Fairy dreams or, Wanderings in Elf-land
yourself, dear boy, looking so much at these frost pictures; we shall
have you crazy next. Come, now, and eat some nice, warm breakfast.”
“But, mother”--began Claude, and then stopped suddenly. His mother was
right, it _was_ nothing but a mountain,--how could he have been
so deceived? “And yet,”--
Claude rose, and dressed himself slowly, often glancing at the window,
where now the mountain (nothing but a mountain) was fading slowly under
the bright rays of the rising sun, which shone full upon it.
Claude paid but little attention to his breakfast, or his dinner
either, he was so anxious to have night come and go again, that he
might see if the enchanted palace, as he called it, would reappear.
The next morning, as soon as there was light enough to see any thing,
his eager eyes started open, and turned at once to the upper centre
pane of glass, which was, indeed, the only one bearing any intelligible
picture, all the rest being covered with a thick white coat, looking
like nothing, unless it was a curtain, to hide what might be behind.
But there, where it had stood before, rose clear and sharp the fairy
palace; and Claude wondered how he could have taken it for a mountain.
After looking at it for a while, the boy suddenly noticed a new feature
in his picture.
This was a large fir-tree, standing in the middle of the plain, quite
alone, its lower branches dead and broken, while the top was dense and
flourishing. Under the tree was an object which Claude could not make
out.
“It must be a little bush,” thought he, and turned his eyes again
toward the palace.
The next morning Claude slept late, and when he woke was obliged to
jump up directly.
He looked at the window, but saw nothing except a shapeless mark,
hardly resembling even a mountain.
All that day Claude was sad and uneasy, feeling as if something were
wanting to his happiness which he knew not where to find.
The next morning, however, he waked betimes, and turned eagerly to the
window. Clear and splendid rose the palace in the frosty air; stern and
sad stood the lonely tree,--but, that shrub at its foot! How blind he
had been! It was the perfect and graceful figure of a young girl,--her
long hair hanging about her, her gossamer looking robe and scarf
fluttering in the morning air. She seemed looking down at something
lying at the foot of the old fir, something quite as vague to Claude,
however, as the girl herself had been when he first saw her.
Full of delight, he bounded from his bed, and rushed to the window to
examine more closely this new figure in the strange frost picture; but,
when he reached it, look as he might, he could see nothing but a rugged
mountain, a tree, and a bush.
Sad and disappointed, Claude crept back to bed, but comforted himself
by thinking,--“Somewhere, somewhere in this world, stands that
palace,--lives that maiden. In a few years I shall be a man, and then I
will go and find them.”
Again he turned his eyes upon the window, through which the sun’s
first rays were streaming. Under their influence the picture began
to disappear; but for one moment first, they stood out, clear and
distinct as over,--the palace and the maiden.
Many mornings came and went. Often the enchanted palace greeted
Claude’s wakening eyes, but there were also long intervals in which he
saw nothing, or only the shapeless mountain.
Still the idea grew in his mind, that somewhere he should find the
palace, the tree, and the maiden who waited beneath it,--waited,
perhaps, for him.
Years rolled away. Claude left his home, and travelled in many
countries.
He found himself in glowing southern lands, with pictures all around
him,--pictures painted by men, which thrilled his heart as he gazed
at them; pictures in the trees and flowers, such as he had known and
loved at home; beautiful women and beautiful palaces; but none ever
contented him or held him long; still he whispered to himself,--
“Here is not _my_ palace or _my_ maiden,” and then he
wandered on.
At last he left this warm and glowing land, and found himself in a
frozen, wintry region, where on every side rose steep and snow-clad
mountains, upon whose summits the foot of man had never rested.
Here Claude felt more content, and looked eagerly around him for the
mountain he had known so many years.
No, it was not here; and still he wandered on.
On, through level, fertile plains, over which he hastened impatiently;
on, through cities and over seas, ever looking, ever longing.
At last he reached a frozen country, where people hardly dared breathe
the cutting, icy air; and where no trees and flowers grew, except the
strongest and bravest of their kind.
On wandered Claude, a wild impatience burning in his heart; a feeling
as if what he so long had sought was close at hand,--almost within his
grasp.
Late one night he reached a lonely hut, far beyond all towns and farms,
where dwelt an old man with his old wife. They welcomed the youth, gave
him of their reindeer’s milk and coarse bread, and then spread a couch
of lichens in the corner of the hut, where Claude slept soundly till
morning light. Then, springing up, he bade the aged couple good-by with
many thanks, and was leaving the hut, when the old man said kindly,--
“But, my son, where will you go? Beyond here lies only the country of
King Frost; a country in which no man can live a day.”
“Stay with us till summer comes, or else go back from whence you came;
you are too young and too beautiful to die in the cold grasp of the
frost-king.”
A glad smile came upon Claude’s pale face, and he said suddenly,--
“I know it now. It is to King Frost’s palace that I am going. Farewell,
father.”
And before the old man could say another word, the youth was far beyond
the sound of his feeble voice.
