Fairy Gifts

FAIRY GIFTS

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.

[Illustration]

'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.

By the Comte de Caylus.