《安徒生童话》英文版

作者：安徒生[丹麦]

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1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A CHEERFUL TEMPER

by Hans Christian Andersen

FROM my father I received the best inheritance, namely a "good

temper." "And who was my father?" That has nothing to do with the good

temper; but I will say he was lively, good-looking round, and fat;

he was both in appearance and character a complete contradiction to

his profession. "And pray what was his profession and his standing

in respectable society?" Well, perhaps, if in the beginning of a

book these were written and printed, many, when they read it, would

lay the book down and say, "It seems to me a very miserable title, I

don't like things of this sort." And yet my father was not a

skin-dresser nor an executioner; on the contrary, his employment

placed him at the head of the grandest people of the town, and it

was his place by right. He had to precede the bishop, and even the

princes of the blood; he always went first,- he was a hearse driver!

There, now, the truth is out. And I will own, that when people saw

my father perched up in front of the omnibus of death, dressed in

his long, wide, black cloak, and his black-edged, three-cornered hat

on his head, and then glanced at his round, jocund face, round as

the sun, they could not think much of sorrow or the grave. That face

said, "It is nothing, it will all end better than people think." So

I have inherited from him, not only my good temper, but a habit of

going often to the churchyard, which is good, when done in a proper

humor; and then also I take in the Intelligencer, just as he used to

do.

I am not very young, I have neither wife nor children, nor a

library, but, as I said, I read the Intelligencer, which is enough for

me; it is to me a delightful paper, and so it was to my father. It

is of great use, for it contains all that a man requires to know;

the names of the preachers at the church, and the new books which

are published; where houses, servants, clothes, and provisions may

be obtained. And then what a number of subscriptions to charities, and

what innocent verses! Persons seeking interviews and engagements,

all so plainly and naturally stated. Certainly, a man who takes in the

Intelligencer may live merrily and be buried contentedly, and by the

end of his life will have such a capital stock of paper that he can

lie on a soft bed of it, unless he prefers wood shavings for his

resting-place. The newspaper and the churchyard were always exciting

objects to me. My walks to the latter were like bathing-places to my

good humor. Every one can read the newspaper for himself, but come

with me to the churchyard while the sun shines and the trees are

green, and let us wander among the graves. Each of them is like a

closed book, with the back uppermost, on which we can read the title

of what the book contains, but nothing more. I had a great deal of

information from my father, and I have noticed a great deal myself.

I keep it in my diary, in which I write for my own use and pleasure

a history of all who lie here, and a few more beside.

Now we are in the churchyard. Here, behind the white iron

railings, once a rose-tree grew; it is gone now, but a little bit of

evergreen, from a neighboring grave, stretches out its green tendrils,

and makes some appearance; there rests a very unhappy man, and yet

while he lived he might be said to occupy a very good position. He had

enough to live upon, and something to spare; but owing to his

refined tastes the least thing in the world annoyed him. If he went to

a theatre of an evening, instead of enjoying himself he would be quite

annoyed if the machinist had put too strong a light into one side of

the moon, or if the representations of the sky hung over the scenes

when they ought to have hung behind them; or if a palm-tree was

introduced into a scene representing the Zoological Gardens of Berlin,

or a cactus in a view of Tyrol, or a beech-tree in the north of

Norway. As if these things were of any consequence! Why did he not

leave them alone? Who would trouble themselves about such trifles?

especially at a comedy, where every one is expected to be amused. Then

sometimes the public applauded too much, or too little, to please him.

"They are like wet wood," he would say, looking round to see what sort

of people were present, "this evening; nothing fires them." Then he

would vex and fret himself because they did not laugh at the right

time, or because they laughed in the wrong places; and so he fretted

and worried himself till at last the unhappy man fretted himself

into the grave.

Here rests a happy man, that is to say, a man of high birth and

position, which was very lucky for him, otherwise he would have been

scarcely worth notice. It is beautiful to observe how wisely nature

orders these things. He walked about in a coat embroidered all over,

and in the drawing-rooms of society looked just like one of those rich

pearl-embroidered bell-pulls, which are only made for show; and behind

them always hangs a good thick cord for use. This man also had a

stout, useful substitute behind him, who did duty for him, and

performed all his dirty work. And there are still, even now, these

serviceable cords behind other embroidered bell-ropes. It is all so

wisely arranged, that a man may well be in a good humor.