All day Claude hastened on, although the cold became so terrible that
it seemed to fetter his limbs with icy chains.
At last, just at sunset, he found himself upon a wide plain, covered
with hard, frozen snow. No shelter was at hand, nothing to protect him
from the cutting wind, which began to rise; but stop,--yes, there is
one tree, an aged fir, standing in the centre of the plain.
Toward it Claude staggered feebly, hoping to find some slight relief
from his suffering by interposing its gnarled trunk between him and the
biting wind.
He reached it, and sunk upon the snow, his eyes closing with a sense of
drowsiness.
As they did so, Claude half saw before him a low, broad mountain
covered with snow, which glittered in the rays of the setting sun.
He started with a sudden thought, opened his eyes, and looked about him.
Yes! The mountain, the tree, the plain! It was, at last, the
long-sought picture; but, sinking back, he murmured with a bitter
sigh,--
“It was only a mountain, after all!”
Once more he unclosed his eyes, and gazed steadfastly before him.
As he did so, he started upright; the warm blood tingling again in his
frozen veins.
It was the palace! The palace of his boyish dreams! The palace of King
Frost!
Eagerly he strove to move toward it, but his limbs refused to obey him;
he sunk exhausted upon the snow, his eyes fixed upon the fairy palace.
At that moment the great doors were thrown wide open, the guards ranged
themselves upon either hand, and between them appeared a light and
graceful figure, her white robes floating back as she came swiftly
toward him.
The stiffening eyelids fell over Claude’s weary eyes. With an effort
he raised them once more, and she stood over him, looking down, as he
had seen her in the frost picture; a tall and slender maiden, with eyes
blue as the winter sky, and bright as the stars in a frosty night; her
long, waving hair, pale as the rays of the setting sun which shone
upon her; her brow and cheeks pure and pale as the new-fallen snow.
Lovingly she looked down at him, and earnestly Claude tried to return
her gaze; but the heavy lids closed over his eyes in spite of every
effort. The frost-maiden knelt beside him and took his hand in hers. A
feeling of delicious repose stole over Claude’s senses, and he slept,
while in a low, whispering voice, the maiden murmured in his ear,--
“You have come, my darling, you have come! Long have I waited and
watched, since the night I first peeped in at your casement, while I
drew the pictures that you love; since I showed you my father’s palace,
and this tree, and my own image; long have you wandered, long have you
sought, my poor Claude! Did you think to find the frost-maiden in that
burning south where you have been so long? I should die, my beloved,
if I even hovered over that scorching land,--die, and fall in tears,
which men call rain. No, here is my home; and here shall you dwell
ever with me, my Claude! The walls of my father’s palace are covered
with pictures such as mortals never saw; and when we tire of them, the
frost-sprites which wait upon us shall draw other and more beautiful
ones.
“Then, together we will roam over sea and land, borne upon the broad
wings of the north wind, and, passing by the curtained, shuttered
windows of the rich, we will draw our fairest pictures on the lowly
casement where dwell those who have none save those we give them. We
will touch with flying feet the surface of the lake and brook, and
spread a glittering roof over the Naiads far below; we will breathe,
as we pass by, upon the withering leaves, and clothe their death with
beauty; we will fringe the cottage eaves with pendant jewels, such as
no queen wears; we will open the chestnut burrs that the squirrels
may feast, and kiss the cheeks of merry children till they bloom like
winter roses. All this, and more will we do, dear Claude. Come, then,
to the home of the frost-maiden,--come, come, come!”
Singing the last words in a low, sighing voice, the frost-maiden
breathed upon Claude’s face. Immediately a light vapor rose into the
air above where he lay, and rapidly took form and shape; it was Claude,
yet not Claude. He was changed to a frost-sprite, and no longer could
suffer pain in the kingdom of the Frost King.
He seized the maiden’s hand, together they entered the palace, and the
great gates closed slowly behind them.
* * * * *
So now every child who sees in the morning his window covered with
pictures, will know that while he slept, Claude and the frost-maiden
have been at work.
UNDER THE SEA
In the middle of the ocean, thousands of miles from any land, a great
ship lay becalmed. It was a passenger ship, bound to the East Indies,
and there were a good many families on board, and a still larger number
of young men who had left their friends behind, and were going out to
see if they could gather some of the famous “riches of the Indies”
into their own pockets. Among these young men was one called Ernest,
who not only had no relatives or near friends on board the ship, but,
so far as he knew, in the wide world. Ever since he could remember he
had been alone, and very lonely; nor did he feel less so now among all
these persons, who each seemed to have some one to love or take an
interest in them, except himself; and so still he was alone.
Day after day passed, and the ship lay becalmed, until the motionless
heat became very oppressive. One night Ernest, strolling languidly up
and down the deck, stopped, and, looking over the taffrail near the
stern of the vessel, saw a little boat, which had been let down that
one of the officers might bathe from it, and which still lay rocking
gently on the little waves; so Ernest, thinking it would be a pleasant
place to lie and dream, clambered down the side of the great ship, and,
stretching himself upon a cloak in the bottom of the boat, soon fell