THE RED ELF
I.
HOW THE RED ELF RAN AWAY FROM FAERYLAND.
FAERYLAND lies between the Kingdom of the Shadows and the Country of the Giants. If you want to reach it you must sail across the Sea of Darkness, which rolls everlastingly round these three strange places, and separates them from our world. Then you journey first through the Giants’ Country, the inhabitants of which are very like ourselves, only larger and fiercer, with very little spiritual nature in their enormous bodies; afterwards you pass into Faeryland, where the elves are bright, graceful creatures, who possess forms like ours, and not a little of our nature. Beyond lies the strange Kingdom of Shadows, where dwell things which have very little in common with our earth; they are the shadows of the past and the future, of what has been, and what yet shall be. Mortals have strayed by chance into the Giants’ Country, and in old stories we are told they have lived in Faeryland, but no living man or woman has ever seen the Kingdom of Shadows, nor will they ever see it during life.
Now, the Faeries, being afraid of the Shadows, never enter their kingdom, but they also never enter the Country of the Giants, because they despise them very much as being lower than themselves, much the same as we look down upon the uncivilised savages of Africa. Oberon, who, as you know, is the King of Faery, made a law that no elf should ever go into the Giants’ Country, being afraid lest the faeries should learn things there which would bring evil on his own land. So when the faeries want to visit our earth, they do not cross the Giants’ Country, but come in another way which is known only to themselves. Having thus explained how these three countries lie, I will now tell you of a naughty elf who, disobeying the King’s command, lost himself in the Giants’ Country, and of the difficulty he had in getting back to Faeryland.
The elf’s name was Gillydrop, a beautiful little creature all dressed in clothes of a pale green tint, which is the favourite colour of the faeries, as every one knows who has seen them dance in the moonlight. Now Gillydrop was full of curiosity, which is a very bad thing, as it leads people into a great deal of trouble, and although he had never bothered his head about the Giants’ Country before, as soon as he heard the proclamation of Oberon he immediately determined to see for himself what the giants were like. Do you not think this was a very naughty thing for him to do? it certainly was, but he was punished for his disobedience, as all naughty people are sooner or later.
He spoke to two or three faeries in order to get them to join him, but they would not disobey the King’s command, and advised him to give up his foolish idea.
“The King is very wise,” they said, “and no doubt he has a good reason for not letting us visit the Giants’ Country, so you ought to do as he tells you.”
“I don’t care,” replied naughty Gillydrop; “I’m sure there is something in the Giants’ Country the King does not want us to know, and I am determined to find out what it is.”
So, in spite of all warnings, he spread his beautiful wings, which were spotted silver and blue, like a white-clouded sky, and flew away through the woods. It was night-time, for, of course, that is the faeries’ day, but the way to Giants’ Country was so long that by the time he reached the end of the forest, and came to the boundary of Faeryland, the red dawn was breaking, so he crept into the bosom of a rose, and, after getting a honey supper from a friendly bumble-bee, curled himself up to sleep.
All through the long day, while the sun was high in the blue sky, he slept, lulled by the swaying of the flower, which rocked like a cradle, and soothed by the whisper of the wind and the buzzing of the bees as they hummed round his rose-house.
At last the weary, hot day came to an end, the silver moon arose in the dark blue sky, the wind sighing through the forest made the delicate leaves tremble with its cool breath, and the elf awoke. He left the kind rose, which had sheltered him in her golden heart from the heat of the day, and flew towards the rippling stream which lies on the confines of Faeryland. Away in the distance, he could hear the murmuring laughter of the faeries, as they danced to the sound of elfin music, but he was too anxious to get into the Giants’ Country to trouble himself about his old friends.
Just as he was about to cross the boundary, the leaves of the Faery forest sighed out the word “Beware!” but, not heeding the warning, he flew across the stream, and found himself at last in the terrible country where dwelt the foolish giants and the evil ogres. As he alighted upon an enormous daisy, which was as large as a mushroom, a voice rang out from Faeryland, full and clear, like the sound of a beautiful bell:
“Never more come back you need,
Till you’ve done some kindly deed.”
And so when Gillydrop looked back, he saw no green banks, no tall trees, no beautiful flowers, but only a wide grey ocean sleeping in sullen stillness under the cold light of the moon.
He was now flying over a dreary waste plain, with great circles of upright stones standing here and there, and a bitter cold wind blowing shrilly across the flat country towards the sullen grey sea. Had he not been able to fly, he would never have crossed the plain, because the grass stood up like mighty spears, and the furze bushes were like great trees. On every side he saw immense mountains, blue in the distance, lifting their snowy summits to the clouds, with great trees at their foot looking like enormous hills of leaves. There were no birds flying in the cold air, and no animals crawling on the bleak earth; everything seemed dead and silent, except the wind, which moaned through the mighty trees like the roaring of oceans.
There are no towns in Giantland, because the giants are not very fond of one another, and prefer to live by themselves in lonely castles among the mountains. Gillydrop knew this, but, although he looked on every side, he could see no sign of any castle, until at last he suddenly came on one which was quite in ruins, and so tumbled down that no one could possibly dwell in it. He flew on, feeling rather afraid, and came to another castle, also in ruins, with a huge white skeleton lying at the foot of a high tower, which was no doubt the skeleton of the giant who had lived there.
Then he found a third, a fourth, a fifth castle, all deserted and in ruins. It seemed as though all the giants were dead, and Gillydrop, in despair at the sight of such desolation, was about to fly back to Faeryland, when he suddenly thought of the voice which had said:
“Never more come back you need,
Till you’ve done some kindly deed.”
Poor Gillydrop was now in a dreadful plight, and, folding his weary wings, he dropped to the ground, where he sat in the hollow of a buttercup, which was like a large golden basin, and wept bitterly. He could never return to Faeryland until he had done some kindly deed, but, as there was no one to whom he could do a good deed, he did not see how he could perform any, so cried dreadfully at the thought of living for evermore in the desolate Giants’ Country. So you see what his disobedience had brought him to, for, instead of dancing merrily with his friends in the Forest of Faeryland, he was seated, a poor, lonely little elf, in a dreary, dreary land, with no one to comfort him.
While he was thus weeping, he heard a sound like distant thunder; but, as there were no clouds in the sky, he knew it could not be thunder.
“It must be a giant roaring,” said Gillydrop, drying his eyes with a cobweb. “I’ll go and ask him where all his friends have gone.”
So he flew away in the direction from whence came the sound, and speedily arrived at a great grey castle, with many towers and battlements, perched on the top of a very high hill. At its foot rolled the Sea of Darkness, and round the tall towers the white mists were wreathed like floating clouds. There was a wide road winding up the steep sides of the rock to the castle door, which was as high as a church; but Gillydrop, having wings, did not use the road, so flew right into the castle through an open window.
The giant, whose name was Dunderhead, sat at one end of a large hall, cutting slices of bread from an enormous loaf which lay on the table in front of him. He looked thin,—very, very thin,—as though he had not had a good dinner for a long time; and he thumped the table with the handle of his knife as he sang this song, taking a large bit of bread between every verse: