Chapter I: Part 1

FAIRY DREAMS.

FAIRY DREAMS;
OR,
WANDERINGS IN ELF-LAND.

BY
JANE G. AUSTIN.

With illustrations,
BY HAMMATT BILLINGS.

BOSTON:
J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by
J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court
of the District of Massachusetts.

CAMBRIDGE:
Allen and Farnham, Electrotypers.

PRINTED BY
GEO. C. RAND & AVERY.

CONTENTS

PRINCE RUDOLF’S FLOWER 9

KÖNIG TOLV’S BRIDE 50

THE GRAY CAT AND THE CAVE OF THE WINDS 86

THE FROST-MAIDEN 134

UNDER THE SEA 156

THE CASTLE ON THE CLIFF 197

PRINCE RUDOLF’S FLOWER

The palace clock with twelve sonorous peals announced the hour of noon; and as the last vibrating echo died away, King Merowald entered the audience-chamber and seated himself upon the throne, looking around upon the nobles and courtiers who stood about him.

“Is there any among you who would ask a boon of the king?” inquired he, in a gracious voice.

A short pause ensued, and then from the lower end of the hall, a handsome, graceful youth approached quickly and knelt upon one knee before the throne.

The aged king bent forward with a movement of surprise; the glittering crowd of courtiers rustled their silken garments for a moment, and each moved a step forward, and then a breathless silence filled that vast chamber; for the graceful youth kneeling so humbly there, his arms crossed, his head bowed low upon his breast, was Rudolf, the only and well-beloved son of the monarch before whom he knelt.

The silence was broken by the tremulous voice of the old king.

“My son, what seek you?” asked he.

“A boon, my gracious lord and father.”

“And what?” inquired again the king.

“I ask permission, my father, to go out into the world to seek the flower of which I have dreamed, and which alone can make me happy.”

“What is the flower, my son?”

“Alas, dear father, I cannot tell; the dream has fled, and I can neither recall the form, the color, or the name of this exquisite blossom, although if I should find it, I should certainly recognize it, and without it I cannot live.”

“Go first, my son,” said the king, after a long pause, “to Althoso, and ask his advice. If he bid you go, I will not refuse my consent.”

Prince Rudolf rose, and, bowing low, left the audience-chamber. Passing through several long corridors and galleries, he arrived at a low-arched door and knocked loudly.

The door was presently opened by a short, crooked little man, with an enormous hump upon his back, who, twisting his head so as to look up into the prince’s face, croaked out:

“Oh, it’s the handsome prince to-day, is it? Well, well, they all have to come to us.”

Prince Rudolf paid no attention to the ugly dwarf, but mounted rapidly the steep, winding stairs which lay before him, until he arrived at another door similar to that he had just passed. Here again he knocked, but this time softly, and almost timidly.

“Who is there?” asked a deep voice.

“Prince Rudolf,” replied the young man.

The heavy door swung slowly open. “Enter, prince,” replied the voice; and Rudolf obeying, found himself in a small room, crowded with books, drawings, and papers.

At one side glowed a charcoal furnace, over which, in an iron pan, some strange compound was bubbling. Various utensils and preparations were scattered near it, as if the prince’s entrance had interrupted in some important operation the old man who stood in the middle of the little room, his long purple gown wrapped about him, and his dark eyes fixed upon the face of the visitor.

“And what does Prince Rudolf seek of me?” asked he, at length.

“My father has sent me to ask your advice, wise Althoso,” replied the prince. “For seven nights have I dreamed of a lovely flower, which, while I hold it, fills my whole soul with joy; but when I awake, I can no longer remember the name of the flower, nor its form, color, or perfume; yet should I see it, I should at once know it. Can you tell me, O wise Althoso! the name or the home of this blossom, without which I must surely die?”

The old man smiled sadly and shook his head. “Prince,” said he, “if you would value the flower, you must seek it for yourself. Could I give it to you, or tell you where to find it, you would not value it an hour. Go out into the wide world and seek it, but stop--you may not know your flower among all you will find in the world, although you think so now. Here is a white veil which I prepared for you, knowing that you would come to me, and here is a spear with a diamond point. When you have found a flower which you think may be yours, throw the veil over it; if the veil remains white and whole, leave it there till you have slept, then pluck the flower and bring it home. But should the veil show itself soiled or rent, there is not your flower; seize the veil and fly. Should you be detained by enchantments which you cannot break through, use your diamond pointed spear: before it every charm will fall. Now go, my son, and leave me to my labors.”

The old man turned to his furnace as he spoke, and began stirring the mixture in the iron pan, which presently sent up a hot, stinging vapor, which filled the whole room.

Seizing the glistening white veil and the sharp, strong lance which lay upon the table, Rudolf ran down the stairs past the dwarf, who opened the door, and, hastening to his own chamber, packed in a knapsack a few clothes, and the picture of his mother, who had died when he was an infant. Then as the palace clock struck one, the prince entered the apartment of his father, who had soon returned to it from the hall of audience.

Rudolf, kneeling again before him, told him of the words of Althoso; showed him the veil and the spear, and besought his father’s blessing and permission to set out.

These the old king bestowed upon him, not without tears; and, wiping his own eyes, Rudolf kissed his father’s hand, and descended to the stables, where he called for his own horse, Sunbeam, and springing upon his back, rode bravely out into the world.

