Andrew Lang_Fairy Book 03 (10 page)

'You have told me what I wanted to know,' cried the Fairy, 'but
alas! I cannot help her; my gifts can be given but once.'

Some time passed in all the usual delights of the Flower-Fairy's
palace, and then she sent for Sylvia again, and told her she was
to stay for a little while with the Princess Daphne, and
accordingly the butterflies whisked her off, and set her down in
quite a strange kingdom. But she had only been there a very little
time before a wandering butterfly brought a message from her to
the Fairy, begging that she might be sent for as soon as possible,
and before very long she was allowed to return.

'Ah! madam,' cried she, 'what a place you sent me to that time!'

'Why, what was the matter?' asked the Fairy. 'Daphne was one of
the princesses who asked for the gift of eloquence, if I remember
rightly.'

'And very ill the gift of eloquence becomes a woman,' replied
Sylvia, with an air of conviction. 'It is true that she speaks
well, and her expressions are well chosen; but then she never
leaves off talking, and though at first one may be amused, one
ends by being wearied to death. Above all things she loves any
assembly for settling the affairs of her kingdom, for on those
occasions she can talk and talk without fear of interruption; but,
even then, the moment it is over she is ready to begin again about
anything or nothing, as the case may be. Oh! how glad I was to
come away I cannot tell you.'

The Fairy smiled at Sylvia's unfeigned disgust at her late
experience; but after allowing her a little time to recover she
sent her to the Court of the Princess Cynthia, where she left her
for three months. At the end of that time Sylvia came back to her
with all the joy and contentment that one feels at being once more
beside a dear friend. The Fairy, as usual, was anxious to hear
what she thought of Cynthia, who had always been amiable, and to
whom she had given the gift of pleasing.

'I thought at first,' said Sylvia, 'that she must be the happiest
Princess in the world; she had a thousand lovers who vied with one
another in their efforts to please and gratify her. Indeed, I had
nearly decided that I would ask a similar gift.'

'Have you altered your mind, then?' interrupted the Fairy.

'Yes, indeed, madam,' replied Sylvia; 'and I will tell you why.
The longer I stayed the more I saw that Cynthia was not really
happy. In her desire to please everyone she ceased to be sincere,
and degenerated into a mere coquette; and even her lovers felt
that the charms and fascinations which were exercised upon all who
approached her without distinction were valueless, so that in the
end they ceased to care for them, and went away disdainfully.'

'I am pleased with you, child,' said the Fairy; 'enjoy yourself
here for awhile and presently you shall go to Phyllida.'

Sylvia was glad to have leisure to think, for she could not make
up her mind at all what she should ask for herself, and the time
was drawing very near. However, before very long the Fairy sent
her to Phyllida, and waited for her report with unabated interest.

'I reached her court safely,' said Sylvia, 'and she received me
with much kindness, and immediately began to exercise upon me that
brilliant wit which you had bestowed upon her. I confess that I
was fascinated by it, and for a week thought that nothing could be
more desirable; the time passed like magic, so great was the charm
of her society. But I ended by ceasing to covet that gift more
than any of the others I have seen, for, like the gift of
pleasing, it cannot really give satisfaction. By degrees I wearied
of what had so delighted me at first, especially as I perceived
more and more plainly that it is impossible to be constantly smart
and amusing without being frequently ill-natured, and too apt to
turn all things, even the most serious, into mere occasions for a
brilliant jest.'

The Fairy in her heart agreed with Sylvia's conclusions, and felt
pleased with herself for having brought her up so well.

But now the time was come for Sylvia to receive her gift, and all
her companions were assembled; the Fairy stood in the midst and in
the usual manner asked what she would take with her into the great
world.

Sylvia paused for a moment, and then answered: 'A quiet spirit.'
And the Fairy granted her request.

