below gazed up to the moon above,
floated Sulemair; her white form gleaming through the still water,
her yellow hair floating out upon the waves, her snowy arms extended
upward.
“Veria, Veria, stay!” shouted the young man in agony.
“Veria, Veria, come!” floated up from the water like a mocking echo, in
the silvery voice of Sulemair.
Ernest sprung forward; but Veria, with one wild glance backward, leaped
from the cliff, and was clasped in the white arms of Sulemair.
Mechanically, more with the idea of saving Veria than of greeting her
rival, Ernest rushed down the path leading to the beach, and stood a
moment, with the little laughing waves curling and plashing round his
feet.
A white, floating figure rose to the surface, and was borne gently
toward him;--plunging in, the young man swam toward her, reached her,
and drew her out. Then, standing on the moon-lit beach, he gazed in
astonishment at the being beside him. Fair and golden-haired, she had
the dove-like, spiritual eyes of Veria, but the laughing, rose-red
mouth and dimpled cheek of Sulemair. Upon her head and neck and arms
shone the crown and pearls of the sea-princess, but her form was
clothed in the modest garments of the earth-maiden. All that he had
loved, all that was best and dearest of each, was there. Who was it?
“Veria!--Sulemair!” stammered Ernest. “Which are you? What does this
mean? Speak to me!”
“Dear Ernest!” said a voice as true and loving as Veria, as arch and
playful as Sulemair, “I am both,--all. What each wanted, the other
possessed,--I am the childlike, frolicsome mer-maiden joined to the
true heart and immortal soul of Veria. When we clasped our arms about
each other, the heart of each leaped to meet that of the other; in a
moment we were one,--two in one. Do you like me, Ernest?”
“Like you, my queen, my angel?” exclaimed the youth, clasping her to
his heart; “I love you with twofold love. All my old love for Sulemair,
all my new love for Veria, has mingled in my heart, as you two have
mingled soul and body; and my love is as much stronger for you than for
either of those, as you now are more perfect and more charming than
either half could have been alone.”
“But my name?” murmured the maiden, “what will you call me, now that I
have lost both those which I bore before?”
“I will call you Una now, for you are perfect--you are one,--a woman;
and can be no better, no higher.”
And the moon beamed, and the wavelets crisped in her pure light at
their feet; and their hearts had room for no more joy.
THE CASTLE ON THE CLIFF
Perched upon a high cliff which overhung the mouth of a mighty river,
stood the castle of the Baron von Hoche, and beneath it, in a little
harbor sheltered by the huge rocks stretching into the water on either
side, lay the boats in which the baron with his crew of ruffians used
to attack and plunder all vessels which tried to pass up or down
the river; so that after a while, no ship thought of attempting the
passage, unless it was armed with sufficient force to beat off the
pirates, who would be sure to assail it.
Other times, the baron and his troop would mount their horses, and,
swooping down the road which led to the plains below, would pounce upon
unwary travellers or rich trains of merchandise, and force them to
give up all they had of value. In short, the Baron von Hoche and his
followers were so wicked and so bold that the whole country trembled
when only his name was mentioned.
A little distance below the castle stood the hut of old Hans the
fisherman, who dwelt there alone with Fritzchen, his little son; and
thither came, one Christmas morning, a servant from the castle, with a
message that the baron would make a great feast that night, and that
Hans must supply twice the amount of fish, which he carried daily to
the castle as Reiter-malle or black-mail, with which to purchase the
baron’s protection and good-will.
So Hans, bidding Fritzchen follow him, went down to the shore, and,
loosing his little boat, spread the tattered sail, and set out for
his favorite fishing-ground. All day Hans and Fritzchen, fearful that
they were wrong in laboring even at the command of their master, upon
the birthday of the Lord Jesus, sung hymns and anthems, and repeated
pious sentences from good books which they had heard read in the
convent chapel, where they sometimes went; and this pious conduct had
its reward, for the fish, crowding to the boat to hear the holy music,
were taken in crowds, and it was hardly more than noon when Hans again
hoisted his ragged sail and turned his boat’s head homeward.
“Now, my Fritzchen,” said he, as they landed, “here are more fish than
the baron bade us bring, or than they can use; so we will take out four
for ourselves, and will make a little Christmas feast of our own.”
“Good, dear father!” said Fritzchen. “And let me take out this great
turbot, the finest of the whole load, and carry it to the convent, that
the good fathers may add it to their feast to-night. The baron will
then have three times as many as we carry him every day.”
“But, my Fritzchen, it is far to the convent, and the ground is covered
deep with snow,” said the father anxiously.
