Read Ebook: The chronicles of Fairy land by Hume Fergus Dunlop M Illustrator Kirk Maria Louise Illustrator

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Ebook has 1151 lines and 57391 words, and 24 pages

"But that's the moon," I cried, laughing.

"The moon is our sun, stupid," he said tartly. "I think the King will be awake now, so I'll ask him if you can see the books."

He vanished,--I don't know how; for, though I did not take my eyes off him, he seemed to fade away, and in his place I saw the green leaves and slender stem of a flower, with the Canterbury bell nodding on the top.

The only thing I could do was to wait, so I sat down again on the fallen tree, and amused myself with looking round to see what kind of creatures lived in Faeryland.

The night was very still,--no sound of cricket or bird, not even the whisper of the wind, or the splash of water,--all was silent, and the moon, looking down through the leaves, flooded the glade with a cold, pale light, turning the still waters of the pool to a silver mirror, upon which slept the great white lilies.

Suddenly, a bat, whirring through the glade, disappeared in the soft dusk of the trees, then I heard the distant "Tu whit, tu whoo" of an owl, which seemed to break the spell of the night, and awaken the sleeping faeries; for all at once, on every side, I heard a confused murmur, the glow-worms lighted their glimmering lamps on the soft mossy banks, and brilliant fireflies flashed like sparkling stars through the perfumed air.

Then a nightingale began to sing; I could not see the bird, but only heard the lovely music gushing from amid the dim gloom of the leaves, filling the whole forest with exquisite strains. I understood the nightingale's song just as well as I did that of the cricket, but what it sang was much more beautiful.

THE NIGHTINGALE'S SONG.

The Day has furled Her banners red, And all the world Lies cold and dead; All light and gladness fled.

Asleep!--asleep, In slumber deep, Are maid and boy; And grief and joy, And pleasures--pains Are bound--fast bound in slumber's chains. Ah, slumbers keep The maid who sighs, The boy who cries, The bee that flies, In charm?d sleep.

See how the moon shines in the sky Her light so pale, O'er hill and dale; O'er dale and hill, So calm and still, In splendour flinging; And Mother Earth, At her bright birth, Hears me the night-bird singing.

'Tis I! Who in the darkness cry; The nightingale who sings, who sings on high. I call the elves To show themselves; They creep from tree, from grass, from flower; In forest-bower At midnight hour, They dance--they dance, All night so bright--so light; While I the woods with song entrance.

Singing--Singing, My voice is ringing Thro' the still leaves, Till all the dark night heaves With pain--with pain Again--oh, sing again; Bring joy--bring tears, Till o'er the lawn The red, red dawn Appears--appears--appears.

While the nightingale was thus singing in such a capricious manner, paying no attention to metre or rhyme, the whole glade changed, but I was so entranced with the bird music, that I did not notice the transformation until I found myself in a splendid hall with a lofty ceiling, seated on a couch of green velvet. The trees around were now tall slender pillars of white marble, and between them hung long curtains of emerald velvet. The pool was still in the centre, with its broad white water-lilies asleep on its breast, but it was now encircled by a rim of white marble, and reflected, not the blue sky, but an azure ceiling, upon which fantastic patterns in gold reminded me somewhat of the intricate traceries of the trees. High up in the oval ceiling, in place of the moon, there hung a large opaque globe, from whence a soft, cool light radiated through the apartment.

As I was looking at all these beautiful things, I heard a soft laugh, and, on turning round, saw a man of my own height, dressed in robes of pale green, with a sweeping white beard, a purple cap on his head, and a long slender staff in his hands.

"You don't know me?" he said in a musical voice. "My name is Phancie, and I am the librarian of the King."

"Were you the faery?" I asked, looking at him.

"I am always a faery," he replied, smiling. "You saw me as I generally appear to mortals; but, as the King has given you permission to learn some of the secrets of Faeryland, I now appear to you in my real form."

"So this is the King's library?" I said, looking round; "but how did I come here?--or rather, how did the glade change to the library?"

"The glade has not changed at all," said Phancie quietly; "it is still around you, but your eyes have been unsealed, and you now see beneath the surface."

"But I don't understand," I observed, feeling perplexed.

"It is difficult," assented Phancie gravely, "but I can show you what I mean by an illustration. When you see a grub, it only looks to your eyes an ugly brown thing; but my eyes can see below the outside skin, to where a beautiful butterfly is lying with folded wings of red and gold. The glade you saw was, so to speak, the skin of the library. Now, your sight has been made keen by the command of the King. You see this splendid room--it is still the glade, and still the room; only it depends upon your sight being lightened or darkened."

"It doesn't look a bit like the glade."

"You don't think so, of course," said Phancie kindly; "but I will explain. The white pillars are the trunks of the trees; the green curtains between are the green leaves; the ceiling is the blue sky; the white globe that gives light is the moon; and the golden fretwork on the ceiling is the leaves and boughs of the trees shining against the clear sky."

"And the books?" I asked quickly.

