Part 2

Oh, it was truly a famous library, containing the most wonderful books in the world, but none of which I had seen before, except the faery tales. In one recess I found the lost six books of Spenser’s _Faerie Queene_, the last tales told by Chaucer’s Canterbury Pilgrims, the end of Coleridge’s _Christabel_, some forgotten plays of Shakespeare, and many other books which had been lost on earth, or which the authors had failed to complete. I learned afterwards that they finished their earthly works in Faeryland, and that none of the books they had written during their lives were in the library, but only those they had not written.

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.

In another recess I found nothing but faery tales—_Jack and the Beanstalk_, _The White Cat_, _The Yellow Dwarf_, and many others, which were all marked _The Chronicles of Faeryland_.

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

I.

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.”

“I don’t care,” replied naughty Gillydrop; “I’m sure there is something in the Giants’ Country the King does not want us to know, and I am determined to find out what it is.”

So, in spite of all warnings, he spread his beautiful wings, which were spotted silver and blue, like a white-clouded sky, and flew away through the woods. It was night-time, for, of course, that is the faeries’ day, but the way to Giants’ Country was so long that by the time he reached the end of the forest, and came to the boundary of Faeryland, the red dawn was breaking, so he crept into the bosom of a rose, and, after getting a honey supper from a friendly bumble-bee, curled himself up to sleep.

All through the long day, while the sun was high in the blue sky, he slept, lulled by the swaying of the flower, which rocked like a cradle, and soothed by the whisper of the wind and the buzzing of the bees as they hummed round his rose-house.

At last the weary, hot day came to an end, the silver moon arose in the dark blue sky, the wind sighing through the forest made the delicate leaves tremble with its cool breath, and the elf awoke. He left the kind rose, which had sheltered him in her golden heart from the heat of the day, and flew towards the rippling stream which lies on the confines of Faeryland. Away in the distance, he could hear the murmuring laughter of the faeries, as they danced to the sound of elfin music, but he was too anxious to get into the Giants’ Country to trouble himself about his old friends.

Just as he was about to cross the boundary, the leaves of the Faery forest sighed out the word “Beware!” but, not heeding the warning, he flew across the stream, and found himself at last in the terrible country where dwelt the foolish giants and the evil ogres. As he alighted upon an enormous daisy, which was as large as a mushroom, a voice rang out from Faeryland, full and clear, like the sound of a beautiful bell:

“Never more come back you need, Till you’ve done some kindly deed.”

And so when Gillydrop looked back, he saw no green banks, no tall trees, no beautiful flowers, but only a wide grey ocean sleeping in sullen stillness under the cold light of the moon.

He was now flying over a dreary waste plain, with great circles of upright stones standing here and there, and a bitter cold wind blowing shrilly across the flat country towards the sullen grey sea. Had he not been able to fly, he would never have crossed the plain, because the grass stood up like mighty spears, and the furze bushes were like great trees. On every side he saw immense mountains, blue in the distance, lifting their snowy summits to the clouds, with great trees at their foot looking like enormous hills of leaves. There were no birds flying in the cold air, and no animals crawling on the bleak earth; everything seemed dead and silent, except the wind, which moaned through the mighty trees like the roaring of oceans.

There are no towns in Giantland, because the giants are not very fond of one another, and prefer to live by themselves in lonely castles among the mountains. Gillydrop knew this, but, although he looked on every side, he could see no sign of any castle, until at last he suddenly came on one which was quite in ruins, and so tumbled down that no one could possibly dwell in it. He flew on, feeling rather afraid, and came to another castle, also in ruins, with a huge white skeleton lying at the foot of a high tower, which was no doubt the skeleton of the giant who had lived there.

Then he found a third, a fourth, a fifth castle, all deserted and in ruins. It seemed as though all the giants were dead, and Gillydrop, in despair at the sight of such desolation, was about to fly back to Faeryland, when he suddenly thought of the voice which had said:

“Never more come back you need, Till you’ve done some kindly deed.”

