"'Tis false, villain!" shrieked this person, on finding herself alluded to in this uncomplimentary manner.
"Hag!" replied Canetto, with a glance of wrath at her, "I should be sorry to be obliged to proceed at once to extremities, but another such interruption will expose you to the violent probability of being whipped to death with your own adders immediately."
The fairy made a gesture of impotent wrath, and gnashed her teeth savagely while the mannikin thus continued:
"The letters, king, which you believed to have been written by Queen Rosetta, were all forged by this wretch, and written upon paper which she had stolen from my poor cousin. She it was, moreover, who poisoned the queen by viper-broth, and caused Belinda to be deformed and afflicted as you see her. Fortunately, she was powerless to deprave her mind, or debase her intellect, and you are happy in the possession of such a daughter. But this wrinkled old sinner was not content with this mischief. She it is who has been endeavouring to sow dissension in your family, first, by putting it into the heads of both your elder daughters to try and take away their sister's promised husband, and next, by hardening your heart and preventing your showing mercy when all your children would desire you to do so. But for this she has a reason beyond her hatred of Rosetta, which has lasted even after her death. Did you hear her mention the word 'prince' just now in speaking of Zac? Well, Zac is a prince!"
Here all three of the princesses started, and the two elder screamed aloud.
"Yes!" continued Canetto, "that which I tell you is quite true, surprising though it be. Zac's father is a powerful monarch, the king of the country of the Red Camellias, which lies beyond my forest. Having a spite against the king, this vile sorceress stole the boy at an early age, and left him at a spot where he was found and taken home by Farmer Dickson, who will verify all that I say. By my magic art I knew this, but as I could do little or nothing beyond my forest, I thought it best to keep quiet. Now, however, you know the secret of Zac's gentle manners and general good behaviour, which, whenever you observe in a boy, you may be perfectly sure that he is either the son of a king, or of somebody else. The continuous and cruel hatred of Nuisancenika has carried her to such a pitch, that she has come here to-day to gratify her vengeance, and feast her murderous old eyes upon the death of this poor boy, and the sufferings of your youngest daughter. Her first punishment, therefore, shall be to witness something precisely the reverse."
Then turning to Zac he touched his fetters with the hunting-whip which he held in his hand, when they immediately fell off. He next raised the whip and laid the lash lightly across Belinda's shoulders, at the same time pronouncing the words – "Marlika, Marlika, humphty cambia," which all the world knows to be Mannikin expressions of vast power. In this instance their effect was both instantaneous and marvellous. Belinda's hump fell off, formed itself into a round ball like a cannon ball; bounded up, hit the wicked Fairy a tremendous blow in the chest which knocked her backwards for a moment, and then utterly disappeared. But this was not nearly all. Every defect in the young princess's form and features vanished as if by magic, and she stood before the king, tall, upright, straight as an arrow, and blushing in all the pride of conscious beauty. At this moment, I am glad to say that Amabilia and Concaterina, instead of showing any jealous feeling at a change which really made their younger sister more charming than themselves, gave vent to loud exclamations of joy, and rushed to congratulate and embrace her. The latter ceremony had already been performed by Zac, and all the royal family began to shed tears of happiness together.
But Fridolin had buried his face in his hands, and when he lifted up his head, the marks of deep sorrow were set upon his features. "Oh, my Rosetta!" he cried, in bitter anguish. "My lost and loved Rosetta! my only love! my noble queen!" and as he spoke he swung his right arm violently round in the extremity of his grief, catching Lord Pompous full upon the nose with his fist, and causing it to bleed profusely.
"Do not grieve so much," observed Canetto with a smile; "look behind you and see what is to be seen."
The king turned and perceived a lady of great beauty and stately mien slowly advancing from the shepherd's cottage.
"'Tis she! 'Tis she!" he shrieked at the top of his voice, hit Lord Pompous a tremendous blow on the third button of his waistcoat, which doubled him up in no time, and with another cry of "Rosetta!" rushed into the arms of his long lost wife.
