AWAY! AWAY! TO FAIRYLAND
But we that live in Fairyland
No sickness know, nor pain;
I quit my body when I will,
And take to it again.
Our shapes and size we can convert
To either large or small,
An old nut-shell’s the same to us
As is the lofty hall.
We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet,
We revel in the stream,
We wanton lightly on the wind,
Or glide on a sunbeam.
Old Ballad
THE MAGIC FERNS
From Cornwall
Not many years since there lived in Cornwall a pretty young girl named Cherry. As she and her mother were poor, Cherry determined to go out to service. So one morning early, she took her little bundle of clothes, and started out to find a place with some respectable family. She walked until she came to four cross-roads, and, not knowing which to follow, she sat down on a boulder to think.
The spot where she sat was covered with beautiful ferns that curled their delicate fronds over the boulder. And while she was lost in thought, she unconsciously picked a few fronds and crushed them in her hand.
Immediately she heard a strange voice at her elbow say:—
“My pretty young woman, what are you looking for?”
She glanced up, and saw standing near her a handsome young man, who was holding a bunch of the ferns.
“I am looking for a place, sir,” said she.
“And what kind of a place do you wish?” asked he, with a sweet and winning smile.
“I am not particular,” answered she. “I can make myself generally useful.”
“Indeed!” said the stranger. “And do you think you could look after one little boy?”
“That I’d love to do!” said she, smiling.
“Then,” replied he, “I wish to hire you for a year and a day. My home is not far from here. Will you go with me, Cherry, and see it?”
Cherry stared in astonishment to hear him speak her name; and he added:—
“Oh! I see you thought that I did not know you! I watched you one day while you were dressing your hair beside one of my ponds; and I saw you pluck some of my sweetest-scented violets to put in those lovely tresses! But will you go with me, Cherry?”
“For a year and a day?” asked she.
“You need not be alarmed,” said he very kindly. “Just kiss the fern leaf that is in your hand, and say:—
‘For a year and a day
I promise to stay!’”
“Is that all!” said Cherry. So she kissed the fern leaf, and said the words as he told her to.
Instantly the young man passed the bunch of ferns that he held over both her eyes. The ground in front of her seemed to open; and, though she did not feel herself move from the boulder where she sat, yet she knew that she was going down rapidly into the earth.
“Here we are, Cherry,” said the young man. “Is there a tear of sorrow under your eyelid? If so, let me wipe it away, for no human tear can enter our dwelling.”
And as he spoke he brushed Cherry’s eyes with the fern leaves. And, lo! before her was such a country as she had never dreamed of!
Hills and valleys were covered with flowers strangely brilliant, so that the whole country appeared to be sown with gems that glittered in a light as clear as that of the Summer sun, yet as mild as moonshine. There were glimmering rivers, and singing waterfalls, and sparkling fountains; while everywhere beautiful little ladies and gentlemen, dressed in green and gold, were walking, or sitting on banks of flowers. Oh! it was a wonderful world!
“Here we are at home!” said the young man—and strangely enough he was changed! He had become the handsomest little man Cherry had ever seen, and he wore a green silk coat covered with spangles of gold.
He led her into a noble mansion, the furniture of which was of ivory and pearl, inlaid with gold and silver and studded with emeralds. After passing through many rooms they came to one whose walls were hung with lace as fine as the finest cobwebs, and most beautifully twined with flowers. In the middle of the room was a cradle of wrought sea-shell, reflecting so many colours that Cherry could scarcely bear to look at it. The little man led her to this, and in it was lying asleep a little boy so beautiful that he ravished the sight.
“This is your charge,” said the little man. “I am King of this country, and I wish my son to know something of human nature. You have nothing to do but to wash and dress the boy when he wakes, to take him walking in the garden, to tell him stories, and to put him to sleep when he is weary.”
Cherry was delighted beyond words, for at first sight she loved the darling little boy. And when he woke, he seemed to love her just as dearly. She was very happy, and cared tenderly for him; and the time passed away with astonishing rapidity. In fact it seemed scarcely a week later, when she opened her eyes and found everything about her changed. Indeed, there she was lying in her own bed in her mother’s cottage!
She heard her mother calling her name with joy; and the neighbours came crowding around her bed. It was just one year and a day from the time when she had sat on the boulder, and had met the fine young man. She told her adventures to all, but they would not believe her. They shook their heads and went away, saying: “Poor Cherry is certainly mad!”
From that day on, she was never happy, but sat pining, and dreaming of the hour when she had picked the magic ferns. And though she often went back to the boulder, she never again saw the young man, nor found the way to Fairyland.
THE SMITH AND THE FAIRIES
From Scotland
Years ago there lived in Scotland an honest, hard-working smith. He had only one child, a boy, fourteen years of age, cheerful, strong, and healthy.
Suddenly the boy fell ill. He took to his bed, and moped away whole days. No one could tell what was the matter with him. Although he had a tremendous appetite, he wasted away, getting thin, yellow, and old.
At last one morning, while the smith was standing idly at his forge, with no heart for work, he was surprised to see a Wise-man, who lived at some distance, enter his shop. The smith hastened to tell him about his son, and to ask his advice.
The Wise-man listened gravely, then said: “The boy has been carried away by the Little People, and they have left a Changeling in his place.”
“Alas! And what am I to do?” asked the smith. “How am I ever to see my own son again?”
“I will tell you how,” answered the Wise-man. “But first, to make sure that it is not your own son you have, gather together all the egg-shells you can get. Go into the room where the boy is, and spread them out carefully before him. Then pour water in them, and carry them carefully in your hands, two by two. Carry them as though they were very heavy, and arrange them around the fireplace.”
The smith, accordingly, collected as many egg-shells as he could find. He went into the room, and did as the Wise-man had said.
He had not been long at work, before there came from the bed where the boy lay, a great shout of laughter, and the boy cried out:—
“I am now eight hundred years old, and I have never seen the like of that before!”
The smith hurried back, and told this to the Wise-man.
“Did I not assure you,” said the Wise-man, “that it is not your son whom you have? Your son is in a Fairy Mound not far from here. Get rid as soon as possible of this Changeling, and I think I may promise you your son again.
“You must light a very great and bright fire before the bed on which this stranger is lying. He will ask you why you are doing so. Answer him at once: ‘You shall see presently when I lay you upon it.’ If you do this, the Changeling will become frightened and fly through the roof.”
The smith again followed the Wise-man’s advice; kindled a blazing fire, and answered as he had been told to do. And, just as he was going to seize the Changeling and fling him on the fire, the thing gave an awful yell, and sprang through the roof.
The smith, overjoyed, returned to the Wise-man, and told this to him.
“On Midsummer Night,” said the Wise-man, “the Fairy Mound, where your boy is kept, will open. You must provide yourself with a dirk and a crowing cock. Go to the Mound. You will hear singing and dancing and much merriment going on. At twelve o’clock a door in the Mound will open. Advance boldly. Enter this door, but first stick the dirk in the ground before it, to prevent the Mound from closing. You will find yourself in a spacious apartment, beautifully clean; and there working at a forge, you will see your son. The Fairies will then question you, and you must answer that you have come for your son, and will not go without him. Do this, and see what happens!”
Midsummer Night came, and the smith provided himself with a dirk and a crowing cock. He went to the Fairy Mound, and all happened as the Wise-man had said.
The Fairies came crowding around him, buzzing and pinching his legs; and when he said that he had come for his son, and would not go away without him, they all gave a loud laugh. At the same minute the cock, that was dozing in the smith’s arms, woke up. It leaped to his shoulder, and, clapping its wings, crowed loud and long.
At that the Fairies were furious. They seized the smith and his son and threw them out of the Mound, and pulled up the dirk and flung it after them. And in an instant all was dark.
For a year and a day the boy never spoke, nor would he do a turn of work. At last one morning as he was watching his father finish a sword, he exclaimed:—
“That’s not the way to do it!”
And taking the tools from his father’s hands, he set to work, and soon fashioned a glittering sharp sword, the like of which had never been seen before.
From that day on, the boy helped his father, and showed him how to make Fairy swords, and in a few years they both became rich and famous. And they always lived together contentedly and happily.
THE COAL-BLACK STEED
From England
Late one night—a bright, quiet, moonlit night—old Dame Moll lay snugly sleeping in her bed, when suddenly she was wakened by a noise like a rushing storm. The next minute there came a loud rap! rap! rap! at her cottage door.
Startled and frightened she sprang out of bed, and opened the door on a crack.
“Don’t be afraid, good woman,” said a squeaky voice. “Open wide! Open wide!”
So she opened a bit wider, and saw a strange, squint-eyed, ugly little fellow standing on the door-stone. Somehow the look in his eyes seemed to cast a spell over her, and made her, willy-nilly, open the door very wide.
“My wife has sent for you, good woman,” said he. “You must come with me and bathe and dress our new-born child.”
“Your wife!” thought the poor Dame. “Heaven defend me! Sure as I live I am going to care for a little Imp!”
But she could not refuse to go, for the spell in the little man’s eyes drew her, and she was forced to walk toward a coal-black steed that stood snorting before the door. Its eyes were red-hot balls, and its breath was like smoke.
And how Dame Moll got to the place she never could tell. But suddenly she found herself set down by a neat but poor cottage, and saw two tidy children playing before the door. In a minute she was seated in front of a roaring hearth-fire, washing and dressing a small baby. But a very active and naughty baby it was, though only an hour old; for it lifted its fist and gave the good Dame such a rousing box on her ear, that it made her head ring.
“Anoint its eyes with this salve, my good woman,” said the mother, who was lying in a neat white bed.
So Dame Moll took the box of salve, and rubbed a bit on the child’s eyes.
“Why not a drop on mine,” thought she, “since it must be Elfin ointment.” So she rubbed her finger over her right eye.