Poor Gillydrop was now in a dreadful plight, and, folding his weary wings, he dropped to the ground, where he sat in the hollow of a buttercup, which was like a large golden basin, and wept bitterly. He could never return to Faeryland until he had done some kindly deed, but, as there was no one to whom he could do a good deed, he did not see how he could perform any, so cried dreadfully at the thought of living for evermore in the desolate Giants’ Country. So you see what his disobedience had brought him to, for, instead of dancing merrily with his friends in the Forest of Faeryland, he was seated, a poor, lonely little elf, in a dreary, dreary land, with no one to comfort him.

While he was thus weeping, he heard a sound like distant thunder; but, as there were no clouds in the sky, he knew it could not be thunder.

“It must be a giant roaring,” said Gillydrop, drying his eyes with a cobweb. “I’ll go and ask him where all his friends have gone.”

So he flew away in the direction from whence came the sound, and speedily arrived at a great grey castle, with many towers and battlements, perched on the top of a very high hill. At its foot rolled the Sea of Darkness, and round the tall towers the white mists were wreathed like floating clouds. There was a wide road winding up the steep sides of the rock to the castle door, which was as high as a church; but Gillydrop, having wings, did not use the road, so flew right into the castle through an open window.

The giant, whose name was Dunderhead, sat at one end of a large hall, cutting slices of bread from an enormous loaf which lay on the table in front of him. He looked thin,—very, very thin,—as though he had not had a good dinner for a long time; and he thumped the table with the handle of his knife as he sang this song, taking a large bit of bread between every verse:

THE GIANT’S SONG.

Oh, if my life grows harder, I’ll wish that I were dead! There’s nothing in the larder Except this crust of bread.

With hunger I am starving, And it would give me joy If just now I was carving A little girl or boy.

I’ve drunk up all the coffee, I’ve eaten all the lamb, I’ve swallowed all the toffee And finished all the jam.

I want to get some plum-cake— I only wish I could; For if I can’t get some cake I’ll die for want of food.

Here Dunderhead stopped singing with a roar of pain, for while cutting himself some more bread, the knife slipped and gashed his hand in a most terrible manner. A great spout of blood gushed out like a torrent and settled into a dark red pool on the table, while the giant, roaring with anger, wrapped up his wounded hand in his handkerchief, which was as large as a tablecloth.

“What are you crying about, giant?” asked Gillydrop, who had perched himself on the table, where he sat, looking like a green beetle.

“I’ve cut my finger,” said the giant in a sulky tone; “you’d cry, too, if you cut your finger. Don’t call me a giant—my name is Mr. Dunderhead. What is your name?”

“Gillydrop. I’m a faery.”

“I thought you were a beetle,” said Dunderhead crossly. “What do you want here?”

“I’ve come to see the giants, Mr. Dunderhead,” replied Gillydrop.

“You won’t see any, then,” said Dunderhead, making a face. “They’re all dead except me. I’m the last of the giants. You see, we ate up every boy and girl that lived near us, and all the sheep, and all the cattle, until there was nothing left to eat; and as none of us could cross the Sea of Darkness, every one died except me, and I won’t live long—this loaf is all I’ve got to eat.”

“Perhaps if I do a kindly deed to Dunderhead by getting him a meal, I’ll be able to go back to Faeryland,” thought Gillydrop, as he listened to the giant’s story.

“Well, what are you thinking about?” growled Dunderhead, cutting himself another slice of bread.

“I was thinking how I could get you some food,” replied Gillydrop.

“What! you?” roared the giant; “a little thing like you get me food! Ha, ha, ha!” and he thumped the table with his great fist.

Now, as he did this, everything on the table jumped up with the shock, and so did Gillydrop, who had no time to spread his wings and prevent himself falling; so when he fell he came down splash into the pool of blood. He gave a cry of terror when he fell in, and after crawling out with some difficulty, he found his beautiful green clothes were all red, just as if he had been dipped in red ink.

The rude giant laughed heartily at the poor elf’s plight, but to Gillydrop it was no laughing matter, for there is nothing the faeries dislike so much as the colour red.

“Oh dear, dear, dear!” sighed Gillydrop, while the tears ran down his face; “now I’ll never go back to Faeryland.”

“Why not?” asked Dunderhead, who was still eating.