Many days prince Rudolf travelled, and many lovely flowers did he see, both wild by the roadside, and carefully sheltered in gardens; but none of these for a moment made him think of the flower of his dream, and he was growing very sad and discouraged, when, one sultry summer noon, he found himself in a large forest, through which wound a smooth, pleasant road, along which Sunbeam trotted gayly, his little hoofs making no sound upon the thick, soft turf.

All at once through the dusky shadows, which even in the brightest day brooded among those giant trees, the prince caught a glimpse of something shining dimly, which reminded him of the bright gardens which he had passed through on previous days.

Dismounting, and tying Sunbeam to a tree, so that he could reach the sweet grass which grew all about, prince Rudolf, taking his spear in his hand, pushed aside the underwood which barred his progress, and made his way toward the dimly seen object which had attracted him.

For a short distance, the forest was almost impenetrable. High, stiff shrubs, growing closely together, impeded him on every side; and at the end of half an hour, prince Rudolf paused, hot and weary, and half resolved to give up the attempt. Just then, however, he perceived a narrow but well-defined path opening at his feet, and leading in the direction of these glowing flowers. Following this eagerly, the prince in a few moments found himself before an arched gateway, surmounted by a gorgeous wreath of tulips of every possible color, and fresh as if just placed there. The entrance was barred by the thick, sword-like leaves of the plant, which were thickly interlaced across the opening, while the woody stalks, growing to an immense size and height, formed the framework of the portal.

The prince stood for a moment looking at this singular and beautiful gate, and longing to enter, when, to his great surprise, the sword leaves bent gracefully to the ground, and seemed to invite him to pass through the portal thus opened.

The gay young prince entered with a beating heart, and the leaves closed immediately behind him.

Before him lay a path strewn thickly with gold, and glittering and flashing in the sun, while on each side extended a large and beautiful garden, divided by golden paths like that which he was treading. Every bed was thickly set with gorgeous blossoms, but the prince observed with astonishment that there were no flowers but tulips; double and single, small and large, of every tint and variety, but still all tulips. Standing quite still in the midst of this collection, prince Rudolf looked about him for a gardener, of whom he could make some inquiries. No one was to be seen: on the borders of the immense garden rose the gloomy and impenetrable forest, looking more sullen and forbidding from its contrast with the flashing, gorgeous colors of the flowers and the gold-strewn paths.

At the farthest extremity of the garden was a sort of grove of a certain variety of the tulip, growing to a size perfectly prodigious, and surrounding and overshadowing what appeared to be a summer-house or arbor. Toward this the prince now hastened, hoping to find at last some owner of this glowing garden; but on penetrating the circle of tree-like stems, he paused in utter astonishment, for what he supposed a building was in reality an immense tulip as large as a small room, plucked from its stem and turned upside down, so that it formed a sort of tent, the curtains of which were the velvety petals of the flower, gayly striped with scarlet and gold.

Prince Rudolf stood for a moment, as I have said, lost in astonishment; then lifting the edge of one of the curtains, soft and thick as velvet, he entered with some hesitation this strange pavilion. At first he could distinguish nothing clearly in the dim light which found its way through the thick curtains; but presently he perceived that he stood beside a straight and polished column of gold, which with five others upheld the tent, and answered to the stamens of an ordinary tulip. To the pistil of the plant was attached a petal of a very small tulip, which waved constantly backward and forward, causing a gentle breeze, which softly fanned away the sultriness of the heated air.

Directly under this fan was heaped up a mass of tulip petals, making a delightfully soft and elastic couch, upon which reclined gracefully the most beautiful maiden whom Rudolf had ever beheld. Her rich, dark hair, combed straight back from her white forehead, was thickly powdered with gold dust, and formed into a crown upon the top of her head, around which was a wreath of small tulips of a brilliant crimson, streaked and splashed with gold: her large, sleepy brown eyes were fixed upon the face of the young prince, while her full scarlet lips smiled a welcome to the handsome youth. Her dress, which left bare her lovely shoulders and round, dimpled arms, was of the same glowing, gorgeous colors as the drapery of her tent, and everywhere upon it glittered the gold dust which powdered her hair.

“O the lovely flower! O my tulip queen!” whispered Rudolf, sinking upon his knee. The tulip maiden said not a word, but only smiled more lovingly, and fixed more earnestly her great eyes upon those of the prince, as she sat upright upon the couch, making her gorgeous gold-sprinkled robe flash and glitter as she moved.

“O queenly tulip! will you come with me and be the flower of my life?” whispered the prince, rising and moving timidly toward her.

Still the maiden spoke not; only moved gracefully forward as a flower upon its stem.

“Thus then I make you mine,” exclaimed Rudolf, drawing from his breast the magic veil, and throwing it over the head of the maiden.

But no sooner had the pure white tissue touched the dark and glowing hair, than it became smirched and soiled, and the maiden fell back upon her couch of petals, which now looked withered, broken, and decaying; her rich robe showed that it was soiled and rent in many places; her pure white skin was covered with blotches and pimples, and the delicate color of her cheeks deepened to a swarthy, lurid red; her languid eyes lost all their beauty, and glowed with a sullen fire; her graceful figure lost its elasticity, and instead of soft repose, expressed only a careless indolence and slothful abandonment. The air grew suffocating with a heavy perfume, so powerful as to be quite nauseous.

