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The Elemental worlds

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  • Bradford Riley
    From: 8 8 8 ... That I cannot tell yet, not knowing how much of the fairy nature there is in you. But we shall soon see whether you
    Message 1 of 7 , Apr 2, 2002
      From: 8 8 8 <fireofthe12@...>
      >Subject: Re: [anthroposophy] Re: Sleep
      >Date: Wed, 3 Apr 2002 09:28:22 +1000 (EST)
      >"Shall I be able to see these things?" said I.

      "That I cannot tell yet, not knowing how much of the fairy nature there is
      in you. But we shall soon see whether you can discern the fairies in my
      little garden, and that will be some guide to us."

      "Are the trees fairies too, as well as the flowers?" I asked.

      "They are of the same race," she replied; "though those you call fairies in
      your country are chiefly the young children of the flower fairies. They are
      very fond of having fun with the thick people, as they call you; for, like
      most children, they like fun better than anything else."

      "Why do you have flowers so near you then? Do they not annoy you?"

      "Oh, no, they are very amusing, with their mimicries of grown people, and
      mock solemnities. Sometimes they will act a whole play through before my
      eyes, with perfect composure and assurance, for they are not afraid of me.
      Only, as soon as they have done, they burst into peals of tiny laughter, as
      if it was such a joke to have been serious over anything. These I speak of,
      however, are the fairies of the garden. They are more staid and educated
      than those of the fields and woods. Of course they have near relations
      amongst the wild flowers, but they patronise them, and treat them as country
      cousins, who know nothing of life, and very little of manners. Now and then,
      however, they are compelled to envy the grace and simplicity of the natural
      flowers."

      "Do they live in the flowers?" I said.

      "I cannot tell," she replied. "There is something in it I do not understand.
      Sometimes they disappear altogether, even from me, though I know they are
      near. They seem to die always with the flowers they resemble, and by whose
      names they are called; but whether they return to life with the fresh
      flowers, or, whether it be new flowers, new fairies, I cannot tell. They
      have as many sorts of dispositions as men and women, while their moods are
      yet more variable; twenty different expressions will cross their little
      faces in half a minute. I often amuse myself with watching them, but I have
      never been able to make personal acquaintance with any of them. If I speak
      to one, he or she looks up in my face, as if I were not worth heeding, gives
      a little laugh, and runs away."

      Here the woman started, as if suddenly recollecting herself, and said in a
      low voice to her daughter, "Make haste--go and watch him, and see in what
      direction he goes."

      I may as well mention here, that the conclusion I arrived at from the
      observations I was afterwards able to make, was, that the flowers die
      because the fairies go away; not that the fairies disappear because the
      flowers die. The flowers seem a sort of houses for them, or outer bodies,
      which they can put on or off when they please. Just as you could form some
      idea of the nature of a man from the kind of house he built, if he followed
      his own taste, so you could, without seeing the fairies, tell what any one
      of them is like, by looking at the flower till you feel that you understand
      it. For just what the flower says to you, would the face and form of the
      fairy say; only so much more plainly as a face and human figure can express
      more than a flower. For the house or the clothes, though like the inhabitant
      or the wearer, cannot be wrought into an equal power of utterance. Yet you
      would see a strange resemblance, almost oneness, between the flower and the
      fairy, which you could not describe, but which described itself to you.
      Whether all the flowers have fairies, I cannot determine, any more than I
      can be sure whether all men and women have souls.

      The woman and I continued the conversation for a few minutes longer. I was
      much interested by the information she gave me, and astonished at the
      language in which she was able to convey it. It seemed that intercourse with
      the fairies was no bad education in itself.

      "They would think," she added, "that you were making game of them; and that
      is their peculiar privilege with regard to us." So we went together into the
      little garden which sloped down towards a lower part of the wood.

      Here, to my great pleasure, all was life and bustle. There was still light
      enough from the day to see a little; and the pale half-moon, halfway to the
      zenith, was reviving every moment. The whole garden was like a carnival,
      with tiny, gaily decorated forms, in groups, assemblies, processions, pairs
      or trios, moving stately on, running about wildly, or sauntering hither or
      thither. From the cups or bells of tall flowers, as from balconies, some
      looked down on the masses below, now bursting with laughter, now grave as
      owls; but even in their deepest solemnity, seeming only to be waiting for
      the arrival of the next laugh. Some were launched on a little marshy stream
      at the bottom, in boats chosen from the heaps of last year's leaves that lay
      about, curled and withered. These soon sank with them; whereupon they swam
      ashore and got others. Those who took fresh rose-leaves for their boats
      floated the longest; but for these they had to fight; for the fairy of the
      rose-tree complained bitterly that they were stealing her clothes, and
      defended her property bravely.

      "You can't wear half you've got," said some.

      "Never you mind; I don't choose you to have them: they are my property."

      "All for the good of the community!" said one, and ran off with a great
      hollow leaf. But the rose-fairy sprang after him (what a beauty she was!
      only too like a drawing-room young lady), knocked him heels-over-head as he
      ran, and recovered her great red leaf. But in the meantime twenty had
      hurried off in different directions with others just as good; and the little
      creature sat down and cried, and then, in a pet, sent a perfect pink
      snowstorm of petals from her tree, leaping from branch to branch, and
      stamping and shaking and pulling. At last, after another good cry, she chose
      the biggest she could find, and ran away laughing, to launch her boat
      amongst the rest.

      But my attention was first and chiefly attracted by a group of fairies near
      the cottage, who were talking together around what seemed a last dying
      primrose. They talked singing, and their talk made a song, something like
      this:

      "Sister Snowdrop died
      Before we were born."
      "She came like a bride
      In a snowy morn."
      "What's a bride?"
      "What is snow?
      "Never tried."
      "Do not know."

      "Who told you about her?"
      "Little Primrose there
      Cannot do without her."
      "Oh, so sweetly fair!"
      "Never fear,
      She will come,
      Primrose dear."
      "Is she dumb?"

      "She'll come by-and-by."
      "You will never see her."
      "She went home to dies,
      "Till the new year."
      "Snowdrop!" "'Tis no good
      To invite her."
      "Primrose is very rude,
      "I will bite her."

      "Oh, you naughty Pocket!
      "Look, she drops her head."
      "She deserved it, Rocket,
      "And she was nearly dead."
      "To your hammock--off with you!"
      "And swing alone."
      "No one will laugh with you."
      "No, not one."

      "Now let us moan."
      "And cover her o'er."
      "Primrose is gone."
      "All but the flower."
      "Here is a leaf."
      "Lay her upon it."
      "Follow in grief."
      "Pocket has done it."

      "Deeper, poor creature!
      Winter may come."
      "He cannot reach her--
      That is a hum."
      "She is buried, the beauty!"
      "Now she is done."
      "That was the duty."
      "Now for the fun."

      And with a wild laugh they sprang away, most of them towards the cottage.
      During the latter part of the song-talk, they had formed themselves into a
      funeral procession, two of them bearing poor Primrose, whose death Pocket
      had hastened by biting her stalk, upon one of her own great leaves. They
      bore her solemnly along some distance, and then buried her under a tree.
      Although I say her I saw nothing but the withered primrose-flower on its
      long stalk. Pocket, who had been expelled from the company by common
      consent, went sulkily away towards her hammock, for she was the fairy of the
      calceolaria, and looked rather wicked. When she reached its stem, she
      stopped and looked round. I could not help speaking to her, for I stood near
      her. I said, "Pocket, how could you be so naughty?"

      "I am never naughty," she said, half-crossly, half-defiantly; "only if you
      come near my hammock, I will bite you, and then you will go away."

      "Why did you bite poor Primrose?"

      "Because she said we should never see Snowdrop; as if we were not good
      enough to look at her, and she was, the proud thing!--served her right!"

      "Oh, Pocket, Pocket," said I; but by this time the party which had gone
      towards the house, rushed out again, shouting and screaming with laughter.
      Half of them were on the cat's back, and half held on by her fur and tail,
      or ran beside her; till, more coming to their help, the furious cat was held
      fast; and they proceeded to pick the sparks out of her with thorns and pins,
      which they handled like harpoons. Indeed, there were more instruments at
      work about her than there could have been sparks in her. One little fellow
      who held on hard by the tip of the tail, with his feet planted on the ground
      at an angle of forty-five degrees, helping to keep her fast, administered a
      continuous flow of admonitions to Pussy.

      "Now, Pussy, be patient. You know quite well it is all for your good. You
      cannot be comfortable with all those sparks in you; and, indeed, I am
      charitably disposed to believe" (here he became very pompous) "that they are
      the cause of all your bad temper; so we must have them all out, every one;
      else we shall be reduced to the painful necessity of cutting your claws, and
      pulling out your eye-teeth. Quiet! Pussy, quiet!"

      But with a perfect hurricane of feline curses, the poor animal broke loose,
      and dashed across the garden and through the hedge, faster than even the
      fairies could follow. "Never mind, never mind, we shall find her again; and
      by that time she will have laid in a fresh stock of sparks. Hooray!" And off
      they set, after some new mischief.

      But I will not linger to enlarge on the amusing display of these frolicsome
      creatures. Their manners and habits are now so well known to the world,
      having been so often described by eyewitnesses, that it would be only
      indulging self-conceit, to add my account in full to the rest. I cannot help
      wishing, however, that my readers could see them for themselves. Especially
      do I desire that they should see the fairy of the daisy; a little, chubby,
      round-eyed child, with such innocent trust in his look! Even the most
      mischievous of the fairies would not tease him, although he did not belong
      to their set at all, but was quite a little country bumpkin. He wandered
      about alone, and looked at everything, with his hands in his little pockets,
      and a white night-cap on, the darling! He was not so beautiful as many other
      wild flowers I saw afterwards, but so dear and loving in his looks and
      little confident ways.

      _________________________________________________________________
      MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos:
      http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx
    • lisastephzim
      Dear Bradford, This is wonderful. I believe an entire rainbow resides in you. The way you move from one hue to the next is just amazing to watch. Thank you for
      Message 2 of 7 , Apr 3, 2002
        Dear Bradford,
        This is wonderful.
        I believe an entire rainbow resides in you.
        The way you move from one hue to the next is just amazing to watch.
        Thank you for taking the time to post this sweet piece.
        It is truly appreciated. =)

        Blessings,
        Lisa



        --- In anthroposophy@y..., "Bradford Riley" <holderlin66@h...> wrote:
        > From: 8 8 8 <fireofthe12@y...>
        > >Subject: Re: [anthroposophy] Re: Sleep
        > >Date: Wed, 3 Apr 2002 09:28:22 +1000 (EST)
        > >"Shall I be able to see these things?" said I.
        >
        > "That I cannot tell yet, not knowing how much of the fairy nature
        there is
        > in you. But we shall soon see whether you can discern the fairies
        in my
        > little garden, and that will be some guide to us."
        >
        > "Are the trees fairies too, as well as the flowers?" I asked.
        >
        > "They are of the same race," she replied; "though those you call
        fairies in
        > your country are chiefly the young children of the flower fairies.
        They are
        > very fond of having fun with the thick people, as they call you;
        for, like
        > most children, they like fun better than anything else."
        >
        > "Why do you have flowers so near you then? Do they not annoy you?"
        >
        > "Oh, no, they are very amusing, with their mimicries of grown
        people, and
        > mock solemnities. Sometimes they will act a whole play through
        before my
        > eyes, with perfect composure and assurance, for they are not afraid
        of me.
        > Only, as soon as they have done, they burst into peals of tiny
        laughter, as
        > if it was such a joke to have been serious over anything. These I
        speak of,
        > however, are the fairies of the garden. They are more staid and
        educated
        > than those of the fields and woods. Of course they have near
        relations
        > amongst the wild flowers, but they patronise them, and treat them
        as country
        > cousins, who know nothing of life, and very little of manners. Now
        and then,
        > however, they are compelled to envy the grace and simplicity of the
        natural
        > flowers."
        >
        > "Do they live in the flowers?" I said.
        >
        > "I cannot tell," she replied. "There is something in it I do not
        understand.
        > Sometimes they disappear altogether, even from me, though I know
        they are
        > near. They seem to die always with the flowers they resemble, and
        by whose
        > names they are called; but whether they return to life with the
        fresh
        > flowers, or, whether it be new flowers, new fairies, I cannot tell.
        They
        > have as many sorts of dispositions as men and women, while their
        moods are
        > yet more variable; twenty different expressions will cross their
        little
        > faces in half a minute. I often amuse myself with watching them,
        but I have
        > never been able to make personal acquaintance with any of them. If
        I speak
        > to one, he or she looks up in my face, as if I were not worth
        heeding, gives
        > a little laugh, and runs away."
        >
        > Here the woman started, as if suddenly recollecting herself, and
        said in a
        > low voice to her daughter, "Make haste--go and watch him, and see
        in what
        > direction he goes."
        >
        > I may as well mention here, that the conclusion I arrived at from
        the
        > observations I was afterwards able to make, was, that the flowers
        die
        > because the fairies go away; not that the fairies disappear because
        the
        > flowers die. The flowers seem a sort of houses for them, or outer
        bodies,
        > which they can put on or off when they please. Just as you could
        form some
        > idea of the nature of a man from the kind of house he built, if he
        followed
        > his own taste, so you could, without seeing the fairies, tell what
        any one
        > of them is like, by looking at the flower till you feel that you
        understand
        > it. For just what the flower says to you, would the face and form
        of the
        > fairy say; only so much more plainly as a face and human figure can
        express
        > more than a flower. For the house or the clothes, though like the
        inhabitant
        > or the wearer, cannot be wrought into an equal power of utterance.
        Yet you
        > would see a strange resemblance, almost oneness, between the flower
        and the
        > fairy, which you could not describe, but which described itself to
        you.
        > Whether all the flowers have fairies, I cannot determine, any more
        than I
        > can be sure whether all men and women have souls.
        >
        > The woman and I continued the conversation for a few minutes
        longer. I was
        > much interested by the information she gave me, and astonished at
        the
        > language in which she was able to convey it. It seemed that
        intercourse with
        > the fairies was no bad education in itself.
        >
        > "They would think," she added, "that you were making game of them;
        and that
        > is their peculiar privilege with regard to us." So we went together
        into the
        > little garden which sloped down towards a lower part of the wood.
        >
        > Here, to my great pleasure, all was life and bustle. There was
        still light
        > enough from the day to see a little; and the pale half-moon,
        halfway to the
        > zenith, was reviving every moment. The whole garden was like a
        carnival,
        > with tiny, gaily decorated forms, in groups, assemblies,
        processions, pairs
        > or trios, moving stately on, running about wildly, or sauntering
        hither or
        > thither. From the cups or bells of tall flowers, as from balconies,
        some
        > looked down on the masses below, now bursting with laughter, now
        grave as
        > owls; but even in their deepest solemnity, seeming only to be
        waiting for
        > the arrival of the next laugh. Some were launched on a little
        marshy stream
        > at the bottom, in boats chosen from the heaps of last year's leaves
        that lay
        > about, curled and withered. These soon sank with them; whereupon
        they swam
        > ashore and got others. Those who took fresh rose-leaves for their
        boats
        > floated the longest; but for these they had to fight; for the fairy
        of the
        > rose-tree complained bitterly that they were stealing her clothes,
        and
        > defended her property bravely.
        >
        > "You can't wear half you've got," said some.
        >
        > "Never you mind; I don't choose you to have them: they are my
        property."
        >
        > "All for the good of the community!" said one, and ran off with a
        great
        > hollow leaf. But the rose-fairy sprang after him (what a beauty she
        was!
        > only too like a drawing-room young lady), knocked him heels-over-
        head as he
        > ran, and recovered her great red leaf. But in the meantime twenty
        had
        > hurried off in different directions with others just as good; and
        the little
        > creature sat down and cried, and then, in a pet, sent a perfect
        pink
        > snowstorm of petals from her tree, leaping from branch to branch,
        and
        > stamping and shaking and pulling. At last, after another good cry,
        she chose
        > the biggest she could find, and ran away laughing, to launch her
        boat
        > amongst the rest.
        >
        > But my attention was first and chiefly attracted by a group of
        fairies near
        > the cottage, who were talking together around what seemed a last
        dying
        > primrose. They talked singing, and their talk made a song,
        something like
        > this:
        >
        > "Sister Snowdrop died
        > Before we were born."
        > "She came like a bride
        > In a snowy morn."
        > "What's a bride?"
        > "What is snow?
        > "Never tried."
        > "Do not know."
        >
        > "Who told you about her?"
        > "Little Primrose there
        > Cannot do without her."
        > "Oh, so sweetly fair!"
        > "Never fear,
        > She will come,
        > Primrose dear."
        > "Is she dumb?"
        >
        > "She'll come by-and-by."
        > "You will never see her."
        > "She went home to dies,
        > "Till the new year."
        > "Snowdrop!" "'Tis no good
        > To invite her."
        > "Primrose is very rude,
        > "I will bite her."
        >
        > "Oh, you naughty Pocket!
        > "Look, she drops her head."
        > "She deserved it, Rocket,
        > "And she was nearly dead."
        > "To your hammock--off with you!"
        > "And swing alone."
        > "No one will laugh with you."
        > "No, not one."
        >
        > "Now let us moan."
        > "And cover her o'er."
        > "Primrose is gone."
        > "All but the flower."
        > "Here is a leaf."
        > "Lay her upon it."
        > "Follow in grief."
        > "Pocket has done it."
        >
        > "Deeper, poor creature!
        > Winter may come."
        > "He cannot reach her--
        > That is a hum."
        > "She is buried, the beauty!"
        > "Now she is done."
        > "That was the duty."
        > "Now for the fun."
        >
        > And with a wild laugh they sprang away, most of them towards the
        cottage.
        > During the latter part of the song-talk, they had formed themselves
        into a
        > funeral procession, two of them bearing poor Primrose, whose death
        Pocket
        > had hastened by biting her stalk, upon one of her own great leaves.
        They
        > bore her solemnly along some distance, and then buried her under a
        tree.
        > Although I say her I saw nothing but the withered primrose-flower
        on its
        > long stalk. Pocket, who had been expelled from the company by
        common
        > consent, went sulkily away towards her hammock, for she was the
        fairy of the
        > calceolaria, and looked rather wicked. When she reached its stem,
        she
        > stopped and looked round. I could not help speaking to her, for I
        stood near
        > her. I said, "Pocket, how could you be so naughty?"
        >
        > "I am never naughty," she said, half-crossly, half-defiantly; "only
        if you
        > come near my hammock, I will bite you, and then you will go away."
        >
        > "Why did you bite poor Primrose?"
        >
        > "Because she said we should never see Snowdrop; as if we were not
        good
        > enough to look at her, and she was, the proud thing!--served her
        right!"
        >
        > "Oh, Pocket, Pocket," said I; but by this time the party which had
        gone
        > towards the house, rushed out again, shouting and screaming with
        laughter.
        > Half of them were on the cat's back, and half held on by her fur
        and tail,
        > or ran beside her; till, more coming to their help, the furious cat
        was held
        > fast; and they proceeded to pick the sparks out of her with thorns
        and pins,
        > which they handled like harpoons. Indeed, there were more
        instruments at
        > work about her than there could have been sparks in her. One little
        fellow
        > who held on hard by the tip of the tail, with his feet planted on
        the ground
        > at an angle of forty-five degrees, helping to keep her fast,
        administered a
        > continuous flow of admonitions to Pussy.
        >
        > "Now, Pussy, be patient. You know quite well it is all for your
        good. You
        > cannot be comfortable with all those sparks in you; and, indeed, I
        am
        > charitably disposed to believe" (here he became very pompous) "that
        they are
        > the cause of all your bad temper; so we must have them all out,
        every one;
        > else we shall be reduced to the painful necessity of cutting your
        claws, and
        > pulling out your eye-teeth. Quiet! Pussy, quiet!"
        >
        > But with a perfect hurricane of feline curses, the poor animal
        broke loose,
        > and dashed across the garden and through the hedge, faster than
        even the
        > fairies could follow. "Never mind, never mind, we shall find her
        again; and
        > by that time she will have laid in a fresh stock of sparks.
        Hooray!" And off
        > they set, after some new mischief.
        >
        > But I will not linger to enlarge on the amusing display of these
        frolicsome
        > creatures. Their manners and habits are now so well known to the
        world,
        > having been so often described by eyewitnesses, that it would be
        only
        > indulging self-conceit, to add my account in full to the rest. I
        cannot help
        > wishing, however, that my readers could see them for themselves.
        Especially
        > do I desire that they should see the fairy of the daisy; a little,
        chubby,
        > round-eyed child, with such innocent trust in his look! Even the
        most
        > mischievous of the fairies would not tease him, although he did not
        belong
        > to their set at all, but was quite a little country bumpkin. He
        wandered
        > about alone, and looked at everything, with his hands in his little
        pockets,
        > and a white night-cap on, the darling! He was not so beautiful as
        many other
        > wild flowers I saw afterwards, but so dear and loving in his looks
        and
        > little confident ways.
        >
        > _________________________________________________________________
        > MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos:
        > http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx
      • Morgan Vierheller
        Lisa, Bradford; Have you read Piktor s Metamorphosis by Hermann Hesse? It shares the same magic as the fairie story:) Don t miss it! Morgan
        Message 3 of 7 , Apr 3, 2002
          Lisa, Bradford;

