Fairy dreams or, Wanderings in Elf-land
very low to get through at all.
Suddenly a sound of merry voices broke the silence, and, turning a
sharp corner, the young man found himself close to an opening, which
appeared to conduct into a grotto or cavern; but the only thing which
Ernest could distinguish was a heavy curtain whose rich folds lay upon
the ground at his feet. It seemed to be of satin; but on putting out
his hand to pull it cautiously away, Ernest found to his astonishment
that it was made of gold, so pure in its quality and beaten so thin
in substance, that it was flexible and delicate as silk. Creeping
cautiously along behind this screen, Ernest presently came to a small
opening between his curtain and the next one, through which he could
see plainly without being himself discovered.
He found that the opening, as he supposed, led into a small grotto,
across whose rocky roof ran in every direction veins of purest gold,
which sparkled in the brilliant rays of the immense carbuncle hanging
from the centre of the roof, which was thickly studded with twinkling
diamond stars.
All around, the walls were draped with curtains like that which
concealed Ernest, and the floor was composed of alternate blocks of
gold and silver.
At one side of the cavern was a throne of gold and gems, over which
hung by way of canopy an immense orange, the lobes divided and spread
apart at the bottom, but united at the top. The peel of this orange
was of solid gold, roughened to resemble the natural skin; but the
interior or pulp was composed of innumerable little cells, each wrought
separately in fine gold, and then placed in their natural position; the
seeds were represented by very pale topazes, cut in the exact shape of
an orange seed.
Upon this throne sat a young woman about the age of Phelia, whom Ernest
at once concluded to be her rival Oriphera; for on her head, which
was covered with long golden ringlets, was placed a crown, composed
entirely of the gems known as cat’s-eyes, held together by gold wire.
This princess was very gorgeously dressed and decorated with a great
many jewels, and to most persons would have appeared very beautiful;
but, of course, Ernest could not think any thing of the sort, seeing in
her as he did, only the enemy and rival of his beloved Phelia.
All around the princess stood her beautiful maids of honor, while
behind the throne Ernest perceived a body-guard of Gnomes, each armed,
in addition to his pick-axe, with a sling, while in a pouch at his belt
he carried a supply of golden bullets. Other Gnomes were constantly
appearing from behind the screens and laying at the feet of their
princess whatever rare or beautiful gems they had discovered in their
mining operations. Some of these Oriphera ordered her treasurer, a
little, old, yellow Gnome, to take up and carry away, others she
pushed aside with her foot, and they were taken away to be put in the
rubbish-pit.
Suddenly, as Ernest was looking with all his eyes, he heard a noise
behind him, and, listening attentively, he found that the Gnomes
whom he had left above ground had awakened from their sleep and were
pursuing him.
Seizing his flute, Ernest blew a hurried strain with all his force;
but, not stopping to select his mouthpiece, he took that belonging to
Boreas, the North Wind, and the noise which ensued was so loud and
sudden that it cracked the golden curtain from top to bottom, caused
several of the diamond stars to fall from the roof, set the great
carbuncle swinging like a pendulum, and made the princess and all her
attendants fall down as if they had been shot.
Ernest stood for a moment, thunderstruck at the mischief he had
wrought; but, quickly recovering himself, he darted forward, seized
Phelia’s crown from the head of the prostrate Oriphera, filled his
pockets with some of the refuse diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, and
then, finding the proper mouthpiece, he made the best of his way out of
the grotto and up the stairs, playing away as hard as he could at the
fandango and love-song of the South Wind. He however found it necessary
to go very slowly, not only on account of the darkness, but because on
almost every step lay a Gnome stupefied, or rather entranced with the
music; and Ernest, who was a very kind-hearted young man, could not
bear to hurt one of the little fellows, although they would willingly
have killed him.
At length he found himself once more in the open air, and, heaving a
great sigh of relief, he hastened on, hoping soon to get out of the
wood; but what with constantly losing his way, and what with having to
stop every little while to play the Gnomes to sleep (who pursued him
furiously), it was many days before he gained the open country, and a
great many more before he found himself approaching the beloved hut
where he hoped to find Phelia waiting for him. Even then he turned a
little out of his way to visit the place where the Four Winds meet,
that he might lay the borrowed flute upon the little circle in the
centre, where the Winds could not fail to see and reclaim it; for, as
Ernest said to himself, if they had not the flute, how could they try
their voices to see if they were in tune? and if they were obliged to
sing false, what would become of the world then?
Finally, toward evening, on the very last day of the month which had
been allowed him for his enterprise, Ernest came in sight of his little
hut, where almost the first object that met his view was the Gray Cat
perched upon the top of the chimney, and anxiously looking in every
direction to see if she could catch sight of her deliverer.
No sooner did she see him than, leaping to the ground, she came
bounding to meet him; but before she had quite reached him, her dignity
as a princess overcame her delight as a cat, and, pausing at the foot
of a low rock, she leaped upon it, and seated herself upright with her
tail folded closely about her feet, in a very stately and formal manner.