Prince Rudolf gazed a moment in horror; then, snatching the veil now limp and soiled, he rushed from the pavilion. But outside all seemed changed. The golden paths appeared to writhe about like great serpents, twisting themselves together, and utterly bewildering him who tried to follow them: all the millions of tulips in the flower beds were nodding and waving distractedly upon their stems, clashing their stiff leaves together, till the air seemed filled with the threatening music of an approaching army.

For a few moments, Prince Rudolf rushed at random hither and thither, backward and forward, round and round, but without making the least progress toward the gate. Suddenly remembering the spear which the Sage Althoso had given him, and which he had all this time carried fastened to his belt without thinking of it, he drew it and struck furiously all about him, at the paths, the beds, and the warlike tulips.

Immediately every thing resumed its former condition, and became beautiful and quiet as when the prince first entered the garden. Hastening along the now stationary path, Rudolf soon found himself before the entrance gate. But the stiff leaves did not now yield before him; on the contrary, turning their sharp edges toward him, one close above the other, they presented an impenetrable barrier. Rudolf laughing, touched them with the point of his spear, and instantly they drooped, languid and broken upon their stems.

The prince leaped through, and found himself again in the wild forest, but all trace of a path had disappeared; and the bewildered youth might have exhausted himself in useless struggles, had not the loud neighing of Sunbeam, who had become very impatient, directed the prince to the place where he had left him. Again mounting his horse, Rudolf rode slowly on, thinking deeply of what he had just seen. Taking the veil from his breast, he regarded it sorrowfully, thinking it quite ruined; but, to his surprise, it was fresh and pure as when Althoso first gave it to him. “Thanks, dear veil,” murmured the prince, replacing it in his bosom; and, fixing his eyes vacantly upon Sunbeam’s head, he again rode on many a long mile, till the stopping of the horse caused him to look around.

To his great surprise he found himself in a dense jungle. The very trees were different from any thing he had seen before. Oaks, walnuts, and birches had disappeared, and instead, on every side, rose the stately palm, the graceful banana, and the gigantic ferns of the tropics. Around and among these trees climbed flaunting vines, loaded with scarlet flowers, while innumerable birds of the most gorgeous plumage, but of harsh and startling note, flitted about, looking like flying blossoms from the drooping vines.

Sunbeam had stopped in the centre of a little open space, shaded by the nodding heads of the palms; and the creepers, which had leaped across from side to side, forming a living canopy to this little glade. On every side further progress was stopped by the dense foliage, except one little path just wide enough for the prince to pass, but not for Sunbeam. Leaving the horse, who neighed uneasily at seeing his master disappear, Rudolf entered the narrow path, which was bordered on each side by immense vines of the cactus plant interlacing themselves overhead, and so loaded with flowers that not a stem or thorn was visible. The pathway was illuminated, and the fiery hue of the flowers exhibited by the light of myriads of fireflies who flitted in every direction, now darting into the royal purple heart of a speciocissimus; now poising themselves on the pink corolla of a truncatus, now bending lightly the silvery stamens of a gloriosus, and then settling upon the tangled curls of the prince’s head. All at once the path ended at the entrance of a glade, similar to that which he had first entered; only in this, the very ground was covered with cactus blossoms, placed so closely together as to leave no trace of earth or vine visible, and forming a carpet such as no weaver on earth could equal. All around the sides and overhead climbed the vines and swung the blossoms, screamed the birds, and flitted the fireflies.

As prince Rudolf stood entranced at the entrance of this flower palace, he was saluted by a shower of silvery pollen, which was thrown in his face and all over him, while a loud peal of shrill laughter made him wipe his eyes and look hastily round. Just above his head, in a loop of the strong vine, he saw a slender figure clad in a gauzy green dress, trimmed round the skirt and neck with a border of scarlet blossoms, a wreath of which also crowned the long, dark hair which flowed loosely about her pliant form and encircled her slender waist.

Holding the vine lightly with one hand, the laughing, teasing girl stripped from the blossoms near her the silvery pollen, and dashed it in the upturned face of the prince, who, entering into the frolic with the thoughtless gayety of a boy, pelted her in turn with whole handfuls of flowers which he stripped from the vines near him, at first carefully through fear of the thorns, but more recklessly when he perceived, that, instead of standing out from the stem, these obliging spines folded themselves close down upon it, and thus were perfectly harmless. At last, Rudolf began to pursue the laughing, mocking maiden up and down the ladder-like vines, sometimes almost grasping her fluttering robe, then seeing her place herself at one bound far beyond his reach, only to peep laughingly out at him from her flowery hiding-place. At last, weary and hopeless of success, prince Rudolf descended to the ground, and, throwing himself upon the flower carpet, pretended to be asleep.

Soon he perceived by a light crackling of the branches that the green-robed maiden was also descending and approaching him. Presently, through his half-closed eyes, he could distinguish her flitting about her gleaming bower, until at last she threw herself down also to repose after the mad chase.

Taking carefully from his bosom the gauzy veil, the prince silently approached the maiden, who now slept, or at least pretended to, and with a sudden movement threw it over her graceful figure.