"Here are the books," he replied, drawing one of the green curtains a little on one side, and there I saw rows of volumes in brown covers, which reminded me somewhat of the tint of the withered leaves.

"You can stay here as long as you like," said Phancie, dropping the curtain, "and read all the books."

"Oh, I can't stay long enough for that," I said regretfully. "I would be missed from my house."

"No, you would not," he replied. "Time in Faeryland is different from time on earth--five minutes with you means five years with us--so if you stay here thirty years, you will only have been away from earth half an hour."

"But I'm afraid"--

"Still unconvinced!" interrupted Phancie, a little sadly, leading me forward to the pool of water. "You mortals never believe anything but what you see with your own eyes--look!"

He waved his white wand, and the still surface of the water quivered as if a breeze had rippled across it; then it became still again, and I saw my own room, and myself seated asleep in the arm-chair in front of a dull red fire. I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I looked again the vision had vanished.

"How is it my body is there and I am here?" I asked, turning to Phancie.

"What you saw is your earthly body," he said quietly, "but the form you now wear is your real body--like the butterfly and the grub of which I told you. Now, you can look at the books. You will not remember all you read, because there are some thoughts you may not carry back to earth; but the King will let you remember seven stories which you can tell to the children of your world. They will believe them, but you--ah! you will say they are dreams."

"Oh no, I won't," I said eagerly, "because it would not be true. This is not a dream."

"No, it is not a dream," he said sadly; "but you will think it to be so."

"Never!"

"Oh yes, you will. Mortals never believe."

I turned angrily away at this remark, but when I looked again to reply, Phancie had vanished--faded away like a wreath of snow in the sunshine, and I was alone in the beautiful room.

You will not know the names of the books I have mentioned, because you are not old enough to understand them but when you grow up, you will, no doubt, read them all--not the faery books, of course, but all the others which the men I mention have written.

I do not know how long I was in the library, because there was no day or night, but only the soft glow of the moon-lamp shining through the room. I read many, many of the books, and they were full of the most beautiful stories, which all children would love to hear; but, as Phancie said, I only remember seven, and these seven I will now relate.

I hope you will like them very much, for they are all true stories in which the faeries took part, and there is more wisdom in them than you would think.

The faeries understand them, and so do I, because I have faery blood in my veins; but many grown-up people who read them will laugh, and say they are only amusing fables. The wise children, however, who read carefully and slowly will find out the secrets they contain, and these secrets are the most beautiful things in the world.

So now I have told you how I was permitted to enter Faeryland, I will relate the stories I remember which I read in the faery palace, and the clever child who finds out the real meanings of these stories will perhaps some day receive an invitation from King Oberon to go to Faeryland and see all the wonders of his beautiful library.

THE RED ELF

HOW THE RED ELF RAN AWAY FROM FAERYLAND.

FAERYLAND lies between the Kingdom of the Shadows and the Country of the Giants. If you want to reach it you must sail across the Sea of Darkness, which rolls everlastingly round these three strange places, and separates them from our world. Then you journey first through the Giants' Country, the inhabitants of which are very like ourselves, only larger and fiercer, with very little spiritual nature in their enormous bodies; afterwards you pass into Faeryland, where the elves are bright, graceful creatures, who possess forms like ours, and not a little of our nature. Beyond lies the strange Kingdom of Shadows, where dwell things which have very little in common with our earth; they are the shadows of the past and the future, of what has been, and what yet shall be. Mortals have strayed by chance into the Giants' Country, and in old stories we are told they have lived in Faeryland, but no living man or woman has ever seen the Kingdom of Shadows, nor will they ever see it during life.

Now, the Faeries, being afraid of the Shadows, never enter their kingdom, but they also never enter the Country of the Giants, because they despise them very much as being lower than themselves, much the same as we look down upon the uncivilised savages of Africa. Oberon, who, as you know, is the King of Faery, made a law that no elf should ever go into the Giants' Country, being afraid lest the faeries should learn things there which would bring evil on his own land. So when the faeries want to visit our earth, they do not cross the Giants' Country, but come in another way which is known only to themselves. Having thus explained how these three countries lie, I will now tell you of a naughty elf who, disobeying the King's command, lost himself in the Giants' Country, and of the difficulty he had in getting back to Faeryland.

The elf's name was Gillydrop, a beautiful little creature all dressed in clothes of a pale green tint, which is the favourite colour of the faeries, as every one knows who has seen them dance in the moonlight. Now Gillydrop was full of curiosity, which is a very bad thing, as it leads people into a great deal of trouble, and although he had never bothered his head about the Giants' Country before, as soon as he heard the proclamation of Oberon he immediately determined to see for himself what the giants were like. Do you not think this was a very naughty thing for him to do? it certainly was, but he was punished for his disobedience, as all naughty people are sooner or later.

He spoke to two or three faeries in order to get them to join him, but they would not disobey the King's command, and advised him to give up his foolish idea.

"The King is very wise," they said, "and no doubt he has a good reason for not letting us visit the Giants' Country, so you ought to do as he tells you."

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