Tales Before Tolkien: The Roots of Modern Fantasy

Overview

“A superb collection, a splendid and much-needed book. Anderson has cleared away the dross and shown us the golden roots of fantasy before it became a genre.”
–Michael Moorcock, author of The Eternal Champion

Many of today’s top names in fantasy acknowledge J.R.R. Tolkien as the author whose work inspired them to create their own epics. But which writers influenced Tolkien himself? In a collection destined to become a classic in its own right, internationally recognized Tolkien expert Douglas A. Anderson, editor ...

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Overview

“A superb collection, a splendid and much-needed book. Anderson has cleared away the dross and shown us the golden roots of fantasy before it became a genre.”
–Michael Moorcock, author of The Eternal Champion

Many of today’s top names in fantasy acknowledge J.R.R. Tolkien as the author whose work inspired them to create their own epics. But which writers influenced Tolkien himself? In a collection destined to become a classic in its own right, internationally recognized Tolkien expert Douglas A. Anderson, editor of The Annotated Hobbit, has gathered the fiction of the many gifted authors who sparked Tolkien’s imagination. Included are Andrew Lang’s romantic swashbuckler “The Story of Sigurd,” which features magic rings and a ferocious dragon; an excerpt from E. A. Wyke-Smith’s The Marvelous Land of Snergs, about creatures who were precursors to Tolkien’s hobbits; and a never-before-published gem by David Lindsay, author of A Voyage to Arcturus, a novel that Tolkien praised highly both as a thriller and as a work of philosophy, religion, and morality.

