"Why are ye all so glad?" inquired Mary, bending to her fair
playmate, who seemed smaller than yesterday.
"The King is coming!" said the little one; "many of us have never
seen him, and whithersoever he turns his face, there is happiness and
mirth; we have long looked for him, more anxiously than you look for
spring when winter lingers with you; and now he has announced, by his
fair herald, that he is at hand. This wise and glorious Bird, that has
been sent to us by the King, is called Phoenix; he dwells far off in
Arabia, on a tree, which there is no other that resembles on Earth, as
in like manner there is no second Phoenix. When he feels himself grown
old, he builds a pile of balm and incense, kindles it, and dies
singing; and then from the fragrant ashes, soars up the renewed
Phoenix with unlessened beauty. It is seldom he so wings his course
that men behold him; and when once in centuries this does occur, they
note it in their annals, and expect remarkable events. But now, my
friend, thou and I must part for the sight of the King is not
permitted thee."
Then the lady with the golden robe came through the throng, and
beckoning Mary to her, led her into a sequestered walk. "Thou must
leave us, my dear child," said she; "the King is to hold his court
here for twenty years, perhaps longer; and fruitfulness and blessings
will spread far over the land, but chiefly here beside us; all the
brooks and rivulets will become more bountiful, all the fields and
gardens richer, the wine more generous, the meadows more fertile, and
the woods more fresh and green; a milder air will blow, no hail shall
hurt, no flood shall threaten. Take this ring, and think of us: but
beware of telling any one of our existence; or we must fly this land,
and thou and all around will lose the happiness and blessing of our
neighbourhood. Once more, kiss thy play- mate, and farewell." They
issued from the walk; Zerina wept, Mary stooped to embrace her, and
they parted. Already she was on the narrow bridge; the cold air was
blowing on her back from the firs; the little dog barked with all its
might, and rang its little bell; she looked round, then hastened over,
for the darkness of the firs, the bleakness of the ruined huts, the
shadows of the twilight, were filling her with terror.
"What a night my parents must have had on my account!" said she
within herself, as she stept on the green; "nd I dare not tell them
where I have been, or what wonders I have witnessed, nor indeed would
they believe me." Two men passing by saluted her; and as they went
along, she heard them say: "What a pretty girl! Where can she come
from?" With quickened steps she approached the house: but the trees
which were hanging last night loaded with fruit, were now standing dry
and leafless; the house was differently painted, and a new barn had
been built beside it. Mary was amazed, and thought she must be
dreaming. In this perplexity she opened the door; and behind the table
sat her father, between an unknown woman and a stranger youth. "Good
God! Father," cried she, "where is my mother?"
"Thy mother!" said the woman, with a forecasting tone, and sprang
towards her: "Ha, thou surely canst not. Yes, indeed, indeed thou art
my lost, long-lost dear, only Mary!" She had recognised her by a
little brown mole beneath the chin, as well as by her eyes and shape.
All embraced her, all were moved with joy, and the parents wept. Mary
was astonished that she almost reached to her father's stature; and
she could not understand how her mother had become so changed and
faded; she asked the name of the stranger youth. "It is our
neighbour's Andres," said Martin. "How comest thou to us again, so
unexpectedly, after seven long years? Where hast thou been? Why didst
thou 'never send us tidings of thee?"
"Seven years!" said Mary, and could not order her ideas and
recollections. "Seven whole years?"
"Yes, yes," said Andres, laughing, and shaking her trustfully by
the hand; "I have won the race, good Mary; I was at the pear-tree and
back again seven years ago, and thou, sluggish creature, art but just
returned!"
They again asked, they pressed her; but remembering her
instruction, she could answer nothing. It was they themselves chiefly
that, by degrees, shaped a story for her : How, having lost her way,
she had been taken up by a coach, and carried to a strange remote
part, where she could not give the people any notion of her parents'
residence; how she was conducted to a distant town, where certain
worthy persons brought her up and loved her; how they had lately died,
and at length she had recollected her birthplace, and so returned. "No
matter how it is!" exclaimed her mother; "enough, that we have thee
again, my little daughter, my own, my all!"
Andres waited supper, and Mary could not be at home in anything
she saw. The house seemed small and dark; she felt astonished at her
dress, which was clean and simple, but appeared quite foreign; she
looked at the ring on her finger, and the gold of it glittered
strangely, 'enclosing a stone of burning red. To her father's
question, she replied that the ring also was a present from her
benefactors.
She was glad when the hour of sleep arrived, and she hastened to
her bed. Next morning she felt much more collected; she had now
arranged her thoughts a little, and could better stand the questions
of the people in the village, all of whom came in to bid her welcome.