O ye powers of Fairyland! What did she see!
The neat but homely cottage had become a great and beautiful room. The mother, dressed in white silk, lay in an ivory bed. The babe was robed in silvery gauze. The two older children, who had just come into the cottage, were seated one on either side of the mother’s pillow. But they, too, were changed! For now they were little flat-nosed Imps who, with mops and mows, and with many a grin and grimace, were pulling the mother’s ears with their long, hairy paws.
When Dame Moll saw this, she knew that she was in a place of enchantment, and without saying a word about having anointed her own eye, she made haste to finish dressing the Elfin babe.
Then the squint-eyed little old fellow once more placed her behind him on the coal-black steed, and away they went sailing through the air. And he set her down safely before her door.
On the next market-day, when Dame Moll was selling eggs, what did she see but the little old fellow himself busied, like a rogue, stealing some things from the market-stalls.
“Oh! Ho!” cried she; “I’ve caught you, you thief!”
“What!” exclaimed he. “Do you see me to-day?”
“See you! To be sure I do!—as plain as the sun in the sky! And I see you very busy stealing, into the bargain!”
“With which eye do you see me?” said he.
“With my right eye, to be sure,” answered Dame Moll.
“The ointment! The ointment!” exclaimed the little man. “Take that for meddling with what did not belong to you!”
And he struck her in the eye as he spoke. And from that day to this old Dame Moll has been blind in the right eye. And surely it served her right for stealing the Fairy ointment.
THE GIRL WHO WAS STOLEN BY THE FAIRIES
From Ireland
Never go near an Elfin Mound on May Day. For in the month of May the Fairies are very powerful, and they wander about the meadows looking for pretty maidens to carry off to Fairyland.
One beautiful May Day in old Ireland, a young girl fell asleep at noonday on an Elfin Mound. The Fairies saw how pretty she was, so they carried her off to Fairyland, and left in her stead an image that looked exactly like her.
Evening fell, and as the girl did not return home, her mother sent the neighbours to look for her in all directions. They found the image, and, thinking that it was the girl herself, they carried it home, and laid it in her bed. But the image neither moved nor spoke, and lay there silently for two days.
On the morning of the third day an old Witch-woman entered the house, and looking at the image, said:—
“Your daughter is Fairy-struck. Rub this ointment on her forehead, and see what you shall see!”
Then the old woman placed a vial of green ointment in the mother’s hand, and disappeared.
The mother immediately rubbed the forehead of the image, and the girl herself sat up in bed, weeping and wringing her hands.
“Oh, mother!” she cried. “Oh, why did you bring me back! I was so happy! I was in a beautiful palace where handsome Princesses and Princes were dancing to the sweetest music. They made me dance with them, and threw a mantle of rich gold over my shoulders. Now it is all gone, and I shall never see the beautiful palace any more!”
Then the mother wept, and said: “Oh, my child, stay with me! I have no other daughter but you! And if the Fairies take you, I shall die!”
The girl wept loudly at this, and throwing her arms around her mother’s neck, kissed her, and promised that she would not go near the Elfin Mound. And she kept her word, so she never saw the Fairies again.
THE GIRL WHO DANCED WITH THE FAIRIES
From Ireland
One must never wander about alone on Hallowe’en, for then the Fairies are abroad looking for mortals to trick and lead astray.
Now, there was once a girl, the prettiest girl in all Ireland, who late one Hallowe’en was going to a spring to fetch some water. Her foot slipped, and she fell. When she got up, she looked about her, and saw that she was in a very strange place. A great fire was burning near, around which a number of people, beautifully dressed, were dancing.
A handsome young man, like a Prince, with a red sash, and a golden band in his hair, left the fire, and came toward her. He greeted her kindly, and asked her to dance.
“It is a foolish thing, sir, to ask me to dance,” replied she, “since there is no music.”
At that the young man lifted his hand, and instantly the most delicious music sounded. Then he took her by the fingers and drew her into the dance. Around and around they whirled, and they danced and danced until the moon and stars went down. And all the time, the girl seemed to float in the air, and she forgot everything except the sweet music and the young man.
At last the dancing ceased, and a door opened in the earth. The young man, who seemed to be the King of all, led the girl down a pair of stairs, followed by all the gay company. At the end of a long passage they came to a hall bright and beautiful with gold and silver and lights. A table was covered with every good thing to eat, and wine was poured out in golden cups.
The young man lifted a cup, and offered it to the girl; at the same moment some one whispered in her ear:—
“Do not drink! Do not eat! If you do either, you will never see your home again!”
Well, the girl, when she heard that, set the cup down and refused to drink. Immediately all the company grew angry. A great buzzing arose. The lights went out. And the girl felt something grasp her, and rush her forth from the hall and up the stairs; and in a minute she found herself beside the spring holding her pitcher in her hand.
She did not wait for anything, but ran home as fast as she could, and locked herself in tight, and crept into bed. Then she heard a great clamour of little voices outside her door, and she could hear them cry:—
“The power we had over you to-night is gone, because you refused to drink! But wait until next Hallowe’en Night, when you dance with us on the hill! Then we shall keep you forever!—forever!”
ELIDORE AND THE GOLDEN BALL
From Wales
Once upon a time, in the land of Wales, near the fall of the Tawe into the sea, there lived a boy called Elidore. He was a bright lad, but so fond of play that he would not study at all. His teacher flogged him so often and so hard that one morning Elidore ran away from home, and hid under a hollow bank by the side of the river.
There he stayed two nights and two days, getting hungrier and thirstier every moment. At last, when it seemed as if he could stand his sufferings no longer, he saw a little door open in the side of the bank and two Elfin Men step out. They stood before him, and, bowing low, said:—
“Come with us, dear boy, and we will lead you to a land full of delights and sports, where you may play all the time.”
Elidore was overjoyed. He rose and followed the Elfin Men through the door. They conducted him down a long, dark passage through the hill. At length they came out into a beautiful country adorned with singing crystal streams and flowery meadows. But it was always twilight there, for the light of the sun, moon, and stars could not reach that land.
The Elfin Men led Elidore to a golden palace, and presented him to the King of the Elves, who was seated upon his throne and was surrounded by a train of little people richly clad. The King questioned Elidore kindly, then, calling his eldest son, the Elfin Prince, bade him take the earth-boy and make him happy.
So Elidore dwelt in Elfinland, and day after day was fed with milk and saffron; and he played with the Elfin Prince, tossing gold and silver balls. When he walked in the meadows to pick flowers, he saw everywhere about him the Elfin people, with long, flowing yellow hair, riding on little horses and chasing tiny deer with Fairy hounds. For all the people in Elfinland played and rode about night and day, and they never worked. Sometimes on moonlit nights they rode through the dark passage to the upper world, and danced in Fairy Rings on the grass. And when they went to their dances, they took Elidore with them.
After Elidore had lived in Elfinland for some time, the King permitted him one moonlit night to go alone through the dark passage to visit his mother. He did so, and she was delighted to see him, for she had thought him dead. He told her about the wonders of Elfinland, and how he was fed on milk and saffron, and played with gold and silver toys. She begged him, the next time he came, to bring her a bit of Fairy Gold. He promised to do so, and returned to Elfinland.
It so happened, one day soon after this, that Elidore was playing with the Elfin Prince. He snatched a beautiful golden ball from the Prince’s hands, and hastened with it through the dark passage. As he ran he heard behind him the shouts of many angry Elves and the sound of their horses’ hoofs, and the barking of the Fairy dogs; and knew that he was being pursued.
Faster he ran in terror, but nearer came the patter of a thousand little feet, and the Elfin shouts. Still more terrified, he rushed through the door in the hill and sped homeward. As he sprang into his mother’s house his foot caught, and he fell over the threshold. At the same moment two Elves, who had outrun the others, leaped over him and snatched the golden ball from his hands.
“Thief!” “Robber!” “Thief!” they screamed, and vanished.
As for Elidore, he rose up too ashamed to eat or sleep that night. The next day he went to the river bank and searched for the door, but could find no trace of it. And though he searched every day for a year, he never again found the entrance to Elfinland.
But from that time he was a changed boy. He studied hard, loved truth, and hated lying and stealing. And, when he grew up, he became a great man in Wales.
AT THE COURT OF FAIRYLAND
I
QUEEN MAB
This is Mab, the mistress Fairy,
That doth nightly rob the dairy,
And can hurt or help the churning
(As she please) without discerning.
She that pinches country wenches,
If they rub not clean their benches,
And with sharper nails remembers
When they rake not up their embers.
But, if so they chance to feast her,
In a shoe she drops a tester.
Ben Jonson
II
QUEEN MAB’S CHARIOT
Her chariot ready straight is made;
Each thing therein is fitting laid,
That she by nothing might be stayed,
For nought must be her letting:
Four nimble gnats the horses were,
Their harnesses of gossamer,
Fly Cranion, her charioteer,
Upon the coach-box getting.
Her chariot of a snail’s fine shell,
Which for the colours did excel;
The fair Queen Mab becoming well,
So lively was the limning:
The seat, the soft wool of the bee,
The cover (gallantly to see)
The wing of a pied butterflee;
I trow ’twas simple trimming.
The wheels composed of crickets’ bones,
And daintily made for the nonce;
For fear of rattling on the stones,
With thistle-down they shod it:
For all her maidens much did fear,
If Oberon had chanced to hear,
That Mab his Queen should have been there,
He would not have abade it.
She mounts her chariot with a trice,
Nor would she stay for no advice,
Until her maids that were so nice,
To wait on her were fitted,
But ran herself away alone;
Which when they heard, there was not one,
But hasted after to be gone,
As she had been diswitted.
Michael Drayton
III
MAB’S ELFIN MAIDS OF HONOUR
Hop, and Mop, and Drop so clear,
Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were
To Mab their sovereign ever dear,
Her special maids of honour.