This lovely gift makes life a constant happiness to its possessor,
and to all who are brought into contact with her. She has all the
beauty of gentleness and contentment in her sweet face; and if at
times it seems less lovely through some chance grief or
disquietude, the hardest thing that one ever hears said is:

'Sylvia's dear face is pale to-day. It grieves one to see her so.'

And when, on the contrary, she is gay and joyful, the sunshine of
her presence rejoices all who have the happiness of being near
her.

By the Comte de Caylus.

Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who, though it is a
very long while since they died, were much the same in their
tastes and pursuits as people nowadays. The King, who was called
Cloverleaf, liked hunting better than anything else; but he
nevertheless bestowed as much care upon his kingdom as he felt
equal to—that is to say, he never made an end of folding and
unfolding the State documents. As to the Queen, she had once been
very pretty, and she liked to believe that she was so still, which
is, of course, always made quite easy for queens. Her name was
Frivola, and her one occupation in life was the pursuit of
amusement. Balls, masquerades, and picnics followed one another in
rapid succession, as fast as she could arrange them, and you may
imagine that under these circumstances the kingdom was somewhat
neglected. As a matter of fact, if anyone had a fancy for a town,
or a province, he helped himself to it; but as long as the King
had his horses and dogs, and the Queen her musicians and her
actors, they did not trouble themselves about the matter. King
Cloverleaf and Queen Frivola had but one child, and this Princess
had from her very babyhood been so beautiful, that by the time she
was four years old the Queen was desperately jealous of her, and
so fearful that when she was grown up she would be more admired
than herself, that she resolved to keep her hidden away out of
sight. To this end she caused a little house to be built not far
beyond the Palace gardens, on the bank of a river. This was
surrounded by a high wall, and in it the charming Potentilla was
imprisoned. Her nurse, who was dumb, took care of her, and the
necessaries of life were conveyed to her through a little window
in the wall, while guards were always pacing to and fro outside,
with orders to cut off the head of anyone who tried to approach,
which they would certainly have done without thinking twice about
it. The Queen told everyone, with much pretended sorrow, that the
Princess was so ugly, and so troublesome, and altogether so
impossible to love, that to keep her out of sight was the only
thing that could be done for her. And this tale she repeated so
often, that at last the whole court believed it. Things were in
this state, and the Princess was about fifteen years old, when
Prince Narcissus, attracted by the report of Queen Frivola's gay
doings, presented himself at the court. He was not much older than
the Princess, and was as handsome a Prince as you would see in a
day's journey, and really, for his age, not so very scatter-
brained. His parents were a King and Queen, whose story you will
perhaps read some day. They died almost at the same time, leaving
their kingdom to the eldest of their children, and commending
their youngest son, Prince Narcissus, to the care of the Fairy
Melinette. In this they did very well for him, for the Fairy was
as kind as she was powerful, and she spared no pains in teaching
the little Prince everything it was good for him to know, and even
imparted to him some of her own Fairy lore. But as soon as he was
grown up she sent him out to see the world for himself, though all
the time she was secretly keeping watch over him, ready to help in
any time of need. Before he started she gave him a ring which
would render him invisible when he put it on his finger. These
rings seem to be quite common; you must often have heard of them,
even if you have never seen one. It was in the course of the
Prince's wanderings, in search of experience of men and things,
that he came to the court of Queen Frivola, where he was extremely
well received. The Queen was delighted with him, so were all her
ladies; and the King was very polite to him, though he did not
quite see why the whole court was making such a fuss over him.

