Part 4

This fairy, of modest disposition, who was willing to set a good example, offered to the other fairies that, if they would stop their quarrelings and think only how they might help and serve good boys and girls, and not play tricks on milkmaids and farmers, she would become a kabouter. She would lay aside all her pretty clothes, wreaths, jewels and ornaments, and go down into the dark caves and deep into the earth to live there forever. She would learn the secrets of the elves, that work in the mines and at the fires, and she would make something beautiful for her old friends and companions, or else bring forth a new flower. Around this, they could dance and hold their revels, and so forget their jealousies and strife. For fairies, like men, get tired of old ways and scenes, which they have had a long time. They like to have new things that are fresh and bright.

When they all heard the most beautiful of the fairies talk in this way, they at once put aside their quarrels, and every one resolved to behave properly—at least till she came back.

But she never returned, and this was the reason.

First, she put off all her beautiful garments and donned clothes that were of a dark and sad color. Then she went far down underground and into the caverns of the world beneath, and deeper even than the coal mines of the Boringue, and the zinc mines of Moresnet.

Coming suddenly upon a company of kabouters, these rude fellows at once seized her, crying out:

“Now we’ve got you. We’ve long wanted to catch one of the upper world fairies, for despising us sooty folk and making us work so hard for them. We have served your kind long enough. Now you shall do our will.”

So they tied around her waist one of their blacksmith’s leather aprons and stuck her pretty feet in old wooden shoes. Next, putting a pair of tongs into her hands, they bade her beat an iron bar, drawn red hot from the forge fire. Then, standing in front of the anvil, she had to beat the bar out flat. The kabouter, who was set to watch her and keep her busy, was one of the ugliest of their number. He had a cruel leer in his eye, and gloated over her, while she toiled wearily. He scolded and even beat her, when she almost fainted under the hard tasks, to which she was so suddenly put and to which she was wholly unused.

Yet this earth fairy was very wise, while she was among the kabouters, and gradually she learned many of their secrets. One of these was the way these elves procured their iron; which was from the particles in the blood of the millions of men slain, on the soil of Belgium, ever since human beings came on the earth, and which makes blood so red. Here, the rival and hostile races had met on the thousand battle fields, known and unknown to human history. These were more numerous than spots on a leopard or stripes on a zebra. Torrents of blood had been poured out, and again and again the soil had been reddened, and the turf made to look dark with the stains. Sometimes, even rills and rivers ran red.

But the kindly rain from Heaven had made the human life-stream soak into the soil, and nature soon came with her sweet mantle of flowers to heal, and to reconcile, and make men forget. So to the new generation of boys and girls, each war, as it came and went, made only one more story to tell around the fireside on winter nights; for in summer with play and work, and dance and song they thought only of what was just before them. Not for the young to look back over the past, except to hear about the fairies!

So, one generation after another, of human beings, forgot what had happened in former years and ages. Moreover, all the red rills, that had flowed from the veins of the wounded and dying, fed the earth and made it more fertile. Even their flesh and bones soon mingled with the soil and their elements reappeared in grain and trees, plants and flowers. Only the iron atoms of the blood of the soldiers remained in the ground. From the time when men fought with stone axes and arrows, to the days we can remember, when they used poison gas and dropped bombs from the sky, men fed the earth with their bodies and blood and left widows and orphans at home.

By the aid of their secret powers, the kabouters had collected these iron particles, that were once floating in human veins and arteries, and they made them into their tools, such as hammers, tongs, anvils, chains, locks, keys, and what not. They also possessed the secrets of the colors, that enter into the clays, flowers, stones, dyes for garments and whatever has tint or hue. The kabouters knew that, underneath all colors, of any sort or kind, there must be a metal, which, with other elements, becomes the basis of all dyes, paints, and tints in or on anything solid or liquid.

Almost all the wonders of chemistry were known to these elves, and often, in talking to each other, they declared that everything, which the human artist laid on canvas, or with which he tinted his wall, or house, was caused by some chemical change in metals.

One of the most wonderful of their secrets was the transformation of iron into rouge, which the girls and women put on their cheeks, in order to imitate the lovely rose tints, with which nature paints the faces of her children. Yet whereas, in health and vigor, the color comes to the human face from within, foolish folks put it on from without. Indeed, in some countries, the forefinger and finger nail of the maidens which, at the tips, is usually red, is named “the rouge finger,” because most used for this purpose by the girls who wear out the carpet in front of their looking glasses.

Now it was an old kabouter, that was kind to the fairy from the upper earth, who told her the secret of the splendid hue of the red petals of the poppy.

“It is the same color, and the same metal, in the crimson flowers, as that laid on the faces of the pretty girls, in their boudoirs; or that comes naturally to the cheeks of the healthy young men and maidens. Now I can tell you how you can make a new flower, as red as blood, that will spring up all over the fields of Flanders.”

The fairy clapped her hands with delight.

“O tell me how. I should gladly die, if I might end the quarrels of the fairies and leave behind me a crimson flower. I want something, on Belgian soil, that shall make its people love their land all the more, and, by its color, remind them of the blood of the slain of many generations of men. Let the red flower spring up everywhere, without thought or labor. So will they value the more their beloved country, when they plant and cultivate the white lilies of peace.”

“So shall it be, if you say it,” said the old kabouter, “but life for life. You must give up your own life, and the flower will be your transformation. Die, and the red flowers shall live. And we kabouters also love Belgium. We shall let the iron atoms, gathered during ages, from the dead, enter with your life into the new blooms which shall spring up. There is already enough iron in the soil to tint the petals for a thousand years to come.”

At this word of promise, the fairy cried out “Good! it shall be a memorial of the thousand generations of the brave men, who have died on Belgic soil, and on Flanders fields, and it will also heal the quarrels of my people.” Then, sinking down, she breathed out her life, and was no more.

That night, there was a funeral among the fairies. In the softest spot, in the centre of a fairy ring, among the grass and yellow and blue flowers, they laid her to rest in a sad burial. Nevertheless the burden of their song was of promise and joy, and in praise of beauty; for the earth’s surface was now to wear a new floral jewel.

And behold, in the next spring time, the earth seemed dotted with jets of flame, as if a thousand fairies were each one kindling a tiny memorial fire, in remembrance of human lives given for others.

From that day of the grave in the fairy’s ring, there was peace among the fairies. And in our time, the poppies of Belgium keep a perpetual Decoration Day, because of the generations of the slain on the soil of Belgium the Beautiful.

VII

THE STORY OF THE FLEUR-DE-LYS

Long before cows in Belgium wore earrings, to denote their pedigree and good breeding, or sugar was made out of beets, there were wonderful things done by the fairies.

These were so many, that some industrious farmers and their wives got together to see if they could equal or exceed the fairies in doing good things for their country. They wished to outrival the fairies, excel them if possible, and make Belgium great among the nations.

These honest folk used to meet together in the evenings and tell fairy tales, so that they and their little ones, as they grew up in their wooden shoes, might know just what fairies were good for. This was done, because they supposed that everything unusual, or wonderful in nature, was the work of the fairies, and they felt that human beings ought, in other ways, to beat them in a contest of wits.

Some of the inhabitants arranged a meeting to talk with the fairies, who should tell what they had accomplished in the three kingdoms of nature—mineral, vegetable and animal. The meeting was at night, of course, for fairies are never seen in the day time.

Having already shown what they had done for the animals of Belgium, the fairy-folk proposed to talk about what they had done, with the plants and minerals, to enrich Belgium and make the country great.

The first story the fairies told was, “How the lowly flower got into royal society,” and thus the fairy began:

“‘All the world,’ as the French say, knows that the fleur-de-lys, the lily of France has, for centuries, been their national emblem. In the blazonry of kings and queens, it was sewn on royal robes and embroidered in gold and silver on flags and banners. It was stamped on the coins, and made the symbol of everything glorious in France. All the world has heard of the Bourbon lilies, for that family of kings and rulers made it especially their own emblem.