"You see," said Canetto, still smiling, "Adder-broth is not so deadly but what the forest has an antidote. Although I could not disclose it until now, and even pretended to Belinda that her mother had died during my absence, it was not so. By my magic art I contrived that you should bury a waxen figure instead of your queen, whom I safely conveyed to the forest. Had I not seen that you really repented of your sins against her, and was I not captivated by Belinda's goodness, I really think I should never have let you have her again. But, since she wishes to return to you and to her children, I have agreed that it shall be so. Take care you treat her well and tenderly for the future.
"The royal family were now full of joy, and even Amabilia and Concaterina came in for their share of good luck, for the King of the Mannikins chucked each of them pleasantly under the chin, told them that he knew they were good girls at heart, and promised that both should have royal husbands before they were twenty. Then he turned to the fairy Nuisancenika with a dark frown upon his countenance.
"Miserable reprobate!" he exclaimed, apparently taking particular delight in finding new epithets applicable to the old woman. "It only remains now to deal with you. During an existence now prolonged to an extent greater than that which any person kindly disposed towards mankind could have wished, you have done an infinite quantity of mischief. You have had considerable power, which you have consistently employed as badly as possible. You are a pitiless, revengeful, remorseless, black-hearted old hag. And now at last you are completely in my power. Nothing can save you."
"Oh, mercy, mercy, dear, good King Canetto!" piteously whined the fairy, as she crouched down in her car.
"Such mercy as you showed Rosetta and Belinda, and such as you wished to show Zac. Such, I say, and no more, shall be your own portion. And now for the first scene of the last act. Kill the polecats!"
He turned to his mannikins as he said this, and in another moment every polecat was knocked on the head.
"Now for the adders," said Canetto; and the little men cut them to pieces with their whips in less time than you would have thought possible.
Then the king turned to Nuisancenika and spoke again.
"I might have you dealt with in the same way," he said; "and if I did so, there is no one present who would not warmly approve and say, 'served her right.' But a true mannikin is never bloodthirsty, and I will not adjudge to you that fate which you so richly deserve. Still, since your power has been always exercised for ill, it must remain to you no longer. I sentence you to be immediately and henceforth confined in a cave at the extreme eastern corner of the world, never to emerge thence until the hour comes when women leave off caring for dress, men labour no more for power, and donkeys abandon braying."
Scarcely had Canetto finished speaking, when the unfortunate being, upon whom he had pronounced this appalling sentence, uttered one frantic yell, and then disappeared in a whirlwind, which carried her right away over the forest. Nobody ever saw or heard of her again to my knowledge, but there is very little doubt that the sentence of the King of the Mannikins was duly carried out. The wise men, who have studied these things carefully, say that there is very clear and certain proof of this. In the spring-time of the year, especially about March, a cold, bitter, spiteful wind blows from the east, seizes delicate throats and tender noses, keeps people indoors when they much desire air and exercise; and if they attempt to get either, afflicts them with heavy colds, and what modern doctors call "bronchial affections," meaning much the same thing as that which our poor benighted fathers and mothers used to call "sore throats." Well, do you think this east wind is a common, ordinary, respectable wind? Not at all. It is nothing more nor less (say these wise ones) than the wicked old Fairy Nuisancenika, who, heartily tired of her imprisonment in the cavern, fumes and rages madly about, and sometimes gets near enough to the mouth of the cave to spit and blow out some of her venom into the world. Then comes disease to man and beast, and whenever I think of it I regret that Canetto did not serve the wretched old hag as he did her polecats and adders, and direct his mannikins to cut her in pieces with their hunting-whips. Just fancy if he had! Perhaps we should have had no more of those cruel east winds. But it was fated otherwise, and this is the result.
At all events, the bad fairy was comfortably got rid of so far as the royal family of King Fridolin were concerned, and there is very little more to be said about the rest that followed. Of course everything now went rightly. Messages were sent to Zac's real father – the story of Canetto having been entirely confirmed by Farmer Dickson – and the result was in every respect satisfactory. The king of the country of the Red Camellias was delighted to recover his long lost son, and showed his sense of what was right and proper under the circumstances by dying shortly after the wedding of Zac and Belinda had been duly celebrated. The young prince consequently conveyed his lovely and loving bride to his own country, where they reigned for many years in great happiness and prosperity.