Prince Narcissus enjoyed all that went on, and found the time pass
very pleasantly. Before long, of course, he heard the story about
the Princess Potentilla, and, as it had by that time been repeated
many times, and had been added to here and there, she was
represented as such a monster of ugliness that he was really quite
curious to see her, and resolved to avail himself of the magic
power of his ring to accomplish his design. So he made himself
invisible, and passed the guard without their so much as
suspecting that anyone was near. Climbing the wall was rather a
difficulty, but when he at length found himself inside it he was
charmed with the peaceful beauty of the little domain it enclosed,
and still more delighted when he perceived a slender, lovely
maiden wandering among the flowers. It was not until he had sought
vainly for the imaginary monster that he realised that this was
the Princess herself, and by that time he was deeply in love with
her, for indeed it would have been hard to find anyone prettier
than Potentilla, as she sat by the brook, weaving a garland of
blue forget-me-nots to crown her waving golden locks, or to
imagine anything more gentle than the way she tended all the birds
and beasts who inhabited her small kingdom, and who all loved and
followed her. Prince Narcissus watched her every movement, and
hovered near her in a dream of delight, not daring as yet to
appear to her, so humble had he suddenly become in her presence.
And when evening came, and the nurse fetched the Princess into her
little house, he felt obliged to go back to Frivola's palace, for
fear his absence should be noticed and someone should discover his
new treasure. But he forgot that to go back absent, and dreamy,
and indifferent, when he had before been gay and ardent about
everything, was the surest way of awakening suspicion; and when,
in response to the jesting questions which were put to him upon
the subject, he only blushed and returned evasive answers, all the
ladies were certain that he had lost his heart, and did their
utmost to discover who was the happy possessor of it. As to the
Prince, he was becoming day by day more attached to Potentilla,
and his one thought was to attend her, always invisible, and help
her in everything she did, and provide her with everything that
could possibly amuse or please her. And the Princess, who had
learnt to find diversion in very small things in her quiet life,
was in a continual state of delight over the treasures which the
Prince constantly laid where she must find them. Then Narcissus
implored his faithful friend Melinette to send the Princess such
dreams of him as should make her recognise him as a friend when he
actually appeared before her eyes; and this device was so
successful that the Princess quite dreaded the cessation of these
amusing dreams, in which a certain Prince Narcissus was such a
delightful lover and companion. After that he went a step further
and began to have long talks with the Princess—still, however,
keeping himself invisible, until she begged him so earnestly to
appear to her that he could no longer resist, and after making her
promise that, no matter what he was like, she would still love
him, he drew the ring from his finger, and the Princess saw with
delight that he was as handsome as he was agreeable. Now, indeed,
they were perfectly happy, and they passed the whole long summer
day in Potentilla's favourite place by the brook, and when at last
Prince Narcissus had to leave her it seemed to them both that the
hours had gone by with the most amazing swiftness. The Princess
stayed where she was, dreaming of her delightful Prince, and
nothing could have been further from her thoughts than any trouble
or misfortune, when suddenly, in a cloud of dust and shavings, by
came the enchanter Grumedan, and unluckily he chanced to catch
sight of Potentilla. Down he came straightway and alighted at her
feet, and one look at her charming blue eyes and smiling lips
quite decided him that he must appear to her at once, though he
was rather annoyed to remember that he had on only his second-best
cloak. The Princess sprang to her feet with a cry of terror at
this sudden apparition, for really the Enchanter was no beauty. To
begin with, he was very big and clumsy, then he had but one eye,
and his teeth were long, and he stammered badly; nevertheless, he
had an excellent opinion of himself, and mistook the Princess's
cry of terror for an exclamation of delighted surprise. After
pausing a moment to give her time to admire him, the Enchanter
made her the most complimentary speech he could invent, which,
however, did not please her at all, though he was extremely
delighted with it himself. Poor Potentilla only shuddered and
cried:

'Oh! where is my Narcissus?'

To which he replied with a self-satisfied chuckle: 'You want a
narcissus, madam? Well, they are not rare; you shall have as many
as you like.'

Whereupon he waved his wand, and the Princess found herself
surrounded and half buried in the fragrant flowers. She would
certainly have betrayed that this was not the kind of narcissus
she wanted, but for the Fairy Melinette, who had been anxiously
watching the interview, and now thought it quite time to
interfere. Assuming the Prince's voice, she whispered in
Potentilla's ear: