Andrew Lang_Fairy Book 03

To
Stella Margaret Alleyne
the
Green Fairy Book
is dedicated

This is the third, and probably the last, of the Fairy Books of
many colours. First there was the Blue Fairy Book; then,
children, you asked for more, and we made up the Red Fairy Book;
and, when you wanted more still, the Green Fairy Book was put
together. The stories in all the books are borrowed from many
countries; some are French, some German, some Russian, some
Italian, some Scottish, some English, one Chinese. However much
these nations differ about trifles, they all agree in liking
fairy tales. The reason, no doubt, is that men were much like
children in their minds long ago, long, long ago, and so before
they took to writing newspapers, and sermons, and novels, and
long poems, they told each other stories, such as you read in the
fairy books. They believed that witches could turn people into
beasts, that beasts could speak, that magic rings could make
their owners invisible, and all the other wonders in the stories.
Then, as the world became grown-up, the fairy tales which were
not written down would have been quite forgotten but that the old
grannies remembered them, and told them to the little
grandchildren: and when they, in their turn, became grannies,
they remembered them, and told them also. In this way these tales
are older than reading and writing, far older than printing. The
oldest fairy tales ever written down were written down in Egypt,
about Joseph's time, nearly three thousand five hundred years
ago. Other fairy stories Homer knew, in Greece, nearly three
thousand years ago, and he made them all up into a poem, the
Odyssey, which I hope you will read some day. Here you will find
the witch who turns men into swine, and the man who bores out the
big foolish giant's eye, and the cap of darkness, and the shoes
of swiftness, that were worn later by Jack the Giant-Killer.
These fairy tales are the oldest stories in the world, and as
they were first made by men who were childlike for their own
amusement, so they amuse children still, and also grown-up people
who have not forgotten how they once were children.

Some of the stories were made, no doubt, not only to amuse, but
to teach goodness. You see, in the tales, how the boy who is kind
to beasts, and polite, and generous, and brave, always comes best
through his trials, and no doubt these tales were meant to make
their hearers kind, unselfish, courteous, and courageous. This is
the moral of them. But, after all, we think more as we read them
of the diversion than of the lesson. There are grown-up people
now who say that the stories are not good for children, because
they are not true, because there are no witches, nor talking
beasts, and because people are killed in them, especially wicked
giants. But probably you who read the tales know very well how
much is true and how much is only make-believe, and I never yet
heard of a child who killed a very tall man merely because Jack
killed the giants, or who was unkind to his stepmother, if he had
one, because, in fairy tales, the stepmother is often
disagreeable. If there are frightful monsters in fairy tales,
they do not frighten you now, because that kind of monster is no
longer going about the world, whatever he may have done long,
long ago. He has been turned into stone, and you may see his
remains in museums. Therefore, I am not afraid that you will be
afraid of the magicians and dragons; besides, you see that a
really brave boy or girl was always their master, even in the
height of their power.

Some of the tales here, like The Half-Chick, are for very little
children; others for older ones. The longest tales, like Heart of
Ice, were not invented when the others were, but were written in
French, by clever men and women, such as Madame d'Aulnoy, and the
Count de Caylus, about two hundred years ago. There are not many
people now, perhaps there are none, who can write really good
fairy tales, because they do not believe enough in their own
stories, and because they want to be wittier than it has pleased
Heaven to make them.

So here we give you the last of the old stories, for the present,
and hope you will like them, and feel grateful to the Brothers
Grimm, who took them down from the telling of old women, and to
M. Sebillot and M. Charles Marelles, who have lent us some tales
from their own French people, and to Mr. Ford, who drew the
pictures, and to the ladies, Miss Blackley, Miss Alma Alleyne,
Miss Eleanor Sellar, Miss May Sellar, Miss Wright, and Mrs. Lang,
who translated many of the tales out of French, German, and other
languages.

If we have a book for you next year, it shall not be a fairy
book. What it is to be is a secret, but we hope that it will not
be dull. So good-bye, and when you have read a fairy book, lend
it to other children who have none, or tell them the stories in
your own way, which is a very pleasant mode of passing the time.

