THE LAMMIE.
A MODERN FAIRY TALE.
BY MISS A. A. GRAY.
Rosa went to bed weeping. It was a rainy night, and while the rain-drops pelted the window frames, Rosa’s tears fell upon her pillow. She had been a disobedient girl, and her mother had reproved her more severely than usual, and so Rosa wept, not in penitence because she had done wrong, but in displeasure and impatience because she had been punished, and she said to herself, “It is too bad! Mother is cruel, I am sure she is, and she does not love me, I know she does not.” Pitiable feelings and thoughts were these to go to sleep upon—bad stuff for dreams to be woven of; but Rosa did fall asleep while her breast was thus disquieted. She dreamed, and in her dream she stood by the border of a pond. She bent over, and looked into the water; but the water reproved her, by showing her the distorted features of a weeping girl. She started back, and in anger threw a stone into the face of the reprover, for presuming to speak so plainly to her. “There,” said she, “you cannot show me such a picture of myself now, if you would; I have wrinkled your own face well, for giving me such a portrait of mine.” The honest reprover only smiled; and while Rosa was watching the dimples which she chose to call “wrinkles,” she heard, behind her, a sound as of rustling leaves, or of rain-drops pattering on the leaves. Was it the rain beating on the window, or the curtain fluttering,—was it the grasshoppers leaping about over the blackberry bushes? “Rosa,” whispered a voice close behind her, which sounded as soft as the crunching of a crust of bread. Rosa turned her head around, and oh! there were the black elves, close beside her; those elves that dwell (if I say truly) in the hollow of the earth. Spider-like little creatures they were, very black, and with long slender limbs, which they threw about in a most fantastic manner, and with large owlish eyes, which they seemed to think were made on purpose to be rolled from side to side. “Rosa,” said one of the elves, which seemed to be the king, “do not believe what that pond says; I know his tricks. He always was given to telling falsehoods; believe me, he is a wrinkled sinner. You are a good child, and your face is a pretty one. Come, we love you; come with us; we have a fine home.” And he reached out his claw-hand, and took hold of Rosa’s hand, and it felt to Rosa as if she had clasped a branch of a rough-barked shrub. And with the spider-like troop she swept along, over hills, plains, rivers, and seas; and then they all dashed headlong down into a deep dell, at the bottom of which was a bed of dry leaves. The elf-king scratched the leaves away with his claw-feet, throwing them up till the air was full. When he had scratched them away, a hole was discovered in the earth, not much larger than a squirrel’s hole. “There,” said the elf, “is our stair-way; go down, Rosa; here we will feast you well, and give you a mirror, which shall tell you the truth.” And he went down the spiral staircase, drawing Rosa after him, and the whole troop followed, with a sound like an army of cockroaches, making a more hasty than dignified retreat from the store-room. Down, down, down they wound and wound till it seemed to Rosa they must be near the other side of the earth—millions of miles—many days, it seemed. Oh, that wearying staircase! Yet they went swiftly, for it is easy to go down stairs, every one knows. Before they had reached the bottom, Rosa’s brain was in such a whirl that she was scarcely conscious of anything. Suddenly she felt an electric shock, which seemed to bring her to consciousness. It was the floor of the great elfin hall which her feet had touched. And now she was whirled around in a dance with the band of elves, and it seemed as if she could not help dancing on the electric floor. In the midst of the hall burned a smoky fire, and over the fire a caldron hung from the ceiling, and the smoke from the fire, and the steam from the caldron hung in heavy clouds around.
“Supper is not ready yet,” said the elf-king, who still held Rosa’s hand clasped in one of his claws, while he ran the other up through his hair, which was as sleek and soft as the down of a porcupine. “We shall have time for a little conversation before supper. Now tell me your offence. I heard your mother’s voice scolding you; but I do not know what it was for.”
“I went away secretly,” said Rosa, “to see one of my schoolmates, when my mother had forbidden it, and when she punished me I was angry, and I am now, for mother is cruel to me.”
“Never mind what your mother says to you, my dear,” said the elf; and he went on and gave a long lecture, which thoroughly persuaded Rosa that she was nothing more or less than an innocent and injured child. “Come now, the soup is ready,” said the elf. And all the elves stood round the caldron, each with his ladle. And Rosa had a ladle too, and she feasted with the elves.
The soup tasted good; but shortly she began to feel faint and sick, and so dizzy that she could not stand; and at length went into convulsions, of which she was all the time conscious; presently it seemed as if she could no longer use her limbs, nor could she sit up nor stand, neither lie in any way except upon her face, and at last it was as if she had no limbs; but she could move her body very easily, and it seemed to grow longer and longer, as she lay upon the floor, and she loved to move about, this side and that; but still she could not stand erect. “What has happened to me,” thought she, and she asked the elf-king to show her the truth-telling mirror. “Come,” said he; and she followed him, moving along on the smooth floor with the most delightful ease.