“Oh, that will not hurt me.” said Fritzchen skipping about; “I shall
run so fast that I shall keep myself warm, and the way will seem so
short that I shall hardly start before I reach there.”
“Go, then, good child,” said the old man, fondly patting the boy’s
shoulder. “But first carry this fish to the castle, with our humble
duty and Christmas greeting.”
So Fritzchen, taking the great sack of fish upon his shoulder, trudged
away to the castle, where he went to the kitchen to leave his load.
Here he found old Brigitta, the housekeeper, fuming round and scolding
everybody, because she had so much work to do. Fritzchen, cap in hand,
laid his sack of fish upon the floor and gave his father’s message.
“Yes, yes, a merry Christmas to idlers like you, who have nothing to do
but catch a few miserable fish, it may be,” said the cross old woman.
“But for me, who have the whole castle on my shoulders, and no one to
do a hand’s turn to help me;--but, there now, why can’t you go, my
Fritzchen, to the town and buy the candles?” pursued the old woman,
changing to a wheedling tone as a new thought crossed her mind.
“The candles, ma’am?” asked Fritzchen.
“Yes, child; we have not more than half candles enough to illuminate
the castle, and the baron has ordered that every window shall blaze
to-night; so go you to the town and buy me a dozen pounds, and you
shall have three pennies for yourself to buy a Christmas-box.”
“Yes, indeed, ma’am, I will go; and I can go to the convent on the
way,” said the boy, gayly.
“And what do you go to the convent for?” asked the dame curiously.
“To carry a great fish to the fathers for their Christmas supper,” said
Fritzchen simply.
“And get your pay in Aves and Paters, eh?” said the dame, with a sneer.
“I’ve seen enough of priests, if they’re all like old Father Boniface,
who drank himself to death here last year at Whitsuntide. Well, here’s
your money, and mind you get me the best candles, and be sure to get
home before dark.”
“I will be as quick as I can, ma’am,” said Fritz sorrowfully, for it
grieved him to hear any one slight the good fathers, whom he loved, and
who had been so kind to him.
Running home for the fish, he told his father hurriedly of his errand,
and that he should be later home than he expected; but old Hans
promised to have supper all ready without his help, and bid him haste
away.
So Fritzchen with the fish at his back, and a great piece of black
bread in his hand for dinner, set out, whistling merrily as he ran over
the snowy ground.
Arriving at the convent, he left his great fish with the kitchener,
who, besides thanking him, gave him his blessing and a beautiful
picture of the Virgin Mary all dressed in a blue gown with a red mantle
and a green scarf wound about her head. The picture was in a little
wooden frame, and Fritzchen thought that surely nothing else in the
wide world could be one half so fine or valuable.
His picture under his arm, the little boy ran on to the town, which
was still half a mile off; and there, having bought dame Brigitta’s
candles, he spent his three pennies; one in buying two little rolls
of white bread to add to their Christmas supper, and the rest for two
small candles of yellow wax, with which he said to himself he would
illuminate their cottage in honor of the holy Christmas night. Then
Fritzchen turned his face homeward and hurried along, now running,
now walking, but always singing,--with his mouth when he had breath,
and with his heart when he had not,--until he reached the foot of the
cliff, and began to climb the steep pathway leading to the castle of
the robber-baron.
But here, half way up the ascent, he paused, shuddering with fright and
astonishment. The servants were just beginning to light up the windows,
and while the great square keep, which formed the centre of the castle,
frowned in black and sullen shadow, the two wings--one of which was
the great banqueting-hall, and the other the neglected and ruined
chapel--were in a blaze of light.
But this was not what had so startled Fritzchen. The banqueting-hall,
where already the guests were assembled, was illuminated not only by
the lights within, but by a lurid, deep-red cloud, or mist, which,
falling lower and lower, seemed about to swallow it altogether; beneath
the cloud, brooding indeed on the very roof-tree of the hall, hovered
a huge, bat-like figure, black as midnight, who, slowly flapping his
great wings, seemed to draw with them the lurid cloud ever nearer and
nearer.
The chapel, too, was illuminated in otherwise than by Dame Brigitta’s
candles, for over it and around it shone a soft, clear light, white
and pure, by which Fritzchen could see a beautiful silver-white dove,
clinging to the roof, and seeming, with the gentle motion of its wings,
to create and retain the heavenly radiance which surrounded it. In the
east, toward which the chapel wing pointed, rose the calm, pure moon
from out the sea; but in the west, opposite the banqueting-hall, great
angry thunderclouds were gathering sullenly and slow,--but rising,
always rising.
Fritzchen stood long looking at these strange appearances, not
daring to approach any nearer to the castle, and once he turned to
run homeward; but just then he remembered that he had promised Dame