          Have you read "Piktor's Metamorphosis" by Hermann Hesse?
          It shares the same magic as the fairie story:)

          Don't miss it!

          Morgan
        • danifyou@tv.videotron.ca
          An Ageless Nature Spirits Magical Tale :) Thanks Bradley! ... From: Bradford Riley From: 8 8 8 ... That
          Message 4 of 7 , Apr 4, 2002
            An Ageless Nature Spirits Magical Tale :)

            Thanks Bradley!

            -----Original Message-----
            From: "Bradford Riley"<holderlin66@...>
            From: 8 8 8 <fireofthe12@...>
            >Subject: Re: [anthroposophy] Re: Sleep
            >Date: Wed, 3 Apr 2002 09:28:22 +1000 (EST)
            >"Shall I be able to see these things?" said I.

            "That I cannot tell yet, not knowing how much of the fairy nature there is
            in you. But we shall soon see whether you can discern the fairies in my
            little garden, and that will be some guide to us."

            "Are the trees fairies too, as well as the flowers?" I asked.

            "They are of the same race," she replied; "though those you call fairies in
            your country are chiefly the young children of the flower fairies. They are
            very fond of having fun with the thick people, as they call you; for, like
            most children, they like fun better than anything else."

            "Why do you have flowers so near you then? Do they not annoy you?"

            "Oh, no, they are very amusing, with their mimicries of grown people, and
            mock solemnities. Sometimes they will act a whole play through before my
            eyes, with perfect composure and assurance, for they are not afraid of me.
            Only, as soon as they have done, they burst into peals of tiny laughter, as
            if it was such a joke to have been serious over anything. These I speak of,
            however, are the fairies of the garden. They are more staid and educated
            than those of the fields and woods. Of course they have near relations
            amongst the wild flowers, but they patronise them, and treat them as country
            cousins, who know nothing of life, and very little of manners. Now and then,
            however, they are compelled to envy the grace and simplicity of the natural
            flowers."

            "Do they live in the flowers?" I said.

            "I cannot tell," she replied. "There is something in it I do not understand.
            Sometimes they disappear altogether, even from me, though I know they are
            near. They seem to die always with the flowers they resemble, and by whose
            names they are called; but whether they return to life with the fresh
            flowers, or, whether it be new flowers, new fairies, I cannot tell. They
            have as many sorts of dispositions as men and women, while their moods are
            yet more variable; twenty different expressions will cross their little
            faces in half a minute. I often amuse myself with watching them, but I have
            never been able to make personal acquaintance with any of them. If I speak
            to one, he or she looks up in my face, as if I were not worth heeding, gives
            a little laugh, and runs away."

            Here the woman started, as if suddenly recollecting herself, and said in a
            low voice to her daughter, "Make haste--go and watch him, and see in what
            direction he goes."

            I may as well mention here, that the conclusion I arrived at from the
            observations I was afterwards able to make, was, that the flowers die
            because the fairies go away; not that the fairies disappear because the
            flowers die. The flowers seem a sort of houses for them, or outer bodies,
            which they can put on or off when they please. Just as you could form some
            idea of the nature of a man from the kind of house he built, if he followed
            his own taste, so you could, without seeing the fairies, tell what any one
            of them is like, by looking at the flower till you feel that you understand
            it. For just what the flower says to you, would the face and form of the
            fairy say; only so much more plainly as a face and human figure can express
            more than a flower. For the house or the clothes, though like the inhabitant
            or the wearer, cannot be wrought into an equal power of utterance. Yet you
            would see a strange resemblance, almost oneness, between the flower and the
            fairy, which you could not describe, but which described itself to you.
            Whether all the flowers have fairies, I cannot determine, any more than I
            can be sure whether all men and women have souls.

            The woman and I continued the conversation for a few minutes longer. I was
            much interested by the information she gave me, and astonished at the
            language in which she was able to convey it. It seemed that intercourse with
            the fairies was no bad education in itself.

            "They would think," she added, "that you were making game of them; and that
            is their peculiar privilege with regard to us." So we went together into the
            little garden which sloped down towards a lower part of the wood.

            Here, to my great pleasure, all was life and bustle. There was still light
            enough from the day to see a little; and the pale half-moon, halfway to the
            zenith, was reviving every moment. The whole garden was like a carnival,
            with tiny, gaily decorated forms, in groups, assemblies, processions, pairs
            or trios, moving stately on, running about wildly, or sauntering hither or
            thither. From the cups or bells of tall flowers, as from balconies, some
            looked down on the masses below, now bursting with laughter, now grave as
            owls; but even in their deepest solemnity, seeming only to be waiting for
            the arrival of the next laugh. Some were launched on a little marshy stream
            at the bottom, in boats chosen from the heaps of last year's leaves that lay
            about, curled and withered. These soon sank with them; whereupon they swam
            ashore and got others. Those who took fresh rose-leaves for their boats
            floated the longest; but for these they had to fight; for the fairy of the
            rose-tree complained bitterly that they were stealing her clothes, and
            defended her property bravely.

            "You can't wear half you've got," said some.

            "Never you mind; I don't choose you to have them: they are my property."

            "All for the good of the community!" said one, and ran off with a great
            hollow leaf. But the rose-fairy sprang after him (what a beauty she was!
            only too like a drawing-room young lady), knocked him heels-over-head as he
            ran, and recovered her great red leaf. But in the meantime twenty had
            hurried off in different directions with others just as good; and the little
            creature sat down and cried, and then, in a pet, sent a perfect pink
            snowstorm of petals from her tree, leaping from branch to branch, and
            stamping and shaking and pulling. At last, after another good cry, she chose
            the biggest she could find, and ran away laughing, to launch her boat
            amongst the rest.

            But my attention was first and chiefly attracted by a group of fairies near
            the cottage, who were talking together around what seemed a last dying
            primrose. They talked singing, and their talk made a song, something like
            this:

            "Sister Snowdrop died
            Before we were born."
            "She came like a bride
            In a snowy morn."
            "What's a bride?"
            "What is snow?
            "Never tried."
            "Do not know."