“But originally the fleur-de-lys was our Belgian flower, that grew in the meadows along our river Lys (or Leye).

“To tell the full story of the Frankish tribes, who made France a kingdom, and especially of the Salic Franks, we must go back, in time, to the early ages. We must travel up into Dutch Gelderland, where the waters of the North Sea or German Ocean, wash the shores, and the waves fling their spray over the land.

“The Salic Franks, that is, the Free men of the Salt, which was born of Heaven’s fire and ocean’s water, once dwelt by the sea. To get the crystals out of the brine, they cut down the trees of the forest, in which the fairies lived. Then they piled up the logs, and made a great blaze. The tongues of fire leaped higher and higher, for they were trying to get back to Heaven, their old home. Then the forefathers of our nation went down to the sea and drew up the salt water. This they flung on the red hot logs, praying all the time for the salt to come.

“The fire was put out by this means, and when they looked on the charred wood, they found thousands of shining white spots, which were crystals of pure salt. These, they scraped up, and, after refining, by means of water and evaporation, in the sun’s rays, they used the salt on their food and, as offerings to the gods.

“The forefathers therefore considered salt as the child born of fire and water, of Heaven and Ocean. So they took the name Salis, which means ‘of the salt.’ Through the changes in the language, the name ‘Salians’ was used to denote a host. They were very proud of being Franks, or freemen, and were known as the Salic Franks. They became very powerful and even defied the Romans.

“When they found that their enemies were weakening, and food was scarce in the north, they resolved to march south and west, and possess the rich land stretching between the Maas and the Seine rivers, which is now Belgium and France.

“Assembling the entire host, with their chariots, wives and little ones, in the great moot-place, or sand-walled enclosure, a few miles from Nijkerk, they marched in one mighty army into Belgic Land. Reaching the river Lys, when the iris and the lily were in full bloom, each one of the tribesmen plucked a stem and blossom of the plant and stuck it in his cap.

“Then they rushed on, conquering and to conquer, until all the wide area of the country now called ‘France,’ and named after the Franks, was theirs. The flower of the Lys, or fleur-de-lys, under which they had won victory, was chosen as their emblem. Thus the once lovely Belgic flower was elevated into royal society.

“Even better, the Franks gave up their cruel pagan rites, and, believing in the Heavenly Father of all mankind, and in his beloved Son, and in the Holy Spirit, the fleur-de-lys was made the emblem of their faith. The missionaries often used it to teach the blessed doctrine of the trinity—three forms of life, proceeding from one common stem and nature.

“Now all Belgians know, that our city, Tournai, was for centuries the centre and capital of this great Frankish empire. When Childeric, their emperor, died, he was buried at Tournai, and his tomb was here, in the church of St. Brice. On the robes, which cover his honored dust, when his coffin was opened, centuries ago, were found three hundred golden bees, models of those that gathered honey from the flowers that grew along the Lys and other rivers of Belgic Land.

“All the world knows, also, how Napoleon, who made himself emperor of the French, had these golden bees embroidered on his coronation robes. Just as the Bourbons had claimed the lily as the particular blazon of their family, so Napoleon made the golden bee his symbol.

“In truth, it has been the fashion, with these royal mortals, to take lowly flowers and humble insects for their heraldry. Did not a common shrub, named by Europeans, the ‘broom,’ the planta genista, become the proud emblem of the Plantagenets, kings of England?”

At this point, the fairy story-teller stopped and made apology for being so long. She hoped she had not been tedious. She then gave her final word:

“Good men and women, Belgians all, would you make your country one of the best, to be always loved and honored of your children’s children, while ever attracting admiring and delighted visitors, to come to see the wonders of Belgic land? Would you?

