An Enchanted Garden: Fairy Stories

The ladies stared – the Queen’s behaviour had been so strange they could not understand her.

“It is a pity to be so anxious about the child,” they said to each other. “It will bring no blessing,” for they thought it all came from the Queen’s foolish terror lest the little Princess should catch cold, and they shook their heads.

But the Queen seemed full of thankfulness, very gentle, and subdued. Many times that afternoon she came back to see if little Rose was well – the baby looked a picture of health, but – she was still sleeping.

“The fresh keen air has made her drowsy, I suppose,” said the head nurse, late in the evening when the Queen returned again.

“And she has had nothing to eat since the middle of the day,” said the mother, anxiously. “I almost think if she does not wake of herself in an hour or so, you will have to rouse her.”

To this the nurse agreed. But two hours later, on the Queen’s next visit to the nursery, there was a strange report to give her. The nurse had tried to wake the baby, but it was all in vain. Little Rose just smiled sweetly and rolled over on her other side, without attempting in the least to open her eyes. It seemed cruel to disturb her. She was so very sleepy.

“I think we must let the Princess have her sleep out – children are like that sometimes,” said the nurse.

And the Queen was forced to agree to it, though she had a strange sinking at the heart, and even the King when he came to look at his little daughter felt uneasy, though he tried to speak cheerfully.

“No doubt she will awake in the morning quite bright and merry,” he said, – “all the brighter and merrier for sleeping a good round and a half of the clock.”

The morning dawned – the slow-coming winter daylight of the north found its way into the Princess’s nursery through the one thickly glazed window – a tiny gleam of ruddy sunshine even managed to creep in to kiss her dimpled cheek, but still the baby slept – as soundly as if the night was only beginning. And matters grew serious.

It was no use trying to wake her. They all did their best – King, Queen, ladies, nurses; and after them the great court physicians and learned men of every kind. All were summoned and all consulted, and as the days went on, a hundred different things were tried. They held the strongest smelling salts to her poor little nostrils; the baby only drew up her small nose the least bit in the world and turned over again with a tiny snore. They rang the bells, they had the loudest German bands to be found far or near to play all at once in her room; they fetched all the pet dogs in the neighbourhood and set them snarling and snapping at each other close beside her; as a last resource they lifted her out of bed and plunged her into a cold bath – she did not even shiver!

And with tears rolling down their faces, the Queen and the ladies and the nurses wrapped her up again and put her back cosily to bed, where she seemed as contented as ever, while they all sat down together to have a good cry, which, sad to say, was of no use at all.

“She is bewitched,” said the cleverest of all the doctors, and as time went on, everybody began to agree with him. Even the King himself was obliged to think something of the kind must be at the bottom of it, and at last one day the Queen, unable to endure her remorse any longer, told him the whole story, entreating him to forgive her for having by her discontent and murmuring brought upon him so great a sorrow.

The King was very kind but very grave.

“I understand it now,” he said. “The summer fairy told you true. Our northern Winter Spirit is indeed stern and implacable; we must submit – if we are patient and resigned it is possible that in the future even his cold heart may be melted by the sight of our suffering.”

“It is only I who deserve it,” wept the poor Queen. “The worst part of it all is to know that I have brought this sorrow upon you, my dear husband.”

And so repentant was she that she almost forgot to think of herself – never had she been so sweet and loving a wife. She did everything she possibly could to please and cheer the King, concealing from him the many bitter tears she shed as she sat for hours together beside the sleeping child.

The winter was terribly severe – never had the snow lain more thickly, never had the wind-blasts raged and howled more furiously. Often did the Queen think to herself that the storm spirits must be infuriated at her very presence in their special domain.

“They might pity me now,” she thought, “now that I am so punished;” but she bore all the winter cold and terrors uncomplainingly, nay, even cheerfully, nerving herself to go out alone in the bitterest weather with a sort of hope of pleasing the winter fairy; possibly if she could but see him, of making an appeal to him. But for many months he held his icy sway – often indeed it seemed as if gentler times were never to return.