Once upon a time there lived a King who was immensely rich. He
had broad lands, and sacks overflowing with gold and silver; but
he did not care a bit for all his riches, because the Queen, his
wife, was dead. He shut himself up in a little room and knocked
his head against the walls for grief, until his courtiers were
really afraid that he would hurt himself. So they hung
feather-beds between the tapestry and the walls, and then he
could go on knocking his head as long as it was any consolation
to him without coming to much harm. All his subjects came to see
him, and said whatever they thought would comfort him: some were
grave, even gloomy with him; and some agreeable, even gay; but
not one could make the least impression upon him. Indeed, he
hardly seemed to hear what they said. At last came a lady who was
wrapped in a black mantle, and seemed to be in the deepest grief.
She wept and sobbed until even the King's attention was
attracted; and when she said that, far from coming to try and
diminish his grief, she, who had just lost a good husband, was
come to add her tears to his, since she knew what he must be
feeling, the King redoubled his lamentations. Then he told the
sorrowful lady long stories about the good qualities of his
departed Queen, and she in her turn recounted all the virtues of
her departed husband; and this passed the time so agreeably that
the King quite forgot to thump his head against the feather-beds,
and the lady did not need to wipe the tears from her great blue
eyes as often as before. By degrees they came to talking about
other things in which the King took an interest, and in a
wonderfully short time the whole kingdom was astonished by the
news that the King was married again to the sorrowful lady.

Now the King had one daughter, who was just fifteen years old.
Her name was Fiordelisa, and she was the prettiest and most
charming Princess imaginable, always gay and merry. The new
Queen, who also had a daughter, very soon sent for her to come to
the Palace. Turritella, for that was her name, had been brought
up by her godmother, the Fairy Mazilla, but in spite of all the
care bestowed upon her, she was neither beautiful nor gracious.
Indeed, when the Queen saw how ill-tempered and ugly she appeared
beside Fiordelisa she was in despair, and did everything in her
power to turn the King against his own daughter, in the hope that
he might take a fancy to Turritella. One day the King said that
it was time Fiordelisa and Turritella were married, so he would
give one of them to the first suitable Prince who visited his
Court. The Queen answered:

'My daughter certainly ought to be the first to be married; she
is older than yours, and a thousand times more charming!'

The King, who hated disputes, said, 'Very well, it's no affair of
mine, settle it your own way.'

Very soon after came the news that King Charming, who was the
most handsome and magnificent Prince in all the country round,
was on his way to visit the King. As soon as the Queen heard
this, she set all her jewellers, tailors, weavers, and
embroiderers to work upon splendid dresses and ornaments for
Turritella, but she told the King that Fiordelisa had no need of
anything new, and the night before the King was to arrive, she
bribed her waiting woman to steal away all the Princess's own
dresses and jewels, so that when the day came, and Fiordelisa
wished to adorn herself as became her high rank, not even a
ribbon could she find.

However, as she easily guessed who had played her such a trick,
she made no complaint, but sent to the merchants for some rich
stuffs. But they said that the Queen had expressly forbidden them
to supply her with any, and they dared not disobey. So the
Princess had nothing left to put on but the little white frock
she had been wearing the day before; and dressed in that, she
went down when the time of the King's arrival came, and sat in a
corner hoping to escape notice. The Queen received her guest with
great ceremony, and presented him to her daughter, who was
gorgeously attired, but so much splendour only made her ugliness
more noticeable, and the King, after one glance at her, looked
the other way. The Queen, however, only thought that he was
bashful, and took pains to keep Turritella in full view. King
Charming then asked it there was not another Princess, called
Fiordelisa.

'Yes,' said Turritella, pointing with her finger, 'there she is,
trying to keep out of sight because she is not smart.'

At this Fiordelisa blushed, and looked so shy and so lovely, that
the King was fairly astonished. He rose, and bowing low before
her, said—