In stories packed with magical journeys, conflicted heroes, and terrible beasts, this extraordinary volume is one that no fan of fantasy or Tolkien should be without. These tales just might inspire a new generation of creative writers.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
For those interested in J.R.R. Tolkien's sources comes Tales Before Tolkien: The Roots of Modern Fantasy, edited by Douglas A. Anderson (The Annotated Hobbit), which collects 22 classic stories by such masters as George Macdonald, Andrew Lang, Lord Dunsany and James Branch Cabell. Arthur Machen aficionados will especially appreciate "The Coming of the Terror" (an abridgement of his short novel The Terror), hitherto unreprinted since its initial magazine appearance in 1917. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
KLIATT
The purpose of this book is to dispel the notion that "fantasy begins with J.R.R. Tolkien." Anderson, editor of The Annotated Hobbit, correctly observes that fantasy is present in the Iliad, the Odyssey, Beowulf, and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, among other works. Tolkien, an Oxford professor who specialized in medieval literatures, clearly drew upon a rich literary tradition to the point "that there exists almost a dividing line between fantasy written before Tolkien and fantasy written afterward." Anderson contends, "to better appreciate Tolkien's achievement one needs to better understand Tolkien's own roots and the roots of modern fantasy." To that end, this anthology presents the reader with 22 selections, arranged chronologically. Anderson used the following selection criteria: each work must have been written before the publication of The Hobbit in 1937; each writer must have been born at least five years before Tolkien (1892-1973). Some of the stories have specific connections to the work of Tolkien; some are Tolkienian even though it is unlikely Tolkien knew of them; some are clearly works Tolkien would not have known. Each selection is preceded by head notes in which Anderson provides some brief background on the author, possible links to the work of Tolkien, and publication information. For example, the first selection, "The Elves" by Ludwig Tieck, is considered one of the best German "literary fairy tales" and its influence on Tolkien is "very evident." The last selection, "A Christmas Play" by David Lindsay, is a work that has never been published previously although Tolkien is noted to have read Lindsay's novel, A Voyage to Arcturus, "with avidity." Although brief,Anderson's remarks are informative and thoughtful. In presenting background on Austin Tappan Wright, Anderson notes that "in scope and in detail his history of Islandia rivals Tolkien's own creation of Middle-earth," although it is clear that Tolkien never read Wright's work. It is equally clear that Tolkien did not know of the work of Kenneth Morris but that "he would have appreciated Morris's deft evoking of the religion of the Vikings" in "The Regent of the North." Anderson also observes "how easily war gives rise to fantasy in Arthur Machen's 'The Coming of the Terror'" as well as in the works of Tolkien. This collection serves the dual function of illuminating the sources of Tolkien's inspiration and providing easy access to a number of excellent stories by largely unknown writers. KLIATT Codes: SA—Recommended for senior high school students, advanced students, and adults. 2003, Random House, Ballantine, Del Rey, 432p., Ages 15 to adult.
—Anthony Pucci
Library Journal
The somewhat misleading title does not accurately describe this collection's contents: 22 literary fairy stories, chosen largely on the basis of their having date and story ingredients reminiscent of J.R.R. Tolkien's work. The great fantasist was not necessarily familiar with all of them or influenced specifically by them. Tolkien expert Anderson (editor of The Annotated Hobbit) does, however, include a good number of short tales from the early 20th century that showcase fantasy styles of the period, as well as the conventional elements of the tradition from which Tolkien's work sprang, particularly fairy creatures and foreboding and magical woods, moral choices made by heroes, and the stylistic use of songs and poems. Among the best tales, Frank R. Stockton's "The Griffin and the Minor Canon" humorously relates a griffin's obsession with his own image and the just reward of a canon's self-sacrifice, while the ogre in E.A. Wyke-Smith's "Golithos the Ogre" tries to reform his carnivorous nature despite temptation. A fascinating tribute to the roots of all modern fantasy; recommended for public and academic libraries.-Jennifer Baker, Seattle P.L. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
School Library Journal
Adult/High School-This anthology pulls together 21 short stories and one short play to explore the wide variety of influences on the writer who has long been regarded as the father of modern fantasy. Authors range from the iconic (L. Frank Baum) to the virtually unknown (Clemence Housman). Anderson includes commentary for each piece, highlighting possible connections with Tolkien's work. His comments are not scholarly or overly critical; instead they serve as effective introductions for a general audience at least somewhat familiar with Tolkien's fiction. Some of the associations are quite direct and compelling. John Buchan's "The Far Islands," for example, uses vivid descriptions of landscapes strikingly similar to that of Middle Earth. The book is arranged chronologically, and it's not surprising that the earliest pieces are the least gripping. Works like Ludwig Tieck's "The Elves" are little more than plotless retellings of fairy tales. But patient readers (or impatient ones willing to skip ahead) will find other selections that are well worth the time. Particularly memorable are stories by L. Frank Baum, H. Rider Haggard, and Arthur Machen, all of which are sure to keep fans of fantasy, new and old alike, reading.-Matthew L. Moffett, Northern Virginia Community College, Annandale Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780345458568
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 11/29/2005
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: ANN
  • Pages: 528
  • Sales rank: 509,190
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 6.90 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Douglas A. Anderson, a leading American Tolkien scholar and editor of The Annotated Hobbit, is acknowledged as the worldwide expert on the textual history of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. A bookseller in Ithaca, New York, and northwest Indiana, he now lives in southwestern Michigan.
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Read an Excerpt

The Elves by Ludwig Tieck
Translated by Thomas Carlyle

In his famous essay “On Fairy-stories” Tolkien wrote that “Faerie is a perilous land, and in it are pitfalls for the unwary and dungeons for the overbold.” Ludwig Tieck’s story of the young girl Mary and her encounter with the Elves is one of the very best stories of the German kunstmärchen, or “literary fairy tales.” Here the otherworldly and perilous nature of Faerie that Tolkien later described is very evident. “The Elves” was first published in volume 1 (1812) of Tieck’s three-volume Phantasus. The translation into English by Thomas Carlyle first appeared in German Romance (1827).

“Where is our little Mary?” said the father.

“She is playing out upon the green there with our neighbour’s boy,” replied the mother.

“I wish they may not run away and lose themselves,” said he; “they are so thoughtless.”

The mother looked for the little ones, and brought them their evening luncheon. “It is warm,” said the boy; “and Mary had a longing for the red cherries.”

“Have a care, children,” said the mother, “and do not run too far from home, and not into the wood; Father and I are going to the fields.”

Little Andres answered: “Never fear, the wood frightens us; we shall sit here by the house, where there are people near us.”