The effect, though different, was as startling as with the tulip princess. From the wreath upon her head, from the girdle about her waist, from the borders of her robe, sharp, piercing thorns projected in every direction, rending and tearing the poor veil into tatters, while the closed eyes of the maiden flew open to emit rays of furious anger, while her full red lips curved themselves into a scornful, withering smile; and with those pretty fingers, which had so gracefully thrown flowers at the prince, but which were now armed each with a long, claw-like talon, she sought to rend away the veil, which embarrassed her motions, that she might rush upon the astonished youth.

Rudolf did not wait for her to free herself, but, seizing a fragment of the veil, he turned and rushed into the flowery passage, which was now dark and gloomy, for the fireflies had all hidden themselves; and from between the gay flowers at the sides, overhead, and underfoot, long thorns projected venomously, and would have entirely stopped any progress on the part of the prince, had he not laid about on every side with his spear, and thus succeeded, though not without the greatest difficulty, in regaining the spot where he had left Sunbeam, whom he found surrounded by furious parrots, macaws, and other tropical birds, who, flinging themselves at him, hit him with their long beaks, and tore him with their talons, so that the poor creature’s cries filled the whole forest.

With great difficulty and by the free use of his spear, Rudolf succeeded in driving them away, and then, perceiving a slight opening in the jungle, he threw himself into it; and finally, just as the last rays of daylight were dying away, he and Sunbeam found themselves, faint, weary, and exhausted, torn with thorns and wounded by fierce birds, once more upon the turfy road, which they had so unfortunately quitted. Taking some food and a little silver cup from his wallet, the prince threw himself upon the ground beside a cool spring, whose trickling music had betrayed its vicinity, and, having eaten, drank, and bathed, pillowed his head upon Sunbeam’s shoulder, and slept peacefully all through the night.

With the first blush of morning, prince Rudolf arose and refreshed himself with a simple repast, and a long draught of water from the little rivulet, whose icy coldness in that sultry summer weather much surprised him. “I will follow the stream a little way, and see whence it draws this pure, cold water, while poor Sunbeam finishes his breakfast.”

Murmuring these words half aloud, the prince fastened the bridle in such a manner that the horse should have full liberty to graze, yet be prevented from escaping, and proceeded slowly along the bank of the little stream, which, murmuring and complaining, grew more and more narrow, and tempted the youth from one bend to another, by promising to diminish to its fountainhead within a short distance.

At last, just as Rudolf, somewhat vexed at his frequent disappointments, was about to turn back, a gleam of some large object like a house shone through the trees in the rays of the rising sun, and the prince hastened to turn a sharp, projecting bend of the stream, to see more clearly what this white building could be in the lonely forest. As he turned the angle of the stream he started in astonishment.

Close beside the fountain of the rivulet rose a white marble pavilion, its slender columns sculptured to represent lily stems, with the flowers rising as a wreath about the light and graceful roof.

In the centre of the marble floor stood a chair and footstool, also of marble, and seated upon it, as upon a throne, was a fair and stately woman, upright and immovable, her abundant flaxen hair braided and carried about her head in the form of a crown, which seemed indeed a far more fitting ornament to her queenly beauty than a simple wreath. Her robe was of a stiff, white silk, embroidered with gold thread; upon her arms and throat were golden ornaments set with pearls; in her beautiful hand, white and cold as marble, she held as a sceptre a magnificent lily, fit emblem of her queenly beauty.

Rudolf gazed silently a few moments in admiration of that fair and sovereign face; then, seeing that her cold blue eyes did not turn toward him, he ventured to steal softly up behind her and to throw over that regal head the magic veil.

For a moment there was no change; then, as the prince gazed eagerly yet half regretfully at the proud, handsome face beneath the folds, and wondered if his search was over, a slight shudder passed through that motionless form; the faint rose tinge faded utterly from the cheek and lip; the pale blue eyes lost all color; the hair became white as the brow it surrounded, and, where Rudolf had found a stately queen, he now beheld only a marble statue.

As he gazed horror stricken, the veil, stiffening as if frozen, broke in two pieces, and with a light, tinkling sound fell upon the marble floor.

Already a death chill ran through the veins of the young prince, and he was on the point of sinking down lifeless at the feet of the marble lily queen, when with a strong effort he snatched the veil from the floor, and hastened as quickly as his torpid limbs would allow from that icy throne. Pursuing again the windings of the brook, he soon reached the side of his good horse, and, mounting hastily, put him to his speed. For a considerable time he continued his journey without meeting with any adventure of importance; but it so happened one day, as he was dreaming of his father’s court and of what they would say to his adventures, that he seemed suddenly enveloped in a soft and fragrant air, while his ears were greeted with the warblings of hundreds of merry little birds.

Turning suddenly, he perceived a wide and gently ascending path leading off from the main road. Down this path came the soft gush of perfume and music which had aroused him.

Again did the prince find himself overshadowed with festooning vines; but this time they were roses, which peeped and nodded to him at every turn, roses whose soft petals fluttered down upon his head and carpeted his path, while their delicate fragrance filled the air. Roses of every hue and degree; white, blush pink and deepest crimson, single roses and double roses, climbing roses and tree roses, moss roses and thornless roses; every rose that ever bloomed on this round earth clustered along that pathway, each crowding before its neighbor to look at the handsome prince, and nod a joyous welcome to him.

