Olaf; or, The Fairy Gifts.
by Mrs. Colles.
Volume 4, 1893/4, pgs. 143-149
Part I
Once upon a time, in the days when everything strange, astonishing, and delightful happened, there was born into the world a little baby, who was also a Prince. This Prince was the son of a king, and his mother, consequently, was a queen.
Of course, therefore, when he was christened many fairies were among the guests, as was the custom in those days, and as was expected, they gave him gifts of great and strange value.
They found it a little difficult, however, to think of anything new and original for their little godson. They and their sister fairies had so often bestowed on other royal babies, as well as on many who were not royal, beauty, cleverness, and wealth, that these endowments had become quite hackneyed and cheap in consequence, and the fairy godmothers felt it was high time to invent some fresh ones.
So they had put their heads together, and had succeeded on this occasion in choosing for the baby-prince certain fairy gifts which had not been given over and over again just in the same shape and order to the other little godchildren at whose christenings they had presided.
When the moment came for bestowing these gifts, the first to do so stepped up to the cradle, and waving her shining wand over the baby's little bald head, uttered the following words, in a soft musical voice:
"Let all the birds, whose happy nests
The woodlands hide, while pours their chant,
To you the secrets of their breasts,
Tell, as their trusted confidant,
The gospel, which is purely true,
That winter-death means better life,
That victory is the end of strife,
That tireless love makes all things new."
The next fairy then came forward, and doing the same as her sister, said:
"The gift I give thee, little child,
Is drawn from Nature's goodly store.
Smell sweet for him, ye flow'rets wild;
For him the garden's fragrance pour
In one uprising incense cloud
Thus richly is he hence endowed."
The next spoke thus:
"O! baby-eyes, which vacant gaze,
And see not what before them lie,
For you let Earth's best beauty blaze.
Enraptured look on sea and sky!
Ay, see, and then to you shall seem,
Earth fairer than the fairest dream!"
She drew back, and the fourth took her place, and said:
"Along the path of daily life,
The wayfarers who with you walk,
Shall stop and gaze with smile of love
On you, and joy with you to talk.
You hearts shall win where'er you be,
And winning, keep. My gift to thee."
The fifth followed thus:
"Best prize of all 'tis mine to give.
She whose first love can never change,
Who best can teach you how to live,
Whom naught can alter or estrange,
Your mother, and her love to know;
This gift of gifts I now bestow."
So saying she hung round the little Prince's neck a beautiful golden chain, on which were suspended five rich jewels, each of which contained, in some wonderful manner which I should find too difficult to explain and you too difficult to understand, the marvellous gifts just described.
The gems were evidently of different colours, but had a certain dimness as though they needed to be polished, but the fairies told the king and queen that time alone could reveal their hues, which were wonderfully brilliant when they shone out; moreover, that the chain must never be removed from the baby's neck, but would stretch with its growth.
One person alone was to have the supreme charge of cleaning and rubbing it every time the little one was washed, and that person was his mother the queen, and they added solemnly that his first reading lesson (as well as many others) was to be taught by her alone.
So saying, they bade her and the king an affectionate farewell and departed.
Weeks, months, and years passed rapidly, and the little Prince grew much as other healthy and well-cared-for babies grow, and became a strong, bright and beautiful boy--always with his mother as much as was possible, and daily washed and dressed by her own gentle hands.
When he was six years old, the queen determined to teach him to read, and one bright morning, a short time after he had picked up almost at play a knowledge of the alphabet, she placed before him a beautifully illuminated book with words in it, the letters of which blazed with bright colours, and were ornamented with delicate scrolls, leaves and flowers. She set him to read one word, and very gently and patiently helped him in doing so, but little Prince Olaf was lazy and cross, and disinclined to learn.
The sun was shining through the stained-glass windows, and lit up the pages of his beautiful lesson-book, but it only made him long to go out into the garden.
His mother let him lean against her knee while learning his lesson, but it made him all the more discontented at not being allowed to ride on her foot and play at "Ride a cock-horse."
This state of things grew worse and worse, and no attempt would he make to give his mind to his lesson. It came at last to the queen having to get up with a grave face, and saying, "I cannot stay any longer, Olaf; I have other duties to attend to. Your lesson-time for to-day is over, but you have wasted it sadly." So saying, she stooped down, and Olaf thought she was going to kiss him, but with a very sad expression, she raised her head again, and said, "No, I cannot kiss you; I would if I could, my child, but I cannot until your lesson is learnt."
Olaf felt very miserable; he was still cross, but the crossness was turning into great unhappiness.
He gazed out of window, and the sunshine seemed cruel and heartless for looking so bright. He heard the birds singing, but they only seemed to be trying to tease him by their cheery voices.
Then he thought of his mother's going without kissing him, and he said to himself that she did not love him in the least; and with that thought came over him a dreadful loneliness, and he felt himself to be like one of the beggars, whom he had seen sitting by the roadside, and asking alms in tones of dreary complaint.
"I am a beggar; I have nothing to make me happy," he said to himself, and then a fancy came into his head to go and sit by the roadside too, and beg for help from any one who passed. Miserable as the fancy was, it somehow seemed to give him a kind of dreary pleasure, and he set off at once to carry it into act.
He wandered out of the Palace, and as no one thought of the little Prince doing such a strange thing, no one was on the look-out to stop him, so he easily got away through the beautiful flowery garden, and passing by, without heeding them, its rich roses and lilies and bowers of sweet-smelling jasmine, and making his way down the long lime avenue, murmurous with bees, finally arrived at the dusty roadside which lay beyond the Palace grounds.