The mother went in, and soon came out again with her husband. They locked the door, and turned towards the fields to look after their labourers, and see their hay-harvest in the meadow. Their house lay upon a little green height, encircled by a pretty ring of paling, which likewise enclosed their fruit and flower garden. The hamlet stretched somewhat deeper down, and on the other side lay the castle of the Count. Martin rented the large farm from this nobleman; and was living in contentment with his wife and only child; for he yearly saved some money, and had the prospect of becoming a man of substance by his industry, for the ground was productive, and the Count not illiberal.

As he walked with his wife to the fields, he gazed cheerfully round and said: “What a different look this quarter has, Brigitta, from the place we lived in formerly! Here it is all so green; the whole village is bedecked with thick-spreading fruit-trees; the ground is full of beautiful herbs and flowers; all the houses are cheerful and cleanly, the inhabitants are at their ease: nay, I could almost fancy that the woods are greener here than elsewhere, and the sky bluer; and, so far as the eye can reach, you have pleasure and delight in beholding the bountiful Earth.”

“And whenever you cross the stream,” said Brigitta, “you are, as it were, in another world, all is so dreary and withered; but every traveller declares that our village is the fairest in the country far and near.”

“All but that fir-ground,” said her husband; “do but look back to it, how dark and dismal that solitary spot is lying in the gay scene: the dingy fir-trees with the smoky huts behind them, the ruined stalls, the brook flowing past with a sluggish melancholy.”

“It is true,” replied Brigitta; “if you but approach that spot, you grow disconsolate and sad, you know not why. What sort of people can they be that live there, and keep themselves so separate from the rest of us, as if they had an evil conscience?”

“A miserable crew,” replied the young Farmer: “gipsies, seemingly, that steal and cheat in other quarters, and have their hoard and hiding-place here. I wonder only that his Lordship suffers them.”

“Who knows,” said the wife, with an accent of pity, “but perhaps they may be poor people, wishing, out of shame, to conceal their poverty; for, after all, no one can say aught ill of them; the only thing is, that they do not go to church, and none knows how they live; for the little garden, which indeed seems altogether waste, cannot possibly support them; and fields they have none.”

“God knows,” said Martin, as they went along, “what trade they follow; no mortal comes to them; for the place they live in is as if bewitched and excommunicated, so that even our wildest fellows will not venture into it.”

Such conversation they pursued, while walking to the fields. That gloomy spot they spoke of lay aside from the hamlet. In a dell, begirt with firs, you might behold a hut, and various ruined office-houses; rarely was smoke seen to mount from it, still more rarely did men appear there; though at times curious people, venturing somewhat nearer, had perceived upon the bench before the hut, some hideous women, in ragged clothes, dandling in their arms some children equally dirty and ill-favoured; black dogs were running up and down upon the boundary; and, of an evening, a man of monstrous size was seen to cross the footbridge of the brook, and disappear in the hut; and, in the darkness, various shapes were observed, moving like shadows round a fire in the open air. This piece of ground, the firs and the ruined huts, formed in truth a strange contrast with the bright green landscape, the white houses of the hamlet, and the stately new-built castle.

The two little ones had now eaten their fruit; it came into their heads to run races; and the little nimble Mary always got the start of the less active Andres. “It is not fair,” cried Andres at last: “let us try it for some length, then we shall see who wins.”

“As thou wilt,” said Mary; “only to the brook we must not run.”

“No,” said Andres; “but there, on the hill, stands the large pear-tree, a quarter of a mile from this. I shall run by the left, round past the fir-ground; thou canst try it by the right over the fields; so we do not meet till we get up, and then we shall see which of us is swifter.”

“Done,” cried Mary, and began to run; “for we shall not mar one another by the way, and my father says it is as far to the hill by that side of the gipsies’s house as by this.”

