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    The Girl and the Faun - Illustrated by Frank Brangwyn
    The Girl and the Faun - Illustrated by Frank Brangwyn
    The Girl and the Faun - Illustrated by Frank Brangwyn
    Ebook61 pages49 minutes

    The Girl and the Faun - Illustrated by Frank Brangwyn

    By Eden Phillpotts and Frank Brangwyn

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    About this ebook

    Eden Phillpotts's classical fantasy will whisk you away to a world where shepherdesses are fair, gods wax philosophical, and where a lesson is always learned in the nick of time. Tells the ancient Greek tale of love, heartbreak and determination.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRead Books Ltd.
    Release dateApr 10, 2014
    ISBN9781473393981
    The Girl and the Faun - Illustrated by Frank Brangwyn
    Author

    Eden Phillpotts

    Eden Phillpotts was an English author, poet, and dramatist. Born in Mount Abu, India, he was educated in Devon, England, and worked as an insurance officer for ten years before studying for the stage and eventually becoming a writer. Over the course of his career, he published scores of novels, many of which were mysteries. He died in 1960.

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      Book preview

      The Girl and the Faun - Illustrated by Frank Brangwyn - Eden Phillpotts

      YOUNG SPRING

      There yawned a cave in Chimera, and once a fierce old man, with a white beard, wrinkled forehead and bitter grey eyes came to the cave wearily. His name was Winter.

      I’ve done for the year, he said. Get up and be off. Demeter is coming over the hill and she’s looking for you.

      He spoke to his daughter, a daughter shy and wild, as one might expect with such a savage father. Then, as he entered, she came forth, alert, alive and bright-eyed, to seek the earth-mother.

      Dame Demeter swept along with her blue veil glimmering, like a valley mist, behind her and her starry shoon leaving a twinkle of new-born flowers at every footfall. She wept, but only from force of habit, and thirsty earth smiled under the gracious drops. Then Demeter seeing young Spring, beamed upon her and greeted her with a kiss. Where upon the daughter of Winter, grew gentle; her timid eyes shone steadily, and firmly she set her feet to go about her great business and reign over the awakening lands. Because thus it is always with her, and though she peeps uncertain into the world when her father turns his back upon it; though she hesitates over-long sometimes before setting forth to do Demeter’s work; yet, before the daffodils are sparkling through sere March and nodding to the buffets of Eurus; before the lemon tassels flutter on the hazel; long before the larches are in rapture again and the hills and valleys break into verdure, young Spring has grown pitiful, patient and very wise.

      The weakness of the new-born world smites her maiden bosom; the little hands of newly-created things touch her heart to ruth and gentleness—qualities exceedingly uncommon in the young and, when found, worthy of most generous approval.

      There is a great deal for her to do and, like the honey bee, she works, not for herself, but for all. She is a willing slave of Life, the tyrant, and whether it be in loosing of buds, that will not come uncurled without her fingers, or in tending the tiny lamb beside the ewe, or in breaking little shells to free egg-bound chicks in many a nest; or in a thousand other obscure, vital matters that most people, even with the best intentions, would entirely overlook, young Spring lives laborious days and during her brief and busy reign never rests a moment. Summer and Autumn sit on their thrones regally, but Spring is always jumping up to see after something, or give a finishing touch to somebody.

      Demeter, having once turned her to gentleness, brings the children to her knees, and Spring, who indeed is never less than a Queen, for all her agility and watchful care, shields the babies and guards and blesses the least of her subjects to the best of her limited powers. She loves all things and would protect all against her foes; but that she cannot do, for mightier monarchs waken with her, and before her work is done and she joins her parent in his cavern and sinks upon well earned slumber, there must be tattered leaves in her emerald courts, torn branches, disappointed buds and shattered nests. The coneys will mourn that the fox-cubs may grow fat; the highwayman jay, in his pink and azure, will scream over the blackbird’s home and a thousand tragedies, plots, counterplots, rebellions and revolts must mark her reign. For the law of life may break many things, but cannot be broken.

      Yet Summer’s courts and gardens of paradise will surely arise from her nurseries, and fair creatures that Spring herself must never see, will gratefully remember her. In truth Dame Demeter’s own lovely girl, sad Persephone, whom dusky Hades took to wife, has more fun of the world than Winter’s child. For she at least, enjoys the crown and glory of Summer, the splendour of Autumn’s harvest. Hers are the red and gold. To her belong the scented hay upon the wain; the fruit aglowing on the bough—the grapes and figs, the apples and pears and plump, sunset-coloured apricots. She shall behold the amber mounds of grain and the dusty cloud that leaps

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