Dismounting from his horse and holding his plumed cap in his hand, Rudolf walked slowly along the path, hoping, at every turn, to find the divinity of this rose Eden. Nor had he long to look, for as the path, making a sudden turn, came to an end, Rudolf saw before him a bower formed by two graceful birches, which, arching toward each other, supported, the one a white, the other a crimson climbing rose, which, in their riotous luxuriance, having clothed every twig of the bending birches with their blossoms, and interlaced above, waved exultingly in the air their graceful, verdant limbs, as if to boast triumphantly of having overcome every obstacle.

Upon a gently sloping bank beneath this odorous canopy reclined a graceful maiden, clothed in a pure white robe, her golden hair curling loosely about her snow-white shoulders, and her blue eyes gently beaming with love and purity. A few moss-rose buds nestling at her bosom, and a slender garland of wild roses about her head, were her only ornaments. Upon her finger sat a ring-dove, to whose plaintive cooing the maiden replied with soft caresses. A pair of humming-birds buzzed about her head, plunging their dagger-like bills into the roses of her garland, while a honey-bee loaded himself with sweets from the buds at her bosom. All about her feet bloomed the wild roses, and a tall bush of sweetbriar nodded caressingly over her fair head.

Prince Rudolf gazed eagerly at the beautiful picture for a moment, then threw himself at the feet of the rose sylph.

“O flower of my dream!” murmured he, “have I at last found you? Art thou the rose I sought? Wilt thou leave thy bower to bloom for me only? Shall thy perfume and thy sweets be for my home and my people?”

The maiden said never a word, only her fair head drooped lower and lower, and she hid her blushing face in her slender hands.

Gently and carefully the prince threw over that sunny head the magic veil, which again was fair and whole as the day he received it, but, oh sad and disappointing result! beneath the gauzy folds no longer was visible the graceful form of a blushing maid, but only a slender bush crowned with one lovely blush rose, its yellow stamens the color of the maiden’s hair.

Grieved and disappointed, Rudolf stood regarding the transformation. Suddenly he remembered the words of the wise Althoso: “If the veil remains white and whole, leave it there till you have slept, then pluck the flower and bring it home.”

White and whole the veil certainly was; and throwing himself upon the ground, Rudolf resolutely closed his eyes, nor did he open them till the hum of the birds and bees, the warmth of the summer morning, and the stillness of the spot, had granted him the sleep he so longed for.

It was not, however, long, and the sun had not yet reached his height, when Rudolf opening his eyes, started eagerly to his feet, and turned to look at the rose.

There it stood as he had left it;--a lovely rose, yet nothing but a rose.

Rudolf stood sadly before it, half resolved to pluck the flower from its tree and try to rest content with that, when a sudden thought flashed across his mind, and seizing his diamond spear, with its point he gently touched the rose-bush.

The effect was instantaneous. In the spot where a moment before had stood only a silent plant, Rudolf beheld with delight the slender figure of his rose maiden, her yellow hair circled with a garland of white moss buds, beneath which flowed the silvery folds of the veil, shading but not concealing the faint blush of her cheeks and the deep blue of her starry eyes, which timidly sought the ground.

“O my rose! O my lovely, long-sought flower!” cried the prince, seizing her soft, white hand.

“Come, my Rose, my Rosa Munda, my flower of the whole earth! come to bloom forever in my garden; to be cherished forever in my heart.”

The Rose drooped gently forward. The prince, taking her in his arms, placed her upon Sunbeam’s back, mounted behind her, and with joyous, loving hearts, they journeyed back to his father’s court, where, for very many long and happy years, the beauty of the gentle Rose made all around her happy and contented.

KÖNIG TOLV’S BRIDE

Far in the depths of the wild and gloomy forests of the Hartz mountains stood a little hut, where dwelt the charcoal-burner, Karl Gatz and his daughter Mabel.

Alone they dwelt for years before Mabel’s gentle mother had faded from earth, chilled to death perhaps by the stern, morose husband, to whom her parents had given her. She died, and one summer morning Gatz made a grave for her, beneath the huge blasted pine which towered above his cabin, and then returned to his charcoal burning with no difference except, perhaps, an added gloom and silence in his wayward manner.

Little Mabel was never a joyous child; how should she be, when the tall blasted pine brooded over her home, and her father, who seemed the embodied spirit of the tree, threw as gloomy and baleful a shade over her young heart.

From whence rose the cloud which shadowed all the life of these two, no one knew; but the few poor peasants and mountain dwellers, who alone had heard or cared to talk of so obscure a person, whispered strange stories of a man with whom Karl Gatz had quarrelled, and who had gone up the mountain to claim some money which the charcoal-burner owed him, and never returned. There were no friends or relatives to make inquiries into his fate, and the few who knew of the circumstance shrugged their shoulders and said, “It is no concern of ours. If a fool puts his head under the bear’s paw, must we run to pull him away?” So no one ever asked what had become of Johan Brenner, but all agreed that from that day the black and never lifting cloud had settled close and thick upon the brow and heart of Karl Gatz.

One would have thought that under this dark and poison-dripping shade all pure and lovely things must have withered and died as had the charcoal-burner’s wife, but never in sunniest _parterre_ or most lovingly cared for flower plot had bloomed a fairer, sweeter, more sky-like flower than the dreamy Mabel. Light and gracefully moulded as the fawn, fair and delicate as the wild anemone, her blue eyes had gazed at heaven until they had caught its purest light, and the sun had given his own rays to sparkle in her wavy tresses.