            "Who told you about her?"
            "Little Primrose there
            Cannot do without her."
            "Oh, so sweetly fair!"
            "Never fear,
            She will come,
            Primrose dear."
            "Is she dumb?"

            "She'll come by-and-by."
            "You will never see her."
            "She went home to dies,
            "Till the new year."
            "Snowdrop!" "'Tis no good
            To invite her."
            "Primrose is very rude,
            "I will bite her."

            "Oh, you naughty Pocket!
            "Look, she drops her head."
            "She deserved it, Rocket,
            "And she was nearly dead."
            "To your hammock--off with you!"
            "And swing alone."
            "No one will laugh with you."
            "No, not one."

            "Now let us moan."
            "And cover her o'er."
            "Primrose is gone."
            "All but the flower."
            "Here is a leaf."
            "Lay her upon it."
            "Follow in grief."
            "Pocket has done it."

            "Deeper, poor creature!
            Winter may come."
            "He cannot reach her--
            That is a hum."
            "She is buried, the beauty!"
            "Now she is done."
            "That was the duty."
            "Now for the fun."

            And with a wild laugh they sprang away, most of them towards the cottage.
            During the latter part of the song-talk, they had formed themselves into a
            funeral procession, two of them bearing poor Primrose, whose death Pocket
            had hastened by biting her stalk, upon one of her own great leaves. They
            bore her solemnly along some distance, and then buried her under a tree.
            Although I say her I saw nothing but the withered primrose-flower on its
            long stalk. Pocket, who had been expelled from the company by common
            consent, went sulkily away towards her hammock, for she was the fairy of the
            calceolaria, and looked rather wicked. When she reached its stem, she
            stopped and looked round. I could not help speaking to her, for I stood near
            her. I said, "Pocket, how could you be so naughty?"

            "I am never naughty," she said, half-crossly, half-defiantly; "only if you
            come near my hammock, I will bite you, and then you will go away."

            "Why did you bite poor Primrose?"

            "Because she said we should never see Snowdrop; as if we were not good
            enough to look at her, and she was, the proud thing!--served her right!"

            "Oh, Pocket, Pocket," said I; but by this time the party which had gone
            towards the house, rushed out again, shouting and screaming with laughter.
            Half of them were on the cat's back, and half held on by her fur and tail,
            or ran beside her; till, more coming to their help, the furious cat was held
            fast; and they proceeded to pick the sparks out of her with thorns and pins,
            which they handled like harpoons. Indeed, there were more instruments at
            work about her than there could have been sparks in her. One little fellow
            who held on hard by the tip of the tail, with his feet planted on the ground
            at an angle of forty-five degrees, helping to keep her fast, administered a
            continuous flow of admonitions to Pussy.

            "Now, Pussy, be patient. You know quite well it is all for your good. You
            cannot be comfortable with all those sparks in you; and, indeed, I am
            charitably disposed to believe" (here he became very pompous) "that they are
            the cause of all your bad temper; so we must have them all out, every one;
            else we shall be reduced to the painful necessity of cutting your claws, and
            pulling out your eye-teeth. Quiet! Pussy, quiet!"

            But with a perfect hurricane of feline curses, the poor animal broke loose,
            and dashed across the garden and through the hedge, faster than even the
            fairies could follow. "Never mind, never mind, we shall find her again; and
            by that time she will have laid in a fresh stock of sparks. Hooray!" And off
            they set, after some new mischief.

            But I will not linger to enlarge on the amusing display of these frolicsome
            creatures. Their manners and habits are now so well known to the world,
            having been so often described by eyewitnesses, that it would be only
            indulging self-conceit, to add my account in full to the rest. I cannot help
            wishing, however, that my readers could see them for themselves. Especially
            do I desire that they should see the fairy of the daisy; a little, chubby,
            round-eyed child, with such innocent trust in his look! Even the most
            mischievous of the fairies would not tease him, although he did not belong
            to their set at all, but was quite a little country bumpkin. He wandered
            about alone, and looked at everything, with his hands in his little pockets,
            and a white night-cap on, the darling! He was not so beautiful as many other
            wild flowers I saw afterwards, but so dear and loving in his looks and
            little confident ways.

            _________________________________________________________________
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          • lisastephzim
            Okay....I ve got it now (with a smack on my forehead). So George McDonald, if he were alive..would be the one who s feet I would wash with my hair..... ;)
            Message 5 of 7 , Apr 4, 2002
              Okay....I've got it now (with a smack on my forehead). So George
              McDonald, if he were alive..would be the one who's feet I would wash
              with my hair..... ;)
              Kindest Regards,
              Lisa



