The Fairy Godmothers and Other Tales Part 1

The Fairy G.o.dmothers and Other Tales.

by Mrs. Alfred Gatty.

THE FAIRY G.o.dMOTHERS.

In one of the beautiful bays on the coast of Fairy Land, a party of Fairies was a.s.sembled on a lovely evening in July. There are many beautiful bays on the coast of England, and there is one especially, my dear little readers, which you and I know of, where a long line of grand old rocks stretches far into the sea on the left-hand extremity, while in the distance to the right a warning lighthouse with its changing lights gives an almost solemn beauty to the scene; for one cannot help thinking, at the sight of it, of the poor storm-driven mariner, whom even that friendly light may fail to save from a sad and sudden death. But beautiful as this little bay is, of which I speak, and fond as we are of it, it is nothing, I do a.s.sure you, compared to the bays in Fairy Land! There, there are no light-houses reminding one painfully of danger and destruction near, but all is loveliness and peace; and even the rocks would be turned into soft pillows by the good-natured Fairies who inhabit the country, should any strange accident drive a mortal s.h.i.+p on that sh.o.r.e.

Also the bays in Fairy Land face to the west, which is a great advantage, for in an evening there you may sit and watch the golden sun dipping behind the waves; and the rich red tints he sends out upon the rocks before he sets, are beyond measure beautiful and attractive.

Especially, I believe, the Fairies enjoy this time of day, for they are odd little creatures, rather conceited, and fond of everything pretty; consequently they like to be floating about the rocks in their white dresses when the crimson and golden hues of sunset s.h.i.+ne on them, knowing very well they look like so many bright flowers on the occasion.

The day I speak of however had been very hot, and at the time I speak of, the Fairies felt a little lazy and were reclining on some rocks covered with sea-weed and amusing themselves by talking. In general the conversation of these little creatures is rather light and frivolous and gay; but it is really a fact that they were just then all serious together and all were engaged in a very profound conversation on human happiness.

I am sorry to have so many explanations to give, but I think it quite necessary to tell you the reason of so uncommon an event as a party of Fairies being serious. Well then, there were going to be, very shortly, several extremely gay christenings in the world, and some of the Fairies had been invited to attend at them as G.o.dmothers, in order that they might bestow Fairy gifts on the different infants.

Four or five of the christenings were to take place the next day, and the Fairies who were going were discussing with each other what gifts they should bestow, and as their only object was to ensure the happiness of the children for whom they were interested, they naturally fell into a discourse as to what gifts were most likely to have so charming an effect. "Your G.o.dchild is a girl too, I believe,"

said Euphrosyne to Ianthe [Fairies are privileged, you know, to have romantic names] "what do you think of bestowing upon her?" "Why,"

answered Ianthe, "the old story, I suppose--BEAUTY: at least such was my intention, but if you can any of you show me I am wrong in supposing it a cause of happiness to the mortal race, why, I suppose I must give her ugliness instead."

"Sister, I hope you will do no such thing," murmured a young Fairy who lay near twining seaweeds into a wreath. "I never until this evening heard a doubt upon the subject, and to tell you the truth the only time I ever envy a mortal is when I see a regular beauty enter a large a.s.sembly. Oh, the triumph of that moment! Every eye turned upon her; murmurs of admiration, not unmixed with envy, greeting her as she sweeps along; everyone courting her acquaintance; a word, a smile of hers more valued than a pearl or a ruby. A sort of queen of Nature's own making, reigning royally in undisputed sway, let her circ.u.mstances of life be what they may! Look how mean the richest woman who is ugly looks by the side of her! No no, dear Ianthe, make your little lady handsome, and you have done the best that Fairy can do for her. I declare I envy her beforehand! Here where we are all so beautiful together there is no interest or excitement about it--it is quite flat." And so saying the young fairy Leila laid herself down to her wreath again. "Why, Leila, you are absolutely eloquent!" observed Ianthe, "Beauty it certainly must be."

"Oh, I declare," pursued Ianthe, rousing up again, "I have sometimes really wished myself ugly, that I might some day have the pleasure of suddenly finding myself beautiful!"

"Oh, but then," said a Fairy from behind, "is there no danger of your regular beauty, as you call her, getting as tired of being beautiful as you are, and wis.h.i.+ng herself ugly too?"

"Certainly, not," answered Ianthe, "for, for an earthly beauty there would always be the excitement of being envied."

"Come, come," persisted the former speaker, "then the gift of being envied would be the best thing to bestow, at all events a necessary addition."

"Oh," cried Leila, stopping her ears, "I can't argue, I never could--I can't hear any more, I am quite satisfied that I am right; you can't argue away the pleasure of being a beauty in a ball-room. Ask any of them themselves."

"Well," said Ianthe, "we need pursue the subject no further. I am resolved. My baby is to be beautiful, beautiful as the dawn of the morning; they shall call her Aurora!"

"I shall not follow your example," observed Euphrosyne, "I don't at all like that notion of the necessity of _envy_ to make the beauty's joy complete. Besides, I'm not at all sure beauty is not much more charming in idea than in possession. n.o.body spend their lives in entering a ball-room, and one gets sadly tired of one's own face. I'm sure _I_ do, beautiful as it is;" and as she spoke the Fairy stooped over a clear tide pool which mirrored her lovely countenance; "and yet look what a nose I have! It is absolutely exquisite! And this hair!"

and she held up her long silken curling tresses and looked at them reflected in the water as she spoke. A musical laugh rang through the fairy group. Euphrosyne resumed her seat. "There isn't a mortal damsel in the world who would not go into raptures to resemble me," pursued she, "and yet--but, oh dear, I am getting quite prosy, and it is quite useless, for Ianthe has decided. I, on the contrary, am thinking of something far less romantic and interesting, but I suspect far more necessary to the happiness of mortals than beauty--I mean RICHES."

"Men are horribly fond of them, certainly," observed the Fairy from behind, whose name was Ambrosia. "I can't endure men on that very account. Look at the grubby wretched lives they lead in counting-houses and banks, and dreadful dingy holes and corners of great towns, where we wouldn't set the soles of our feet, and this for forty or fifty years, perhaps, in order that in the fifty-first, or perhaps later still, they may turn into b.u.t.terflies for the little bit of life that is left to them. And such b.u.t.terflies, too! not knowing what to do with their gay coats and fine wings when they get them at last."

"I think you are putting an extreme case," observed Euphrosyne.

"Though the grubs themselves may not thoroughly enjoy the riches they have so laboriously acquired, their children or grandchildren may, and live at ease and enjoy them. I should not think of bestowing great riches on uneducated paupers. But it is another matter to give them to people whom education has refined, and who would know how to enjoy and employ them."

"I wonder," suggested a very little Fairy, scarcely grown to her full size, "why you don't just give your G.o.dchildren moderate good health, and enough money to make them quite comfortable without puzzling them?"

"You are a complete Solomon," observed Euphrosyne, "but you must know, my dear, that moderate good health and a mere comfortable competency would hardly be considered Fairy gifts by our friends in the lower world. These things are, as it were, the absolute _necessities_ of a happy life; they are the beef and mutton (to borrow an earthly simile) of the entertainment. Fairy gifts form the somewhat unnecessary (and questionably wholesome) second course, the sweets, the bonbons, the luscious luxuries of the repast.

"Very few, by comparison, get them. Very few infants you know have Fairy G.o.dmothers, but we make it a rule that those who have, shall always be distinguished from the crowd. Other-wise our power would not be believed in. No, my little Aglaia, all our G.o.dchildren start from the point you spoke of--'caeteris paribus,' as those dingy black lawyers say--all other things being equal--it is a question now of bestowing extra superfine Fairy gifts."

Aglaia t.i.ttered--"I know Sister Euphrosyne is thinking of the christening suppers, and the whipped creams, and the syllabubs!" and away she tripped to the other end of the bay, lest the older Fairies should scold her for impertinence.

"Certainly," pursued Euphrosyne, "I have a great contempt for riches myself. Bah! the idea of all the troublesome as well as wicked things men do in order that they may be able to keep a lumbering thing they call a carriage, to drive them round a dirty town. Just think of that one thing alone! It is hardly credible." And Euphrosyne laid her head by the side of Leila's, and looked up into the deep blue sky.