Fib, and Tib, and Pinck, and Pin,
Tick, and Quick, and Jil, and Jin,
Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win,
The train that wait upon her.
Upon a grasshopper they got,
And, what with amble and with trot,
For hedge nor ditch they spared not,
But after her they hie them.
A cobweb over them they throw,
To shield the wind, if it should blow,
Themselves they wisely could bestow,
Lest any should espy them.
Michael Drayton
IV
KING OBERON’S PALACE
This palace standeth in the air,
By necromancy placed there,
That it no tempests needs to fear,
Which way so e’er it blow it:
And somewhat southward toward the noon
Whence lies a way up to the Moon,
And thence the Fairy can as soon
Pass to the earth below it.
The walls of spiders’ legs are made,
Well morticed and finely laid;
He was the master of his trade,
It curiously that builded.
The windows of the eyes of cats,
And for the roof, instead of slats,
Is covered with the skins of bats,
With moonshine that are gilded.
Michael Drayton
V
THE FAIRIES’ UMBRELLA
I spied King Oberon and his beauteous Queen
Attended by a nimble-footed train
Of Fairies tripping o’er the meadow’s green,
And to mewards (methought) they came amain.
I couched myself behind a bush to spy,
What would betide the noble company.
It ’gan to rain, the King and Queen they run
Under a mushroom, fretted overhead,
With glow-worms artificially done,
Resembling much the canopy of a bed
Of cloth of silver: and such glimmering light
It gave, as stars do in a frosty night.
Old Poem
VI
A FAIRY’S ARMOUR
He put his acorn helmet on;
It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down;
The corslet-plate that guarded his breast
Was once the wild bee’s golden vest;
His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,
Was formed of the wings of butterflies;
His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,
Studs of gold on a ground of green;
And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.
Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;
He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue;
He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,
And away like a glance of thought he flew,
To skim the heavens, and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket-star.
Joseph Rodman Drake
VII
FAIRY REVELS
Come, follow, follow me,
You Fairy Elves that be,
Which circle on the green,
Come, follow Mab your Queen.
Hand in hand let’s dance around,
For this place is Fairy ground.
When mortals are at rest
And snoring in their nest,
Unheard and unespied,
Through keyholes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our Fairy Elves.
And if the house be foul
With platter, dish, or bowl,
Upstairs we nimbly creep,
And find the maids asleep:
There we pinch their arms and thighs;
None escapes, nor none espies.
But if the house be swept
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the household maid,
And duly she is paid;
For we use before we go
To drop a tester in her shoe.
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye or wheat
Is manchet which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn cups filled to the brink.
The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snails,
Between two cockles stewed,
Is meat that’s easily chewed;
Tails of worms and marrow of mice
Do make a dish that’s wondrous nice.
The grasshopper, gnat, and fly
Serve for our minstrelsy;
Grace said, we dance awhile,
And so the time beguile:
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lights us home to bed.
On tops of dewy grass
So nimbly do we pass,
The young and tender stalk
Ne’er bends when we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.
Old Ballad
VIII
FAIRY SONGS
Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch, when owls do cry:
On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!
Shakespeare
From Oberon in Fairyland,
The King of ghosts and shadows there,
Mad Robin, I, at his command,
Am sent to view the night-sports here.
What revel rout
Is kept about,
In every corner where I go,
I will o’ersee, and merry be,
And make good sport, with ho! ho! ho!
More swift than lightning can I fly
About this airy welkin soon,
And in a minute’s space descry
Each thing that’s done below the moon.
There’s not a hag
Or ghost shall wag,
Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;
But Robin, I, their feats will spy,
And send them home with ho! ho! ho!
By wells and rills, in meadows green,
We nightly dance our hey-day guise,
And to our Fairy King and Queen
We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.
When larks ’gin sing,
Away we fling,
And babes new-born steal as we go,
And Elf in bed we leave instead,
And wend us laughing, ho! ho! ho!
Old Ballad (Condensed)
PART TWO
FAIRY STORIES
Fairy Godmothers and Wonderful Gifts
Rap! Rap! Rap!
“Who’s tirling at the pin?”
“I’m your Fairy Godmother.
Will you let me in?”
“Pointed red cap,
Long peakèd chin,
Twinkling black eyes,
Why should I let you in?”
Rap! Rap! Rap!—
“Open wide your door,
I’m your Fairy Godmother,
With gifts threescore!”
CINDERELLA
OR
THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER
Once upon a time there was a gentleman who married for his second wife a woman who was the haughtiest and proudest ever seen. She had two daughters who resembled her in temper. The husband, however, had a young daughter by his first wife, who was of a sweetness and goodness without limit. She was like her own mother, who had been the most sweet-tempered woman in the world.
The wedding was no sooner over than the stepmother began to show her bad disposition. She could not endure the young girl, whose sweetness made her own daughters seem more detestable. She forced her to do the hardest work in the house. It was she who washed the dishes and put them in their places. It was she who polished the bedroom floors for her stepmother and two sisters. She slept under the eaves in a garret, on a wretched mattress; while her sisters lay in elegant rooms where the beds were soft and white, and the walls were lined with long mirrors in which the sisters could see themselves from head to foot.
The poor girl suffered all this with patience. And she did not dare complain to her father, for he would have scolded her, as he was completely governed by his wife.
Each day, after the girl had finished her work, she sat down in the chimney-corner among the cinders—so they called her Cinderella. Nevertheless, Cinderella, in spite of her shabby clothes, was more polite and a hundred times more beautiful than her sisters, although they were magnificently dressed.
It happened one day that the King’s son gave a ball, and that he invited everybody of rank. The ugly sisters were also invited, because they always made a grand figure at all Court festivities. They were very glad at the thought of attending the royal ball, and busied themselves in choosing the robes and head-dresses which should be most becoming. But, alas! it was more trouble and work for Cinderella, for it was she who did her sisters’ ironing, and fluted their ruffles. Night and morning, they talked only of their clothes.
“I,” said the eldest, “shall wear my red velvet robe with rich lace trimming.”
“I,” said the younger, “shall have only my plain skirt, but to make up for its plainness, I shall put on my cloak flowered with gold, and my tiara of diamonds.”
They called in Cinderella to ask her advice, for she had excellent taste. Cinderella gave them the best counsel in the world, and even offered to do their hair, for which they were very glad. And while she was arranging their locks in two rows of puffs, they asked:—
“Cinderella, would you not be delighted to go to the ball?”
“Alas, you are mocking me!” replied she. “It would be no place for me!”
“You are right,” answered the sisters, laughing scornfully. “Everybody would laugh well to see such a scrub-girl as you at the ball!”
Any one but Cinderella would have done their hair crooked out of rage, but she was so sweet that she did her very best. They went two days without eating, so excited were they with joy. They broke a dozen lacings trying to make their waists smaller, and they spent all their time before the mirrors.
At last the happy day arrived, and as they departed for the ball, Cinderella followed them with her eyes as long as she could. Then she burst into tears.
Her Godmother, who saw her in tears, asked what was the matter.
“I wish—I wish—” and Cinderella sobbed so that she could not finish.
Her Godmother, who was a Fairy, said: “You wish to go to the ball, don’t you?”
“Alas! Yes!” sighed Cinderella.
“Then be a good girl,” said her Godmother, “and you shall go. Now, run into the garden and bring me a pumpkin.”
Cinderella went, and picked the biggest she could find; and as she carried it to her Godmother, she wondered how that pumpkin could help her go to the ball.
Her Godmother scooped out all the inside, leaving only the rind which she struck with her wand. Instantly it became a golden coach. Then she went to look at the mousetrap in which she found six mice. She bade Cinderella open the trap, and, as each mouse sprang out, she touched it with her wand. And instantly it was changed into a handsome horse.
As the Godmother was wondering out of what to make a coachman, Cinderella said: “I will go and see if there is a rat in the trap—then we can make a coachman.”
“That is a good thought,” said her Godmother, “go and see.”
Cinderella brought the trap in which were three large rats. Her Godmother chose one of the three because of his long whiskers; and when she touched him, he was instantly changed into a big coachman who had the handsomest moustaches ever seen.
Then she said to Cinderella: “Go into the garden. You will find there six lizards behind the watering-pot. Bring them to me.”
Cinderella had no sooner brought them than they were changed into six footmen in gold-laced coats, who sprang up behind the coach with the air of never having done anything else in their lives.
Then the Fairy said to Cinderella: “Here is a fine coach in which to go to the ball! Are you not glad?”
“Yes,” replied she, “but must I go in these ugly clothes?”
Her Godmother, in answer, touched her with her wand, and instantly her old clothes were changed into robes of gold and silver embroidered with gems. Then her Godmother presented her with a pair of glass slippers, the prettiest in the world.
Now that Cinderella was all dressed, she got into the coach; but her Godmother told her above all things not to remain a minute later than midnight. For if she remained a single minute longer, her coach would become a pumpkin; her horses, mice; her coachman, a rat; and her footmen, lizards; while all her fine clothes would change to rags.
Cinderella promised her Godmother that she would not fail to return before midnight.
She departed for the ball, so joyful that she did not know herself. The King’s son, who was informed by his servants of the arrival of a beautiful Princess whom nobody knew, ran to receive her. He assisted her to descend from the coach, and led her into the hall where the guests were assembled.
There was a great silence. People stopped dancing, and the violins ceased playing, while all crowded around to see the beauty of the unknown one. Then a confused murmur arose. “Oh, how beautiful she is!” The King even, old as he was, could not take his eyes off her, and he whispered to the Queen that it was long since he had seen such a handsome and amiable person.
All the ladies were anxious to examine her head-dress and robes, and they decided to have some made like them the very next morning, provided, of course, that they could procure beautiful enough materials and needlewomen sufficiently skilful.