Amabilia and Concaterina, having a mother's influence to guide them, improved daily in every respect, and had no difficulty whatever in securing royal husbands within the time prophesied by Canetto, whose courts they adorned by their beauty and whose homes they made happy by their domestic virtues.
As for King Fridolin, he passed the evening of his days more happily than any other part of his life. Conscious of his former folly, he learned to appreciate his restored queen as she deserved, and their renewed affection for each other was romantic in its strength and fervour. Canetto paid them occasional visits, and was always received by them with that respect and regard which his conduct had so well earned. Everything flourished thenceforward in Fridolin's kingdom. Even Lord Pompous hailed the change with delight, since his sovereign, occupied constantly in the enjoyment of his newly recovered happiness, omitted the practical jokes upon his lord chamberlain with which he had frequently been wont to solace his idle hours. And during the long years that followed before Fridolin's reign and life ended, the king constantly called to mind the thrilling scenes of interest which I have recounted, and invariably spoke with the greatest thankfulness of the happy thought which came into his head upon that memorable day when he first projected the pig-race.
EVELYN WITH THE FAIRIES
There was once a little girl who was exceedingly fond of fairy tales. She had read almost all the books that had ever been written about fairies and elves, and never lost an opportunity of hearing a story upon the same subject. The result of so much attention to this particular branch of study was that which might have been expected. She became the most devout believer in the existence of the dear little creatures about whom she read, and had no greater desire than that she might some day or other become personally acquainted with one or more of them.
Her chief regret was caused by the fact (which was, unhappily, too true) that no fairy godmother had presided over her birth, and that none of those pleasant adventures had befallen her which usually follow such an event. Not only was this the case, but, so far as she could ascertain, neither her father, mother, or any of her relations had ever come in contact with a fairy, and she had been, little by little, driven to the conclusion that she belonged to a commonplace, unromantic family, with whom the dwellers in fairyland had no concern and no connection whatever.
This was a sad thought to the child, who was possessed of an extremely lively imagination, and would have liked nothing better than to have lived in those good old days when either a fairy or a witch, an ogre or a dwarf, were to be found at every corner. She looked back to those days with fond delight, and often wished that they might come again. She loved to muse over the tales she had read and heard, and to imagine curious scenes and strange creatures on every side of her, as she rambled through the shrubberies around her father's house, or strolled away into the great woods on one side of the park.
One day she had taken a longer stroll than usual, and suddenly came upon a part of the wood which she never remembered to have seen before. Somehow or other, she had strayed out of the path, and all around her were tangled masses of fern, old pollard-trees bowed down to the ground by age and the weight of their branches, and thickets of thorns and brambles, and here and there patches of smooth grass and moss, without either trees, fern or brambles upon them.
The birds were singing sweetly in the wood, the sun was shining brightly in the heavens above (although his rays could not penetrate the dense foliage of the trees), the dewdrops were glistening on the leaves, and everything seemed as beautiful as human eye could behold or human heart desire. The child looked around her for a moment, entranced with the loveliness of the scene; then she heaved a deep sigh (too deep, you would have thought, for so young a creature, who could hardly as yet have sorrows heavy enough to cause such a sigh), and said to herself with a sorrowful air:
"What a place this would be for my fairy godmother to meet me, if only I had a fairy godmother! Heigho! Why are there not any fairies here?"
Scarcely had she spoken when she started back astonished, for the speech was hardly out of her mouth than the concluding word, "fairies here," seemed repeated by a myriad of tiny voices all round her, in tones so soft, so plaintive, and dying away with such a melancholy cadence that it needed no great amount of cleverness to assure the child that they came from no ordinary or mortal throats.