Then suddenly one night the frost went; a mild soft breeze replaced the fierce blast; spring had come. And wonderful to relate, the very next morning the Queen was roused by loud knockings and voices at her door; trembling, she knew not why, she opened it; and the head nurse fell at her feet laughing and crying at once. The Princess had awakened!

Yes; there she was, chattering in her baby way, smiling and rosy, as if nothing had been the matter. She held out her arms to her mother, calling “Mamma,” in the most delightful way; she knew her father again quite well; she was very hungry for her breakfast. Oh! the joy of her parents, and the jubilation all through the palace! I could not describe it.

And all through the summer little Rose was wide awake, in the day-time that is to say, just like other children. She was as well and strong and happy as a baby could be. But – the summer will not last for ever; again returned the autumn bringing with it the signs of the approaching winter, and one morning when her nurse went to awaken the Princess, she found it was no use – Rose was sleeping again, with a smile on her face, calm and content, but alas! not to be awakened! And then it was remembered that the first snow had fallen during the night.

More to satisfy the Queen than with the hope of its doing any good, all the efforts of the year before were repeated, but with no success. And gradually the child’s distressed parents resigned themselves to the sad truth: their daughter was to be theirs only for half her life; for full six months out of every twelve, she was to be in a sense as far away from them as if the winter monarch had carried her off to his palace of ice altogether.

But no; it was not quite so bad as that would have been. And the Queen, who was fast learning to count her blessings instead of her troubles, smiled through her tears as she said to the King what a mercy it was that they were still able to watch beside their precious child – to kiss her soft warm cheek every morning and every night.

And so it went on. In the spring the Princess woke up again, bright and well and lively, and in every way six months older than when she had fallen asleep; so that, to see her in the summer time, no one could have guessed the strange spell that was over her. She became the sweetest and most charming girl in the world; only one thing ever saddened her, and that was any mention of the winter, especially of snow.

“What does it mean?” she would ask sometimes. “What are they talking of? Show me this wonderful thing! Where does it grow? I want to see it.”

But no one could make her understand; and at these times a very strange look would come into her blue eyes.

“I must see it,” she said. “Some day I shall go away and travel far, far, till I find it.”

These words used to distress her mother more, than she could say; and she would shower presents and treasures on her daughter, of flowers and singing-birds, and lovely embroidered dresses – all to make her think of the sunshine and the summer. And for the time they would please the girl, till again she shook her head and murmured – “I want the snow.”

So the years followed each other, till Rose was sixteen. Every winter the Queen had a faint hope, which, however, grew ever fainter and fainter, that the spell was perhaps to be broken. But it was not so. And strange stories got about concerning the Princess – some saying she was a witch in disguise; others that she had no heart or understanding; others that she turned into a bird or some animal during half her life – so that the neighbouring Princes, in spite of her beauty and sweetness, were afraid to ask her in marriage. And this brought new sorrow to her parents. For she was their only child.

“What will become of her after we are dead and gone?” they said. “Who will care for and protect our darling? Who will help her to rule over our nation? No people will remain faithful to a sovereign who is only awake half the year. There will be revolts and rebellion, and our angel Rose may perhaps be put to death, or driven away.”

And they fretted so over this, that the hair of both King and Queen grew white long before its time. But Rose only loved them the more on this account, for she had heard some one say that white hair was like snow; though she kept the fancy to herself, for she knew it troubled the Queen if ever she mentioned the strange, mysterious word.

She was so lovely that painters came from many countries just to see her face, and, if possible, be allowed to make a picture of her. And one of these portraits found its way to the court of a King who was a distant cousin of her father, and who had heard the strange things said of the Princess. He was very angry about it, for he had two sons, and he was afraid of their falling in love with the beautiful face. So he ordered the picture to be destroyed before the elder Prince, who was away on a visit, came home.