“Then, please remember that the universe is full of fairies, though men nowadays call them ‘forces,’ and they are ever ready to help you. Do your best to allure, coax, win, tame and harness them, for your use and benefit.

“Do not count any flower too lowly, or soil too poor; for in each is a secret worth learning and, even more, worth possessing. Believe what a wise man has said, concerning even the plants that you call ‘weeds’—these which you uproot, plow under, throw out and burn. Yet each one may possess some secret charm, some virtue, or a message or science to you. For what says the seer?

“He defines a weed as a ‘plant, the virtues of which have not yet been discovered.’”

Now the story-teller, stepping out of fairy regions into Yankee land, would remind all who read the fairy’s message, and especially his American young friends, that the wise man, whom the fairy quoted, was our own Emerson. We forget not, either, that the white silken flags, under which Lafayette and the “sparkling Bourbonnaires” marched, were embroidered with the fleur-de-lys. These French soldiers of 1780, who kept step with the Continentals, on the way to Yorktown, were under the Bourbon lilies. Let us remember also, that the old moot-place of the Salic Franks is still to be seen near Nijkerk, in Gelderland, the pretty town, whence came “Corlaer,” and Van Rensselaer, and the settlers of New Netherland, out of which grew the four noble states of New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware.

VIII

THE IRISH PRINCESS AND HER SHIP OF SOD

The story-teller has travelled many times in the land of the Belgians. There he saw hotels named “The Seven Churches,” in one of which he slept. He asked how it was, that a hotel should be named after churches, and why there should be seven of them?

This was the answer, and here is the story.

After the holy Saint Patrick had left Ireland free from snakes, it was a pleasanter country to dwell in, and people were kinder to each other than ever before. There were still, however, many rough fellows still in the island, and fights between the clans were common.

Yet such was the beauty of the colleens, or young maidens, that oftentimes these warlike chiefs fell in love with the daughters of men who were their enemies. Then there was trouble in the families, for the Irish are very proud of their blood and ancestors. In those days, every tribe was jealous of the other. It was the rule, that all maidens must marry only the men, of whom their fathers approved. This was for fear they might get a spalpeen in the family.

Now there was a lovely daughter of a famous chief, who lived in a castle, with plenty of green vines growing on the walls. Her name was Eileen, and her favorite plant was the shamrock. For Saint Patrick had taught that its three parts, growing on one stem, made a true symbol of the triune Deity, whom all good people ought to worship. The life was one, the leaves were three. Eileen was a Christian maid, and the shamrock was like the voice of a friend, that spoke to her every day, saying “be faithful and pure.”

Hearing of the fame and beauty of this loveliest maid in Erin, a handsome and noble chief, in a neighboring county, sought her hand in marriage. How proud and happy he would feel, if she, as his wife, should grace his castle! Besides, an alliance, with her powerful father, would greatly add to the glory of his own name and prowess.

So, according to the ancient custom of the country, he told the wish of his heart to her father, before asking the maiden herself.

Her parents were pleased to have the chief thus propose the match, for they had already thought to marry their daughter to him, for he was also a brave warrior.

But there was one drawback. The ardent lover and would-be husband was a pagan, still under the spell of bad fairies, and the wrong kind of people, who told him not to believe in the true God. The men in whom he trusted, and whose advice he followed, would not go to church, or keep the Sabbath day. The good rulers of the church had passed a law, which they named “the truce of God”; that, at certain seasons of the year, during three days, there should be no fighting. But this pagan chief cared nothing for this law, and was very cruel in many ways. Nearly all the good people in Ireland called him a spalpeen.

Nevertheless, this chief was so rich and powerful, that Eileen’s parents insisted upon her marrying him. They hoped, too, that she, with her gentle ways, would change the brutish fellow’s disposition.

But Eileen thought that this would be like trying to tame a tiger, or a lion; for bad passions raged in him as in the wild beasts. Tigers and lions look very grand, but they are not pleasant to live with.