Between the father and daughter there could be but little sympathy or love. The eyes of the silent man bent earthward, and had never marked the wondrous beauty which the slow, sad years were unfolding in his dark and lonely hut, nor had he once met the sad, appealing looks, which, in the gloomy days since her mother died, the heart of the love-longing maiden cast toward the only parent left her. He never looked up, and the thirsty, fainting heart sadly turned away and lived thereafter in its own loneliness.

Mabel had often been with her mother to the convent in the valley, where the poor woman went to confess her fancied sins, and to comfort her yearning heart by hearing of the love which is for all mankind, but is seldom truly valued save by such as, like her, are stimulated by earthly affliction.

While the mother prayed and wept, the little Mabel wandered, like a gleam of summer through the vaulted corridors, and shone by turns into all the narrow, tomblike cells.

The poor nuns, shut out from life and love, gladly welcomed this sweet, fresh presence, beaming with joy and freedom; and many a sister did penance on aching knees, for cherishing, through one wild moment, the wish that she had been an earthly bride, and clasped a child like this to a mother’s heart.

Finding how much the little maiden longed to be able to read and write, good old sister Ursula offered to teach her, and found herself amply rewarded by the warm, tearful smile with which the glad child kissed her withered hand.

An apt and eager scholar did Mabel prove; and in the year which followed, she learned to read and write with fluency and ease, and was able to repay her kind old instructress for her pains by reading in a sweet, hushed voice, those tender, loving promises and solemn, thrilling aspirations, which filled the volumes of the scanty library, and which the dim and fading eyes of sister Ursula could no longer distinguish but with pain and uncertainty.

Little Mabel took great delight in these readings, and she longed to have a book of her own, that she might pursue her studies at home. Expressing this wish one day at the convent, sister Benedicta, with the consent of the Lady Superior, gave her a copy of the mangled and corrupted edition of the Holy Book, prepared for convents and the Catholic use, while the Fraulein von Rosenberg, one of the noble young ladies who boarded and were educated at the convent, called her to the dormitory, and, producing from her trunk a little worn volume, she gave it to her saying,

“So much religion and so many pious works are truly very edifying, dear little one, but I think, for my part, it will do you no harm to read a little of something more amusing; so take this volume of fairy tales, which I have all by heart, and put it into the bosom of your frock.”

Mabel’s eyes sparkled like stars, with delight and gratitude, but pausing as she was concealing the little book as directed, she said,

“But why shall I hide your gift, dear Fraulein? If it is right that I should have it, all may see it.”

“Nonsense, little saint!” said the young lady angrily; but pausing a moment, she kissed the child’s pure brow, and said, “you are right, little one, and I am wrong,--go show the book to your mother and do as she says about keeping it.”

Mabel’s mother did not object to the child’s receiving the little book, nor did she think it necessary to mention it to any of the sisterhood, knowing that she should thereby bring the gay young Fraulein into disgrace; so Mabel kept the book, and while the sad and silent mother spun or sewed in the summer sunshine or by the winter’s fire, the child sat on a low stool by her side, reading in her clear, sweet voice, stories of the graceful little fairies, who dance through the long, bright summer nights; of the crooked, swarthy gnomes who forever pile up riches which they can never enjoy, in the gloomy mountain caverns; of the fair and graceful Undines who frolic in the mountain streams and broad, rolling rivers; of the wood-nymphs, whose slender, supple figures animate the graceful, waving trees, and whisper to each other in the evening breezes.

But chief among all these wonders was the dreamy child impressed with the story of King Tolv, who, every midsummer night, rides, at speed, with all his gallant retinue, through lonely woods and mountain gorges, and if in his wild career he should meet a pure and spotless maiden, her he seizes for his bride and queen, in his glowing, golden palace, deep in the green hill-side.

Many an hour did Mabel peer about in the wild thickets and among the grotesquely piled rocks which lay about her home, to find the entrance to that fairy palace, for the story said that it was in the Hartz Mountains that he always disappeared, and the mountain of Köningsberg, on which the charcoal-burner lived, was the highest, the wildest, and the most goblin-haunted of all the pine-clad peaks.

Either, however, Mabel did not look in the right spot, or King Tolv had so cunningly concealed the entrance to his abode that she passed without noticing it, for she never could find it; and before she had done looking for it the deep snows of winter, and then her mother’s long, fading illness and death, chased such things from her mind, and filled her heart with such deep sorrow and hopeless loneliness that she thought no more of König Tolv or her other goblin friends, but turned, with a heart thankful to the kind old nun, who had put the key of consolation in her hand, to the sublime promises and comforting words of Holy Writ, the living beauty of which not even the garbled and imperfect form in which the Catholic Church presents it to her children can wholly disguise.

Mabel read and prayed, and wept the long winter months away, making from time to time vain efforts to find the way to her father’s heart, more securely hidden than even the hill-side door to König Tolv’s golden palace.

At last she gave up the search, and contented herself with providing for her father’s comfort, as well as she could, and praying, night and morning, to the Holy Virgin and all the saints to turn toward her that stony heart, and show her the way to gain the love of the only one left on earth to whom she could turn for affection and comfort.

