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Once upon
a time...
It generally happens that people's surroundings reflect more
or less accurately their minds and dispositions, so perhaps that is
why the Flower Fairy lived in a lovely palace, with the most
delightful garden you can imagine, full of flowers, and trees, and
fountains, and fish-ponds, and everything nice. For the Fairy
herself was so kind and charming that everybody loved her, and all
the young princes and princesses who formed her court, were as happy
as the day was long, simply because they were near her. They came to
her when they were quite tiny, and never left her until they were
grown up and had to go away into the great world; and when that time
came she gave to each whatever gift he asked of her. But it is
chiefly of the Princess Sylvia that you are going to hear now. The
Fairy loved her with all her heart, for she was at once original and
gentle, and she had nearly reached the age at which the gifts were
generally bestowed. However, the Fairy had a great wish to know how
the other princesses who had grown up and left her, were prospering,
and before the time came for Sylvia to go herself, she resolved to
send her to some of them. So one day her chariot, drawn by
butterflies, was made ready, and the Fairy said: 'Sylvia, I am going
to send you to the court of Iris; she will receive you with pleasure
for my sake as well as for your own. In two months you may come back
to me again, and I shall expect you to tell me what you think of
her.'
Sylvia was very unwilling to go away, but as the Fairy wished it she
said nothing--only when the two months were over she stepped
joyfully into the butterfly chariot, and could not get back quickly
enough to the Flower-Fairy, who, for her part, was equally delighted
to see her again.
'Now, child,' said she, 'tell me what impression you have received.'
'You sent me, madam,' answered Sylvia, 'to the Court of Iris, on
whom you had bestowed the gift of beauty. She never tells anyone,
however, that it was your gift, though she often speaks of your
kindness in general. It seemed to me that her loveliness, which
fairly dazzled me at first, had absolutely deprived her of the use
of any of her other gifts or graces. In allowing herself to be seen,
she appeared to think that she was doing all that could possibly be
required of her. But, unfortunately, while I was still with her she
became seriously ill, and though she presently recovered, her beauty
is entirely gone, so that she hates the very sight of herself, and
is in despair. She entreated me to tell you what had happened, and
to beg you, in pity, to give her beauty back to her. And, indeed,
she does need it terribly, for all the things in her that were
tolerable, and even agreeable, when she was so pretty, seem quite
different now she is ugly, and it is so long since she thought of
using her mind or her natural cleverness, that I really don't think
she has any left now. She is quite aware of all this herself, so you
may imagine how unhappy she is, and how earnestly she begs for your
aid.'
'You have told me what I wanted to know,' cried the Fairy, 'but
alas! I cannot help her; my gifts can be given but once.'
Some time passed in all the usual delights of the Flower-Fairy's
palace, and then she sent for Sylvia again, and told her she was to
stay for a little while with the Princess Daphne, and accordingly
the butterflies whisked her off, and set her down in quite a strange
kingdom. But she had only been there a very little time before a
wandering butterfly brought a message from her to the Fairy, begging
that she might be sent for as soon as possible, and before very long
she was allowed to return.
'Ah! madam,' cried she, 'what a place you sent me to that time!'
'Why, what was the matter?' asked the Fairy. 'Daphne was one of the
princesses who asked for the gift of eloquence, if I remember
rightly.'
'And very ill the gift of eloquence becomes a woman,' replied
Sylvia, with an air of conviction. 'It is true that she speaks well,
and her expressions are well chosen; but then she never leaves off
talking, and though at first one may be amused, one ends by being
wearied to death. Above all things she loves any assembly for
settling the affairs of her kingdom, for on those occasions she can
talk and talk without fear of interruption; but, even then, the
moment it is over she is ready to begin again about anything or
nothing, as the case may be. Oh! how glad I was to come away I
cannot tell you.'
The Fairy smiled at Sylvia's unfeigned disgust at her late
experience; but after allowing her a little time to recover she sent
her to the Court of the Princess Cynthia, where she left her for
three months. At the end of that time Sylvia came back to her with
all the joy and contentment that one feels at being once more beside
a dear friend. The Fairy, as usual, was anxious to hear what she
thought of Cynthia, who had always been amiable, and to whom she had
given the gift of pleasing.
'I thought at first,' said Sylvia, 'that she must be the happiest
Princess in the world; she had a thousand lovers who vied with one
another in their efforts to please and gratify her. Indeed, I had
nearly decided that I would ask a similar gift.'
'Have you altered your mind, then?' interrupted the Fairy.
'Yes, indeed, madam,' replied Sylvia; 'and I will tell you why. The
longer I stayed the more I saw that Cynthia was not really happy. In
her desire to please everyone she ceased to be sincere, and
degenerated into a mere coquette; and even her lovers felt that the
charms and fascinations which were exercised upon all who approached
her without distinction were valueless, so that in the end they
ceased to care for them, and went away disdainfully.'
'I am pleased with you, child,' said the Fairy; 'enjoy yourself here
for awhile and presently you shall go to Phyllida.'
Sylvia was glad to have leisure to think, for she could not make up
her mind at all what she should ask for herself, and the time was
drawing very near. However, before very long the Fairy sent her to
Phyllida, and waited for her report with unabated interest.
'I reached her court safely,' said Sylvia, 'and she received me with
much kindness, and immediately began to exercise upon me that
brilliant wit which you had bestowed upon her. I confess that I was
fascinated by it, and for a week thought that nothing could be more
desirable; the time passed like magic, so great was the charm of her
society. But I ended by ceasing to covet that gift more than any of
the others I have seen, for, like the gift of pleasing, it cannot
really give satisfaction. By degrees I wearied of what had so
delighted me at first, especially as I perceived more and more
plainly that it is impossible to be constantly smart and amusing
without being frequently ill-natured, and too apt to turn all
things, even the most serious, into mere occasions for a brilliant
jest.'
The Fairy in her heart agreed with Sylvia's conclusions, and felt
pleased with herself for having brought her up so well.
But now the time was come for Sylvia to receive her gift, and all
her companions were assembled; the Fairy stood in the midst and in
the usual manner asked what she would take with her into the great
world.
Sylvia paused for a moment, and then answered: 'A quiet spirit.' And
the Fairy granted her request.
This lovely gift makes life a constant happiness to its possessor,
and to all who are brought into contact with her. She has all the
beauty of gentleness and contentment in her sweet face; and if at
times it seems less lovely through some chance grief or disquietude,
the hardest thing that one ever hears said is:
'Sylvia's dear face is pale to-day. It grieves one to see her so.'
And when, on the contrary, she is gay and joyful, the sunshine of
her presence rejoices all who have the happiness of being near her.
Fairy Gifts
from the Green Fairy Book
Story Edited
by Andrew Lang |