              > >"Shall I be able to see these things?" said I.
              >
              > "That I cannot tell yet, not knowing how much of the fairy nature
              there is
              > in you. But we shall soon see whether you can discern the fairies
              in my
              > little garden, and that will be some guide to us."
              >
              > "Are the trees fairies too, as well as the flowers?" I asked.
              >
              > "They are of the same race," she replied; "though those you call
              fairies in
              > your country are chiefly the young children of the flower fairies.
              They are
              > very fond of having fun with the thick people, as they call you;
              for, like
              > most children, they like fun better than anything else."
              >
              > "Why do you have flowers so near you then? Do they not annoy you?"
              >
              > "Oh, no, they are very amusing, with their mimicries of grown
              people, and
              > mock solemnities. Sometimes they will act a whole play through
              before my
              > eyes, with perfect composure and assurance, for they are not afraid
              of me.
              > Only, as soon as they have done, they burst into peals of tiny
              laughter, as
              > if it was such a joke to have been serious over anything. These I
              speak of,
              > however, are the fairies of the garden. They are more staid and
              educated
              > than those of the fields and woods. Of course they have near
              relations
              > amongst the wild flowers, but they patronise them, and treat them
              as country
              > cousins, who know nothing of life, and very little of manners. Now
              and then,
              > however, they are compelled to envy the grace and simplicity of the
              natural
              > flowers."
              >
              > "Do they live in the flowers?" I said.
              >
              > "I cannot tell," she replied. "There is something in it I do not
              understand.
              > Sometimes they disappear altogether, even from me, though I know
              they are
              > near. They seem to die always with the flowers they resemble, and
              by whose
              > names they are called; but whether they return to life with the
              fresh
              > flowers, or, whether it be new flowers, new fairies, I cannot tell.
              They
              > have as many sorts of dispositions as men and women, while their
              moods are
              > yet more variable; twenty different expressions will cross their
              little
              > faces in half a minute. I often amuse myself with watching them,
              but I have
              > never been able to make personal acquaintance with any of them. If
              I speak
              > to one, he or she looks up in my face, as if I were not worth
              heeding, gives
              > a little laugh, and runs away."
              >
              > Here the woman started, as if suddenly recollecting herself, and
              said in a
              > low voice to her daughter, "Make haste--go and watch him, and see
              in what
              > direction he goes."
              >
              > I may as well mention here, that the conclusion I arrived at from
              the
              > observations I was afterwards able to make, was, that the flowers
              die
              > because the fairies go away; not that the fairies disappear because
              the
              > flowers die. The flowers seem a sort of houses for them, or outer
              bodies,
              > which they can put on or off when they please. Just as you could
              form some
              > idea of the nature of a man from the kind of house he built, if he
              followed
              > his own taste, so you could, without seeing the fairies, tell what
              any one
              > of them is like, by looking at the flower till you feel that you
              understand
              > it. For just what the flower says to you, would the face and form
              of the
              > fairy say; only so much more plainly as a face and human figure can
              express
              > more than a flower. For the house or the clothes, though like the
              inhabitant
              > or the wearer, cannot be wrought into an equal power of utterance.
              Yet you
              > would see a strange resemblance, almost oneness, between the flower
              and the
              > fairy, which you could not describe, but which described itself to
              you.
              > Whether all the flowers have fairies, I cannot determine, any more
              than I
              > can be sure whether all men and women have souls.
              >
              > The woman and I continued the conversation for a few minutes
              longer. I was
              > much interested by the information she gave me, and astonished at
              the
              > language in which she was able to convey it. It seemed that
              intercourse with
              > the fairies was no bad education in itself.
              >
              > "They would think," she added, "that you were making game of them;
              and that
              > is their peculiar privilege with regard to us." So we went together
              into the
              > little garden which sloped down towards a lower part of the wood.
              >
              > Here, to my great pleasure, all was life and bustle. There was
              still light
              > enough from the day to see a little; and the pale half-moon,
              halfway to the
              > zenith, was reviving every moment. The whole garden was like a
              carnival,
              > with tiny, gaily decorated forms, in groups, assemblies,
              processions, pairs
              > or trios, moving stately on, running about wildly, or sauntering
              hither or
              > thither. From the cups or bells of tall flowers, as from balconies,
              some
              > looked down on the masses below, now bursting with laughter, now
              grave as
              > owls; but even in their deepest solemnity, seeming only to be
              waiting for
              > the arrival of the next laugh. Some were launched on a little
              marshy stream
              > at the bottom, in boats chosen from the heaps of last year's leaves
              that lay
              > about, curled and withered. These soon sank with them; whereupon
              they swam
              > ashore and got others. Those who took fresh rose-leaves for their
              boats
              > floated the longest; but for these they had to fight; for the fairy
              of the
              > rose-tree complained bitterly that they were stealing her clothes,
              and
              > defended her property bravely.
              >
              > "You can't wear half you've got," said some.
              >
              > "Never you mind; I don't choose you to have them: they are my
              property."
              >
              > "All for the good of the community!" said one, and ran off with a
              great
              > hollow leaf. But the rose-fairy sprang after him (what a beauty she
              was!
              > only too like a drawing-room young lady), knocked him heels-over-
              head as he
              > ran, and recovered her great red leaf. But in the meantime twenty
              had
              > hurried off in different directions with others just as good; and
              the little
              > creature sat down and cried, and then, in a pet, sent a perfect
              pink
              > snowstorm of petals from her tree, leaping from branch to branch,
              and
              > stamping and shaking and pulling. At last, after another good cry,
              she chose
              > the biggest she could find, and ran away laughing, to launch her
              boat
              > amongst the rest.
              >
              > But my attention was first and chiefly attracted by a group of
              fairies near
              > the cottage, who were talking together around what seemed a last
              dying
              > primrose. They talked singing, and their talk made a song,
              something like
              > this:
              >