So passed the long, chill winter; but when the cold, deep snow had turned to fresh young grass, and trees which all winter had clashed their bare brown arms against each other as in the vain attempt to keep warm, had put on their new green dresses, and the wood-nymphs had begun to whisper again among their leaves, then Mabel once more wandered forth and found among the spring flowers her own old sadly joyous dreams and fancies. Again she took the book of fairy tales from the shelf, where it had lain undisturbed ever since the last time she had read to her mother, sitting on the little footstool by her side. Again she read, and now with a deeper and more thrilling interest than ever, the legend of König Tolv.

“To be loved,” murmured she, sitting by the leaping, laughing mountain stream, the book upon her knees, and her soft, dreamy eyes fixed upon the distant turrets of the old gray castle of Wolfsmarchen, which rose on the far horizon, “To be loved even by König Tolv--ah, what joy! Truly it would not be so hard a fate to meet him beneath the midsummer moon, and be borne away to dance and laugh and love within his golden halls! Who is there but my father for me to love on earth? and were I König Tolv’s bride I could come at night and leave gifts of gold and jewels on his pillow, which would more than make up to him for all that he would lose in me;” and as she admitted to her heart the dreary truth that gold was fairer and dearer to her father’s heart than his own child, great pearly drops rose slowly to her thoughtful eyes, and fell plashing upon the open book.

Mabel rose, and went slowly home to prepare the evening meal. That over, and the hut restored to what order was possible with its extreme poverty, the maiden bid a timid good-night to her father, who sat, as usual, smoking his evening pipe in morose silence. She received no answer, and though she expected none, she sighed heavily as she closed the door of the little closet which her mother had persuaded Karl, years before, to partition off from the common room, that her daughter might not, for want of privacy, lose the sensitive modesty which is to a woman what the dew-drop is to the rose, the bloom to the grape, as great a charm while it remains as impossible to replace, once carelessly brushed off.

Mabel dreamed that she was the loved and loving bride of King Tolv. She sat with him upon a bank thickly set with new and beautiful flowers, as is the sky with stars upon a frosty night. Before them wheeled and glided elves and fairies dancing to music which made glad the hearts of all who heard it; in her ear whispered her fairy lover words whose intoxicating sweetness still thrilled the maiden’s heart as she slowly awoke, with a vague sense of regret to find herself alone in the smoky little mountain cabin.

That day she renewed her old search for the hidden door, which should open to her that joyous scene which filled her heart with such wild longing, but still the mystic gate evaded her most earnest search. The next night and the next her dream was renewed, and as she awoke on the third morning the thought flashed across her mind that midsummer night was fast approaching, and that by meeting King Tolv on his midnight ride she could learn the way to his palace home without further trouble of her own. “And if I should not like him,” whispered she to herself, “I can easily steal away and come home, and all will be as before.”

This wild thought dwelt in Mabel’s mind day after day; her father, to whom added years brought but added gloom, evidently cared nothing for her presence or absence. The only notice he had taken of her since her mother’s death was to forbid her visits to the convent since she had delivered a message from the Mother, warning him that unless he attended mass and confession his soul stood in imminent peril. When Mabel tremblingly repeated these unwelcome words, Karl Gatz turned for a moment his gloomy eyes upon her, and bid her, if she would ever see his face again, to cease from that day her visits to the good sisters, whom he designated by a word that puzzled, while it instinctively shocked, the pure and unsullied mind of his daughter.

The dreamy, balmy summer days swept on all too fast for the hesitating, irresolute girl. One day she renounced her scheme, the next it again filled all her heart. So midsummer day came, and through the long, sunny hours Mabel could not trust herself to the soft influences of her favorite haunts, but in the intervals of unaccustomed labor she knelt and wept and prayed beside her little bed.

As daylight faded, she threw herself, without undressing, upon her rude pillow, and soon slept soundly.

As her eyelids fell, the old dream sunk down on her spirit more vivid, more sweet and tempting, than ever before. She woke, and, gliding to her little window, looked out. The night had not yet reached its noon, although the round-orbed moon rode high in the heavens.

The stillness in the outer room was proof that Karl Gatz had, as was often his wont, stayed all night in the forest, where lay his employment.

Murmuring a fervent prayer, Mabel threw her mother’s bridal veil over her head and glided out into the moonlight, looking like one of the fair and gentle spirits of whom she loved to read.

Rapidly, yet with trembling steps, the maiden pursued her way to the spot where, two roads crossing each other upon the mountain side, a cross had been erected, that the devout might pause to pray and rest upon the bench at its foot.

Arriving here, the trembling girl sunk upon her knees at the foot of the cross, half resolved to fly while yet there was time, and half reluctant to lose forever the fulfilment of that fair dream.

While still she lingered, her light form swayed by each contending impulse as sways the bird upon the waving tree-top, her fate was deciding the question, for suddenly the clatter of horses’ feet, descending the mountain road, smote upon her ear, and, making a convulsive effort to rise and fly, she sunk senseless at the foot of the cross, and lay in the moonlight still and white as a wreath of new-fallen snow.

When Mabel again opened her eyes a few moments after, she at first thought that she was dreaming of the beloved and familiar scene, for over her bent the earnest, handsome face of a young man, who, as her eyes opened, launched into them the look of admiration, love, and respect which had so often filled her heart.

As Mabel’s eyes fell, however, upon the horses standing beside her and the old stone cross above her head, she remembered her position, and recollected that the last sound which had met her ears was the approaching clatter of horses’ feet.

With a blush deep as guilt, she sprang to her feet, and covering her glowing face with her hands she murmured,

“Take pity, O King Tolv! Pardon and suffer me to leave you!”

