The Violet Fairy Book

TO VIOLET MYERS
IS DEDICATED
THE VIOLET FAIRY BOOK

The Editor takes this opportunity to repeat what he has often
said before, that he is not the author of the stories in the
Fairy Books; that he did not invent them 'out of his own head.'
He is accustomed to being asked, by ladies, 'Have you written
anything else except the Fairy Books?' He is then obliged to
explain that he has NOT written the Fairy Books, but, save these,
has written almost everything else, except hymns, sermons, and
dramatic works.

The stories in this Violet Fairy Book, as in all the others of
the series, have been translated out of the popular traditional
tales in a number of different languages. These stories are as
old as anything that men have invented. They are narrated by
naked savage women to naked savage children. They have been
inherited by our earliest civilised ancestors, who really
believed that beasts and trees and stones can talk if they
choose, and behave kindly or unkindly. The stories are full of
the oldest ideas of ages when science did not exist, and magic
took the place of science. Anybody who has the curiosity to read
the 'Legendary Australian Tales,' which Mrs. Langloh Parker has
collected from the lips of the Australian savages, will find that
these tales are closely akin to our own. Who were the first
authors of them nobody knows—probably the first men and women.
Eve may have told these tales to amuse Cain and Abel. As people
grew more civilised and had kings and queens, princes and
princesses, these exalted persons generally were chosen as heroes
and heroines. But originally the characters were just 'a man,'
and 'a woman,' and 'a boy,' and 'a girl,' with crowds of beasts,
birds, and fishes, all behaving like human beings. When the
nobles and other people became rich and educated, they forgot the
old stories, but the country people did not, and handed them
down, with changes at pleasure, from generation to generation.
Then learned men collected and printed the country people's
stories, and these we have translated, to amuse children. Their
tastes remain like the tastes of their naked ancestors, thousands
of years ago, and they seem to like fairy tales better than
history, poetry, geography, or arithmetic, just as grown-up
people like novels better than anything else.

This is the whole truth of the matter. I have said so before,
and I say so again. But nothing will prevent children from
thinking that I invented the stories, or some ladies from being
of the same opinion. But who really invented the stories nobody
knows; it is all so long ago, long before reading and writing
were invented. The first of the stories actually written down,
were written in Egyptian hieroglyphs, or on Babylonian cakes of
clay, three or four thousand years before our time.

Of the stories in this book, Miss Blackley translated 'Dwarf Long
Nose,' 'The Wonderful Beggars,' 'The Lute Player,' 'Two in a
Sack,' and 'The Fish that swam in the Air.' Mr. W. A. Craigie
translated from the Scandinavian, 'Jasper who herded the Hares.'
Mrs. Lang did the rest.

Some of the most interesting are from the Roumanion, and three
were previously published in the late Dr. Steere's 'Swahili
Tales.' By the permission of his representatives these three
African stories have here been abridged and simplified for
children.

Long, long ago there stood in the midst of a country covered with
lakes a vast stretch of moorland called the Tontlawald, on which
no man ever dared set foot. From time to time a few bold spirits
had been drawn by curiosity to its borders, and on their return
had reported that they had caught a glimpse of a ruined house in
a grove of thick trees, and round about it were a crowd of beings
resembling men, swarming over the grass like bees. The men were
as dirty and ragged as gipsies, and there were besides a quantity
of old women and half-naked children.

One night a peasant who was returning home from a feast wandered
a little farther into the Tontlawald, and came back with the same
story. A countless number of women and children were gathered
round a huge fire, and some were seated on the ground, while
others danced strange dances on the smooth grass. One old crone
had a broad iron ladle in her hand, with which every now and then
she stirred the fire, but the moment she touched the glowing
ashes the children rushed away, shrieking like night owls, and it
was a long while before they ventured to steal back. And besides
all this there had once or twice been seen a little old man with
a long beard creeping out of the forest, carrying a sack bigger
than himself. The women and children ran by his side, weeping
and trying to drag the sack from off his back, but he shook them
off, and went on his way. There was also a tale of a magnificent
black cat as large as a foal, but men could not believe all the
wonders told by the peasant, and it was difficult to make out
what was true and what was false in his story. However, the fact
remained that strange things did happen there, and the King of
Sweden, to whom this part of the country belonged, more than once
gave orders to cut down the haunted wood, but there was no one
with courage enough to obey his commands. At length one man,
bolder than the rest, struck his axe into a tree, but his blow
was followed by a stream of blood and shrieks as of a human
creature in pain. The terrified woodcutter fled as fast as his
legs would carry him, and after that neither orders nor threats
would drive anybody to the enchanted moor.