The King’s son led Cinderella to the place of honour, and asked her to dance with him. She danced with such grace that she was more admired than ever. A superb banquet was served, but the young Prince did not taste it, so much was he occupied in gazing at her. She seated herself by her sisters, and showed them a thousand attentions. She offered them a share of the oranges and lemons that the Prince had given her, which greatly surprised them, for they did not know her.
While they were chatting, Cinderella heard the clock strike a quarter before twelve. She immediately bowed to the company, and hastened away as fast as she could.
When she arrived at home, she found her Fairy Godmother, and having thanked her, told her how she longed to go again the next night, for the Prince had invited her. And while she was relating all the things that had happened at the ball, she heard the two sisters rap at the door.
Cinderella opened it. “How late you are,” she said.
“If you had been at the ball,” replied one of the sisters, “you would not think it late! There came the most beautiful Princess you have ever dreamed of. She was devoted to us, and gave us oranges and lemons.”
Cinderella could scarcely contain herself for joy. She asked the name of the Princess.
“We do not know,” they said. “Even the King’s son is curious to learn who she is.”
Cinderella smiled and said to the elder sister: “Was she so beautiful then! How happy you are!”
The next night the sisters went to the ball. Cinderella went, too, even more magnificently attired than the first time. The King’s son was constantly by her side, and never ceased whispering sweet things. Cinderella was not at all weary, and she forgot what her Godmother had told her; so that when she heard the first stroke of midnight, she could not believe that it was more than eleven o’clock.
She sprang up, and fled as swiftly as a deer. The Prince followed her, but could not catch her. She lost one of her glass slippers, which he tenderly picked up.
Cinderella reached home breathless, without coach or footmen, and clad in rags. Nothing remained of all her splendour but one little glass slipper, for she had dropped the other.
The Prince’s attendants asked the palace guards if they had seen a Princess pass by. They said that they had seen no one except a poorly dressed girl, who looked more like a peasant than a Princess.
When her sisters returned, Cinderella asked if they had had a good time again, and if the lovely Princess had been present. They said yes, but that she had fled as soon as twelve o’clock had sounded, and that she had dropped one of her little glass slippers—it was the prettiest thing!—and that the Prince had picked it up. And that he had done nothing but look at it for the rest of the night! Assuredly he must be very much in love with the Princess to whom it belonged!
And they were right. A few days after this the King’s son sent a herald who announced, by sound of a trumpet, that the Prince would marry any lady whom the glass slipper fitted.
Then commenced a great trying-on by Princesses and Duchesses and all the ladies of the Court—but it was of no use. At last they brought the glass slipper to the two sisters, who did their best to get their feet into it, but they could not do so.
Cinderella, who was looking on and recognized her slipper, said smilingly: “Let me see if it will fit me.”
Her sisters began to laugh scornfully and to ridicule her; but the attendant who held the slipper, looking attentively at Cinderella, saw that she was very beautiful, and said that she had a right to do so, for he had been ordered to try the slipper on every girl in the Kingdom.
He made Cinderella seat herself, and, placing the slipper on her little foot, saw that it went on easily and fitted her like wax. The amazement of the sisters was great, but was greater still when Cinderella drew the other slipper from her pocket and put it on her other foot.
Immediately the Fairy Godmother arrived, and, having touched Cinderella’s clothes with her wand, changed them into garments more magnificent than those she had worn before.
Then the two sisters recognized her for the beautiful Princess whom they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, and begged forgiveness for the cruel treatment she had suffered. Cinderella raised and embraced them, and assured them that she pardoned them with all her heart, and that she now entreated them to love her dearly.
She was then conducted to the palace of the Prince, adorned as she was in all her magnificence. The Prince found her more beautiful than ever, and a few days after he married her with great pomp.
Cinderella, who was as good as she was beautiful, lodged her sisters in the palace, and married them on the same day to two great lords of the Court.
Charles Perrault
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOOD
Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who were most miserable because they had no children; but when a lovely baby girl was born to them, they were two of the happiest people in the world. And in order to make all things as propitious as possible for the little Princess, they invited seven Fairies who lived in the Kingdom, to be her Godmothers.
When the christening ceremony was over, there was a magnificent banquet given for the Fairies. Before each of them was laid a plate of massive gold, and a case—also of massive gold—containing a spoon, a fork, and a knife, all of the same precious metal, and richly studded with diamonds and rubies.
But just as everybody was seated at the table, who should enter but an old Fairy, who had not been invited because for more than fifty years she had been shut up in a tower, and was supposed to be either dead or enchanted.
The King immediately commanded that a chair should be placed for her at the table, but he could not offer her a golden plate and case, for only seven had been made for the seven Fairies. The unreasonable old creature considered herself insulted, and began to mutter frightful threats between her teeth. The youngest of the Fairies, hearing this, concealed herself behind the tapestry, in order to be the last to speak, and so perhaps prevent any harm being done to the little Princess.
Meanwhile the Godmothers began to bestow their gifts.
One said: “My Godchild shall be the most beautiful girl in the whole world.” The second added: “And she shall have the disposition of an angel.” The third said: “I give her the gift of perfect grace and graciousness.” The fourth added: “And she shall dance like a sylph.” The fifth said: “She shall sing like a nightingale.” The sixth added: “She shall excel in playing on every sort of musical instrument.”
Then came the turn of the old Fairy, who screamed like a cockatoo, while her head shook more from rage than from age: “The Princess shall pierce her hand with a spindle, and shall die!”
These dreadful words made the whole company—every one—shudder; and there was no one there who was not drowned in tears. At that moment the youngest Fairy appeared from behind the tapestry, and said sweetly:—
“Do not weep, Your Majesties, your daughter will not die. It is true that I have not power enough to entirely undo the evil that my elder sister has done. The Princess will hurt her hand with a spindle, but, instead of dying, she will fall asleep for a hundred years, and then a royal Prince will come and waken her.”
The King, hoping to prevent this calamity, forbade any person in the Kingdom either to spin or even to keep a spindle in the house. Any one who disobeyed was to be punished with death.
Sixteen years after this, the King and Queen went with their Court to a castle in the country, when it happened that the young Princess, wandering curiously from room to room, mounted to the top of a tower. There she found an old woman sitting alone before her wheel. This old woman had never heard that the King had forbidden any one to spin.
“What are you doing, my good mother?” asked the Princess.
“I am spinning, my beautiful child,” answered the old woman.
“Oh, how pretty it is!” exclaimed the Princess. “How do you do it? Give that to me, so I may see if I can do as well!”
And as she spoke, she took the spindle so eagerly and so quickly, that it pierced her hand, and she sank fainting to the floor. The poor old woman, in the greatest distress, cried for help. People came hurrying from all sides. They dashed water on the Princess. They unlaced her robes. They bathed her temples with perfumes. But she did not move. Then the King, who, hearing the commotion, was come into the tower-room, remembered the malediction of the old Fairy. He perceived that the misfortune was a thing that had to come about, since the Fairies had foretold it.
He caused the Princess to be carried to the most splendid apartment in the castle, and to be laid on a couch of down and on pillows of down embroidered with gold and silver. Her eyes were closed, but her soft breathing showed that she was not dead. Then, too, her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose-colour, and her lips were like coral. She seemed a sleeping angel, she was so beautiful.
The kind Fairy, who had saved the Princess’s life, was in the Kingdom of Mataquin, twelve thousand miles away, but the King instantly sent word of the misfortune, by a little dwarf, who travelled in seven-league boots—which are boots that pass over seven leagues at each step—and she arrived directly at the castle, in a chariot of fire drawn by dragons.
She approved of all that the King had done. But being exceedingly wise, she knew that the poor Princess would be in a pitiable condition when at the end of a hundred years she awoke to find herself alone in that old castle. She knew of but one thing to do, and she did it. At a wave of her wand every one fell asleep—ladies of honour, waiting-maids, squires, pages, stewards, cooks, scullions, porters, footmen,—every breathing thing, even the horses in the stables with the grooms, the mastiffs in the courtyard, and little Pouffi, the Princess’s lap dog, who was nestling beside her on the couch—all slept. The spits full of partridges over the fire, and even the fire itself, waited silently to serve their mistress when she should wake and need them.
Only the King and Queen were left to kiss their darling child, and go away from the castle. The King forbade any one to approach the place, but this command was not necessary, for within a quarter of an hour there was grown up around the castle park, such a vast wood, whose trees, great and small, were so interlaced with briars and thorns, that neither man nor beast could pass through. It was plain that the Fairy had arranged matters after Fairy fashion, taking care that the young Princess should not be disturbed while she slept.
When the hundred years were gone, a King, not of the family of the Princess, reigned over the land. One day his son was hunting near the Fairy wood, and asked what were those turrets he saw rising above the trees. People told him everything that they had heard. One said that it was an enchanted castle. Another said that all the witches in the country held their revels there. The most common belief, however, seemed to be that it was the dwelling-place of an ogre, who carried off all the children he could catch, and devoured them at his leisure; for no one could follow him, as only he could pass through the wood.
While the Prince was lost in wonder at these tales, an old peasant approached him, and said: “Your Highness, more than fifty years ago I heard my father say that in yonder castle was the most beautiful Princess on earth, and that she would sleep a hundred years and then be wakened by the son of a King, and that she would marry him.”
That was enough to set the Prince on fire for the adventure. In fact, he felt in his heart that he was the chosen one. He did not delay for an instant. No sooner had he taken a step toward the wood than the trees great and small, and the thorns and briars, disentangled themselves and opened a path.
He walked toward the castle which stood at the end of a broad avenue. He saw, with surprise, that none of his attendants had been able to follow him, for the wood had closed again behind him; but all the same he went on boldly.