He was very tired, hot, and uncomfortable now, for his houseshoes were not intended for a journey of this sort, and his head ached from the heat of the sun.
He had not chosen to put on a hat. Down he sat by the road, and felt and even looked, in his now dusty clothes, like one of the beggars whom he wished to imitate.
Presently he began to find this very dull work, for to tell the truth, as there was no one there to notice him, it was not what he had expected. He saw a little bird hopping a few yards off; but it seemed quite indifferent to his presence, and as though it did not even see him; this made him feel strangely irritated, and in his anger he took up a little pebble and threw it at the bird, which though not struck, was startled, and flew away with a sharp cry; and as it did so, a number of other birds from the bushes and trees around rose in flight and vanished into the forest.
And Olaf felt more than ever desolate and alone.
While he was in this state he suddenly heard a light step approaching, and, looking up, saw a little girl in a scarlet cloak and hood, and carrying a basket, out of which peeped a yellow pat of butter, a wheaten loaf, and some new-laid eggs.
She had a sweet friendly face and shining curls, and her blue eyes looked kindly and inquiringly at Olaf as he dismally returned her glance.
Then Olaf recollected his role of beggar, and, holding out his hand, whined out an entreaty for help in the tone of voice which he had so often heard, and (as children are so fond of doing) had imitated sometimes in his games.
"What is it that you want, and what is the matter with you?" asked the little red-hooded girl in great surprise.
"I am very unhappy," complained Olaf. "I am poor and lonely; even the little birds won't come near me; they all fly away."
The little girl's look of surprise changed to one of grave disapproval; she drew back a step or two, and said:
"O, how can you! You are only pretending. You are not a real beggar at all, but a king's son; I see a fairy gift round your neck;" and with these words she left him, and stepping briskly along the road, soon disappeared from view.
Olaf felt more deserted than ever now, but, strange to say, he was also more than ever resolved to persist in playing the part he had chosen for himself, and to be a beggar; and, indeed, he had almost succeeded by this time in persuading himself that he was one.
He felt very hot and thirsty, and there was a smell of dust by the roadside where he had chosen to plant himself.
How nasty everything was! No pleasant scents of flowers such as he was used to from the rich Palace gardens and thymy slopes where he was daily taken to walk and play.
Presently he saw some one else approaching. This time it was a tall lady with a flowing robe and wonderful hair which fell around her like a golden veil.
She was very lovely and very gentle in expression, and in her hand she held a crimson rose which she often put to her face. Olaf began his begging appeal to her when she came near, and the lady turned and looked at him very gently and with surprise, and asked what he wanted.
"I am so tired, and hot, and dusty," answered Olaf. "And I can smell no nice flowers--everything is disagreeable."
The lady raised her beautiful eyebrows and said with great dignity:
"Everything disagreeable! Why, my one red rose gives scent enough to perfume the whole road. It grew in Beast's garden--he who is my Prince now." And here she blushed and looked very happy, but turning again to Olaf she said gravely: "I am afraid you are only pretending. Take care, or you may turn into a beast. I know you are a king's son and no true beggar, for I see a fairy gift round your neck"; and so saying she turned away and passed on.
And Olaf felt more lonely than ever, and ashamed too, but still he would not give up his miserable little "make-believe."
O, how horrid everything looked! He hated the sun for shining, and the sky for being blue. The breeze which now and again stirred the boughs overhead only teased him by floating his curls into his eyes. He felt crosser than ever, when just then some one else drew near, and looking up he saw another lady, gentle and lovely to look on.
Very quietly she glided towards Olaf, and always with a strange dreamy look as of one who had been long asleep, and who, now that she had awakened, was surprised and wondering at all she saw. Suddenly Olaf's begging caught her ear, and she turned her wondering eyes on him.
"What can you want, little boy?" she asked kindly.
"I am so miserable," answered he, "and everything is so horrid, and the world looks so ugly."
"The world so ugly?" she echoed in a tone of utter astonishment. "If you had been asleep for a hundred years you would only feel how impossible it is to take in the perfect beauty of the world. You would never wish to close your eyes again, but only to look and look and try to see for ever, but"--(and here she started away from him). "Oh, fie! you are only pretending. You are a king's son, for I see a fairy gift round your neck." And with a glance of reproach she, too, passed on.
And Olaf was left more than ever alone.
"No one likes me--no one pities me!" thought he. "I am a beggar! How unkind they all are!"
As he was nursing this thought there drew near another passer-by.
This time it was a young girl with a pretty but rather plaintive little face, and clothes which appeared old and soiled, as though they had been worn among dust and cinders. She stopped and looked at Olaf with kind sympathy in her eyes and they filled with tears when he began to beg of her.
"What is your trouble?" she asked gently.
"I am so lonely," whined Olaf. "No one loves me--no one feels for me."
"Have you no father or mother living?" she asked
"Y--es," faltered Olaf, for he could not but feel ashamed of himself as he thought of his loving father and tender mother.
"Oh! then, how can you say no one loves you? If you had had nobody to live with except two proud step-sisters, who made you drudge for them, and never thanked you for anything you did or showed you any affection, you might say 'no one feels for me'; but if you have a father and mother--Oh!" (and here she, too, broke off in sudden disapproval) "I see you are only making believe to be a beggar, and that is a dreadful thing to do in a world where there are real troubles. You are a king's son, and wear a fairy gift round your neck. For shame!" And she too left him.
(To be concluded in our next.)
Proofread by LNL, Jul. 2023