A few miles from the Tontlawald was a large village, where dwelt
a peasant who had recently married a young wife. As not
uncommonly happens in such cases, she turned the whole house
upside down, and the two quarrelled and fought all day long.

By his first wife the peasant had a daughter called Elsa, a good
quiet girl, who only wanted to live in peace, but this her
stepmother would not allow. She beat and cuffed the poor child
from morning till night, but as the stepmother had the whip-hand
of her husband there was no remedy.

For two years Elsa suffered all this ill-treatment, when one day
she went out with the other village children to pluck
strawberries. Carelessly they wandered on, till at last they
reached the edge of the Tontlawald, where the finest strawberries
grew, making the grass red with their colour. The children flung
themselves down on the ground, and, after eating as many as they
wanted, began to pile up their baskets, when suddenly a cry arose
from one of the older boys:

'Run, run as fast as you can! We are in the Tontlawald!'

Quicker than lightning they sprang to their feet, and rushed
madly away, all except Elsa, who had strayed farther than the
rest, and had found a bed of the finest strawberries right under
the trees. Like the others, she heard the boy's cry, but could
not make up her mind to leave the strawberries.

'After all, what does it matter?' thought she. 'The dwellers in
the Tontlawald cannot be worse than my stepmother'; and looking
up she saw a little black dog with a silver bell on its neck come
barking towards her, followed by a maiden clad all in silk.

'Be quiet,' said she; then turning to Elsa she added: 'I am so
glad you did not run away with the other children. Stay here
with me and be my friend, and we will play delightful games
together, and every day we will go and gather strawberries.
Nobody will dare to beat you if I tell them not. Come, let us go
to my mother'; and taking Elsa's hand she led her deeper into the
wood, the little black dog jumping up beside them and barking
with pleasure.

Oh! what wonders and splendours unfolded themselves before
Elsa's astonished eyes! She thought she really must be in
Heaven. Fruit trees and bushes loaded with fruit stood before
them, while birds gayer than the brightest butterfly sat in their
branches and filled the air with their song. And the birds were
not shy, but let the girls take them in their hands, and stroke
their gold and silver feathers. In the centre of the garden was
the dwelling-house, shining with glass and precious stones, and
in the doorway sat a woman in rich garments, who turned to Elsa's
companion and asked:

'What sort of a guest are you bringing to me?'

'I found her alone in the wood,' replied her daughter, 'and
brought her back with me for a companion. You will let her
stay?'

The mother laughed, but said nothing, only she looked Elsa up and
down sharply. Then she told the girl to come near, and stroked
her cheeks and spoke kindly to her, asking if her parents were
alive, and if she really would like to stay with them. Elsa
stooped and kissed her hand, then, kneeling down, buried her face
in the woman's lap, and sobbed out:

'My mother has lain for many years under the ground. My father
is still alive, but I am nothing to him, and my stepmother beats
me all the day long. I can do nothing right, so let me, I pray
you, stay with you. I will look after the flocks or do any work
you tell me; I will obey your lightest word; only do not, I
entreat you, send me back to her. She will half kill me for not
having come back with the other children.'

And the woman smiled and answered, 'Well, we will see what we can
do with you,' and, rising, went into the house.

Then the daughter said to Elsa, 'Fear nothing, my mother will be
your friend. I saw by the way she looked that she would grant
your request when she had thought over it,' and, telling Elsa to
wait, she entered the house to seek her mother. Elsa meanwhile
was tossed about between hope and fear, and felt as if the girl
would never come.