He entered a spacious outer court, where a person less brave than he would have been paralyzed by fear. A deathlike silence reigned, and many dead men lay stretched upon the ground. But the Prince saw, at a second glance, that the men had only the appearance of being dead, that, indeed, they were really men-at-arms, who had fallen asleep with their half-emptied wine-glasses beside them.
He ascended the stairway. He entered an antechamber, where the guard, ranged in line, with their muskets on their shoulders, were snoring contentedly. He crossed a presence-chamber where many lords and ladies were sleeping, some standing and some sitting.
Then he found himself in a magnificent apartment where on a couch, whose curtains were lifted, slept a young Princess as lovely as if she had strayed from Paradise!
The Prince knelt beside her, and pressed his lips on her white hand that lay on the coverlet. The spell was broken! The Princess opened her eyes, and, looking at the Prince as if he was no stranger, said:—
“Is it you, my Prince! I know you, for the Fairy has sent me such happy dreams in order that I might know the one who should free me from enchantment.”
Then they talked together. Each had so much to say. The Prince forgot the flight of time, and the Princess certainly did, it was so long since she had talked with any one.
Meanwhile the whole castle had awakened when the Princess did; and all the people had returned to their regular duties. They were naturally half-starved. Dinner was prepared.
Then the maid of honour, who was as hungry as the others, and who really had difficulty to keep her voice from being as sharp as her appetite, went to the Princess’s apartment, and said in a gentle tone: “Pardon, Your Highness, but dinner is served.”
The Princess was superbly dressed, and the Prince was careful not to say that her robe was like that of his great-grandmother. He did not find her any the less beautiful for all that. They dined in the Hall of Mirrors, and were served by the pages and ladies-in-waiting of the Princess. The violins and hautboys played delightfully considering that they had lain untouched for a hundred years. After dinner, the Prince and Princess were married in the chapel of the castle. And on the death of the Prince’s father, which occurred soon after the marriage, the Prince and Princess reigned happily over all that land.
Charles Perrault
PRINCE CHÉRI
Long ago there lived a monarch, who was such a very honest man that his subjects entitled him “the Good King.” One day when he was out hunting, a little white rabbit, which had been half killed by his hounds, leaped right into His Majesty’s arms. Said he, caressing it, “This poor creature has put itself under my protection, and I will allow no one to injure it.” So he carried it to his palace, had prepared for it a neat little rabbit-hutch, with abundance of the daintiest food, such as rabbits love, and there he left it.
The same night, when he was alone in his chamber, there appeared to him a beautiful lady. She was dressed neither in gold nor silver nor brocade; but her flowing robes were white as snow, and she wore a garland of white roses on her head. The Good King was greatly astonished at the sight, for his door was locked, and he wondered how so dazzling a lady could possibly enter; but she soon removed his doubts.
“I am the Fairy Candide,” said she, with a smiling and gracious air. “Passing through the wood, where you were hunting, I took a desire to know if you were as good as men say you are. I therefore changed myself into a white rabbit, and sought refuge in your arms. You saved me; and now I know that those who are merciful to dumb beasts will be ten times more so to human beings. You merit the name your subjects give you: you are the Good King. I thank you for your protection, and shall be always one of your best friends. You have but to say what you most desire, and I promise you your wish shall be granted.”
“Madam,” replied the King, “if you are a Fairy, you must know, without my telling you, the wish of my heart. I have one well-beloved son, Prince Chéri: whatever kindly feeling you have toward me, extend it to him.”
“Willingly,” said Candide. “I will make him the handsomest, richest, or most powerful Prince in the world. Choose whichever you desire for him.”
“None of the three,” returned the father. “I only wish him to be good—the best Prince in the world. Of what use would riches, power, or beauty be to him if he were a bad man?”
“You are right,” said the Fairy; “but I cannot make him good: he must do that himself. I can only change his external fortunes. For his personal character, the utmost I can promise is to give good counsel, reprove him for his faults, and even punish him, if he will not punish himself. You mortals can do the same with your children.”
“Ah, yes!” said the King, sighing.
Still, he felt that the kindness of a Fairy was something gained for his son, and died not long after, content and at peace.
Prince Chéri mourned deeply, for he dearly loved his father, and would have gladly given all his kingdoms and treasures to keep him in life a little longer.
Two days after the Good King was no more, Prince Chéri was sleeping in his chamber, when he saw the same dazzling vision of the Fairy Candide.
“I promised your father,” said she, “to be your best friend, and in pledge of this take what I now give you.” And she placed a small gold ring upon his finger. “Poor as it looks, it is more precious than diamonds; for whenever you do ill it will prick your finger. If after that warning you still continue in evil, you will lose my friendship, and I shall become your direst enemy.”
So saying she disappeared, leaving Chéri in such amazement that he would have believed it all a dream, save for the ring on his finger.
He was for a long time so good that the ring never pricked him at all; and this made him so cheerful and pleasant in his humour that everybody called him “Happy Prince Chéri.” But one unlucky day he was out hunting and found no sport, which vexed him so much that he showed his ill-temper by his looks and ways. He fancied his ring felt very tight and uncomfortable, but as it did not prick him, he took no heed of this; until, reëntering his palace, his little pet dog, Bibi, jumped up upon him, and was sharply told to get away. The creature, accustomed to nothing but caresses, tried to attract his attention by pulling at his garments, when Prince Chéri turned and gave it a severe kick. At this moment he felt in his finger a prick like a pin.
“What nonsense!” said he to himself. “The Fairy must be making game of me. Why, what great evil have I done? I, the master of a great empire, cannot I kick my own dog?”
A voice replied, or else Prince Chéri imagined it: “No, sire; the master of a great empire has a right to do good, but not evil. I—a Fairy—am as much above you as you are above your dog. I might punish you, kill you, if I chose; but I prefer leaving you to amend your ways. You have been guilty of three faults to-day—bad temper, passion, cruelty. Do better to-morrow.”
The Prince promised, and kept his word awhile; but he had been brought up by a foolish nurse, who indulged him in every way, and was always telling him that he would be a King one day, when he might do as he liked in all things. He found out now that even a King cannot always do that; it vexed him, and made him angry. His ring began to prick him so often that his little finger was continually bleeding. He disliked this, as was natural, and soon began to consider whether it would not be easier to throw the ring away altogether than to be constantly annoyed by it. It was such a queer thing for a King to have always a spot of blood on his finger!
At last, unable to put up with it any more, he took his ring off, and hid it where he would never see it; and believed himself the happiest of men, for he could now do exactly what he liked. He did it, and became every day more and more miserable.
One day he saw a young girl, so beautiful that, being always accustomed to have his own way, he immediately determined to marry her. He never doubted that she would be only too glad to be made a Queen, for she was very poor. But Zelia—that was her name—answered, to his great astonishment, that she would rather not marry him.
“Do I displease you?” asked the Prince, into whose mind it had never entered that he could displease anybody.
“Not at all, my Prince,” said the honest peasant-maiden. “You are very handsome, very charming; but you are not like your father the Good King. I will not be your Queen, for you would make me miserable.”
At these words the Prince’s love seemed all to turn to hatred. He gave orders to his guards to convey Zelia to a prison near the palace, and then took counsel with his foster-brother, the one of all his ill companions who most incited him to do wrong.
“Sir,” said this man, “if I were in Your Majesty’s place, I would never vex myself about a poor silly girl. Feed her on bread and water till she comes to her senses; and if she still refuses you, let her die in torment, as a warning to your other subjects should they venture to dispute your will. You will be disgraced should you suffer yourself to be conquered by a simple girl.”
“But,” said Prince Chéri, “shall I not be disgraced if I harm a creature so perfectly innocent?”
“No one is innocent who disputes Your Majesty’s authority,” said the courtier, bowing; “and it is better to commit an injustice than allow it to be supposed you can ever be contradicted with impunity.”
This touched Chéri on his weak point—his good impulses faded. He resolved once more to ask Zelia if she would marry him, and, if she again refused, to sell her as a slave. Arrived at the cell in which she was confined, what was his astonishment to find her gone! He knew not whom to accuse, for he had kept the key in his pocket the whole time. At last, the foster-brother suggested that the escape of Zelia might have been contrived by an old man, Suliman by name, the Prince’s former tutor, who was the only one who now ventured to blame him for anything that he did. Chéri sent immediately, and ordered his old friend to be brought to him, loaded heavily with irons.
Then, full of fury, he went and shut himself up in his own chamber, where he went raging to and fro, till startled by a noise like a clap of thunder. The Fairy Candide stood before him.
“Prince,” said she, in a severe voice, “I promised your father to give you good counsels, and to punish you if you refused to follow them. My counsels were forgotten, my punishments despised. Under the figure of a man, you have been no better than the beasts you chase: like a lion in fury, a wolf in gluttony, a serpent in revenge, and a bull in brutality. Take, therefore, in your new form the likeness of all these animals.”
Scarcely had Prince Chéri heard these words, than to his horror he found himself transformed into what the Fairy had named. He was a creature with the head of a lion, the horns of a bull, the feet of a wolf, and the tail of a serpent. At the same time he felt himself transported to a distant forest, where, standing on the bank of a stream, he saw reflected in the water his own frightful shape, and heard a voice saying:—
“Look at thyself, and know thy soul has become a thousand times uglier even than thy body.”
Chéri recognized the voice of Candide, and in his rage would have sprung upon her and devoured her; but he saw nothing, and the same voice said behind him:—
“Cease thy feeble fury, and learn to conquer thy pride by being in submission to thine own subjects.”
Hearing no more, he soon quitted the stream, hoping at least to get rid of the sight of himself; but he had scarcely gone twenty paces when he tumbled into a pitfall that was laid to catch bears. The bear-hunters, descending from some trees hard by, caught him, chained him, and only too delighted to get hold of such a curious-looking animal, led him along with them to the capital of his own Kingdom.