The elf led her to a basin of black looking liquid; she looked into it, and there, in the blackness, she beheld herself transformed into—oh what? a white and woolly lamb. “Oh,” said she, “this is a true mirror; but why is it that I cannot skip and play? It is quite as pleasant, though, to glide about on this smooth floor.” After some time, she had become so much accustomed to believing herself a lamb, that it really began to be as if she ran and leaped about, and presently she seemed to be running up the spiral staircase, and when she had reached the top, she seemed to spring along over the meadows, thinking to herself, Oh! now what will mother say, when she sees I am an innocent lamb? Yes, I am a lamb! Oh, the truth-telling mirror.
“The truth-telling mirror!” repeated a soft, sweet voice directly in front of Rosa. It seemed to come from amongst the high clover through which she was bounding, as she thought, but she saw nothing but the red clover blossoms and the yellow king-cups. Hist! she hears the gentle waving of wings, like the wings of doves; and from out the clover arise beautiful little fairy-like forms, bright as humming-birds. “Rosa,” said one of them, in a voice like the Æolian harp, “Come, I will show you the truth-telling mirror. I have it up in my pavilion in the sky. We are the fairies of the upper air; I am the queen. I have, resting on the clouds, a pavilion made of pearl. Oh! it is light up there; you cannot look around but the rainbow meets your eye.”
“I have looked into the true mirror,” said Rosa, “and it showed me the lamb which thou seest I am.”
“My eye sees thee but as the child Rosa; but my heart knows thy heart as the mirror would show it, and I know what thou art. Follow me; it is best thou shouldst see thyself.”
“Give me thy hand,” said Rosa, “and lead me up.”
“Nay, I cannot give thee my hand; I would not willingly come very near such as thou; but thou shalt be led. We fairy band will collect, and unite together, and a golden cloud shall enwrap us, and the cloud shall rise up, and thou shalt follow it till it reaches the pavilion.”
“I do not love you; you are not kind,” said Rosa; “but I am curious to look into your mirror; so I will follow.” And Rosa saw the cloud arise like a globe of gold, and she seemed to arise with it; and in circles up they swept, higher! higher! till, as she saw the golden ball above and the green ball of earth below, the latter seemed the smaller globe of the two.
When they had reached the pavilion, the fairies came out of the cloud and alighted upon the pearly steps, and it seemed to Rosa as if she had a flock of doves waving their wings around and above her.
The queen led her into the pavilion, where she saw a table on which a splendid feast was spread. “I do not wish to eat with you,” said Rosa; “I only wish to see if your mirror speaks the truth.”
“Thou canst not eat with us,” said the queen; “we ask not such as thou to our table. Come, pitiable child! and behold thyself. My mirror shows not the outside, but the inside;” and the queen led Rosa to a crystal basin, wreathed with flowers of many hues, and sending forth the sweetest odors. The dome-roof of the pavilion was lined with sapphires, and this was reflected in the clear water, and on this blue ground Rosa beheld herself,—a scaly serpent of a dull coppery red. It recoiled at the sight of itself. “Oh, you are cruel!” she cried to the queen; “this cannot be true!” But she perceived again that she did not leap and run, nor stand erect, but moved along with an undulatory motion, and her ear seemed to hear the scaly folds sweep along as she moved. She hissed in anger and writhed in agony, because she dreaded that her mother should behold her in that form. “Nay, my poor child,” said the queen, “this is vain; go and transform thyself into something better.” And it seemed to Rosa that she had awakened and found that she was lying in bed, still retaining the serpent form. “Oh! agony! mother will come into the chamber, and instead of her Rosa, whom I know she means to forgive, she will find a scaly serpent coiled up in the bed. And instead of the kiss she would have given me, she will give a shriek, and run frightened away.” Then Rosa thought her mother came in, started and shrieked as she had dreaded, and the poor child arose as erect as she was able, and protested she was not what she appeared. “Mother! mother!” she cried, “I am not a serpent! oh! I am not, believe me, mother! Forgive me! kiss me, and I shall be your Rosa again.” “Kiss a serpent?” cried her mother, “Heaven have mercy! where is my child?” And then her mother with clasped hands looked upon her with a look that pierced her heart, and she sunk down and crept beneath the bed-clothes. Her mother shrieked—but no—it was the creaking of the chamber door. Rosa awoke—her mother bent over her and kissed her wet cheek. “What ails thee, my dear child? Why dost thou weep so?” “Mother! mother! I am not a serpent! do not kill me!” “My dearest child, what have you been dreaming about?” said her mother laughing; and Rosa now laughed in delight to find that she was not a serpent, and she told her dream. “Repent, my Rosa, and behave well to-day, and perhaps you will dream a pleasanter dream, to-night. Was it not the serpent within you which induced you cunningly to deceive me and to disobey me, for the sake of gratifying your own selfish wishes? Take care that he does not creep in again. Now dress yourself, and after breakfast I shall have