The Lilac Fairy Book HTML version

'What cases are you engaged in at present?' 'Are you stopping many teeth just now?'
'What people have you converted lately?' Do ladies put these questions to the men--
lawyers, dentists, clergymen, and so forth--who happen to sit next them at dinner parties?
I do not know whether ladies thus indicate their interest in the occupations of their casual
neighbours at the hospitable board. But if they do not know me, or do not know me well,
they generally ask 'Are you writing anything now?' (as if they should ask a painter 'Are
you painting anything now?' or a lawyer 'Have you any cases at present?'). Sometimes
they are more definite and inquire 'What are you writing now?' as if I must be writing
something--which, indeed, is the case, though I dislike being reminded of it. It is an
awkward question, because the fair being does not care a bawbee what I am writing; nor
would she be much enlightened if I replied 'Madam, I am engaged on a treatise intended
to prove that Normal is prior to Conceptional Totemism'- -though that answer would be
as true in fact as obscure in significance. The best plan seems to be to answer that I have
entirely abandoned mere literature, and am contemplating a book on 'The Causes of Early
Blight in the Potato,' a melancholy circumstance which threatens to deprive us of our
chief esculent root. The inquirer would never be undeceived. One nymph who, like the
rest, could not keep off the horrid topic of my occupation, said 'You never write anything
but fairy books, do you?' A French gentleman, too, an educationist and expert in portraits
of Queen Mary, once sent me a newspaper article in which he had written that I was
exclusively devoted to the composition of fairy books, and nothing else. He then came to
England, visited me, and found that I knew rather more about portraits of Queen Mary
than he did.
In truth I never did write any fairy books in my life, except 'Prince Prigio,' 'Prince
Ricardo,' and 'Tales from a Fairy Court'--that of the aforesaid Prigio. I take this
opportunity of recommending these fairy books--poor things, but my own--to parents and
guardians who may never have heard of them. They are rich in romantic adventure, and
the Princes always marry the right Princesses and live happy ever afterwards; while the
wicked witches, stepmothers, tutors and governesses are never cruelly punished, but
retire to the country on ample pensions. I hate cruelty: I never put a wicked stepmother in
a barrel and send her tobogganing down a hill. It is true that Prince Ricardo did kill the
Yellow Dwarf; but that was in fair fight, sword in hand, and the dwarf, peace to his
ashes! died in harness.
The object of these confessions is not only that of advertising my own fairy books (which
are not 'out of print'; if your bookseller says so, the truth is not in him), but of giving
credit where credit is due. The fairy books have been almost wholly the work of Mrs.
Lang, who has translated and adapted them from the French, German, Portuguese, Italian,
Spanish, Catalan, and other languages.
My part has been that of Adam, according to Mark Twain, in the Garden of Eden. Eve
worked, Adam superintended. I also superintend. I find out where the stories are, and
advise, and, in short, superintend. I do not write the stories out of my own head. The
reputation of having written all the fairy books (an European reputation in nurseries and