Ernest approached the presence of this little sovereign with all the
respect imaginable, and, kneeling upon one knee, laid the recovered
crown at her feet.
The cat purred her thanks and approval, but gracefully intimated, by
placing her paw upon the crown and then upon her head, that she would
thank her gallant knight to complete her transformation by placing the
diadem in its proper place.
Ernest understood the silent request, and immediately complied with it.
No sooner had he done so than the Gray Cat forever disappeared, and in
her place sat the Princess Phelia, who extended her white hand to the
young man, with the same gracious dignity with which she had given him
her paw to kiss when he was setting out upon his journey.
“How can I ever thank you,--how can I ever reward you, dearest friend?”
said she, softly.
“I will tell you, fairest Phelia,” replied Ernest, blushing far more
deeply than the princess, brought up in a court, had done.
“You can reward me by giving me this little hand, which I fear but for
me would have been but a cat’s paw to the end of time.”
Phelia, to this proposition--which, perhaps, was not quite
unexpected--yielded a gracious assent; and the next day the young
couple journeyed together to Catland, where they were immediately
married, and, soon succeeding to the throne, lived and reigned many,
many happy years; and, for any thing I have ever heard, they do so
still.
THE FROST-MAIDEN
Once there was a little boy, who more than any thing else loved to look
at pictures. He had but few books containing them, nor were his parents
able to hang their walls with beautiful paintings and engravings,
as rich people can do. Still, little Claude found pictures all about
him. In the spring, it was the tender green of the new leaves and the
springing grass; in the summer, the thousand different flowers and the
beautiful birds; in the autumn, the gorgeous scarlet and golden tints
of the changing woods; and in the winter--oh, in the winter--Claude
never wanted for pictures!
Every morning there they were, twelve new ones, all different, ready
placed to meet his eyes as soon as they should open!
But what do you think these twelve pictures were, and where were they
drawn?
Why, on the twelve panes of glass in the window of Claude’s little
bedroom.
Every morning was to the boy a new delight; and how sorry he felt, if,
by sleeping a little later than usual, he lost a few minutes of the
half hour which he usually enjoyed before his mother called him to get
up.
The pictures were quite different. Sometimes there was a dense forest
covering all one pane, the tree tops crowded together with scarcely any
gap between them.
Sometimes there was a grove at one side, and a wide, lawn-like field
stretching away out of sight at the other.
Sometimes a few scattered trees, with a brook winding among them, and
troops of deer drinking at it.
Sometimes a wild and savage ravine between two precipices, and a crazy
waterfall dashing down between them.
Sometimes a flowery plain, with a star-spangled sky overhead, and
a flower wreathed May-pole, waiting quietly for a troop of happy
children to dance about it in the sunrise.
Sometimes, behind a trim and quiet-looking group of trees, Claude could
see the outline of a stately castle, its chimneys and turrets peeping
over the tree tops.
Sometimes it was a ruined and deserted tower, standing gloomy and
solitary upon a craggy mountain side.
In short, there was no end to the beauty and variety of the pictures in
Claude’s gallery.
But who drew them in a single night, while all in the house slept?
This question troubled the boy’s mind constantly. His mother said the
frost did it; but how could that be? “Frost has nothing lovely about
him,” thought Claude. “He turns all my beautiful flowers to ugly black
stalks as soon as he sees them; he makes the ground hard and white,
and changes the soft green of the grass to a dull brown; he makes my
mother’s pretty face look blue and pinched, and spoils her curls. How
can it be the frost who draws my dear pictures?”
His mother could not tell him why,--only she was quite sure it was the
frost, because everybody said so.
He asked his father, who laughed, and told him that when he was older
he would find out.
So Claude asked no more questions, but wondered all the more.
One morning there was a new picture, one which had never come before;
and Claude’s eyes only glanced at the rest, turning again and again to
this new one, which seemed to call him to it as if it spoke.
A low, irregular mountain, with a wide plain at its foot,--that was all.
But stop!--was it a mountain? No,--it was a palace; very large, and
very fantastic in its shape, but evidently a palace, and a very
magnificent one.
What he had at first taken for crags and ice-peaks were in reality
graceful minarets and spires; what he had supposed a mass of frozen
snow upon the mountain top was the sheeny, silvered roof of the palace;
what had been solitary trees upon the mountain side were now gayly
floating banners; little clear spots, which he had not noticed at
first, now showed as thousands of windows and scores of doors; what,
at the first glance, seemed wild bushes about the base of the hill,
suddenly became a troop of guards, some mounted, some on foot.
Claude, astonished, raised himself upon his elbow to look more closely
at this transformation. Just then his mother entered the room to call
him to breakfast.
“See, see, mother!” cried he, “that beautiful palace, in the middle of
my window! How I wish I could really go to it!”
“Palace, child!” said his mother, “I see no palace. There is something
there which looks like a mountain, but nothing more. You will hurt