Andres had already started, and Mary, turning to the right, could no longer see him. “It is very silly,” said she to herself: “I have only to take heart, and run along the bridge, past the hut, and through the yard, and I shall certainly be first.” She was already standing by the brook and the clump of firs. “Shall I? No; it is too frightful,” said she. A little white dog was standing on the farther side, and barking with might and main. In her terror, Mary thought the dog some monster, and sprang back. “Fy! fy!” said she: “the dolt is gone half way by this time, while I stand here considering.” The little dog kept barking, and, as she looked at it more narrowly, it seemed no longer frightful, but, on the contrary, quite pretty; it had a red collar round its neck, with a glittering bell; and as it raised its head, and shook itself in barking, the little bell sounded with the finest tinkle. “Well, I must risk it!” cried she, “I will run for life; quick, quick, I am through; certainly to Heaven, they cannot eat me up alive in half a minute!” And with this, the gay, courageous little Mary sprang along the footbridge; passed the dog, which ceased its barking and began to fawn on her; and in a moment she was standing on the other bank, and the black firs all round concealed from view her father’s house, and the rest of the landscape.

But what was her astonishment when here! The loveliest, most variegated flower-garden, lay round her; tulips, roses and lilies were glittering in the fairest colours; blue and gold-red butterflies were wavering in the blossoms; cages of shining wire were hung on the espaliers, with many-coloured birds in them, singing beautiful songs; and children, in short white frocks, with flowing yellow hair and brilliant eyes, were frolicking about; some playing with lambkins, some feeding the birds, or gathering flowers, and giving them to one another; some, again, were eating cherries, grapes and ruddy apricots. No hut was to be seen; but instead of it, a large fair house, with a brazen door and lofty statues, stood glancing in the middle of the space. Mary was confounded with surprise, and knew not what to think; but, not being bashful, she went right up to the first of the children, held out her hand, and wished the little creature good-even.

“Art thou come to visit us, then?” said the glittering child; “I saw thee running, playing on the other side, but thou wert frightened at our little dog.”

“So you are not gipsies and rogues,” said Mary, “as Andres always told me? He is a stupid thing, and talks of much he does not understand.”

“Stay with us,” said the strange little girl; “thou wilt like it well.”

“But we are running a race.”

“Thou wilt find thy comrade soon enough. There, take and eat.”

Mary ate, and found the fruit more sweet than any she had ever tasted in her life before; and Andres, and the race, and the prohibition of her parents, were entirely forgotten.

A stately woman, in a shining robe, came towards them, and asked about the stranger child. “Fairest lady,” said Mary, “I came running hither by chance, and now they wish to keep me.”

“Thou art aware, Zerina,” said the lady, “that she can be here but for a little while; besides, thou shouldst have asked my leave.”

“I thought,” said Zerina, “when I saw her admitted across the bridge, that I might do it; we have often seen her running in the fields, and thou thyself hast taken pleasure in her lively temper. She will have to leave us soon enough.”

“No, I will stay here,” said the little stranger; “for here it is so beautiful, and here I shall find the prettiest playthings, and store of berries and cherries to boot. On the other side it is not half so grand.”

The gold-robed lady went away with a smile; and many of the children now came bounding round the happy Mary in their mirth, and twitched her, and incited her to dance; others brought her lambs, or curious playthings; others made music on instruments, and sang to it.

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Table of Contents

Introduction 1
The Elves 4
The Golden Key 21
Puss-cat Mew 46
The Griffin and the Minor Canon 87
The Demon Pope 101
The Story of Sigurd 111
The Folk of the Mountain Door 120
Black Heart and White Heart: A Zulu Idyll 133
The Dragon Tamers 182
The Far Islands 195
The Drawn Arrow 213
The Enchanted Buffalo 224
Chu-bu and Sheemish 232
The Baumoff Explosive 237
The Regent of the North 253
The Coming of the Terror 264
The Elf Trap 302
The Thin Queen of Elfhame 325
The Woman of the Wood 333
Golithos the Ogre 359
The Story of Alwina 371
A Christmas Play 391
Author Notes and Recommended Reading 427
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First Chapter

The Elves by Ludwig Tieck

In his famous essay "On Fairy-stories" Tolkien wrote that "faerie is a perilous land, and in it are pitfalls for the unwary and dungeons for the overbold." Ludwig Tieck's story of the young girl Mary and her encounter with the Elves is one of the very best stories of the German kunstmärchen, or "literary fairy tales." Here the otherworldly and perilous nature of fa- erie that Tolkien later described is very evident.