For an instant she trembled, but it was more with expectation than fear, and she looked around her with eager eyes, to the right and left, longing to see the beings who had uttered those soft and touching sounds. She saw nothing, however, and began to fear that, after all, she would hear and see no more, and that nobody at home would believe her when she told of the mysterious voices. But, being a child of courage, and remembering, moreover, that in most of the fairy tales of which she knew, the mortal to whom the kind fairies condescended to speak or appear, was never frightened, but always did exactly the right thing, unless he or she happened to be wicked, when they invariably did the wrong thing and suffered accordingly. So she looked round once again, and then said, in her most polite tones:
"Are there really any fairies here?"
Scarcely were the words out of her mouth, when the same sounds arose once more, even more distinctly than before, on every side of her. This time, however, there was something more than sound. The fern and the trees, the brambles and the leaves, all seemed to be suddenly agitated as if by the wind swaying gently through them, though there was not a breath of wind in the air.
There was one universal rustling all round, and the next moment Evelyn (for that was the little girl's name) saw that she was standing in the middle of a crowd of living, moving, active beings, who looked out upon her from every corner of the place. Every leaf seemed tenanted by one of them; each stem of fern appeared to afford cover, every thicket to give protection to a small creature: they were perched on the trees above her head, and peeped out from the tufts of moss almost beneath her feet. Bright restless eyes seemed to peer eagerly out upon her on all sides, and in an instant she knew that her long-cherished hopes and dreams were at last realized, and that she was in the presence of undeniable fairies.
Although Evelyn had read so many fairy tales, and had so often fancied herself in the position she now was, and settled what she ought to do and say in such case, it must be confessed that when the reality came thus suddenly upon her, she was as much at a loss as if she had never read or thought anything at all about the subject.
She stood still and stared with eyes wide open with astonishment, just as any child would naturally do under similar circumstances. The little beings about her had nothing in their appearance or demeanour at all likely to frighten her. They were neither ugly in feature, deformed in figure, or evil in the expression of their faces. On the contrary they were graceful, beautiful, and looked remarkably good-natured. Very little they certainly were, for none of them could have been above a foot high, and very numerous also, for, turn her head which way she would, the whole place seemed alive with them.
Evelyn stood, as I have said, perfectly silent, and looked about her as if struck dumb with surprise at the unlooked-for appearance of the little creatures. She had not long to wait before one of them hopped lightly from the stem of a venerable hornbeam hard by, and stood immediately in front of her.
It was a charming little figure that did this: barely a foot high, but of a form perfectly symmetrical, a face bright with exceeding beauty, and with an air of nobility conspicuous in its features, and, indeed, in its whole bearing. It was dressed in some light drapery, which floated around it in such a manner as to add to instead of concealing, the beauty of its faultless form, and, as it stood erect before Evelyn, she thought she had never seen anything so exquisitely beautiful in the whole course of her existence.
The little being regarded her for one moment in silence, and then it spoke. Spoke! it was hardly like speaking: the voice that came from its throat was a mixture of all the most delightful sounds that ever rejoiced the human ear. Think of the soothing, contented hum of the bees in the early summer, when they are sipping the sweetest honey from their favourite flowers; think of the softest murmuring of the sea-waves when they gently break upon the shore, and lovingly kiss the rocks against which, in their hours of anger, they dash so madly; think again, of the blessed sound of distant church bells heard across the water as you stand listening upon a silent summer's eve; think of the warbling of the tender nightingale in the old shrubbery, full of home memories; and think, more than all, of the loving words whispered for the first time in the happy ears of the gentle maiden; think, I say, of all these sounds, and of the music they possess, and you will be able to form some idea of the melody which sounded in the fairy's voice.
She spoke in poetry, of course, by which Evelyn was more than ever convinced that she was a regular, proper fairy, because poetry is the natural language of such people, and no fairy, who is at all equal to the position she aspires to hold, ever begins a conversation with a mortal in prose. Of course they get to it, after a bit, because too much rhyme bores people, and fairies never do that, because there are so many people in the world who can and do perform that feat to perfection, and fairies only care to do that which human beings cannot accomplish so easily of themselves. And thus ran the speech of the fairy, since such she was beyond all reasonable doubt.
"Welcome, gentle maiden child,
To the forest grand and wild:
Welcome to the lofty trees
Gently waving in the breeze:
Welcome to the leafy shade,
By their spreading branches made:
Welcome to the mossy bed,
'Neath their shadows overhead:
Welcome to each grassy mound
In the open spaces found,
And to every flower that springs
Near the mighty forest kings.
Thou hast wandered here full oft,
Never at the fairies scoft,
But hast aye essayed to learn
From the lovely maiden-fern,
From the honeysuckle sweet,
From the dew-drops 'neath thy feet,
Lessons of the fairy race
Not for mortal ken to trace.
But to maid of gentle mind
Fairy elves are ever kind;
If she love them, they can prove
(Giving fondly love for love)
How their might can work to aid
Manly youth or gentle maid.
Say, then, maiden, would'st thou seek
Knowledge which an elf may speak?
Would'st thou (such I scarce suppose)
Fairy succour 'gainst thy foes?
Would'st thou have another's heart
Made thine own by magic art?
Would'st thou wealth – or, better still,
Freedom from some mortal ill?
Speak thy wish, then, maiden dear:
Speak it low and speak it clear."
Evelyn listened with amazement not unmixed with pleasure. Pleasure it certainly was to find herself at last in the presence of a real live fairy, and amazement she undoubtedly felt both at the sight before her, and at the speech to which she had just listened. She was perfectly aware that her reply ought to be given in verse, and the difficulty was that she was particularly stupid at making rhymes. She was one of those children who always tried to beg off if any of those amusing games was proposed in the evenings at home, in which either everybody has to make four rhymes or more on a certain given subject, generally answering a question and introducing some noun which has nothing to do with it, or else four rhymes are given out, and everybody has to write the previous part of the four lines in any metre they please.
Evelyn, I say, always either begged to be excused playing, or else nestled up close to her father (who was rather handy at that kind of thing), and asked him to write her lines quietly for her, which he unfortunately was in the habit of doing – unfortunately, because the consequence was that at the present momentous crisis, the poor child could not by any means think what to say. One reason, perhaps, was that she had nothing particular for which she wished to ask the fairies, but, whatever the reason, no rhyme would come to her mind.
All she could think of was an occasional line of some of Dr. Watts's hymns, which did not seem to have anything at all to do with fairies, and one or two old pieces of poetry which she had heard long ago in the school-room and which kept coming into her head now, and probably keeping out something which might have answered her purpose much better.
The fairy waited for a few seconds without impatience, but as no answer appeared to be forthcoming, she stamped her foot upon the ground, and appeared visibly annoyed. Conscious that she was hardly acting either a wise or dignified part in remaining silent, Evelyn now made a great effort to remember or to invent something that might be suitable to the occasion, and as the fairy stamped her foot a second time, somewhat impatiently, she hastily blurted out: —
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite —
I don't know how to answer right;"
and then stood blushing and trembling just as if she had certainly answered wrong. Upon this the fairy gave vent to a low, musical laugh, like the last notes of a very good musical box, and then once more accosted the child as follows:
"When fairies speak in kindly mood,
To answer nothing back were rude;
Yet need you never rack your brain
To answer me in rhyme again.
Though verse be sweet to us, forsooth,
Prose, if it comes of simple truth,
From child-like lips and guileless tongue,
May pass with elves as well as song.
But say, fair child, for what intent,
With spirit young and innocent,
Untainted with the world's cold touch;
(Ah! would that we might keep thee such!)
Unfettered yet by Fashion's chain,
Untouched by pride or high disdain,
As yet unvisited by cares
Which fate for mortal life prepares,
Why hast thou left the haunts of men
To seek the lonely fairy glen?"
Whilst the fairy was speaking, Evelyn gathered together her ideas, and resolved to show that she not only had something to say, but knew how to say it. So as soon as the speaker had concluded, she replied, keeping still to rhyme, as if determined not to appear more stupid than she really was,
"How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour —
For years and years I've longed to see
A fairy's woodland bower.
How skilfully she builds her cell,
How neat she spreads the wax —
Since, now, dear elves, I've seen you well,
My spirit nothing lacks."