She did not look up as she spoke to see the puzzled expression in the face of the fairy king giving place, suddenly, to a look of enlightenment and merry joy. He did not speak, and Mabel, her eyes still cast down, turned to depart.

“Hold, maiden!” exclaimed a rich and sonorous voice, “where wouldst thou go?”

“To my father’s hut, most noble king.”

“Thy name, child?”

“I am Mabel, the daughter of Karl Gatz the charcoal-burner; and my father will, e’er now, be wondering at my absence.”

“Nay, maiden,” returned the stranger, gently taking her slender hand in his, “thou art no longer his daughter, but the bride of King Tolv. Didst thou not know, fairest, that when he meets beneath the midsummer moon a maiden fair and pure as thou, carries her to his own home, to reign for ever queen of him and his?”

“But heaven? My soul?” murmured the trembling girl.

“Thou shalt be wedded by a man of God (thou seest I can pronounce that sacred name), and the benediction of heaven shall rest upon our heads. Thou knowest, dear Mabel, the hermit who makes his dwelling in a mountain cave near by?”

“Father Franz--I know and love him,” murmured Mabel in a half reassured voice.

“Then, if he will bless our union, wilt thou be content, sweet one?” asked the lover, in a voice sweet and low as the dream-voice of King Tolv.

“Yes,” faltered the maiden, and in another moment found herself borne swiftly upon the back of the goblin horse up the mountain road. Arrived at the nearest point of the path to the hermit’s cave, King Tolv checked the fiery steed, and, lifting Mabel from his back, led her tenderly along the rugged and barely discernible footpath which led up to the mountain summit. Weary and breathless they reached the cave, where Mabel had often been to carry the aged hermit little delicacies for his table, and to hear his words of holy cheer.

Placing her upon the rude stone seat just without the grotto, the majestic lover once more took the maiden’s hand and said solemnly,

“Mabel, wilt thou promise, as thou art a pure and stainless maiden, to be my bride?”

Unfalteringly Mabel raised her clear eyes to the noble face which bent toward her with a heart-searching gaze.

“I will, if the holy man says it is no sin,” said she.

“Wait here then, _liebe_, till I bring him,” said the lover in a lighter and more joyous tone.

Mabel sat many minutes on the stone bench, and heard the round, manly tones of her bridegroom alternating with the more feeble, solemn voice of the aged priest in an earnest conversation, of which, however, no distinct words reached her ear.

At last, priest and king stepped out into the rich, full moonlight, and Mabel, even at that moment of anxiety and agitation, felt a thrill of admiration as she noted the tall, manly figure and open, handsome face of her lover. Then her eye fell upon the mild, benign face of Father Franz, and her heart leaped for joy as she saw by his calm, benevolent smile and serene expression, as he laid his hand upon her head, in silent benediction that he was not displeased at the proposed union.

“And may I be King Tolv’s bride, and yet remain a daughter of the Church?” whispered she falteringly.

“You may wed your noble suitor without sin or fear, daughter,” responded the priest, with a smile more nearly approaching humor than Mabel had ever seen before on his calm and thoughtful face; “and,” he added, “thy power of serving holy Mother Church will be far greater as his wife than it could be in thy present estate.”

The Latin ceremony was solemnly performed, the nuptial benediction spoken; and Mabel, half bewildered, felt a warm kiss pressed upon her lips, never touched before save by her mother’s mild caress.

“It is not fitting, dearest love,” said the young husband, “that thou shouldst enter thy future home thus alone and unattended. Return for a few hours to thy father’s house, and when the day which now is dawning has reached its noon, stand there by the cross where first I saw thee, and King Tolv will come with his retinue to carry his fair and gentle queen to her new home.”

“I myself will leave thy wife at her father’s door, most noble king,” said the hermit, with a half smile. “Business takes me to the monastery in the valley, and I shall not reach there before sunrise if I set forth now.”

As Father Franz went into his cave to make his simple preparations, the bridegroom followed him. A whispered conversation ensued, and as they again issued forth Mabel heard the holy father say,--

“I will surely be there, mein Herr.”

King Tolv tenderly supported his trembling bride down the steep mountain path, and then, with one more fond kiss upon her quivering lips, he sprang upon his fiery steed and was gone.

When next the mid-day sun looked down upon the old oak shading the lonely cross, his rays, struggling through the envious leaves, fell in flecks of ardent light upon the white clad figure of the maiden bride, supplying with their golden sheen the lack of those ornaments which indeed, had they been formed of aught less pure than the eternal radiance of the sun, would have rather dimmed than added to the wondrous loveliness of the expectant bride.

Again, as Mabel listened, the sound of horses’ feet came thrilling upon her ear; but now the horses were many, and the sound of wheels mingled with their tread. They came, too, up the road from the valley; but ere Mabel had time to doubt, a glad burst of music fell upon her ear, and a number of horsemen, riding two and two, each with a bridal favor upon his arm, appeared surrounding a carriage, which, to the timid eyes of the bride, far outshone all that she had read of in fairy land. A band of music followed playing a joyful bridal march, and within the carriage, radiant and smiling, sat King Tolv, clad in a rich dress, whose sparkling jewels and heavy embroidery gave him a still more noble and commanding air than he had worn the night before in his simple hunting suit of russet brown.