"The Elves" was first published in volume 1 (1812) of Tieck's three-volume Phantasus. The translation into English by Thomas Carlyle first appeared in German Romance (1827).

Translated by Thomas Carlyle

Where is our little Mary?" said the father. "She is playing out upon the green there with our neighbour's boy," replied the mother.

"I wish they may not run away and lose themselves," said he; "they are so thoughtless."

The mother looked for the little ones, and brought them their evening luncheon. "It is warm," said the boy; "and Mary had a longing for the red cherries."

"Have a care, children," said the mother, "and do not run too far from home, and not into the wood; Father and I are going to the fields."

Little Andres answered: "Never fear, the wood frightens us; we shall sit here by the house, where there are people near us."

The mother went in, and soon came out again with her husband. They locked the door, and turned towards the fields to look after their labourers, and see their hay-harvest in the meadow. Their house lay upon a little green height, encircled by a pretty ring of paling, which likewise enclosed their fruit and flower garden. The hamlet stretchedsomewhat deeper down, and on the other side lay the castle of the Count. Martin rented the large farm from this nobleman; and was living in contentment with his wife and only child; for he yearly saved some money, and had the prospect of becoming a man of substance by his industry, for the ground was productive, and the Count not illiberal.

As he walked with his wife to the fields, he gazed cheerfully round and said: "What a different look this quarter has, Brigitta, from the place we lived in formerly! Here it is all so green; the whole village is bedecked with thick-spreading fruit-trees; the ground is full of beautiful herbs and flowers; all the houses are cheerful and cleanly, the inhabitants are at their ease: nay, I could almost fancy that the woods are greener here than elsewhere, and the sky bluer; and, so far as the eye can reach, you have pleasure and delight in beholding the bountiful Earth."

"And whenever you cross the stream," said Brigitta, "you are, as it were, in another world, all is so dreary and withered; but every traveller declares that our village is the fairest in the country far and near."

"All but that fir-ground," said her husband; "do but look back to it, how dark and dismal that solitary spot is lying in the gay scene: the dingy fir-trees with the smoky huts behind them, the ruined stalls, the brook flowing past with a sluggish melancholy."

"It is true," replied Brigitta; "if you but approach that spot, you grow disconsolate and sad, you know not why. What sort of people can they be that live there, and keep themselves so separate from the rest of us, as if they had an evil conscience?"

"A miserable crew," replied the young Farmer: "gipsies, seemingly, that steal and cheat in other quarters, and have their hoard and hiding-place here. I wonder only that his Lordship suffers them."

"Who knows," said the wife, with an accent of pity, "but perhaps they may be poor people, wishing, out of shame, to conceal their poverty; for, after all, no one can say aught ill of them; the only thing is, that they do not go to church, and none knows how they live; for the little garden, which indeed seems altogether waste, cannot possibly support them; and fields they have none."

"God knows," said Martin, as they went along, "what trade they follow; no mortal comes to them; for the place they live in is as if bewitched and excommunicated, so that even our wildest fellows will not venture into it."

Such conversation they pursued, while walking to the fields. That gloomy spot they spoke of lay aside from the hamlet. In a dell, begirt with firs, you might behold a hut, and various ruined office-houses; rarely was smoke seen to mount from it, still more rarely did men appear there; though at times curious people, venturing somewhat nearer, had perceived upon the bench before the hut, some hideous women, in ragged clothes, dandling in their arms some children equally dirty and ill-favoured; black dogs were running up and down upon the boundary; and, of an evening, a man of monstrous size was seen to cross the footbridge of the brook, and disappear in the hut; and, in the darkness, various shapes were observed, moving like shadows round a fire in the open air. This piece of ground, the firs and the ruined huts, formed in truth a strange contrast with the bright green landscape, the white houses of the hamlet, and the stately new-built castle.

The two little ones had now eaten their fruit; it came into their heads to run races; and the little nimble Mary always got the start of the less active Andres. "It is not fair," cried Andres at last: "let us try it for some length, then we shall see who wins."