“Because my clothes are red,” replied the elf ruefully; “no one who wears red clothes is allowed to live in Faeryland. Cannot I clean my clothes?”

“No,” answered the giant, taking a bit out of the loaf. “You are dyed red with my blood, and the only way to get your clothes green again is to wash them in my tears.”

“Oh, let me do it at once!” cried Gillydrop, jumping up and down with delight. “Do cry, Mr. Giant, please do.”

“I can’t cry when I’m told to,” growled Dunderhead; “but if you go to earth and bring me two nice fat children for supper, I’ll weep tears of joy, and then you can wash in my tears and become a green beetle again.”

“But how am I to bring the children here?” asked Gillydrop, who never thought of the poor children being eaten, but only how he could get his emerald suit once more.

“That’s your business,” growled Dunderhead crossly, for you see he had eaten all the loaf, and was still hungry. “I’m going to sleep, so if you want to clean your clothes, bring me the children, and you can wash in the tears of joy I shed.”

So saying, the giant leaned back in his chair and fell fast asleep, snoring so loudly that the whole room shook.

Poor Gillydrop, in his red clothes, spread his red wings, and, alighting on the beach of the Sea of Darkness, he wondered how he was to cross it, for he knew he was too feeble to fly all the way.

“Oh, I wish I hadn’t been naughty!” he said to himself. “I’ll never see my dear Faeryland again.”

And he cried red tears, which is a most wonderful thing, even for a faery to do. It was no use crying, however, for crying helps no one; so he looked about for a boat to carry him across the Sea of Darkness, but no boat could he see.

Gillydrop was almost in despair, when suddenly the sun arose in the east, and a broad shaft of yellow light shot across the Sea of Darkness like a golden bridge.

On seeing this, the Red Elf clapped his hands with glee, for, being a faery, he could easily run along a sunbeam; so, without waiting a moment, he jumped on to the broad golden path, and ran rapidly across the Sea of Darkness, which heaved in black billows below.

II.

HOW THE ELF BROUGHT THE GIANT’S SUPPER.

AS the sun grew stronger, the beam shot farther and farther across the Sea of Darkness, until it quite bridged it over, and you may be sure Gillydrop ran as hard as ever he could, so as to reach earth quickly. It was lucky he did make haste, for, just as he alighted on a green lawn near a village, the sun hid himself behind a cloud, and of course the beam vanished.

Having thus arrived, Gillydrop began to look about for two naughty children to take to the Giants’ Country for Dunderhead’s supper. He was very tired, both with his journey across the Sea of Darkness, and with being up all day, which was just the same to him as staying up all night would be to us. As he was anxious to get back to Faeryland, there was no time to be lost, so, instead of going to sleep, he searched all through the village for two naughty children.

Now, in one of the pretty cottages there lived a poor widow, who had two children called Teddy and Tilly, of whom she was very fond, as they were all she had in the world to love. I am sorry to say, however, that Teddy and Tilly were not worthy of their mother’s love, for they were very naughty indeed, and never so happy as when engaged in some mischief. Dame Alice, for that was the name of the poor widow, tried very hard to improve them, but it was really a waste of time, for the harder she tried the worse they became. They tore their nice clean clothes, worried the cat, destroyed the flowers, ate up everything they could lay their hands on, and altogether were a great trouble to their poor mother, who often wondered why her children were so much worse than any one else’s. Dame Alice, however, had still some hope that they would improve, for, having a few friends among the faeries, she had learned that some day both Teddy and Tilly would receive a severe lesson, which would make them the best and most obedient children in the world.

There was a wood, not far from the village, which was said to be enchanted, and Teddy and Tilly were told never to enter it, but this command only made them the more anxious to disobey, and they constantly wandered about the wood, never thinking of the faeries, nor of anything else, except their own pleasure. On the day Gillydrop arrived, they had been in the wood all day, gathering nuts and chasing the squirrels. Now, as it was sundown, they were coming home to their supper, quarrelling dreadfully all the way, which was very naughty of them after spending a pleasant day.

Gillydrop heard them calling each other names, so he peeped out from behind the leaf of a tree, where he was hidden, and, seeing their cross faces, he immediately guessed that they were two children who would do capitally for Dunderhead’s supper, so at once made up his mind how to act.