Seeing that her father was determined to marry her off to this cruel man, and had even named the day of the marriage, and that her mother was sewing upon her wedding dress, Eileen resolved to leave home and escape to Belgic Land, across the sea.

But how could she get away, and out of the country? She knew no ship captains or sailors. Then, as everybody knows, the coast of Ireland was studded with high, round towers, from which the sentinels could see all who came and went.

One night, weary of thinking over her troubles, she fell asleep and dreamed. And this was her dream.

A great company of fairies flew over the sea, from Belgic Land, and greeted her with welcoming hands, smiles and curtsies. They all seemed to be standing on a sod, cut from the ground, like a large garden. She recognized some of the flowers,—the marguerite daisy, with its round golden heart and white petals, like rays, or strips, around the centre; the lily, that grew along the river Lys, called the fleur-de-lys; the blue wax flower, and some Oriental plants, such as the tulip and orange blossom. Besides these, there were the hazel tree buds, the blossoms of the apple tree, and several other pretty things that grow in the lowlands of Flanders, or high up among the highlands of the Ardennes. Some had come from the East, and some from the South, but together they gave Eileen the idea that Belgic Land would make for her a charming home, because she loved flowers so dearly. They were to her, as the very thoughts of God.

In her dream also, she seemed to be out of doors, and on a high hill, overlooking the beautiful lakes of Killarney, when the fairy band, on the cloud-like garden, settled on the ground near her. The queen, or leader of the fairies, with a radiant star on her forehead, and a silvery wand in her right hand, stepped off the green sward and, dropping a curtsey, said:

“We have heard of your troubles, pretty maid, and have come to invite you to our country. You can travel on this magic sod, which will float on the water; and, in the fair weather of this coming day, you can reach our soil. Now, you must come with us.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Eileen, “but I cannot leave my shamrocks, and my chickens.”

“No, nor need you. Take them along with you. We’ll promise that you can keep them with you; or, we’ll change them into whatever form of life you may desire.”

Eileen quickly ran to the hen house, in her father’s croft, and gathered up her seven tiny chicks in her apron. This she held with one hand, while with the other, she grasped two shamrock plants, for she could not leave either of her favorites behind. She had to hurry, because the fairies can work only at night, and they all disappear at sunrise.

Returning from her father’s croft and barn, she stepped on the magic sod, and in a moment, was floating off and down towards the sea. By the time they had got well out upon the salt water, the eastern sky began to get, first gray, and then faintly red. Thereupon, the chief fairy spoke to her and said:

“We must disappear now, but we shall meet you in our Belgic land, and shall always help you. Don’t for one moment, be afraid. The sod will float you, and tomorrow night, we shall be there, on the strand, to greet you. Command us, for we love you, and will do your will. We are sure you will be happy in our country, where you are needed. Good-bye.” The chief fairy waved her wand, and at once the whole company disappeared.

Eileen looked around, over the floating garden, but every one of the fairies had vanished. There was nothing to be seen, but the flowers, the grass, and the little chicks, that were running about, as if they thought it great fun. Indeed, they were having the time of their lives; for, being so small, they thought the whole world was bounded by that sod.

Meanwhile, soft breezes were blowing, and the sun shone out, keeping her warm. She needed this, for she had come away with only the thin clothes, which she wore in the house.

Towards evening, she began to feel lonely, and cried for her mother. For the first time in her life, she was afraid. The little chicks had found some low branches of a bush; and, roosting there, comfortably had closed their eyes. They stuck their little heads under their tiny wings, and were soon fast asleep. Eileen envied them, for she was in terror, as the awful sense of loneliness, and of being so far away from home, and father and mother, came upon her. She kept wondering what they might be thinking about her. Would the fairies keep their promise? Or, would they forget? Might not the wind arise, and in the storm, would she not be drowned?

One by one, the bright planets came out, and the stars followed. Yet the larger lights seemed only to blink, and say, “what a foolish girl, to leave her home and go afar!”