But the servant who was to burn the picture thought it such a pity to do so, that he only hid it away in a lumber-room; and thither, as fate would have it, came the younger Prince one day in search of a pet kitten of his sister’s which had strayed away; for he was a Prince of a most kind and amiable nature.

The moment he saw the picture he fell in love with it. He made inquiry, and heard all there was to tell. Then he arrayed himself for a journey, and came to bid his father farewell.

“I go,” he said, “to woo the Princess Rose for my bride.” And in spite of all the king could say he kept firm.

“If she is a witch,” he said, “I would rather perish by her hands than live with any other.”

And amidst tears and lamentations he set out.

He was received with great delight at the court of Princess Rose’s parents, though he came without any pomp or display; for he lost no time in telling the King and Queen the reason of his visit. Knowing him to be a Prince of most estimable character, they were overjoyed to hear of his resolve.

“I only trust,” said the Queen, “that all may go well. But, as you have doubtless heard, our darling child, despite her beauty and goodness, is under a strange spell.”

She then proceeded to tell him the whole matter, of which he had already heard garbled accounts.

He was relieved to find that the enchantment was of no worse a nature, and declared that it made no difference in his intentions, but rather increased his love for the Princess. And when he first set eyes on her (more beautiful by far than even the beautiful portrait), he felt that his whole life would not be too much to devote to her, even considering her strange affliction.

“And who knows,” he said to himself, “but that such love as mine may find out a way to release her from the spell?”

The Princess quickly learned to like him. She had never before had a companion so near her own age, and the last days of the summer passed most happily, till the time came when the Prince thought he might venture to ask her to be his wife.

They were walking on the terrace in front of the castle when he did so. It had been a lovely day, but the afternoon had grown chilly; and as the Princess listened to his words, a cold breath of wind passed near them.

The Princess started; and, aware of the Queen’s anxiety about her, the Prince hastily proposed that they should return to the house; but Rose looked at him with a light in her eyes which he had never before seen, and a strange smile broke over her face.

“It is new life to me,” she said.

“Can you not understand, you who are yourself a child of the north? Yes, Prince, I will marry you on one condition, that you will show me the snow – but on no other.”

Then she turned, and, without another word, walked slowly back to the palace.

Prince Orso, for so he was called, felt terribly distressed.

“The spell is upon her,” he thought to himself. “She asks me to do what would probably kill her, or separate her for ever from all who love her.” And the King and Queen, when they heard his story, were nearly as disappointed as he.

But that very night the Prince had a strange dream. He thought he was walking in the wood near the castle, when again a chill blast, but still more icy, swept past him, and he heard a voice speaking to him. It sounded hoarse and stern.

“Orso,” it said, “you’re as foolish as the rest. Have you no trust? See what came of rebellion against me, who, after all, love my many children as dearly as does my sister of the summer. Leave the Princess to the leadings of her own heart, and dare not to interfere.”

Then with a crash as of thunder the spirit went on his way. And the Prince awoke to find that the window of his room had been dashed in by the force of a sudden gale which had arisen.

But the next morning all was again calm. It almost seemed as if the milder weather was returning again; and the Queen looked brighter; but it was not so with the Princess, who was silent and almost sad. And so things continued for some days.

At last the Prince could bear it no longer. One afternoon when he found himself alone with the Princess, he turned to her suddenly.

“Princess,” he said, “can you not give me another answer? You must know that I would fain promise anything you wish; but I dare not bind myself to what might perhaps do you some injury.”

Rose turned towards him impatiently.

“That is just it,” she said. “I am always met by excuses when I ask for the one thing I really desire. What is there about me different from others? Why should I so often hear of what others seem to understand, and not have it explained to me? I am no longer a child; in my dreams I see things I cannot put in words; and beautiful as the world is, I feel that I only half know it. I long for what they call the winter, and what they call the snow, and they never come. Only the cold wind, which I have felt once or twice, brings new life to me, and fills me with strange joy.”