some work for you to do, and if you do your task well, and are obedient and sweet-tempered all through the day, then I shall believe the serpent has crept away and a pretty lamb is born in you.” Rosa felt very light-hearted when she laid down to rest the next night, for she had done so well during the day that her mother had hardly been obliged to reprove her for anything, which was remarkable, for Rosa was rather a wilful child. “What a good girl I have——” but before the sentence was completed, Rosa was in a dream. It was not rainy that night, nor were the window curtains fluttering; but Rosa heard the rustling and pattering behind her as she stood by the pond, curling her ringlets around her fingers, and thinking how prettily she looked. “Rosa! Rosa!” said many cracked voices, “come and ride the peacock. Our peacock steeds will carry us up to the clouds, so that we can see the pavilion of the air-fairies. Come, we are all going up.” And the elf-king touched with his wand some flowers that grew on the banks of the pond, and instantly they were changed into peacocks. Each of the elves leaped upon the back of one, and the king placed Rosa before him on his. This was certainly fine; the peacocks spread their tails so wide and looked so proud, and held their pretty crowned heads so high; and though the elf-king’s claw grasped Rosa’s waist rather tightly, and his voice grated harshly upon her ear, when he now and then cried, “high! high, boy!” to his steed, she did not much care for it, it was so fine to be sweeping through the air on the beautiful bird.
But look! look! what is coming? An army of eagles; and hark what flapping of wings! From the clouds the troop seems to come; the long quilled feathers of their far-spread wings glance like golden arrows in the sun; on the back of each bird is mounted one of the beautiful fairies of the upper air. The peacocks shut their tails and screamed in affright, and the golden eagles shrieked in defiance.
“Hence to your own dark domain!” cried the queen to the elfin band, as her royal bird pounced upon the king’s peacock, while all the other eagle-mounted fairies were giving a downward chase to the elves. “Quarter! quarter!” cried the king in a voice which reminded one of a pair of tongs endeavoring to bring harp tones out of a gridiron. The eagle had grasped the peacock’s head in his talons, and the poor bird struggled painfully. The king was hurled into the air, and followed his crown as it fell towards the earth, looking like a spider grasping at her ball of eggs. Rosa, too, slid from the smooth back of her steed; but she was caught by the queen and placed before her on the royal bird.
The eagle troop wheeled about, and rising in circles higher and higher, soon hovered near the pavilion. He on whose back the queen and Rosa were mounted, alighted on a golden ball which crowned the roof; here he stood a moment, glancing up at the sun, first with one eye, then with the other, and turning his golden neck about and quivering his great wings; then giving one shout of grand joy, he arose and wheeling about, softly descended and entered the pavilion, alighted and stood still while the queen dismounted with her charge. “Now let me eat with you, now let me look into the mirror and behold myself,” said Rosa. “The table is spread, thou seest,” said the queen, “but thou canst not yet partake with us; but thou mayest look into the blue water, and see all thou canst see.” And she led Rosa to the basin. And how Rosa’s heart beat as she looked in and beheld herself as painted on the blue, in the form of a lamb, white and woolly; but oh! sad deformity! a lamb with a peacock’s tail spread high over his head; what a monster was this. “Poor me,” thought Rosa, “I am a thing fit to be exhibited in the museum. What if my parents should think fit to exhibit me there, just for a punishment, and then after I am dead, set me up among the stuffed animals. But why should I be punished? have I not repented and reformed? and why does this tail adhere to me? This mirror is not quite true,” said she to the queen. “Thou hast done thy tasks well,” said the queen, “but thou hast told both thyself and others of it; yes, thou hast boasted; thou hast not been humble in thy joy.”
Presently it seemed to Rosa that she was in the museum, where a great concourse of people was collected, and all were staring at the lamb with a peacock’s tail and pointing and laughing. And then she was in a menagerie, where the showman was compelling her to show herself off, making her spread wide the wonderful tail, and leap bars, and pace round with a monkey on her back, and do many other silly things. Poor Rosa, in her mortifications she almost wished herself a serpent again. Then she seemed to be at home and all her brothers and sisters laughed at the peacock’s tail, and one of her brothers pulled some of the feathers out, and shook them in her face; but this she was glad to find was only one of her sisters who had come to awaken her, and was shaking a handkerchief in her face. “Be quiet, Charles!” cried Rosa, as she opened her eyes, “you are unkind to treat me so.” “Is sister Ellen unkind to come and wake you to go to walk on this beautiful morning?” “Oh dear! dear! I thought it was Charley pulling my feathers out, and it hurt me.” “Your feathers? why my silly chicken you are not yet fledged; come, downy nestling, up and dress, and let us go to walk.” “I am a lamb, only——but I will certainly be a lamb to-day.”
