Andrew Lang_Fairy Book 03 (9 page)

Sylvain and Jocosa willingly undertook this service, and indeed
felt that it was but a very small thing in return for all that the
fairy had given and promised to them. So for a long time the
fountain was tended with the most scrupulous care, and was the
clearest and prettiest in all the country round. But one morning
in the spring, long before the sun rose, they were hastening
towards it from opposite directions, when, tempted by the beauty
of the myriads of gay flowers which grew thickly on all sides,
they paused each to gather some for the other.

'I will make Sylvain a garland,' said Jocosa, and 'How pretty
Jocosa will look in this crown!' thought Sylvain.

Hither and thither they strayed, led ever farther and farther, for
the brightest flowers seemed always just beyond them, until at
last they were startled by the first bright rays of the rising
sun. With one accord they turned and ran towards the fountain,
reaching it at the same moment, though from opposite sides. But
what was their horror to see its usually tranquil waters seething
and bubbling, and even as they looked down rushed a mighty stream,
which entirely engulfed it, and Sylvain and Jocosa found
themselves parted by a wide and swiftly-rushing river. All this
had happened with such rapidity that they had only time to utter a
cry, and each to hold up to the other the flowers they had
gathered; but this was explanation enough. Twenty times did
Sylvain throw himself into the turbulent waters, hoping to be able
to swim to the other side, but each time an irresistible force
drove him back upon the bank he had just quitted, while, as for
Jocosa, she even essayed to cross the flood upon a tree which came
floating down torn up by the roots, but her efforts were equally
useless. Then with heavy hearts they set out to follow the course
of the stream, which had now grown so wide that it was only with
difficulty they could distinguish each other. Night and day, over
mountains and through valleys, in cold or in heat, they struggled
on, enduring fatigue and hunger and every hardship, and consoled
only by the hope of meeting once more—until three years had
passed, and at last they stood upon the cliffs where the river
flowed into the mighty sea.

And now they seemed farther apart than ever, and in despair they
tried once more to throw themselves into the foaming waves. But
the Fairy of the Meadows, who had really never ceased to watch
over them, did not intend that they should be drowned at last, so
she hastily waved her wand, and immediately they found themselves
standing side by side upon the golden sand. You may imagine their
joy and delight when they realised that their weary struggle was
ended, and their utter contentment as they clasped each other by
the hand. They had so much to say that they hardly knew where to
begin, but they agreed in blaming themselves bitterly for the
negligence which had caused all their trouble; and when she heard
this the Fairy immediately appeared to them. They threw themselves
at her feet and implored her forgiveness, which she granted
freely, and promised at the same time that now their punishment
was ended she would always befriend them. Then she sent for her
chariot of green rushes, ornamented with May dewdrops, which she
particularly valued and always collected with great care; and
ordered her six short-tailed moles to carry them all back to the
well-known pastures, which they did in a remarkably short time;
and Sylvain and Jocosa were overjoyed to see their dearly-loved
home once more after all their toilful wanderings. The Fairy, who
had set her mind upon securing their happiness, had in their
absence quite made up the quarrel between their parents, and
gained their consent to the marriage of the faithful lovers; and
now she conducted them to the most charming little cottage that
can be imagined, close to the fountain, which had once more
resumed its peaceful aspect, and flowed gently down into the
little brook which enclosed the garden and orchard and pasture
which belonged to the cottage. Indeed, nothing more could have
been thought of, either for Sylvain and Jocosa or for their
flocks; and their delight satisfied even the Fairy who had planned
it all to please them. When they had explored and admired until
they were tired they sat down to rest under the rose-covered
porch, and the Fairy said that to pass the time until the wedding
guests whom she had invited could arrive she would tell them a
story. This is it:

Once upon a time a Fairy, who had somehow or other got into
mischief, was condemned by the High Court of Fairyland to live for
several years under the form of some creature, and at the moment
of resuming her natural appearance once again to make the fortune
of two men. It was left to her to choose what form she would take,
and because she loved yellow she transformed herself into a lovely
bird with shining golden feathers such as no one had ever seen
before. When the time of her punishment was at an end the
beautiful yellow bird flew to Bagdad, and let herself be caught by
a Fowler at the precise moment when Badi-al-Zaman was walking up
and down outside his magnificent summer palace. This Badi-al-
Zaman—whose name means 'Wonder-of-the-World'—was looked upon in
Bagdad as the most fortunate creature under the sun, because of
his vast wealth. But really, what with anxiety about his riches
and being weary of everything, and always desiring something he
had not, he never knew a moment's real happiness. Even now he had
come out of his palace, which was large and splendid enough for
fifty kings, weary and cross because he could find nothing new to
amuse him. The Fowler thought that this would be a favourable
opportunity for offering him the marvellous bird, which he felt
certain he would buy the instant he saw it. And he was not
mistaken, for when Badi-al-Zaman took the lovely prisoner into his
own hands, he saw written under its right wing the words, 'He who
eats my head will become a king,' and under its left wing, 'He who
eats my heart will find a hundred gold pieces under his pillow
every morning.' In spite of all his wealth he at once began to
desire the promised gold, and the bargain was soon completed. Then
the difficulty arose as to how the bird was to be cooked; for
among all his army of servants not one could Badi-al-Zaman trust.
At last he asked the Fowler if he were married, and on hearing
that he was he bade him take the bird home with him and tell his
wife to cook it.

'Perhaps,' said he, 'this will give me an appetite, which I have
not had for many a long day, and if so your wife shall have a
hundred pieces of silver.'