Andres was there too with the earliest, active, glad, and serviceable
beyond all others. The blooming maiden of fifteen had made a deep
impression on him; he had passed a sleepless night. The people of the
castle likewise sent for Mary, and she had once more to tell her story
to them, which was now grown quite familiar to her. The old Count and
his Lady were surprised at her good-breeding; she was modest, but not
embarrassed; she made answer courteously in good phrases to all their
questions; all fear of noble persons and their equipage had passed
away from her; for when she measured these halls and forms by the
wonders and the high beauty she had seen with the Elves in their
hidden abode, this earthly splendour seemed but dim to her, the
presence of men was almost mean. The young lords were charmed with her
beauty.
It was now February. The trees were budding earlier than usual;
the nightingale had never come so soon; the spring rose fairer in the
land than the oldest men could recollect it. In every quarter, little
brooks gushed out to irrigate the pastures and meadows; the hills
seemed heaving, the vines rose higher and higher, the fruit-trees
blossomed as they had never done; and a swelling fragrant blessedness
hung suspended heavily in rosy clouds over the scene. All prospered
beyond expectation: no rude day, no tempest injured the fruits; the
wine flowed blu****ng in immense grapes; and the inhabitants of the
place felt astonished, and were captivated as in a sweet dream. The
next year was like its forerunner; but men had now become accustomed
to the marvellous. In autumn, Mary yielded to the pressing entreaties
of Andres and her parents; she was betrothed to him, and in winter
they were married.
She often thought with inward longing of her residence behind the
fir-trees; she continued serious and still. Beautiful as all that lay
around her was, she knew of something yet more beautiful; and from the
remembrance of this, a faint regret attuned her nature to soft
melancholy. It smote her painfully when her father and mother talked
about the gipsies and vagabonds, that dwelt in the dark spot of
ground. Often she was on the point of speaking out in defence of those
good beings, whom she knew to be the benefactors of the land;
especially to Andres, who appeared to take delight in zealously
abusing them: yet still she repressed the word that was struggling to
escape her bosom. So passed this year; in the next, she was solaced by
a little daughter, whom she named Elfrida, thinking of the designation
of her friendly Elves.
The young people lived with Martin and Brigitta, the house being
large enough for all; and helped their parents in conducting their now
extended husbandry. The little Elfrida soon displayed peculiar
faculties and gifts; for she could walk at a very early age, and could
speak perfectly before she was a twelvemonth old; and after some few
years, she had become so wise and clever, and of such wondrous beauty,
that all people regarded her with astonishment; and her mother could
not keep away the thought that her child resembled one of those
****ning little ones in the space behind the Firs. Elfrida cared not to
be with other children; but seemed to avoid, with a sort of horror,
their tumultuous amusements; and liked best to be alone. She would
then retire into a corner of the garden, and read, or work diligently
with her needle; often also you might see her sitting, as if deep sunk
in thought; or violently walking up and down the alleys, speaking to
herself. Her parents readily allowed her to have her will in these
things, for she was healthy, and waxed apace; only her strange
sagacious answers and observations often made them anxious. "Such wise
children do not grow to age," her grandmother, Brigitta, many times
observed; "they are too good for this world; the child, besides, is
beautiful beyond nature, and will never find its proper place on
Earth."
The little girl had this peculiarity, that she was very loath to
let herself be served by any one, but endeavoured to do everything
herself. She was almost the earliest riser in the house; she washed
herself carefully, and dressed without assistance: at night she was
equally careful; she took special heed to pack up her clothes and
washes with her own hands, allowing no one, not even her mother, to
meddle with her articles. The mother humoured her in this caprice, not
thinking it of any consequence. But what was her astonishment, when,
happening one holiday to insist, regardless of Elfrida's tears and
screams, on dressing her out for a visit to the castle, she found upon
her breast, suspended by a string, a piece of gold of a strange form,
which she directly recognised as one of that sort she had seen in such
abundance in the subterranean vault! The little thing was greatly
frightened ; and at last confessed that she had found it in the
garden, and as she liked it much, had kept it carefully: she at the
same time prayed so earnestly and pressingly to have it back, that
Mary fastened it again on its former place, and, full of thoughts,
went out with her in silence to the castle.
Sidewards from the farmhouse lay some offices for the storing of
produce and implements; and behind these there was a little green,
with an old grove, now visited by no one, as, from the new arrangement
of the buildings, it lay too far from the garden. In this solitude
Elfrida delighted most ; and it occurred to nobody to interrupt her
here, so that frequently her parents did not see her for half a day.