The next night Rosa stood in her dream by the pond where she was plucking lilies, and as she reached over, her happy face was to be seen in the water, but she did not see it, so full was her mind of the fair lilies; while she was smelling of one, she heard at a distance behind her the black troop, and the king called in a voice that sounded like the creaking of a cork when being drawn from the bottle, “throw down those horrible lilies; their breath is death and destruction; we cannot come, we dare not approach till thou hast thrown them away; they hate us from the bottom of their wicked hearts.”
“Dear lilies!” said Rosa, “then I will keep you as a safeguard, for you love me, I know you do; you say it with the sweetness of your breath. Yes, you love me, and I love you, and I will wear you in my bosom.” She placed them in her bosom, and as she bent her head to smell of one, she heard a very small voice, like the Æolian harp-tones of the fairy queen; they were so very faint, she thought they came from a distance. She looked around and above, but saw no fairies, nor elves neither, for the black troop, seeing her cherish the lilies, had vanished. The voice sounded a little louder, and said, “Rosa, dear child! love us and we will love you; do well, and we will always be with you to guard you; feel, think, or do ill, and you force us to leave you.” “Ah! is it the lily speaking? the voice comes from amongst the yellow central petals. No, it is the queen. She rises up from her beautiful couch.” “Wilt thou go with me to the pavilion?” said she. “Oh, take me with thee,” said Rosa, “and let me look into the blue mirror once more.” The queen touched the lily with her wand, and it was an ivory car of light and exquisite workmanship, and its cushions were of cloth of gold. Three pair of white doves were harnessed to it, and when Rosa and the queen were seated upon the golden cushions, the doves spread their wings, and as they beat the air, making a soft waving sound, onwards and upwards swiftly sped the beautiful coach and six, and soon amid the dove-colored clouds peered the dome-roof and pearly pillars of the pavilion. Silently the car rolled along through the rounded clouds, and when it reached the steps of the pavilion the six gentle steeds closed their wings, and uncurling their red feet, stood with arched necks and blinking eyes, while Rosa and the queen alighted. The queen then touched the car with her wand, and again the lily was there. It lay at her feet, and she picked it up and placed it in Rosa’s bosom. They entered the pavilion, where the feast was spread, and where the fairy train awaited the arrival of their queen. “See,” said the queen, “I have brought you a pretty guest. Eat with us,” said she to Rosa, “and then thou shalt go to the mirror.” And Rosa sat down and ate with them, and then with a heart full of doubts and fears, yet throbbing with joy and hope, she arose and went to the flower-wreathed basin. Oh, happy child! There on the sapphire ground was the pure white lamb looking her in the face, and no longer with the peacock’s tail, nor with any sign of the peacock about it; but wearing about its neck a wreath of beautiful flowers. The innocent lamb in her heart now bounded with joy. “Dear child,” said the queen, kissing her affectionately, “thou bearest the lamb in thy heart now, because thou hast not only done thy tasks well, but whenever a feeling of self-praise endeavored to steal in, thou didst strive to shut the door of thy heart against it, and didst humbly pray to be delivered from so deadly a foe to thine eternal peace.”
It seemed now to Rosa that she was in her own chamber, still wearing the form of a lamb, and she thought her mother came in, and seeing a pretty lamb wreathed with flowers, leaping about the chamber, smiled and cried out, “Oh, pretty creature! where didst thou come from?” And Rosa felt so frolicsome that she thought she would not tell who the lamb was, but ran up to her mother, and went leaping around her, and her mother caught the pretty lamb in her arms, and warmly caressed it. Then Rosa laughed to think how she was going to surprise her mother, and the laugh awoke her, and she laughed still more when she found she was really in her mother’s arms. “Ah, what is so funny, my love? have sweet spirits been with you in your dream? As I came and bent over you, a pleasant smile was on your lips, and when I kissed them, you laughed in your sleep.” “Oh, mother, I am a lamb! a happy lamb, for see the garland around my neck;” and she put her hand to her neck, expecting to feel the flowers. “Ah, no, but it was a sweet dream mother, and it shall be a true one, for I will be a lamb.” “Yes, my dearest,” said her mother, “the lamb is in your heart, I know, and its wreath of flowers shall not fade.” And the mother wept joyful tears as she pressed her child closely to her bosom, silently asking a blessing on her head. And the mother’s daily prayers, and the child’s constant endeavors to do well were not in vain, for Rosa became such a delight, such a blessing to all around her, that she gained the name of “Lammie.”