The Fowler with great joy ran home to his wife, who speedily made
a savoury stew of the Yellow Bird. But when Badi-al-Zaman reached
the cottage and began eagerly to search in the dish for its head
and its heart he could not find either of them, and turned to the
Fowler's wife in a furious rage. She was so terrified that she
fell upon her knees before him and confessed that her two children
had come in just before he arrived, and had so teased her for some
of the dish she was preparing that she had presently given the
head to one and the heart to the other, since these morsels are
not generally much esteemed; and Badi-al-Zaman rushed from the
cottage vowing vengeance against the whole family. The wrath of a
rich man is generally to be feared, so the Fowler and his wife
resolved to send their children out of harm's way; but the wife,
to console her husband, confided to him that she had purposely
given them the head and heart of the bird because she had been
able to read what was written under its wings. So, believing that
their children's fortunes were made, they embraced them and sent
them forth, bidding them get as far away as possible, to take
different roads, and to send news of their welfare. For
themselves, they remained hidden and disguised in the town, which
was really rather clever of them; but very soon afterwards Badi-
al-Zaman died of vexation and annoyance at the loss of the
promised treasure, and then they went back to their cottage to
wait for news of their children. The younger, who had eaten the
heart of the Yellow Bird, very soon found out what it had done for
him, for each morning when he awoke he found a purse containing a
hundred gold pieces under his pillow. But, as all poor people may
remember for their consolation, nothing in the world causes so
much trouble or requires so much care as a great treasure.
Consequently, the Fowler's son, who spent with reckless profusion
and was supposed to be possessed of a great hoard of gold, was
before very long attacked by robbers, and in trying to defend
himself was so badly wounded that he died.

The elder brother, who had eaten the Yellow Bird's head, travelled
a long way without meeting with any particular adventure, until at
last he reached a large city in Asia, which was all in an uproar
over the choosing of a new Emir. All the principal citizens had
formed themselves into two parties, and it was not until after a
prolonged squabble that they agreed that the person to whom the
most singular thing happened should be Emir. Our young traveller
entered the town at this juncture, with his agreeable face and
jaunty air, and all at once felt something alight upon his head,
which proved to be a snow-white pigeon. Thereupon all the people
began to stare, and to run after him, so that he presently reached
the palace with the pigeon upon his head and all the inhabitants
of the city at his heels, and before he knew where he was they
made him Emir, to his great astonishment.

As there is nothing more agreeable than to command, and nothing to
which people get accustomed more quickly, the young Emir soon felt
quite at his ease in his new position; but this did not prevent
him from making every kind of mistake, and so misgoverning the
kingdom that at last the whole city rose in revolt and deprived
him at once of his authority and his life—a punishment which he
richly deserved, for in the days of his prosperity he disowned the
Fowler and his wife, and allowed them to die in poverty.

'I have told you this story, my dear Sylvain and Jocosa,' added
the Fairy, 'to prove to you that this little cottage and all that
belongs to it is a gift more likely to bring you happiness and
contentment than many things that would at first seem grander and
more desirable. If you will faithfully promise me to till your
fields and feed your flocks, and will keep your word better than
you did before, I will see that you never lack anything that is
really for your good.'

Sylvain and Jocosa gave their faithful promise, and as they kept
it they always enjoyed peace and prosperity. The Fairy had asked
all their friends and neighbours to their wedding, which took
place at once with great festivities and rejoicings, and they
lived to a good old age, always loving one another with all their
hearts.

By the Comte de Caylus.

It generally happens that people's surroundings reflect more or
less accurately their minds and dispositions, so perhaps that is
why the Flower Fairy lived in a lovely palace, with the most
delightful garden you can imagine, full of flowers, and trees, and
fountains, and fish-ponds, and everything nice. For the Fairy
herself was so kind and charming that everybody loved her, and all
the young princes and princesses who formed her court, were as
happy as the day was long, simply because they were near her. They
came to her when they were quite tiny, and never left her until
they were grown up and had to go away into the great world; and
when that time came she gave to each whatever gift he asked of
her. But it is chiefly of the Princess Sylvia that you are going
to hear now. The Fairy loved her with all her heart, for she was
at once original and gentle, and she had nearly reached the age at
which the gifts were generally bestowed. However, the Fairy had a
great wish to know how the other princesses who had grown up and
left her, were prospering, and before the time came for Sylvia to
go herself, she resolved to send her to some of them. So one day
her chariot, drawn by butterflies, was made ready, and the Fairy
said: 'Sylvia, I am going to send you to the court of Iris; she
will receive you with pleasure for my sake as well as for your
own. In two months you may come back to me again, and I shall
expect you to tell me what you think of her.'

Sylvia was very unwilling to go away, but as the Fairy wished it
she said nothing—only when the two months were over she stepped
joyfully into the butterfly chariot, and could not get back
quickly enough to the Flower-Fairy, who, for her part, was equally
delighted to see her again.

'Now, child,' said she, 'tell me what impression you have
received.'

'You sent me, madam,' answered Sylvia, 'to the Court of Iris, on
whom you had bestowed the gift of beauty. She never tells anyone,
however, that it was your gift, though she often speaks of your
kindness in general. It seemed to me that her loveliness, which
fairly dazzled me at first, had absolutely deprived her of the use
of any of her other gifts or graces. In allowing herself to be
seen, she appeared to think that she was doing all that could
possibly be required of her. But, unfortunately, while I was still
with her she became seriously ill, and though she presently
recovered, her beauty is entirely gone, so that she hates the very
sight of herself, and is in despair. She entreated me to tell you
what had happened, and to beg you, in pity, to give her beauty
back to her. And, indeed, she does need it terribly, for all the
things in her that were tolerable, and even agreeable, when she
was so pretty, seem quite different now she is ugly, and it is so
long since she thought of using her mind or her natural
cleverness, that I really don't think she has any left now. She is
quite aware of all this herself, so you may imagine how unhappy
she is, and how earnestly she begs for your aid.'