The Prince hesitated. He understood her perfectly, for he was himself of the same brave and hardy race. Yet the Queen’s forebodings made him tremble. The Princess’s words reminded him of his own dream; and again he felt as if he heard the voice of the stern Winter Spirit. And as if in answer to his uncertainty, at that moment the howl of the cold blast sounded near them among the trees, and lurid clouds began to gather overhead.

The Princess’s face lighted up.

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “it is coming again!”

“I fear so indeed,” said Orso; and in his terror for her he caught her hand and would have hurried her back to the palace.

But at that moment a shrill little cry was heard overhead not far from where they stood, and glancing up they saw a bird of prey clutching a smaller one in his claws. With a terrible effort the captive managed to free himself, but he was sadly wounded; and as Rose gazed upwards in great concern, she saw him fall fluttering feebly to the ground. All else was forgotten in the sight.

“Poor bird,” she cried. “Let me go, Prince; I must find him where he has fallen, or a cruel death of slow suffering will be his.”

The Prince loosed her hand; he dared not hold her back, though he could have done so.

“Leave her to the guidings of her own heart,” resounded in his ears.

Almost at once she was lost to his sight among the trees which grew very closely; almost at the same moment, to his horror, something cold and soft touched his face, and lifting his eyes, he saw that the snowflakes were falling thickly. If harm was to betide, it was too late to save her; but he pressed forward in unspeakable anxiety.

It was some little time before he found her; and no reply came to his calls; but at last he caught sight of something blue on the ground. It was the Princess’s robe; and there, indeed, she lay motionless – her eyes closed, a sweet smile on her face, the little wounded bird tenderly clasped in her hands.

And now I may tell you that this wounded bird was the friend from whom I had the story; for, as you will hear, he had plenty of opportunity of learning it all.

Orso threw himself on the ground beside the Princess.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “my carelessness has killed her. How can I ever dare to face the King and Queen? Oh! Winter Spirit, you have indeed deceived me.”

But as he said the words the Princess opened her eyes.

“No, Prince,” she said. “I am not dead. I am not even asleep. It was the strange gladness that seemed to take away my breath for a moment, and I must have sunk down without knowing. But now I feel stronger and happier than ever in my life before, now that I have seen and felt the beautiful snow of my own country, now that I have breathed the winter air I have been longing for always,” and she sprang to her feet, her blue eyes sparkling with delight, looking lovelier than he had ever seen her.

“Orso,” she went on, half shyly, “you have done what I asked you; through you I have seen the snow,” and she held out her hand, which, white though it was, looked pink in comparison with the little flakes which were fluttering down on it.

The Prince was overjoyed, but he hesitated.

“I fear,” he said, “that in reality you should rather thank the poor little bird, or most of all your own kind heart.”

“Poor little bird,” she replied, looking at it as it lay in her other hand. “It is not dead. I will do all I can for it! Let us hasten home, Prince, so that I may bind up its poor wing. My father and mother too will be anxious about me.”

And together they returned to the palace. One glance at the Princess as she came in sprinkled over with snow showed the Queen that the spell was at last broken. And her joy was past all words.

My friend recovered slowly. He spent all the winter in the palace, tenderly cared for by the Princess Rose, only flying away when the warm sunny days returned. He pays them a visit still every summer to show his gratitude, and tells me that in all his travels he seldom sees a happier family than his friends in the old palace away up in the far, far northern land.

“Thank you,” said the children, “Thank you, oh so much!” But whether the bird heard them or not they could not tell – he had already flown away.

Chapter Nine.

The Christmas Surprise

For some days the story of the bewitched Princess gave Rafe and Alix enough to talk about, and to play at too, for they invented a game in which Alix was supposed to fall into an enchanted sleep if Rafe succeeded in touching her with a branch of leaves, which represented snowflakes; and as she was a very quick runner it was not so easy as it sounds.