There great rejoicings were taking place, and the bear-hunters, asking what it was all about, were told that it was because Prince Chéri, the torment of his subjects, had been struck dead by a thunderbolt—just punishment of all his crimes. Four courtiers, his wicked companions, had wished to divide his throne among them; but the people had risen up against them, and offered the crown to Suliman, the old tutor whom Chéri had ordered to be arrested.
All this the poor monster heard. He even saw Suliman sitting upon his own throne, and trying to calm the populace by representing to them that it was not certain Prince Chéri was dead; that he might return one day to reassume with honour the crown which Suliman only consented to wear as a sort of viceroy.
“I know his heart,” said the honest and faithful old man; “it is tainted, but not corrupt. If alive, he may reform yet, and be all his father over again to you, his people, whom he has caused to suffer so much.”
These words touched the poor beast so deeply that he ceased to beat himself against the iron bars of the cage in which the hunters carried him about, became gentle as a lamb, and suffered himself to be taken quietly to a menagerie, where were kept all sorts of strange and ferocious animals—a place which he had himself often visited as a boy, but never thought he should be shut up there himself.
However, he owned he had deserved it all, and began to make amends by showing himself very obedient to his keeper. This man was almost as great a brute as the animals he had charge of, and when he was in ill-humour he used to beat them without rhyme or reason. One day, while he was sleeping, a tiger broke loose and leaped upon him, eager to devour him. Chéri at first felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought of being revenged; then, seeing how helpless the man was, he wished himself free, that he might defend him. Immediately the doors of his cage opened.
The keeper, waking up, saw the strange beast leap out, and imagined, of course, that he was going to be slain at once. Instead, he saw the tiger lying dead, and the strange beast creeping up and laying itself at his feet to be caressed. But as he lifted up his hand to stroke it, a voice was heard saying, “Good actions never go unrewarded.” And, instead of the frightful monster, there crouched on the ground nothing but a pretty little dog.
Chéri, delighted to find himself thus transformed, caressed the keeper in every possible way, till at last the man took him up into his arms and carried him to the King, to whom he related this wonderful story from beginning to end. The Queen wished to have the charming little dog; and Chéri would have been exceedingly happy, could he have forgotten that he was originally a man and a King. He was lodged most elegantly, had the richest of collars to adorn his neck, and heard himself praised continually. But his beauty rather brought him into trouble, for the Queen, afraid lest he might grow too large for a pet, took advice of dog-doctors, who ordered that he should be fed entirely upon bread, and that very sparingly; so poor Chéri was sometimes nearly starved.
One day, when they gave him his crust for breakfast, a fancy seized him to go and eat it in the palace-garden; so he took the bread in his mouth, and trotted away toward a stream which he knew, and where he sometimes stopped to drink. But instead of the stream he saw a splendid palace, glittering with gold and precious stones. Entering the doors was a crowd of men and women, magnificently dressed; and within there was singing and dancing, and good cheer of all sorts. Yet, however grandly and gaily the people went in, Chéri noticed that those who came out were pale, thin, ragged, half-naked, covered with wounds and sores. Some of them dropped dead at once; others dragged themselves on a little way and then lay down, dying of hunger, and vainly begged a morsel of bread from others who were entering in—who never took the least notice of them.
Chéri perceived one woman, who was trying feebly to gather and eat some green herbs. “Poor thing!” said he to himself; “I know what it is to be hungry, and I want my breakfast badly enough; but still it will not kill me to wait till dinner-time, and my crust may save the life of this poor woman.”
So the little dog ran up to her, and dropped his bread at her feet; she picked it up, and ate it with avidity. Soon she looked quite recovered, and Chéri, delighted, was trotting back again to his kennel, when he heard loud cries, and saw a young girl dragged by four men to the door of the palace, which they were trying to compel her to enter. Oh, how he wished himself a monster again, as when he slew the tiger! For the young girl was no other than his beloved Zelia. Alas! what could a poor little dog do to defend her? But he ran forward and barked at the men and bit their heels, until at last they chased him away with heavy blows. And then he lay down outside the palace-door, determined to watch and see what had become of Zelia.
Conscience pricked him now. “What!” he thought, “I am furious against these wicked men, who are carrying her away; and did I not do the same myself? Did I not cast her into prison, and intend to sell her as a slave? Who knows how much more wickedness I might not have done to her and others, if Heaven’s justice had not stopped me in time?”
While he lay thinking and repenting, he heard a window open, and saw Zelia throw out of it a bit of dainty meat. Chéri, who felt hungry enough by this time, was just about to eat it, when the woman to whom he had given his crust snatched him up in her arms.
“Poor little beast!” cried she, patting him, “every bit of food in that palace is poisoned; you shall not touch a morsel.”
And at the same time the voice in the air repeated again, “Good actions never go unrewarded.” And Chéri found himself changed into a beautiful little white pigeon. He remembered with joy that white was the colour of the Fairy Candide, and began to hope that she was taking him into favour again.
So he stretched his wings, delighted that he might now have a chance of approaching his fair Zelia. He flew up to the palace windows, and, finding one of them open, entered and sought everywhere, but he could not find Zelia. Then, in despair, he flew out again, resolved to go over the world until he beheld her once more.
He took flight at once, and traversed many countries, swiftly as a bird can, but found no trace of his beloved. At length in a desert, sitting beside an old hermit in his cave and partaking with him of his frugal repast, Chéri saw a poor peasant girl and recognized Zelia. Transported with joy, he flew in, perched on her shoulder, and expressed his delight and affection by a thousand caresses.
She, charmed with the pretty little pigeon, caressed it in her turn, and promised it that, if it would stay with her, she would love it always.
“What have you done, Zelia?” said the hermit, smiling. And while he spoke the white pigeon vanished, and there stood Prince Chéri in his own natural form. “Your enchantment ended, Prince, when Zelia promised to love you. Indeed, she has loved you always, but your many faults constrained her to hide her love. These are now amended, and you may both live happy if you will, because your union is founded upon mutual esteem.”
Chéri and Zelia threw themselves at the feet of the hermit, whose form also began to change. His soiled garments became of dazzling whiteness, and his long beard and withered face grew into the flowing hair and lovely countenance of Fairy Candide.
“Rise up, my children,” said she; “I must now transport you to your palace, and restore to Prince Chéri his father’s crown, of which he is now worthy.”
She had scarcely ceased speaking when they found themselves in the chamber of Suliman, who, delighted to find again his beloved pupil and master, willingly resigned the throne, and became the most faithful of his subjects.
King Chéri and Queen Zelia reigned together for many years, and it is said that the former was so blameless and strict in all his duties that, though he constantly wore the ring which Candide had restored to him, it never once pricked his finger enough to make it bleed.
Madame Le Prince de Beaumont
(After Miss Mulock)
TOADS AND DIAMONDS
Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so exactly like her mother in disposition and in face that whoever saw one, saw the other. They were both so disagreeable and so proud that nobody could endure them.
The younger was the image of her dead father. She was sweet and kind-hearted, besides being very beautiful. While her mother loved the elder daughter to distraction, she hated the younger. The poor child had to eat in the kitchen, and work day and night. And twice every day she had to walk several miles to a distant fountain to fetch home a large pitcher of water.
One morning, while she was resting beside the fountain, a poor woman passing by, stopped and asked her for a drink.
“Yes, indeed!” said the obliging young girl. And immediately dipping her pitcher, she filled it where the water was coldest, and held it carefully up so that the woman might easily drink from it.
When the woman had finished drinking, she said: “You are so beautiful, so good, and so kind, that I must bestow a gift upon you. For every word that you speak, there shall fall from your lips either a flower or a jewel.”
Now the woman was not really a poor peasant, but a Fairy who had taken that form in order to find how kind-hearted the young girl was. She then vanished.
As soon as the daughter arrived at home, her mother scolded her for being absent so long.
“I beg your pardon, my mother, for being gone such a long time,” answered the girl. And as she spoke there fell from her lips three roses, three lilies, three pearls, and three large diamonds.
“What do I see!” exclaimed her mother in amazement. “Where did you get them, my child?” It was the first time in her life that she had ever called her “my child.” “I do believe those jewels came from your mouth!”
The poor girl told her in a few words what had happened, and while she was talking a shower of blossoms and gems fell to the ground.
“Truly!” exclaimed the mother; “I must send my darling there! Look!” called she to the elder daughter; “see what comes out of your sister’s mouth. Would you not be glad to have the same Fairy gifts? You have only to go and draw some water from the fountain, and when a poor woman asks for a drink to give it to her very politely.”
“It would certainly look fine for me to carry a great pitcher to the fountain!” answered the elder daughter angrily.
“I wish you to go there at once,” said her mother.
So the girl went, but grumbling. She took the prettiest silver pitcher that there was in the house; and she was no sooner arrived at the fountain than she saw, stepping out of the wood, a magnificent lady attired in rich robes. She approached the girl and asked her for a drink. It was the same Fairy who had appeared to her sister, but who had taken the form of a Princess in order to find how rude the girl would be.
“Oh, indeed!” answered the insolent girl; “do you think that I am come here on purpose to give you a drink? I suppose you think that I have brought a silver pitcher expressly to draw water for you! Draw the water yourself, my fine lady!”
“You are rude,” replied the Fairy without becoming in the least angry. “Since you are so utterly disobliging, I bestow on you a gift. It is this, for every word that you speak, there shall fall from your mouth either a viper or a toad.”
Then the Fairy vanished.
When her mother saw the girl returning, she cried out: “Well, my daughter!”
“Well, my mother!” snapped the hateful girl, and as she spoke there sprang from her mouth two snakes and one toad.
“What do I see!” shrieked her mother. “Your sister is the cause of this, and she shall pay for it!”