As soon as Evelyn had got through these verses, which she did with some little pride, she was rather surprised and even annoyed to find that their only effect was to cause all the little beings around her to indulge in a hearty fit of laughter. Their musical sounds rang through the forest, and the echo faintly returned them, whilst the child stood listening and wondering at the result of her attempt. Then the fairy queen, for such Evelyn thought she must be, spoke once again: —
"If nothing lack'st thou, mortal child,
Why wander through the forest wild
And seek, with meditative air,
The beings who inhabit there?
Since hither thou hast found thy way,
Be satisfied awhile to stay:
For those who have not been afraid
To trespass on the fairy glade,
And long, with curious mortal eye,
Our elfin mysteries to spy,
When once they know where fairies hide,
Most there be ready to abide."
As Evelyn heard these words, a cold chill ran through her veins, for they betokened to her that something was going to happen upon which she had never calculated. In an instant her thoughts flew back to the many instances of which she had read in fairy tales, of children being changed into dogs, cats, birds, toads, or something which no sensible child has the least wish to become; and the terrible fear arose that she was about to become the victim of some such unpleasant transformation. On second thoughts, however, she remembered that in most of these cases the child concerned had either been naughty and disagreeable at home, or disbelieving in or impertinent to the fairies, and had therefore deserved punishment. In her own case, she had done nothing recently at home more naughty than accidentally dropping some marmalade on her clean frock at breakfast, and had entertained such full and constant belief and respect in and for the fairies, that she was quite sure she deserved no punishment at their hands. Besides, the voice of the queen (if such she was), and the looks and gestures of her companions, had displayed neither anger nor offence at her intrusion into their glen, and she could not believe that any harm was intended to her. All these thoughts passed through the child's mind much faster than I can write them, and although she stood there in uncertainty and doubt, her momentary fear was gone directly. She was not prepared, however, for what followed.
The fairy queen waved a sprig of fern three times over her head, advancing nearer and nearer to Evelyn as she did so. At each wave of the hand, the child felt herself growing downwards and becoming smaller and smaller. Yes! there really was no doubt about it; down and down she grew, until the horrible thought crossed her mind that she might grow right down into the earth, and disappear altogether.
At the same time a strange drowsiness stole over her, everything appeared to grow less and less distinct, and gradually to fade quite away from sight; sounds grew fainter and fainter, and she seemed to be about to sink into a deep, fast, heavy sleep. Then, all of a sudden, she was as wide awake as ever again, and looked up, bright and lively, trying to remember where she was, and what had happened to her. There was very little doubt about that. She was a regular fairy like the rest of them. She was of the same height; she had the same kind of light dress (though what it was made of, she could never describe, although she was very often questioned on the subject,) and she felt such an extraordinary sensation of lightness and elasticity as quite surprised her. She knew in a moment that she could move about in a manner which had been quite impossible to her as a mortal child: that she could stand upon branches and plants and tufts of fern without causing them to bend or break, that she could tread upon the leaves and soft moss without leaving the impression of her tiny feet, and that she possessed new powers, new knowledge, and a new being altogether.
But more wonderful still, was the transformation which everything around her seemed to have undergone. The trees, the leaves, the fern, the moss – all appeared ten times as beautiful as they were before. The dewdrops that glistened upon the grass and fern sparkled with twenty-fold brilliancy; the green of the leaves was by far more tender and exquisite than before her change; the mighty trunks of the old trees were more majestic than ever, the whole glen was enriched with greater beauties, and the notes of the woodland birds possessed more melody than she had ever fancied in her old, childish wanderings through the forest.
It was as if all these beauties had been but imperfectly seen, and only feebly appreciated by the child of mortals, whose natural perceptions had been blunted by the sin and sorrow of her kind; but, that the moment the earthly nature and form had been shaken off, a purer and more intellectual state of being had brought with it the power to see, to know, and to appreciate in a higher degree the beauties of nature and of nature's God. Never had Evelyn experienced such a delicious sensation of entire pleasure as at that moment.