One afternoon her mother chanced to be in these buildings, seeking for
some lost article among the lumber ; and she noticed that a beam of
light was coming in, through a chink in the wall. She took a thought
of looking through this aperture, and seeing what her child was busied
with; and it happened that a stone was lying loose, and could be
pushed aside, so that she obtained a view right into the grove.
Elfrida was sitting there on a little bench, and beside her the well-
known Zerina; and the children were playing, and amusing one another,
in the kindliest unity. The Elf embraced her beautiful companion, and
said mournfully: "Ah! dear little creature, as I s****t with thee, so
have I s****ted with thy mother, when she was a child; but you mortals
so soon grow tall and thoughtful ! It is very hard: wert thou but to
be a child as long as I!"
"Willingly would I do it," said Elfrida; "but they all say, I
shall come to sense, and give over playing altogether; for I have
great gifts, as they think, for growing wise. Ah! and then I shall see
thee no more, thou dear Zerina! Yet it is with us as with the fruit-
tree flowers: how glorious the blossoming apple-tree, with its red
bursting buds! It looks so stately and broad; and every one, that
p***** under it, thinks surely 'something great will come of it; then
the sun grows hot, and the buds come joyfully forth; but the wicked
kernel is already there, which pushes off and casts away the fair
flower's dress; and now, in pain and waxing, it can do nothing more,
but must grow to fruit in harvest. An apple, to be sure, is pretty and
refre****ng; yet nothing to the blossom of spring. So is it also with
us mortals: I am not glad in the least at growing to be a tall girl.
Ah! could I but once visit you!"
"Since the King is with us," said Zerina, "it is quite
impossible ; but I will come to thee, my darling, often, often ; and
none shall see me either here or there. I will pass invisible through
the air, or fly over to thee like a bird. O! we will be much, much
together, while thou art still little. What can I do to please thee?"
"Thou must like me very dearly," said Elfrida, "as I like thee in
my heart. But come, let us make another rose."
Zerina took the well-known box from her bosom, threw two grains
from it on the ground; and instantly a green bush stood before them,
with two deep-red roses, bending their heads, as if to kiss each
other. The children plucked them smiling, and the bush disappeared. "O
that it would not die so soon!" said Elfrida; "this red child, this
wonder of the Earth!"
"Give it me here," said the little Elf ; then breathed thrice
upon the budding rose, and kissed it thrice. "Now," said she, giving
back the rose, "it will continue fresh and blooming till winter."
"I will keep it," said Elfrida, "as an image of thee; I will
guard it in my little room, and kiss it night and morning, as if it
were thyself."
" The sun is setting," said the other; "I must home." They
embraced again, and Zerina vanished.
In the evening, Mary clasped her child to her breast, with a
feeling of alarm and veneration. She henceforth allowed the good
little girl more liberty than formerly; and often calmed her husband
when he came to search for the child ; which for some time he was wont
to do, as her retiredness did not please him; and he feared that, in
the end, it might make her silly, or even pervert her understanding.
The mother often glided to the chink; and almost always found the
bright Elf beside her child, employed in s****t, or in earnest
conversation.
"Wouldst thou like to fly?" inquired Zerina once.
" O well! How well!" replied Elfrida ; and the fairy clasped her
mortal playmate in her arms, and mounted with her from the ground,
till they hovered above the grove. The mother, in alarm, forgot
herself, and pushed out her head in terror to look after them; when
Zerina, from the air, held up her finger, and threatened yet smiled;
then descended with the child, embraced her, and disappeared. After
this, it happened more than once that Mary was observed by her; and
every time, the ****ning little creature shook her head, or threatened,
yet with friendly looks.
Often, in disputing with her husband, Mary had said in her zeal:
"Thou dost injustice to the poor people in the hut!" But when Andres
pressed her to explain why she differed in opinion from the whole
village, nay from his Lord****p himself; and how she could understand
it better than the whole of them, she still broke off embarrassed, and
became silent. One day, after dinner, Andres grew more violent than
ever; and maintained that, by one means or another, the crew must be
packed away, as a nuisance to the country; when his wife, in anger,
said to him: "Hush ! for they are benefactors to thee and to every one
of us."
"Benefactors!" cried the other, in astonishment: "These rogues
and vagabonds?"
In her indignation, she was now at last tempted to relate to him,
under promise of the strictest secrecy, the history of her youth: and
as Andres at every word grew more incredulous, and shook his head in
mockery, she took him by the hand, and led him to the chink; where, to
his amazement, he beheld the glittering Elf s****ting with his child,
and caressing her in the grove. He knew not what to say; an
exclamation of astonishment escaped him, and Zerina raised her eyes.