And she rushed to beat the poor child, who fled into the neighbouring wood. The son of the King was returning from the chase, and met her as she was running away. Seeing how beautiful she was, he asked her why she was there alone, and why she wept.
“Ah, sir,” she said, “it is because my mother has driven me from home.”
The King’s son, seeing five or six pearls and as many diamonds fall from her lips, begged her to explain how such a marvel could be. When she told him about the Fairy’s gift, he thought that such a wedding portion was more than he could expect with a Princess, so he led the girl to his palace, and married her.
As for the sister, she made herself so hated, and so many vipers and toads sprang from her mouth, that at last her mother drove her from home. And, after having been refused shelter by all the neighbours, she died in a dark corner of the wood.
Charles Perrault
BLANCHE AND ROSE
Once upon a time there was a poor widow, who had two charming daughters. She named the elder Blanche, and the younger Rose, because they had the most beautiful complexions in the world.
One day, while the mother sat spinning at the door of her cottage, she saw a poor, bent, old woman hobbling by on a crutch. She pitied her, and said:—
“You are very tired. Sit down a minute and rest.”
Then she called her daughters to fetch a chair. They both hastened, but Rose ran faster than her sister and brought it.
“Will you not have a drink?” asked the mother kindly.
“Indeed, I will,” replied the old woman. “And it seems to me that I could eat a morsel, too, if you will give me something to strengthen me.”
“I will gladly give you all that I have,” said the mother, “but as I am poor, it will not be much.”
Then she bade her daughters wait on the old woman, who had seated herself at the table. She told Blanche to go and pick some plums from the plum tree that Blanche herself had planted, and of which she was very proud. But instead of obeying her mother pleasantly, she went away grumbling, and thinking, “What a shame that I have taken such care of my tree just for this greedy old woman!” However, she did not dare refuse to fetch some plums, and she brought them with a very bad grace, and evidently much against her will.
“And you, Rose,” said the mother, “you have no fruit to give this good lady, for your grapes are not yet ripe!”
“That is true,” answered Rose, “but I hear my hen cackling. She has just laid an egg, and I will give that with all my heart!”
And without allowing the old woman time to speak, Rose ran out to seek the egg. But when she came back the old woman had disappeared, and in her place stood the most beautiful lady—a Fairy.
“Good woman,” said she to the mother, “I am about to reward your two daughters as they deserve. The elder shall become a great Queen, and the younger shall be a farmer’s wife.”
Then the lady waved a wand and in a twinkling the little cottage was changed into a pretty farmhouse surrounded by a flourishing farm.
“This is your wedding portion,” said she to Rose. “I know I am giving to each of you what you like best.”
So saying the Fairy disappeared, leaving the mother and daughters speechless with surprise and joy. They were delighted with the spotlessness of all the furniture. The chairs were of wood, but they were so well polished that they shone like mirrors. The beds were covered with linen as white as snow. In the stables there were twenty sheep, as many lambs, four oxen, four cows; and in the yard were chickens, ducks, and pigeons. There was also a pretty garden full of fruits and flowers.
Blanche saw without jealousy all that the Fairy had given her sister. She was taken up with the thought of the delightful times she should have when she became a Queen. Just then a party of royal hunters passed by. And while she stood in the door to look at them, she appeared so wonderfully beautiful in the eyes of the King that he determined to marry her.
After she became Queen, she said to Rose: “I do not wish you to be a farmer’s wife. Come with me, sister, and I will wed you to a great lord.”
“I am much obliged to you, my sister,” answered Rose, “but I am used to the country, and wish always to remain here.”
During the first months of her marriage Queen Blanche was so occupied with fine clothes, balls, and the theatre, that she thought of nothing else. But afterward she became accustomed to the gay doings of the Court, and nothing amused her. On the contrary, she had many troubles.
At first the courtiers paid her great deference, but she knew that when she was not present, they said to each other: “See how this little peasant puts on the airs of a fine lady! The King must have very low taste to choose such a wife!”
Talk like this came to the King, and he began to think that he had made a mistake in marrying Blanche, so he ceased to love her, and neglected her sadly. When the courtiers saw this, they no longer did her honour. She had not one true friend to whom she might confide her sorrows. She always had a doctor near her who examined her food and took away everything she liked. They put no salt in her soups. She was forbidden to walk when she wished to. In a word, she was interfered with from morning to night. The King took her children from her, and gave them in charge of governesses who brought them up badly. But the Queen dared not say a word.
Poor Blanche! She was dying of grief. She became so thin that everybody pitied her. She had not seen her sister for several years, because she thought that it would disgrace a Queen to visit a farmer’s wife. But now feeling herself so unhappy, she asked the King’s permission to pass a few days in the country. He gladly gave his consent, for he was delighted to be rid of her.
When she arrived in the evening at the home of Rose, a band of shepherds and shepherdesses were dancing gaily on the grass. “There was a time,” sighed Blanche, “when I amused myself like these simple people! Then there was no one to prevent it!”
While she was thinking thus, her sister ran to embrace her, looking so happy and plump that Blanche could not help weeping as she gazed at her.
Rose had married a young farmer, who loved her dearly; and together they managed the farm that was the Fairy’s marriage portion. Rose had not many servants, but those she had she treated so kindly that they were as devoted to her as if they were her children. Her neighbours, too, were so fond of her that they were always trying to show it. She had not much money, but she had no need of it, for her farm produced wheat, wine, and oil; her flocks furnished milk; and she made butter and cheese. She spun the wool of her sheep into clothing for her household, all of whom enjoyed the best of health. When the day’s work was done, the whole family amused themselves with games, music, and dancing.
“Alas!” cried Queen Blanche, “the Fairy made me but a sad gift when she gave me a crown! People do not find happiness in magnificent palaces, but in the simple joys and labour of the country!”
As she finished speaking, the Fairy herself appeared before her.
“I did not intend to reward you by making you a Queen,” she said, “but to punish you because you gave your plums with such bad grace. In order to be truly happy it is necessary to possess, like your sister, only those things that are simple and joyful, and not to wish for more.”
“Ah, madame!” cried Blanche, “you are sufficiently avenged! Pray put an end to my misery!”
“It is ended,” replied the Fairy. “Even now the King, who has ceased to love you, is sending his officers to forbid your returning to the palace.”
All happened as the Fairy had said. And Blanche passed the rest of her life with Rose. She was happy and contented, never even thinking of the royal Court, except when she thanked the Fairy for taking her from it, and bringing her back to the pretty farm and to her dear sister.
Madame Le Prince de Beaumont
THE ENCHANTED WATCH
There once lived a gay young girl named Fannie, who never knew what time it was. Did she care? That I cannot say. And it is impossible for me to tell you how often she kept her father waiting, and caused him to be late for his appointments. And such a kind father as he was to Fannie, for she was his only child and he loved her very much. Indeed, he loved her so much that he overlooked her faults when he should have reproved them. Whole half-hours she used to keep the carriage waiting in front of the door, while she prinked before her mirror. And because she was never prompt, every one called her “Miss Tardy.” Yet, after keeping people waiting, she would excuse herself in the sweetest manner possible, and blame herself for thoughtlessness.
One day her old Godmother wrote that she was coming the next morning to lunch with Fannie at noon. She was a Fairy so celebrated for her promptness that people called her “the Fairy Prompt,” of which name she was very proud. With her, noon was not ten minutes after twelve, nor ten minutes before twelve, but it was exactly twelve o’clock.
So the next morning, at the first stroke of twelve, she set her foot on the bottom step of Fannie’s house, and, as the last stroke died away, she entered the dining-room. The table was beautifully laid, and all was ready, but Fannie was not there. Indeed, Miss Tardy had forgotten all about her Godmother, and was calling on a friend. She was trying on her friend’s beautiful new clothes and having such a fine time that the Godmother was utterly forgotten, as if she had never been in the world.
But at last hunger reminded Fannie of luncheon, and she hurried home. The servants informed her that her Godmother had arrived, but as Fannie’s shoes pinched her, she rushed to her room and put on a pretty little pair of slippers. Then, as her street clothes were not suitable for slippers, she changed her dress for a becoming house-gown. By this time it was two o’clock.
She found her Godmother asleep in a comfortable chair, such as is not made any more; and, I think, she was snoring a little. She awoke as Fannie opened the door hurriedly.
“My dear Godmother,” said she, “I am so sorry!—so ashamed!—I am indeed a thoughtless creature to keep you waiting this way!”
“That is all right,” said the Godmother, who was very kind and indulgent to Fannie. “I have slept a little, while waiting for you. That will do me no harm. What time is it?”
“Oh, please do not ask me!” begged Fannie, “you will make me die with shame!”
And like a playful child she ran and stood in front of the clock, but her Fairy Godmother, who had good eyes, saw that the hand had passed two o’clock.
The dinner, as you may well imagine, was overdone, but the Fairy, who really loved her goddaughter, took it all as good-naturedly as possible, and made many gay jokes as she tried to eat the burnt roasts and the scorched creams.
It was soon four o’clock, and Fannie’s father hurriedly entered the drawing-room, where she was chatting with her Godmother.
“Well, Fannie!” he cried. “Are you ready? Are you ready?” Then he started back when he saw his daughter, in her pretty pink and blue house-gown, stretched indolently on a sofa, her feet to the fire, while she daintily sipped her coffee.
“What!” exclaimed her father. “Have you forgotten that you were to be ready at four o’clock!”
“Do you not see my Godmother with me, Papa?” said Fannie reproachfully.
“Pardon me, madame,” said the father, turning to the Fairy and bowing, although his face was red with anger. “Excuse my rudeness, but my daughter will cause me to die with grief!”
“And what has the poor child done?” asked the Godmother.