It was now night, and, as the faeries say, night is caused by the overflowing of the Sea of Darkness, which rises and rises when the sun goes down, until it rolls all over the earth, and any one abroad during the night is in danger of being lost in its black waves. At dawn, however, the sea subsides, and vanishes altogether when the sun appears; but when he sets in the west, it rises once more and spreads over the earth.

Gillydrop had brought with him a withered leaf from the Giants’ Country, which, being enchanted, would expand into a boat, and sail across the Sea of Darkness to the Giants’ Country, for, having come from there, it was bound to return to the tree upon which it had grown.

The Red Elf took this leaf out of his pocket, and immediately it spread out into a great brown carpet, which he placed under a tree in the darkest part, and then went away to entice the children on to it.

Teddy and Tilly came through the wood, quarrelling in a noisy manner, and calling each other ugly names; not a bit afraid of the dark, although they certainly ought to have been.

“You’re eating all the nuts,” bellowed Teddy.

“Well, I gathered them,” shrieked Tilly.

“No, you didn’t; I got most,” whimpered her brother crossly.

“Oh, you story! You didn’t,” retorted Tilly.

And then they called each other more ugly names, and fought and scratched until the whole wood resounded with their noise, and the birds trembled in their nests with fear.

Suddenly, in front of them, they saw a small red ball, glowing like a scarlet coal, and it kept dancing up and down like a restless will-o’-the-wisp.

“Oh, Teddy,” cried Tilly, “look at that pretty ball!”

“It’s mine!” roared greedy Teddy, rushing forward. “I’ll have it.”

“You shan’t!” cried Tilly, running after him. “I’ll get it.”

But the red ball—which was none other than Gillydrop—rolled and rolled in front of the children through the dark wood, and led them deeper and deeper into the forest, until it bounded right on to a brown carpet lying under a great tree, where it lay glowing like a red-hot coal. Teddy and Tilly jumped on to the brown carpet with a scream of delight, thinking they would now seize the ball, when suddenly the sides of the brown leaf curled up, and it lengthened out into a long boat. The darkness under it grew thicker and thicker, the foliage of the tree above vanished, and the two naughty children found themselves in a boat, rolling and tossing on the black waves, with a gloomy, starless sky above them. Away at the end of the boat sat Gillydrop, who had now unrolled himself, and was guiding the magic skiff across the Sea of Darkness towards the Country of the Giants.

“Oh, I want to go home!” cried Tilly, now very frightened.

“And so do I!” roared Teddy, sitting close to her.

As they said this, they both heard a mocking ripple of laughter, and saw the Red Elf dancing with glee at the end of the boat.

“You’ll never go home again,” he cried mockingly, “because you have been naughty, and must be punished.”

“I’ll never be naughty again,” sobbed Tilly.

“No more will I,” echoed Teddy; and they both wept bitterly.

“It’s too late now,” said Gillydrop, shaking his head. “Naughty children always get punished.”

He might have said the same thing about himself; but then he was a faery, and felt ashamed to tell two human beings that he had been as naughty as themselves.

Teddy and Tilly cried dreadfully as they thought of their poor mother waiting for them at home, and of the nice supper of bread and milk which she had prepared for them; but their tears were all of no avail, for the magic boat sailed on and on, though how it moved without sails or oars they could not tell.

At last they saw a faint silver light away in the distance, and a cool breeze blew steadily against them. The light grew larger and larger until it spread everywhere, and they saw the shores of the Giants’ Country, with Dunderhead’s great castle hovering above them. The boat ran right up on to the beach, and then, suddenly turning into a leaf, contracted to a small size and flew away to another beech, but this time the beech was a tree.

The Red Elf vanished as soon as the leaf, and Teddy and Tilly, finding themselves alone in this dreary land, began to cry loudly. It would have been better for them if they had held their tongues, for Dunderhead, hearing two children crying, knew at once that the elf had brought them for his supper, and came down to seize them before they could get away.

“Ah! this is the supper my friend the elf has brought me,” he roared, picking up the children. “I’m so pleased! Now I’ll boil them.”