"Remember," said Ambrosia, from behind, "it is a choice with poor mortals between heavy foot-walking, and the lumbering vehicles you talk of. Perhaps when their legs ache terribly, the carriages are not such bad things. We can hardly judge dispa.s.sionately in such a matter, we who can float and fly!" and the delicate Ambrosia, springing up, floated softly round the bay, and then returned smiling to her companions. "It made me almost ill to think of aching legs," observed she, "how I do pity the mortal race!"

"How pretty you looked as the sun shone golden upon your white robe,"

exclaimed Leila, "It was a sight for a mortal painter to die of!"

"A genius for painting would be a grand Fairy gift," observed Ianthe.

"Too doubtful of success," answered Euphrosyne, "and the Musician's power the same; besides musicians always die young and with exhausted minds. The art is too much for mortal nerves."

"Their atmosphere is too thick," said Leila. "How tired I am of your discussions! Let us sing! Whatever music may be to them, it is food to us."

Then all those beautiful Fairies arose and joining hands on the rocks they sang to the now dying Sun a chorus of Fairy Land! Now and then these ravis.h.i.+ng melodies are permitted to reach to mortal ears: chiefly in dreams to the sick and sorrowful, for Fairies have great compa.s.sion on such, and allow them a distant taste of this, the most exquisite of their enjoyments.

There was no more discussion that night, nor did they argue much the next morning. There was the rising sun to welcome from the sleeping caves on the eastern side of their country, and the bath to be enjoyed, and their wings to plume, and sweet odours to gather from the early flowers; and the time pa.s.sed so quickly, they only met to take a hurried leave. "We must understand each other however, before we separate," said Euphrosyne.

"Dear Ianthe, your Gift is Beauty?" "It is." "And mine is Riches,"

said Euphrosyne. "All the pleasures of life shall be at my G.o.dchild's feet," said another Fairy, laughing. "If that will not ensure happiness, I know not what will." Ambrosia held back--"Your choice, dear Sister?" asked Euphrosyne.

"Come! we have no time to lose."

"It must remain a secret," was the reply. "Our discourse yesterday evening was so thoughtful, so sad, I could not sleep. I arose hours before you this morning, ere daylight streaked the sky. Dear Sisters, how shocked you will be to hear I wept; but now I have determined. If my gift succeed I will tell you all about it, or you shall guess it yourselves; for I now propose that our Fairy Gifts this year shall be a sort of experiment on human happiness. Let us from time to time visit in company our young charges, and let the result--that is, which of our Gifts is proved to confer the greatest amount of happiness, be written in the archives of our kingdom for the future benefit of the mortal race."

A murmur of approbation rose, sweet as the vibration of a harp-chord through the a.s.sembly.

There was no time for enquiry about the other gifts: the travelling Fairies arose and beat their gauzy wings upon the western breeze. A melodious rus.h.i.+ng was just audible; the distant murmurs of the earthly sea the most resemble that sweet dream of sound. In a few moments the departing sisters became invisible, and those who remained returned to float by the sea sh.o.r.e, or make sweet music in the bowers of their enchanted land.

Time is a very odd sort of thing, dear readers. We neither know whence it comes nor whither it goes;--nay we know nothing about it in fact except that there is one little moment of it called the present, which we have as it were in our hands to make use of--but beyond this we can give no account of, even that little moment. It is ours to use, but not to understand. There is one thing in the world, however, quite as wonderful, and quite as common, and that is, _the Wind_. Did it never strike you how strange it was that the strongest thing in the world should be _invisible_? The nice breezes we feel in summer and the roughest blasts we feel in winter in England are not so extremely strong you will say: but I am speaking, besides these, of the winds called hurricanes that arise in the West Indian Islands, and in other places in the world. These dreadful hurricanes have at times done as much mischief as earthquakes and lightning. They tear down the strongest trees, overthrow the firmest houses and spread ruin and desolation around, and yet this terrible power, so tremendous, and against which the cleverest contrivances can provide no defence, is as invisible as the great Maker of Heaven and Earth. How unbelieving many people would look if you told them of a dreadful creature that was coming to the world, which could be heard to roar, be felt to knock down every thing in its path--men, women and children, houses, churches, towers, castles, cities, and trees the most firmly rooted--and yet which you could never catch the faintest glimpse of, for it was always invisible, even when it roared the loudest! As invisible then, as when in its mildest moods, it, as it were, purred softly over the country like a cat. How the good people would laugh, and tell you you were very silly to believe in such a thing. Yet I think this is not at all an incorrect description of the great invisible Power WIND. Now the lesson we may learn from this is to be humble-minded; for since we live in the constant presence of a Power we cannot see, we ought to feel it is equally possible other Powers may exist of which our other senses cannot take cognizance. There is an old proverb--"Seeing is believing"--but you perceive, dear readers, we are forced to believe in the wind though we never see him at all.