On the instant she grew pale, and trembled violently; not with
friendly, but with indignant looks, she made the sign of threatening,
and then said to Elfrida: "Thou canst not help it, dearest heart; but
they will never learn sense, wise as they believe themselves." She
embraced the little one with stormy haste; and then, in the shape of a
raven, flew with hoarse cries over the garden, towards the Firs.
In the evening, the little one was very still; she kissed her
rose with tears; Mary felt depressed and frightened, Andres scarcely
spoke. It grew dark. Suddenly there went a rustling through the trees;
birds flew to and fro with wild screaming, thunder was heard to roll,
the Earth shook, and tones of lamentation moaned in the air. Andres
and his wife had not courage to rise; they shrouded themselves within
the curtains, and with fear and trembling awaited the day. Towards
morning, it grew calmer; and ^all was silent when the Sun, with his
cheerful light, rose over the wood.
Andres dressed himself; and Mary now observed that the stone of
the ring upon her finger had become quite pale. On opening the door,
the sun shone clear on their faces, but the scene around them they
could scarcely recognise. The freshness of the wood was gone; the
hills were shrunk, the brooks were flowing languidly with scanty
streams, the sky seemed gray; and when you turned to the Firs, they
were standing there no darker or more dreary than the other trees. The
huts behind them were no longer frightful; and several inhabit- ants
of the village came and told about the fearful night, and how they had
been across the spot where the gipsies had lived; how these people
must have left the place at last, for their huts were standing empty,
and within had quite a common look, just like the dwellings of other
poor people: some of their household gear was left behind.
Elfrida in secret said to her mother: "I could not sleep last
night; and in my fright at the noise, I was praying from the bottom of
my heart, when the door suddenly opened, and my playmate entered to
take leave of me. She had a travelling-pouch slung round her, a hat on
her head, and a large staff in her hand. She was very angry at thee;
since on thy account she had now to suffer the severest and most
painful punishments, as she had always been so fond of thee; for all
of them, she said, were very loath to leave this quarter."
Mary forbade her to speak of this; and now the ferryman came
across the river, and told them new wonders. As it was growing dark, a
stranger man of large size had come to him, and hired his boat till
sunrise; and with this condition, that the boatman should remain quiet
in his house, at least should not cross the threshold of his door. "I
was frightened," continued the old man, "and the strange bargain would
not let me sleep. I slipped softly to the window, and looked towards
the river. Great clouds were driving restlessly through the sky, and
the distant woods were rustling fearfully; it was as if my cottage
shook, and moans and lamentations glided round it. On a sudden, I
perceived a white streaming light, that grew broader and broader, like
many thousands of falling stars; sparkling and waving, it proceeded
forward from the dark Fir-ground, moved over the fields, and spread
itself along towards the river. Then I heard a trampling, a jingling,
a bustling, and ru****ng, nearer and nearer; it went forwards to my
boat, and all stept into it, men and women, as it seemed, and
children; and the tall stranger ferried them over. In the river were
by the boat swimming many thousands of glittering forms; in the air
white clouds and lights were wavering; and all lamented and bewailed
that they must travel forth so far, far away, and leave their beloved
dwelling. The noise of the rudder and the water creaked and gurgled
between whiles, and then suddenly there would be silence. Many a time
the boat landed, and went back, and was again laden; many heavy casks,
too, they took along with them, which multitudes of horrid-looking
little fellows carried and rolled; whether they were devils or
goblins, Heaven only knows. Then came, in waving brightness, a stately
freight; it seemed an old man, mounted on a small white horse, and all
were crowding round him. I saw nothing of the horse but its head; for
the rest of it was covered with costly glittering cloths and
trappings: on his brow the old man had a crown, so bright that, as he
came across, I thought the sun was rising there, and the redness of
the dawn glimmering in my eyes. Thus it went on all night ; I at last
fell asleep in the tumult, half in joy, half in terror. In the morning
all was still; but the river is, as it were, run off, and I know not
how I am to steer my boat in it now."
The same year there came a blight; the woods died away, the
springs ran dry; and the scene, which had once been the joy of every
traveller, was in autumn standing waste, ****d and bald; scarcely
showing here and there, in the sea of sand, a spot or two where grass,
with a dingy greenness, still grew up. The fruit-trees all withered,
the vines faded away, and the aspect of the place became so
melancholy, that the Count, with his people, next year left the
castle, which in time decayed and fell to ruins.
Elfrida gazed on her rose day and night with deep longing, and
thought of her kind playmate; and as it drooped and withered, so did
she also hang her head; and before the spring, the little maiden had
herself faded away. Mary often stood upon the spot before the hut, and
wept for the happiness that had departed. She wasted herself away like
her child, and in a few years she too was gone. Old Martin, with his
son-in-law, returned to the quarter where he had lived before.
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