Fairy dreams or, Wanderings in Elf-land
Arrived at the nearest point of the path to the hermit’s cave, King
Tolv checked the fiery steed, and, lifting Mabel from his back, led her
tenderly along the rugged and barely discernible footpath which led up
to the mountain summit. Weary and breathless they reached the cave,
where Mabel had often been to carry the aged hermit little delicacies
for his table, and to hear his words of holy cheer.
Placing her upon the rude stone seat just without the grotto, the
majestic lover once more took the maiden’s hand and said solemnly,
“Mabel, wilt thou promise, as thou art a pure and stainless maiden, to
be my bride?”
Unfalteringly Mabel raised her clear eyes to the noble face which bent
toward her with a heart-searching gaze.
“I will, if the holy man says it is no sin,” said she.
“Wait here then, _liebe_, till I bring him,” said the lover in a
lighter and more joyous tone.
Mabel sat many minutes on the stone bench, and heard the round, manly
tones of her bridegroom alternating with the more feeble, solemn voice
of the aged priest in an earnest conversation, of which, however, no
distinct words reached her ear.
At last, priest and king stepped out into the rich, full moonlight, and
Mabel, even at that moment of anxiety and agitation, felt a thrill of
admiration as she noted the tall, manly figure and open, handsome face
of her lover. Then her eye fell upon the mild, benign face of Father
Franz, and her heart leaped for joy as she saw by his calm, benevolent
smile and serene expression, as he laid his hand upon her head, in
silent benediction that he was not displeased at the proposed union.
“And may I be King Tolv’s bride, and yet remain a daughter of the
Church?” whispered she falteringly.
“You may wed your noble suitor without sin or fear, daughter,”
responded the priest, with a smile more nearly approaching humor than
Mabel had ever seen before on his calm and thoughtful face; “and,” he
added, “thy power of serving holy Mother Church will be far greater as
his wife than it could be in thy present estate.”
The Latin ceremony was solemnly performed, the nuptial benediction
spoken; and Mabel, half bewildered, felt a warm kiss pressed upon her
lips, never touched before save by her mother’s mild caress.
“It is not fitting, dearest love,” said the young husband, “that thou
shouldst enter thy future home thus alone and unattended. Return for a
few hours to thy father’s house, and when the day which now is dawning
has reached its noon, stand there by the cross where first I saw thee,
and King Tolv will come with his retinue to carry his fair and gentle
queen to her new home.”
“I myself will leave thy wife at her father’s door, most noble king,”
said the hermit, with a half smile. “Business takes me to the monastery
in the valley, and I shall not reach there before sunrise if I set
forth now.”
As Father Franz went into his cave to make his simple preparations, the
bridegroom followed him. A whispered conversation ensued, and as they
again issued forth Mabel heard the holy father say,--
“I will surely be there, mein Herr.”
King Tolv tenderly supported his trembling bride down the steep
mountain path, and then, with one more fond kiss upon her quivering
lips, he sprang upon his fiery steed and was gone.
When next the mid-day sun looked down upon the old oak shading the
lonely cross, his rays, struggling through the envious leaves, fell
in flecks of ardent light upon the white clad figure of the maiden
bride, supplying with their golden sheen the lack of those ornaments
which indeed, had they been formed of aught less pure than the eternal
radiance of the sun, would have rather dimmed than added to the
wondrous loveliness of the expectant bride.
Again, as Mabel listened, the sound of horses’ feet came thrilling upon
her ear; but now the horses were many, and the sound of wheels mingled
with their tread. They came, too, up the road from the valley; but ere
Mabel had time to doubt, a glad burst of music fell upon her ear, and a
number of horsemen, riding two and two, each with a bridal favor upon
his arm, appeared surrounding a carriage, which, to the timid eyes
of the bride, far outshone all that she had read of in fairy land. A
band of music followed playing a joyful bridal march, and within the
carriage, radiant and smiling, sat King Tolv, clad in a rich dress,
whose sparkling jewels and heavy embroidery gave him a still more noble
and commanding air than he had worn the night before in his simple
hunting suit of russet brown.
As the carriage stopped, the bridegroom sprang to the ground, and
taking the cold and trembling fingers of Mabel in his own, he turned
to the retainers who stood about them, saying:
“Behold my bride, and your future mistress.”
One by one the horsemen passed before the shrinking yet graceful girl,
making a low obeisance and saying:
“Hail to our noble Mistress!”
When all had passed, King Tolv led his bride to the carriage, and,
placing her in it, seated himself by her side. So ardent were his
whispered promises of love and tender praises of her beauty, that the
blushing, agitated girl did not once raise her eyes from the floor at
her feet till the carriage suddenly stopped, and, glancing hastily up,
Mabel found herself in the court-yard of a castle, in whose open door
stood a beautiful and magnificently dressed lady. A servant opened
the door of the carriage, and the bridegroom descending, handed out
his bride, and led her up the steps to where the fair lady stood, then
exchanging his soft, lover-like tones for a voice clear, sonorous, and
grave, he said:
“My dear sister, and you my faithful retainers. I have brought home to
you my wife whom you now see; beautiful and good she is already; and
that she may be as happy as she deserves shall henceforth be my aim,
and I trust yours also.”