To return to Time who is travelling fast on while I am rambling after the wind, he has puzzled the artists a good deal I should say, for with all their skill at representation they have never hit upon any better idea of him than an old Man with wings. An old man with wings!

Can you fancy anything so unnatural! One can quite understand beautiful young Angels with wings. Youth and power and swiftness belong to them. Also Fairies with wings are quite comprehensible creatures; for one fancies them so light and airy and transparent, living upon honey dew and ambrosia, that wings wherewith to fly seem their natural appendages. But the decrepitude of old age and the wings of youth and power are a strange mixture:--a bald head, and a Fairy's swiftness!--how ridiculous it seems, and so I think I may well say Time is a very odd sort of thing.

Among those who have to deal with Time, few are more puzzled how to manage him than we story-tellers. In my first chapter, for instance, I gave you a half-hour's conversation among some Fairies, but I think you would be very angry with me were I to give you as exactly every half-hour that pa.s.sed over the heads of the little girls with Fairy G.o.dmothers, till they grew up. How you would scold, dear little readers, if I were to enter into a particular description of each child's Nurse, and tell whether Miss Aurora, Miss Julia, Miss Hermione, &c. &c. &c. were brought up on baked flour, groat-gruel, rusks, tops and bottoms, or revalenta food! Whether they took more castor-oil, or rhubarb and magnesia; whether they squalled on those occasions or were very good. When they cut their teeth and how, together with all the &c. and ups and downs of Nursery life which large families, such as you and I belong to, go through daily.

Well then, suppose I altogether pa.s.s over a period of ten years, and enter into no minute particulars respecting that portion of Time. You must know that the Fairies had agreed that all the children should have the same (and rather a large) amount of intellect, or what you would call cleverness: that is to say, they were all equally capable of learning anything they chose to learn: also they had all fair health, plenty to eat and drink, and all the so called "necessary"

comforts of life.

Now then to our story.

At the end of ten years the Fairies agreed to go and have a peep how their charges were going on. They quite knew that nothing decisive could be found out, till the children had come to years of discretion and were their own mistresses. Still they thought it would amuse them just to go and see how the charms were working, as it were; so, away they went.

Now picture to yourselves a nice large nursery, much such a one as your own, in which several children are playing. The eldest, a girl of ten, you may see yonder lounging--gracefully perhaps--but still _lounging_ in a rocking chair which she is swinging backwards and forwards, having set it in motion by the action of her foot on the floor. What a lovely face! I do not think you ever saw one so handsome except in a print in one of Mamma's best picture books. All the features are perfectly good and in proportion, and the dark blue eyes are fringed by the longest eyelashes ever seen. The hair of this little girl too--look at it, as the soft chestnut ringlets wave about on her shoulders as she swings, and show the round richness of the curls.

Now if you ask about the expression on her face, I must tell you it was rather languid and "_pensieroso_." Pensieroso is an Italian word really meaning thoughtful--but this little girl was not _thinking_, for then the expression of her face would have been much stronger and firmer and less languid; but the word has got to be used for a sort of awake-dreamy state when one lets thoughts float lazily along without having any energy to dwell upon them, and see whether they are good or bad.

The thought that was pa.s.sing through this little girl's head at the time I mention and which made her look so languid and pensieroso, was