“Judge for yourself,” said he. “Prince Pandolph has invited us to his villa. Fannie is to sing for his guests. They are all assembled and expecting her. The Prince has sent his carriage which is now waiting before the door.”
“But, Papa,” said Fannie, “cannot you go without me?”
“You know that cannot be, child,” said her father sadly. “It is you who are invited, and it is your fine voice that the Prince wishes for his musicale. He will now be offended for ever, since you cannot go in this dress.”
“Calm yourself, my good sir,” said the Godmother, seeing Fannie’s confusion. “It is because of me that this dear little one has forgotten you. It is for me to repair this evil.”
So saying she passed her hand over the unfortunate house-gown and it was instantly transformed into the most ravishing robe embroidered with gold and pearls. Fannie, who was naturally very pretty, shone like a star in this brilliant costume.
“Wait a minute,” said the Fairy to the impatient father, who was already leading his daughter away. “Let me finish my work.” And she put around the neck of her goddaughter a magnificent golden chain at the end of which hung an exquisite little watch the size of a locket, and all of chased gold studded with diamonds.
“Now, little one,” said she, kissing the forehead of the spoilt child, “here is something that will aid your naughty memory. With this you will never again forget an engagement. Be sure to come home by ten o’clock.”
“Oh, yes, indeed!” said Fannie, kissing her Godmother joyfully.
It is necessary to say here that it was the Fairy Prompt who invented watches in her youth. But hers were not like those sold nowadays in the shops. There was a magic virtue in each watch, for when the hour of an engagement arrived, it made so loud a ticking that the owner of it had no peace until he kept his engagement.
So it happened that while Fannie was listening to the praises of the Prince and his guests, who were saying that she had the most delightful voice in the world, she heard a gentle sound, but very distinct:—
“Tic! Tic! Tic!”
“It is ten o’clock!” exclaimed Fannie joyously to her father. “Oh! my dear, good, little watch, that my Godmother gave me, it has told me so! We must hurry home.”
Her father, who was very much pleased because she had charmed the Prince and his guests with her sweet voice, said as they drove away:—
“My dear child, to-morrow I am going to take you to the finest jeweller in town, and buy for you the bracelet of antique cameos that you have been begging me for. At what time do you wish to go? At ten o’clock?”
“Oh, no!” cried Fannie, her eyes sparkling with delight, “at nine o’clock, please! Ever since I saw the bracelet I have been dying to possess it!”
“Very good! At nine o’clock, then. And what shall we do with the rest of our morning?”
“At exactly ten I am to go to the dressmaker’s to order some new gowns,” said Fannie, “but may we not lunch together at eleven?”
“Just as you say, dear little nightingale,” answered her father affectionately. “And order all the gowns and furbelows you wish, for the plumage should match the warbling. And since it suits you, I will meet you promptly at eleven, for at twelve I have an important business engagement.”
“At eleven o’clock, then, dear Papa,” said Fannie, “but do not forget to return in time this evening to escort me to the Baron’s ball!”
“Don’t worry!” said her father, smiling, “for nothing in the world would I make a pearl of a daughter like you wait for an escort!”
The next morning Fannie rose early and dressed more rapidly than usual, and was ready waiting for her father at nine. They drove to the jeweller’s. How her eyes sparkled as her father clasped the cameo bracelet on her arm! But the jeweller, who hoped to sell Fannie a necklace as well, took from his showcase such beautiful collars of pearls, rubies, amethysts, and other gems and precious stones that she forgot how the time was flying.
“Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic!”
“Thank you, dear watch, for warning me!” said Fannie gaily, “but the dressmaker must wait!”
“Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic! Tic!”
“You insupportable thing!” cried she, and taking the watch from her neck she handed it to her father, saying: “I beg you, dear Papa, to put this in your pocket. It is very annoying!”
He took the watch, and seeing a friend on the street, went to the door to speak with him.
“Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!”
The watch raised its voice so that Fannie should hear it. The people in the shop all asked where the noise came from. And her father, mortified, said good-bye to his friend, gave back the watch to Fannie, and hurried her into the carriage.
She was soon at the dressmaker’s, and her ill-humour passed as she ordered a dress of pink brocade trimmed with rich lace, and a robe of garnet velvet embroidered with gold threads, and a cloak of silver cloth trimmed with pearls. She was not yet through when she glanced at the clock, and saw that it was eleven.
“Oh!” thought she, “that horrid watch is going to disturb me again! But I’ll finish my ordering!”
“Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!”
The dressmaker turned her head. “What’s that, Miss?” she exclaimed with fright.
“It is nothing, let us go on!” said Miss Tardy.
“Toc! Toc! Toc! Toc!” louder than before.
“It is thieves! It is thieves!” cried the dressmaker.
“It is nothing I tell you—unfold this gown.”
“Toc!—Toc!—Toc!—Toc!” louder and louder!
And the poor dressmaker, half dead with fright, was in such a state that she could show no more clothes. And Fannie put on her hat and coat, and hurried away to the restaurant where she found her father walking nervously up and down.
“Ah! how thoughtful of you, dear child, to be prompt!” he said, as he led her to a table. And the delicious food soon made her forget her annoyance.
When Fannie returned home she was so fatigued that she put on a charming wrapper, and lay down to rest. Then she remembered that she had an engagement to see a poor man at two o’clock, whose want she had promised to relieve. She took the fatal watch from her neck, and giving it to the maid, said:—
“Take this, and carry it to the cellar, so that I may be rid of it!”
Two o’clock struck, and the poor old man, who had had nothing to eat for three days, presented himself. The maid told him that Miss Fannie was sleeping and would not see him. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he bowed humbly and was turning away, when everybody in the house jumped to the ceiling.
“Paf! Paf! Paf! Paf!” It was like so many shots from a pistol.
The neighbours commenced screaming. The servants ran frantically to and fro.
Fannie sprang up from her couch.
“Paf! Paf! Paf! Paf!”
“It must be that wretched watch!” cried she.
“Paf!—Paf!—Paf!—Paf!”
“Yes! Yes! I am coming! I am coming!” And she hurried to the cellar and, picking up the watch, returned to her room in silence.
Then she called the poor old man, fed him, and comforted him, and sent him away with a full purse.
Evening arrived, and Fannie, all dressed for the Baron’s ball, shone more beautifully than ever in her magnificent gown. And just as her father was leading her to the carriage, a clumsy wagon drove up, and an old countrywoman descended from it, crying out that she must see her dear child—her Fannie—just once more before she died. It was Fannie’s old nurse who had come all the way from her village miles distant to hold her dear child in her arms. When she saw that Fannie was ready to go out, she screamed loudly and would have made herself ill, if Fannie had not embraced her tenderly, and promised to return before midnight. On the strength of this promise the old woman grew calm, and Fannie and her father went away to the ball.
But as the carriage drove through the streets, Fannie regretted her promise, and slipping her little hand under her cloak, she loosened the fatal watch, and flung it into a deep ditch.
“At last! At last!” she said to herself, with a sigh of relief.
Midnight sounded, and found her breathlessly twirling around in the dance, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks glowing.
“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”
The orchestra stopped suddenly. The thunderclaps—for so they seemed to be—continued to follow each other without interruption.
“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”
All the city was awake. Women cried out that the end of the world was come.
The unfortunate Fannie knew in a minute what it was. Fright seized her, and she lost her head. Instead of returning home quietly, which would have put an end to the horrible racket, she ran out into the street, and, wild with fright, hastened with all speed to the spot where she had thrown the watch.
“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”
The houses were lighted. The amazed people thrust their heads out the windows. All that they saw was a young girl running through the streets, her neck and head bare, and her ball-gown flying in the wind.
“Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”—every stroke was louder and more fearful.
The firemen came hurrying up to see if there was a fire, and one of them held his lantern under Fannie’s nose, and cried out: “Why, it is little Miss Tardy! She has doubtless lost the time, and is hunting for it! Ha! Ha!”
Meanwhile Fannie ran on, and arrived breathlessly at the ditch into which she had flung the watch. Guided by its thunderous blows, she quickly laid her fingers on it. In a fury she was about to dash it against a stone when she felt a hand on her arm.
It was her Fairy Godmother, who, in gentle tones of reproach, said: “What are you doing, my child? You can never succeed!”
Then she took the watch from Fannie, which instantly became quiet, and passed the chain around the neck of her goddaughter, who was trembling with penitence and shame.
“Neither violence nor trickery,” said her Godmother, “have any power over my gift to you. All you can do is to take it, and obey. And then you will find yourself happy.”
At the same moment Miss Tardy felt herself being transported through the air, and found herself once more in her own room, holding the hand of her old nurse, who was weeping with tenderness and joy.
I have no need to tell you that Fannie never again attempted to disobey the protecting tyrant that she wore around her neck. And as the watch no longer had to warn her with its loud ticking, she learned in time to enjoy sacrificing her whims to her duty.
Jean Macé (Adapted)
QUEEN MAB
A little Fairy comes at night;
Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
With silver spots upon her wings,
And from the moon she flutters down.
She has a little silver wand;
And when a good child goes to bed,
She waves her wand from right to left,
And makes a circle round its head.
And then it dreams of pleasant things,
Of fountains filled with Fairy fish,
And trees that bear delicious fruit,
And bow their branches at a wish;
Of arbours filled with dainty scents
From lovely flowers that never fade;
Bright flies that glitter in the sun
And glow-worms shining in the shade;
And talking birds with gifted tongues
For singing songs and telling tales,
And pretty Dwarfs to show the way
Through Fairy hills and Fairy dales.
But when a bad child goes to bed,
From left to right she weaves her rings,
And then it dreams all through the night
Of only ugly horrid things!
Then wicked children wake and weep,
And wish the long black gloom away;
But good ones love the dark, and find
The night as pleasant as the day.
Thomas Hood (Condensed)