The crowd which filled the court-yard shouted, with willing zeal, “Joy
to our noble Graff and his lovely Graffin.”
The fair and noble lady who stood on the threshold clasped Mabel in a
warm embrace, while she whispered,
“Ah, little one! you studied well the little book I gave you years ago.”
Looking up with a startled look, Mabel recognized the Fraulein von
Rosenberg who had in the cloister given her the little volume where
first she read of König Tolv, and who now stood watching her with
laughing eyes.
Mabel turned to her husband, but he silenced her with a grave smile,
and, turning again to his people, said,
“My wife and I have already been married in a private manner; but that
you, my children, may be witnesses of my happiness, the same priest
will now perform a more public ceremony, and then we will sit down to
the marriage feast.”
Then, taking Mabel by the hand, while his noble sister walked by the
side of the bride, the Graff von Rosenberg led the way to the great
hall of the castle, where stood Father Franz in his solemn robes of
office, and by his side, as assistant, one of the brethren of the
neighboring monastery.
The solemn ordinance proceeded, and the simple Mabel found herself the
wife of Fredrich von Rosenberg, Count of Wolfsmarchen.
“But König Tolv?” whispered she, as her husband sat beside her, at the
head of the long table.
“Shall never have my Mabel for his bride,” was the whispered response.
* * * * *
Karl Gatz was informed, the same day, of his daughter’s marriage, by
the hermit, who was also charged to inquire in what way his son-in-law
could serve him.
“By keeping out of my way,” was his only reply; and when Mabel, a few
days after, went with her husband to renew their offers, they found the
hut deserted, the charcoal pit extinguished, and no trace remaining of
the late owner, nor from that day were tidings ever heard of Karl Gatz,
although the mountaineers scrupled not to say, that, being deserted by
his guardian angel, Mabel, the devil had claimed his own.
No such scandal, however, reached the ear of Mabel, who, in the warmth
and light of her love-crowned life, bloomed into such exuberance of
loveliness as astonished those who had thought her perfect before.
“And a tender consort made he,
And her gentle mind was such
That she grew a noble lady,
And the people loved her much.”
THE GRAY CAT AND THE CAVE OF THE WINDS
Once upon a time there was a young man named Ernest, who lived all
alone in a little hut upon the sea-shore. He had lived there ever since
he could remember, and always alone, except when, in summer, some
wandering traveller would stop at his hut to ask a night’s lodging or a
supper or dinner, or when the fierce storms of winter had twice driven
a ship upon the rocks which lay between him and the sea, and a few poor
half-drowned sailors had been cast upon the beach, where they would
soon have perished had it not been for Ernest’s ready aid.
From these and the travellers the youth heard many stories of the
great world, its wonders and its pleasures, and several times his
visitors had invited him to go with them and see the marvels which they
described; but Ernest always shook his head, saying,
“No, no, I have no place in this great world of yours; nobody would
know or care for me. Here I have friends on every side; the loons, the
gulls, the wild geese, and the ospreys know me and like me. I think
even the waves feel acquainted with me, and I know that the fish do.
No, I will stay.”
So the tourists and the sailors went their way, and Ernest remained
alone.
At last a whole year went by, and brought no visitors. Autumn, winter,
spring, and summer passed, and autumn had come again, without a single
word having broken the silence which reigned about the little hut. No
voice but the solemn ocean murmur.
At first Ernest liked this, and dreaded the arrival of a stranger;
but by-and-by he began to wonder why no one came, and then to look
longingly up and down the beach and out to sea, in hopes to see some
one, but he looked in vain.
At last, when the pleasant summer was quite gone, and the cold and
dreary autumn winds began to blow, lashing the sea into foam and
whistling drearily down the chimney of the little hut, Ernest grew very
sad and discontented. He roamed uneasily up and down the beach, but
never could make up his mind to leave it and turn his steps inland, and
always at night he found himself back at his little cabin.
One night, when the winds and the waves together were making such a din
and commotion that one could hardly have heard a cannon at a quarter
of a mile’s distance, Ernest sat gloomily alone brooding over his
driftwood fire, which danced and flickered uneasily as the draughts
from door or windows fanned it. Ernest had no clock or watch, nor
would he have known the use of it if he had; but after sitting quite
motionless for a long time staring at the fire, which now was almost
out, he began to feel as if it was bedtime, and was wearily rising
from his chair to look out once more at the night, when from the window
behind him he heard a faint and prolonged
“M-e-w!”
Turning hurriedly about, Ernest ran to the window and threw it open,
upon which, with a pleased and grateful purr, a beautiful gray cat
stepped upon the table which stood beneath the window, and, looking in
the young man’s wondering face, remarked again,
“M-e-w!”
“You said that before, but I don’t know what it means,” said Ernest
gayly, who, although he had never seen a real cat, had heard them
described and had seen pictures of them, so he at once guessed what his
visitor was, and was well pleased that at last he had a companion.
“Let me see; perhaps ‘w’ means fish,” continued he, going to a shelf in