"As thou wilt," said Mary; "only to the brook we must not run."

"No," said Andres; "but there, on the hill, stands the large pear-tree, a quarter of a mile from this. I shall run by the left, round past the fir-ground; thou canst try it by the right over the fields; so we do not meet till we get up, and then we shall see which of us is swifter."

"Done," cried Mary, and began to run; "for we shall not mar one an- other by the way, and my father says it is as far to the hill by that side of the gipsies's house as by this."

Andres had already started, and Mary, turning to the right, could no longer see him. "It is very silly," said she to herself: "I have only to take heart, and run along the bridge, past the hut, and through the yard, and I shall certainly be first." She was already standing by the brook and the clump of firs. "Shall I? No; it is too frightful," said she. A little white dog was standing on the farther side, and barking with might and main. In her terror, Mary thought the dog some monster, and sprang back. "Fy! fy!" said she: "the dolt is gone half way by this time, while I stand here considering." The little dog kept barking, and, as she looked at it more narrowly, it seemed no longer frightful, but, on the contrary, quite pretty; it had a red collar round its neck, with a glittering bell; and as it raised its head, and shook itself in barking, the little bell sounded with the finest tinkle. "Well, I must risk it!" cried she, "I will run for life; quick, quick, I am through; certainly to Heaven, they cannot eat me up alive in half a minute!" And with this, the gay, courageous little Mary sprang along the footbridge; passed the dog, which ceased its barking and began to fawn on her; and in a moment she was standing on the other bank, and the black firs all round concealed from view her father's house, and the rest of the landscape.

But what was her astonishment when here! The loveliest, most variegated flower-garden, lay round her; tulips, roses and lilies were glittering in the fairest colours; blue and gold-red butterflies were wavering in the blossoms; cages of shining wire were hung on the espaliers, with many-coloured birds in them, singing beautiful songs; and children, in short white frocks, with flowing yellow hair and brilliant eyes, were frolicking about; some playing with lambkins, some feeding the birds, or gathering flowers, and giving them to one another; some, again, were eating cherries, grapes and ruddy apricots. No hut was to be seen; but instead of it, a large fair house, with a brazen door and lofty statues, stood glancing in the middle of the space. Mary was confounded with surprise, and knew not what to think; but, not being bashful, she went right up to the first of the children, held out her hand, and wished the little creature good-even.

"Art thou come to visit us, then?" said the glittering child; "I saw thee running, playing on the other side, but thou wert frightened at our little dog."

"So you are not gipsies and rogues," said Mary, "as Andres always told me? He is a stupid thing, and talks of much he does not understand."

"Stay with us," said the strange little girl; "thou wilt like it well."

"But we are running a race."

"Thou wilt find thy comrade soon enough. There, take and eat."

Mary ate, and found the fruit more sweet than any she had ever tasted in her life before; and Andres, and the race, and the prohibition of her parents, were entirely forgotten.

A stately woman, in a shining robe, came towards them, and asked about the stranger child. "Fairest lady," said Mary, "I came running hither by chance, and now they wish to keep me."

"Thou art aware, Zerina," said the lady, "that she can be here but for a little while; besides, thou shouldst have asked my leave."

"I thought," said Zerina, "when I saw her admitted across the bridge, that I might do it; we have often seen her running in the fields, and thou thyself hast taken pleasure in her lively temper. She will have to leave us soon enough."

"No, I will stay here," said the little stranger; "for here it is so beautiful, and here I shall find the prettiest playthings, and store of berries and cherries to boot. On the other side it is not half so grand."

The gold-robed lady went away with a smile; and many of the children now came bounding round the happy Mary in their mirth, and twitched her, and incited her to dance; others brought her lambs, or curious playthings; others made music on instruments, and sang to it.

