Phantastes, A Faerie Romance

Hardly knowing what I did, I opened the door. Why had I not done so

before? I do not know.

At first I could see no one; but when I had forced myself past the tree

which grew across the entrance, I saw, seated on the ground, and leaning

against the tree, with her back to my prison, a beautiful woman. Her

countenance seemed known to me, and yet unknown. She looked at me and

smiled, when I made my appearance.

"Ah! were you the prisoner there? I am very glad I have wiled you out."

"Do you know me then?" "Do you not know me? But you hurt me, and that,

I suppose, makes it easy for a man to forget. You broke my globe. Yet

I thank you. Perhaps I owe you many thanks for breaking it. I took the

pieces, all black, and wet with crying over them, to the Fairy Queen.

There was no music and no light in them now. But she took them from me,

and laid them aside; and made me go to sleep in a great hall of white,

with black pillars, and many red curtains. When I woke in the morning,

I went to her, hoping to have my globe again, whole and sound; but she

sent me away without it, and I have not seen it since. Nor do I care for

it now. I have something so much better. I do not need the globe to play

to me; for I can sing. I could not sing at all before. Now I go about

everywhere through Fairy Land, singing till my heart is like to break,

just like my globe, for very joy at my own songs. And wherever I go, my

songs do good, and deliver people. And now I have delivered you, and I

am so happy."

She ceased, and the tears came into her eyes.

All this time, I had been gazing at her; and now fully recognised the

face of the child, glorified in the countenance of the woman.

I was ashamed and humbled before her; but a great weight was lifted

from my thoughts. I knelt before her, and thanked her, and begged her to

forgive me.

"Rise, rise," she said; "I have nothing to forgive; I thank you. But now

I must be gone, for I do not know how many may be waiting for me, here

and there, through the dark forests; and they cannot come out till I

come."

She rose, and with a smile and a farewell, turned and left me. I dared

not ask her to stay; in fact, I could hardly speak to her. Between

her and me, there was a great gulf. She was uplifted, by sorrow and

well-doing, into a region I could hardly hope ever to enter. I watched

her departure, as one watches a sunset. She went like a radiance through

the dark wood, which was henceforth bright to me, from simply knowing

that such a creature was in it.