Besides, by this time the Easter holidays were over and lessons had begun again. The children had not too many lessons, however, and always a good part of the afternoon to themselves, and they remained faithful to the old garden as their favourite playground. So some hours of every day – of every fine day at least – were spent there, and though they had not seen the old caretaker a second time, nor ever managed to find the concealed door in the rough stone wall again, hunt for it as they would, still they had sometimes a queer, mysterious, pleasant feeling that she knew about them – knew they were there, and was perhaps even peeping out at them through some hidden hole.

It would have been a great sorrow to them if they had had to give up their visits to the garden. But fortunately their nurse rather approved of their playing there. There was something that brought good luck with it about the Lady wood grounds. No ill-chance ever happened to them there, no tumbles or sprained ankles, or torn clothes, or such not uncommon misfortunes when children are by themselves. Best of all, they almost never quarrelled when in the old garden, and perhaps that had a good deal to do with the keeping clear of other troubles.

They were growing “quite to be trusted,” nurse told their mother, and it scarcely seemed needful for them to go regular walks now, which nurse was very glad of, as it left her free to get on nicely with all the needlework, in which – next to a baby, and there had been no new baby since Alix – her heart delighted.

So the discovery of the pleasures of the deserted manor suited everybody.

But after a while, the children began to think it was time to have another story, and to wonder if their old friend had forgotten them, or possibly gone away. There was no use hunting any more for the hidden door; they had hurt their fingers and tired themselves to no purpose in doing so already. And at last they came to the conclusion that if Mrs Caretaker didn’t want them to find it, it was no use trying, and that if she did, she would soon find ways and means of fetching them.

“Unless, of course,” said Alix, “she has gone. Perhaps she’s like the birds, you know – only turned the other way. I mean perhaps she goes off in the summer, once she’s started everything, and all the plants and things are growing beautifully now, in their wild way. You see she’s not like a regular trim gardener – she doesn’t want them to grow all properly like you can see anywhere.”

“Still she must take great care of them somehow,” said Rafe thoughtfully, “for you know people often notice how few weeds there are about Ladywood, and in full summer the wild flowers are quite wonderful. And the birds – it’s always here the nightingales are heard the best.”

Alix looked up. They were sitting in their favourite place, at the foot of some very tall trees.

“If we’d had any sense,” she said, “we might almost have seen for ourselves long ago that there was something fairy about the place, even before the wren led us here.”

The mention of the wren made her remember something she had noticed.

“Rafe,” she went on, “do you know I’ve seen a little robin hopping about us the last day or two, and chirping in a talking sort of way. I forgot to tell you. I wonder if he has anything to say to us, for you know there were two birds that wanted to tell us stories.”

“Per – ” began Rafe in his slow fashion.

But before he had time to get to “haps” his sister caught hold of his arm.

“Hush!” she whispered, “there he is.”

Yes, there he was, and “he” was a robin.

He hopped about in front of them for a minute or two, now and then cocking his head on one side and looking at them over his shoulder, as it were, as if to see whether he had caught their attention. Then he flew up a little way, and settled himself on a branch not far from them, with a peculiar little chirp.

“I believe,” said Alix, still in a whisper, “I believe he wants us to speak to him.”

“Try,” replied Rafe.

“Robin,” said Alix, clearly though softly, “robin, have you come to see us? Have you got a message for us from Mrs Caretaker, perhaps?”

The bird looked at her reproachfully. I don’t know that she could see it was reproachfully, but from the way he held his head it was plain to any one that he was not altogether pleased.

Then came a succession of chirps, and gradually, just as had happened before, by dint of listening very attentively and keeping quite, quite quiet, bits of words and then words themselves began to grow out of the chirping. To tell the truth, if any one had passed that way, he or she would have imagined Rafe and Alix were asleep. For there they sat, like a picture of the babes in the wood – Alix’s head resting on her brother’s shoulder, and his arm thrown round her —quite motionless. But they weren’t asleep, of course, for their two pairs of eyes were fixed on the little red-breasted fellow up above them.