              > "Sister Snowdrop died
              > Before we were born."
              > "She came like a bride
              > In a snowy morn."
              > "What's a bride?"
              > "What is snow?
              > "Never tried."
              > "Do not know."
              >
              > "Who told you about her?"
              > "Little Primrose there
              > Cannot do without her."
              > "Oh, so sweetly fair!"
              > "Never fear,
              > She will come,
              > Primrose dear."
              > "Is she dumb?"
              >
              > "She'll come by-and-by."
              > "You will never see her."
              > "She went home to dies,
              > "Till the new year."
              > "Snowdrop!" "'Tis no good
              > To invite her."
              > "Primrose is very rude,
              > "I will bite her."
              >
              > "Oh, you naughty Pocket!
              > "Look, she drops her head."
              > "She deserved it, Rocket,
              > "And she was nearly dead."
              > "To your hammock--off with you!"
              > "And swing alone."
              > "No one will laugh with you."
              > "No, not one."
              >
              > "Now let us moan."
              > "And cover her o'er."
              > "Primrose is gone."
              > "All but the flower."
              > "Here is a leaf."
              > "Lay her upon it."
              > "Follow in grief."
              > "Pocket has done it."
              >
              > "Deeper, poor creature!
              > Winter may come."
              > "He cannot reach her--
              > That is a hum."
              > "She is buried, the beauty!"
              > "Now she is done."
              > "That was the duty."
              > "Now for the fun."
              >
              > And with a wild laugh they sprang away, most of them towards the
              cottage.
              > During the latter part of the song-talk, they had formed themselves
              into a
              > funeral procession, two of them bearing poor Primrose, whose death
              Pocket
              > had hastened by biting her stalk, upon one of her own great leaves.
              They
              > bore her solemnly along some distance, and then buried her under a
              tree.
              > Although I say her I saw nothing but the withered primrose-flower
              on its
              > long stalk. Pocket, who had been expelled from the company by
              common
              > consent, went sulkily away towards her hammock, for she was the
              fairy of the
              > calceolaria, and looked rather wicked. When she reached its stem,
              she
              > stopped and looked round. I could not help speaking to her, for I
              stood near
              > her. I said, "Pocket, how could you be so naughty?"
              >
              > "I am never naughty," she said, half-crossly, half-defiantly; "only
              if you
              > come near my hammock, I will bite you, and then you will go away."
              >
              > "Why did you bite poor Primrose?"
              >
              > "Because she said we should never see Snowdrop; as if we were not
              good
              > enough to look at her, and she was, the proud thing!--served her
              right!"
              >
              > "Oh, Pocket, Pocket," said I; but by this time the party which had
              gone
              > towards the house, rushed out again, shouting and screaming with
              laughter.
              > Half of them were on the cat's back, and half held on by her fur
              and tail,
              > or ran beside her; till, more coming to their help, the furious cat
              was held
              > fast; and they proceeded to pick the sparks out of her with thorns
              and pins,
              > which they handled like harpoons. Indeed, there were more
              instruments at
              > work about her than there could have been sparks in her. One little
              fellow
              > who held on hard by the tip of the tail, with his feet planted on
              the ground
              > at an angle of forty-five degrees, helping to keep her fast,
              administered a
              > continuous flow of admonitions to Pussy.
              >
              > "Now, Pussy, be patient. You know quite well it is all for your
              good. You
              > cannot be comfortable with all those sparks in you; and, indeed, I
              am
              > charitably disposed to believe" (here he became very pompous) "that
              they are
              > the cause of all your bad temper; so we must have them all out,
              every one;
              > else we shall be reduced to the painful necessity of cutting your
              claws, and
              > pulling out your eye-teeth. Quiet! Pussy, quiet!"
              >
              > But with a perfect hurricane of feline curses, the poor animal
              broke loose,
              > and dashed across the garden and through the hedge, faster than
              even the
              > fairies could follow. "Never mind, never mind, we shall find her
              again; and
              > by that time she will have laid in a fresh stock of sparks.
              Hooray!" And off
              > they set, after some new mischief.
              >
              > But I will not linger to enlarge on the amusing display of these
              frolicsome
              > creatures. Their manners and habits are now so well known to the
              world,
              > having been so often described by eyewitnesses, that it would be
              only
              > indulging self-conceit, to add my account in full to the rest. I
              cannot help
              > wishing, however, that my readers could see them for themselves.
              Especially
              > do I desire that they should see the fairy of the daisy; a little,
              chubby,
              > round-eyed child, with such innocent trust in his look! Even the
              most
              > mischievous of the fairies would not tease him, although he did not
              belong
              > to their set at all, but was quite a little country bumpkin. He
              wandered
              > about alone, and looked at everything, with his hands in his little
              pockets,
              > and a white night-cap on, the darling! He was not so beautiful as
              many other
              > wild flowers I saw afterwards, but so dear and loving in his looks
              and
              > little confident ways.
              >
              > _________________________________________________________________
              > MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos:
              > http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx
            • lisastephzim
              Dear Morgan, Thank you for taking the time to post this! Love the feel of these stories. ... Sincerely, Lisa
              Message 6 of 7 , Apr 4, 2002
                Dear Morgan,
                Thank you for taking the time to post this!
                Love the feel of these stories.
                :)
                Sincerely,
                Lisa


                --- In anthroposophy@y..., Morgan Vierheller <mrgnsms@e...> wrote:
                > Lisa, Bradford;
                >
                > Have you read "Piktor's Metamorphosis" by Hermann Hesse?
                > It shares the same magic as the fairie story:)
                >
                > Don't miss it!
                >
                > Morgan
              • sncherr
                Everybody is probably familiar with Tannis Helliwell s Summer with the Leprechauns and Penny Kelly s The Elves of Lily Hill Farm. Conversation about the
                Message 7 of 7 , Apr 6, 2002
                  Everybody is probably familiar with Tannis Helliwell's "Summer with
                  the Leprechauns" and Penny Kelly's "The Elves of Lily Hill Farm."
                  Conversation about the elementals would not be complete without the
                  mention of Marco Pogacnik's work.

                  Sarah



                  --- In anthroposophy@y..., Morgan Vierheller <mrgnsms@e...> wrote:
                  > Lisa, Bradford;
                  >
                  > Have you read "Piktor's Metamorphosis" by Hermann Hesse?
                  > It shares the same magic as the fairie story:)
                  >
                  > Don't miss it!
                  >
                  > Morgan
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