She kept, however, by the playmate who had first met her; for Zerina was the kindest and loveliest of them all. Little Mary cried and cried again: "I will stay with you forever; I will stay with you, and you shall be my sisters"; at which the children all laughed, and embraced her. "Now we shall have a royal sport," said Zerina. She ran into the palace, and returned with a little golden box, in which lay a quantity of seeds, like glittering dust. She lifted of it with her little hand, and scattered some grains on the green earth. Instantly the grass began to move, as in waves; and, after a few moments, bright rosebushes started from the ground, shot rapidly up, and budded all at once, while the sweetest perfume filled the place. Mary also took a little of the dust, and, having scattered it, she saw white lilies, and the most variegated pinks, pushing up. At a signal from Zerina, the flowers disappeared, and others rose in their room. "Now," said Zerina, "look for something greater." She laid two pine-seeds in the ground, and stamped them in sharply with her foot. Two green bushes stood before them. "Grasp me fast," said she; and Mary threw her arms about the slender form. She felt herself borne upwards; for the trees were springing under them with the greatest speed; the tall pines waved to and fro, and the two children held each other fast embraced, swinging this way and that in the red clouds of the twilight, and kissed each other; while the rest were climbing up and down the trunks with quick dexterity, pushing and teasing one another with loud laughter when they met; if any one fell down in the press, it flew through the air, and sank slowly and surely to the ground. At length Mary was beginning to be frightened; and the other little child sang a few loud tones, and the trees again sank down, and set them on the ground as gradually as they had lifted them before to the clouds.

They next went through the brazen door of the palace. Here many fair women, elderly and young, were sitting in the round hall, partaking of the fairest fruits, and listening to glorious invisible music. In the vaulting of the ceiling, palms, flowers and groves stood painted, among which little figures of children were sporting and winding in every graceful posture; and with the tones of the music, the images altered and glowed with the most burning colours; now the blue and green were sparkling like radiant light, now these tints faded back in paleness, the purple flamed up, and the gold took fire; and then the naked children seemed to be alive among the flower-garlands, and to draw breath, and emit it through their ruby-coloured lips; so that by fits you could see the glance of their little white teeth, and the lighting up of their azure eyes.

From the hall, a stair of brass led down to a subterranean chamber. Here lay much gold and silver, and precious stones of every hue shone out between them. Strange vessels stood along the walls, and all seemed filled with costly things. The gold was worked into many forms, and glittered with the friendliest red. Many little dwarfs were busied sorting the pieces from the heap, and putting them in the vessels; others, hunch-backed and bandy-legged, with long red noses, were tottering slowly along, half-bent to the ground, under full sacks, which they bore as millers do their grain; and, with much panting, shaking out the gold-dust on the ground. Then they darted awkwardly to the right and left, and caught the rolling balls that were like to run away; and it happened now and then that one in his eagerness overset the other, so that both fell heavily and clumsily to the ground. They made angry faces, and looked askance, as Mary laughed at their gestures and their ugliness. Behind them sat an old crumpled little man, whom Zerina reverently greeted; he thanked her with a grave inclination of his head. He held a sceptre in his hand, and wore a crown upon his brow, and all the other dwarfs appeared to regard him as their master, and obey his nod.

"What more wanted?" asked he, with a surly voice, as the children came a little nearer. Mary was afraid, and did not speak; but her companion answered, they were only come to look about them in the chambers. "Still your old child's tricks!" replied the dwarf: "Will there never be an end to idleness?" With this, he turned again to his employment, kept his people weighing and sorting the ingots; some he sent away on errands, some he chid with angry tones.
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Sort by: Showing 1 – 7 of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Posted December 9, 2008

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    A nostalgic anthology

    JRR Tolkien is considered by many to be the father of modern fantasy though he often referred to the classic Beowulf. This collection looks at twenty-two stories that may have influenced him in his creation of hose adorable Hobbits. The selections were based on the premises that the tales were published before any Middle Earth story and that the author was born at least five years before Mr. Tolkien. Several were written in the nineteenth century, but were chosen because Mr. Tolkien makes reference to them in his letters or commentaries.<P> Although not for everyone as the contributions in many cases feel a bit dated, this anthology is a fun collection. Notables are included such as Frank Stockton, Lewis Carroll, H. Rider Haggard, and L. Frank Baum, etc. Besides those curious of the genre¿s heritage, generalists will appreciate the tales as for the most part they are well written and worth the look back though where is the most influential, Beowulf?<P> Harriet Klausner

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