Autistic fairy tale series: The Last Pearl

Once upon a time a baby was born. She was delivered in lamplight and her voice which pierced the veil of listening ears, was welcomed and celebrated. The crib rocked and held the little one, glad at last that it had its role fulfilled in holding her and soothing her as her tiny fingers and toes explored the world. Outside in the night, the bird song wove a tapestry of longing, wishing that this child would one day follow their voices to the valley of truth. At this time though, there was no knowing. Not one bird, not one little insect present at her birth could foresee how this little child’s life would unfold.

Walter Crane’s Painting Book; 1889; George Routledge and Sons.

On her first night in the world there were moments of peace where she slept. And it was during this time that she, like all babies who sleep their first sleep in the world, was visited by the fairies of good fortune. This ceremony was known the world over by all the living creatures that didn’t speak with a human voice. Their love of this moment filled their little hearts and gave them hope – it helped them continue on with their difficult and joyous lives. And so let me tell you about this ceremony of the sleeping babe. Late at night, when everything was as silent as it could be, and even the mother was captured in exhausted night time dreams, the fairies of good fortune beat their little wings with all the energy they could muster, as they laid a veil of countless shimmering stars upon the little one. And out of the veil an invisible crown set with beautiful pearls appeared, just the right size and just the right shape to sit upon her head. It was no ordinary crown for it was made from clouds. It willowed and it whisped, and moved in its own way as the baby moved. The crown was inlaid with magical pearls, each one capturing in it unique stories of the past, present and future to be lived out in this child’s life. The pearls knew the little girl, and the little girl knew that she would grow up living out the shape of this crown and all its treasure.

The Right Hand of God Protecting the Faithful against the Demons, from the ‘Hours of Étienne Chevalier’, by Jean Fouquet, ca. 1460 — Source.

As the ceremony was coming to an end, with the sounds of cathedral bells in the distance like fog drifting away, the tiniest fairy of them all noticed that all was not quite right. Something was missing. The final pearl which sat at the top of the crown was absent.

“Where is it to be found, where does it dwell?” they wondered. “How is it so?”

And as she woke, they wisped away. Their withdrawal from the scene could be seen if you were to notice the little mote dusts in the shaft of morning light.

Book illustration by Hilda T. Miller from ‘’Dulcibella and the Fairies’‘ (c. 1922)

And so the girl lived her life. One of richness, complexity, joy, confusion and all of the other things humans endure. But along with that something missing. As she wove in and out of encounters, she sometimes noticed deep down a sort of absence that spoke to her heart. The fairies of good fortune unfortunately did not have as much power as they had in that first ceremony – but they could sprinkle little seeds. A moment here, a moment there. The girl, as she grew up, collected these seeds in a beautiful cabinet of curiosities. And as time passed, and she grew wearier and wearier, but not knowing why, one day she lay upon her bed in the same room in which she was born. And as she had given herself a fallow field of time in which to dwell upon that little cabinet, when she opened it, she noticed sorrow bubble up from her heart. And from her sorrow fell a tear, and in her lap it bloomed into a pearl that shimmered with all the colours ever dreamt of.

Cabinet of Curiosities (ca.1695) by Domenico Remps, held in the Opificio delle Pietre Dure, Florence

It was a shimmering freshwater pearl of bitter sweetness, for it spoke to her and told her the truth of her life, whereupon the seeds flew out of the box carried by invisible fairy wings, and the seeds planted themselves straight into the pots on her windowsill. And they magically grew into blooming roses with thorns, telling her everything about her life but in a different way. And this story was one of beauty but also one of sorrow. And this sorrow broke open her heart. She no longer doubted herself in the same way that she had in her encounters of life. She understood things deeply but with a solidity and clarity that she had not had before.

Dancing Fairies (August Malmström) - National Museum 1866

On the windowsill, amongst the plants, little insects waved their antennae. And in the field outside the window, the leaves clapped with joy while also dying in their golden ember. The birds in the valley of truth finally sang their haunting song of welcome. The Autumn apples not eaten but withering in the ground honoured their role in feeding the happy worms. For all of nature knew that as Autumn put on its golden gown, that also would fall away and new growth would come. They all knew that this woman was half way through her life but was now finally united with the pearl of bitter sweet sorrow. And this would lead her heart into garlanded tunnels of joy. For the seeds had already been planted and were now ready to grow.

The end.

This fairy tale was inspired by Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of the same name -The Last Pear