There once was a discontented maiden who lived in a castle. This was no royal maid, however; she was merely a servant. Each day heralded for her new tasks and misfortunes, and her reward for her pains was always new holes in her drab brown frock, and a few hours' sleep on her little cot in her shabby room in the attic.
The maiden did not suffer from self-pity, but she felt that the castle was a cheerless place to work, and this made her terribly unhappy. The servants were ever fearful of not conducting their work well enough to suit their superiors, and their superiors lived only to please the royal family, beating and chastising those whose service, they felt, was wanting. The servants were constantly in a state, running about and working the poor little maiden to the bone, and the only relief she ever experienced was those occasions when she was able to slip away for a few hours into the forest. There, she bathed her tired feet in cool silver streams, or made a garland of flowers for her hair, or ate sweet berries. She was always loath to leave when she realized she would soon be missed at the castle, and her dearest wish was to remain forevermore in the forest where her heart knew joy. Yet rest never seems to come to those who deserve it most, and the maiden experienced rare respite from endless chores.
The night of the midsummer feast was the busiest of the year, and the maiden always had a bad time of it. This year's feast preparation was the most wretched the maiden had yet experienced. Three of the cooks shouted at her for not cleaning the golden festival plates quickly enough to their fancy, and one upset her so that she dropped a plate, which earned her further reprimand. She trod on the hem of the queen's grand petticoat as she and another servant girl carried it to the chamber where the servants were dressing the queen, and the head servant boxed her ears soundly. She had not a wink of sleep the evening prior to the feast, and was quite weary to begin with, but would not be allowed to rest until after the festivities were over. This year, the maiden would serve at the feast. When it was time for the celebration, she tidied herself as best she could, and went to attend to her duties.
The feast was held in the courtyard, and was truly magnificent. Tables were heaped with such delicacies as peacock stuffed with herbs, crystallized fruit, and a six-tiered plum cake with butternut frosting. The courtyard was illuminated by torches, and fourteen minstrels made merry music with lute and harp. The servants whisked away old courses and brought out new ones in endless succession, and the maiden filled jewel-encrusted gold goblets with mead and waited on the guests throughout the night. In the early dawn hours, she and the other servants who were present at the feast were granted time to rest. Preferring a bed of moss to her own, the maiden slipped off to her favorite glade in the forest. Overcome by exhaustion, she fell into a deep slumber as soon as she lay down.
She awoke some time later, and realized with horror that she was late for work, for the light of dusk was filtering through the trees. She gathered her skirts about her and sat up, and it was then that she became aware of the presence of many other beings about her. She crouched down in her bed of moss, hoping to remain unnoticed, and gazed in wonderment at the spectacle before her. Hundreds of faeries were dancing, hands linked, in a circle, their countenances solemn. Then, as if on the behest of a signal unheard by the maiden, they dropped hands and danced freely about the glade, laughing gaily. A number of them began playing pipes in a jaunty tune.
The maiden was awed. She had heard tell of faeries, but never imagined they could be so lovely. Their robes were the color of the sky at varying times of day, from the rose-pink of dawn, to the golden hues of midday, to the deepest blue of early night. Their dance was captivating, and the very sight of those fair creatures engaged in such merry-making was enough to cause the maiden to forget herself and clap her hands in delight. Instantly, the music stopped, and the faeries stopped dancing. One of their number, who seemed to be the leader, stepped forward and addressed the maiden.
"You have witnessed our Midsummer Dance, which no mortal has ever seen before. That alone would merit our killing you. Yet, I sense that you are a kindred spirit, whose love of the forest rivals the faerie folk's. For this reason I invite you to feast with us."
As soon as those words left her lips, a table the length of the glade appeared, laden with food that surpassed that of the castle's in excellence. The feast was comprised of sweetmeats, most of which the maiden did not recognize, but she discerned amidst the faerie food sumptuous trifles, tarts, and puddings, all made of woodland berries. There were no dishes containing fish, fowl, or beast, for faeries do not consume their subjects. The maiden ate as she never had before, and passed the night with the faeries joyously, laughing and dancing. At dawn the next day, she recalled with a start that she had neglected her duties in the castle.
"Oh, how I wish I could stay with you forever, "she sighed.
"You can," said the faerie queen. "You must leave us now, but you are free to come to us next midsummer. Perhaps then you can live among us."
So the maiden returned to the castle, and to misery.
The following year passed for the maiden no differently than before, but that she had the midsummer feast with the faeries to yearn for. She performed the most mundane chores with a smile, for she knew what happiness awaited her. A lifetime of singing, dancing, and feasting---how wonderful it would be! The life of the faeries was simple and carefree, so unlike her own. They never suffered for want of happiness.
At long last, the day of the midsummer feast arrived. The maiden performed her duties as a server, but this time had no eyes for the feast that had once appeared to her so grand. As soon as she could, she slipped off to the glade of the faeries. When she arrived, the faeries were dancing as they had when she first met them. At the end of the dance, the faerie queen came to the maiden.
"Feast with us, and then we shall speak of important matters," she said.
The maiden partook of the faerie food, and the queen waited until her hunger was sated before saying, "You returned to us, and you wish to live among us. This is possible, if you are willing to forsake your old life."
"I am," said the maiden.
A month passed, and the maiden knew such happiness as she had never believed was possible. The faeries always found occasions to have feasts or celebrate, and each day was devoted to frolicking about and seeking amusement in the form of games of tumbling and hide-and-seek. Yet, the maiden's heart, which had previously been overflowing with happiness when she first came to live with the faeries, soon grew restless. She found that endless games and celebration grew tiresome and lost their novelty when they were commonplace. One day, she went to the faerie queen.
"Good queen," said the maid. "I once thought that living with you would grant me the happiness I desire. I realize now that this is not the case. I am human. I grow weary of singing, feasting, and dancing, grow numb to the feeling I experience when I am merry-making with you. You take this happiness for granted, and I do not want this to happen to me. I need to remember what it was to know sorrow in order to experience true joy. I cannot live with you, but I am most grateful to you and your folk for your willingness to have me."
"Very well," said the queen. "But know that you are welcome to share with us our midsummer feast each year. No matter how grey and bent you are, when you are with the faerie folk you will appear as lovely as you are this day."
When dawn broke, the maiden left the glade, and was never more discontent, knowing each year would bring for her a day of unimaginable happiness that would pervade all her days.