Here rests,- ah, it makes one feel mournful to think of him!-

but here rests a man who, during sixty-seven years, was never

remembered to have said a good thing; he lived only in the hope of

having a good idea. At last he felt convinced, in his own mind, that

he really had one, and was so delighted that he positively died of joy

at the thought of having at last caught an idea. Nobody got anything

by it; indeed, no one even heard what the good thing was. Now I can

imagine that this same idea may prevent him from resting quietly in

his grave; for suppose that to produce a good effect, it is

necessary to bring out his new idea at breakfast, and that he can only

make his appearance on earth at midnight, as ghosts are believed

generally to do; why then this good idea would not suit the hour,

and the man would have to carry it down again with him into the grave-

that must be a troubled grave.

The woman who lies here was so remarkably stingy, that during

her life she would get up in the night and mew, that her neighbors

might think she kept a cat. What a miser she was!

Here rests a young lady, of a good family, who would always make

her voice heard in society, and when she sang "Mi manca la voce,"*

it was the only true thing she ever said in her life.

* "I want a voice," or, "I have no voice."

Here lies a maiden of another description. She was engaged to be

married,- but, her story is one of every-day life; we will leave her

to rest in the grave.

Here rests a widow, who, with music in her tongue, carried gall in

her heart. She used to go round among the families near, and search

out their faults, upon which she preyed with all the envy and malice

of her nature. This is a family grave. The members of this family held

so firmly together in their opinions, that they would believe in no

other. If the newspapers, or even the whole world, said of a certain

subject, "It is so-and-so;" and a little schoolboy declared he had

learned quite differently, they would take his assertion as the only

true one, because he belonged to the family. And it is well known that

if the yard-cock belonging to this family happened to crow at

midnight, they would declare it was morning, although the watchman and

all the clocks in the town were proclaiming the hour of twelve at

night.

The great poet Goethe concludes his Faust with the words, "may

be continued;" so might our wanderings in the churchyard be continued.

I come here often, and if any of my friends, or those who are not my

friends, are too much for me, I go out and choose a plot of ground

in which to bury him or her. Then I bury them, as it were; there

they lie, dead and powerless, till they come back new and better

characters. Their lives and their deeds, looked at after my own

fashion, I write down in my diary, as every one ought to do. Then,

if any of our friends act absurdly, no one need to be vexed about

it. Let them bury the offenders out of sight, and keep their good

temper. They can also read the Intelligencer, which is a paper written

by the people, with their hands guided. When the time comes for the

history of my life, to be bound by the grave, then they will write

upon it as my epitaph-

"The man with a cheerful temper."

And this is my story.

THE END

.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A GREAT GRIEF

by Hans Christian Andersen

THIS story really consists of two parts. The first part might be

left out, but it gives us a few particulars, and these are useful

We were staying in the country at a gentleman's seat, where it

happened that the master was absent for a few days. In the meantime,

there arrived from the next town a lady; she had a pug dog with her,

and came, she said, to dispose of shares in her tan-yard. She had

her papers with her, and we advised her to put them in an envelope,

and to write thereon the address of the proprietor of the estate,

"General War-Commissary Knight," &c.

She listened to us attentively, seized the pen, paused, and begged

us to repeat the direction slowly. We complied, and she wrote; but

in the midst of the "General War-" she struck fast, sighed deeply, and

said, "I am only a woman!" Her Puggie had seated itself on the

ground while she wrote, and growled; for the dog had come with her for

amusement and for the sake of its health; and then the bare floor

ought not to be offered to a visitor. His outward appearance was

characterized by a snub nose and a very fat back.

"He doesn't bite," said the lady; "he has no teeth. He is like one

of the family, faithful and grumpy; but the latter is my

grandchildren's fault, for they have teased him; they play at wedding,

and want to give him the part of the bridesmaid, and that's too much

for him, poor old fellow."

And she delivered her papers, and took Puggie upon her arm. And

this is the first part of the story which might have been left out.

PUGGIE DIED!! That's the second part.

It was about a week afterwards we arrived in the town, and put

up at the inn. Our windows looked into the tan-yard, which was divided

into two parts by a partition of planks; in one half were many skins

and hides, raw and tanned. Here was all the apparatus necessary to

carry on a tannery, and it belonged to the widow. Puggie had died in

the morning, and was to be buried in this part of the yard; the

grandchildren of the widow (that is, of the tanner's widow, for Puggie

had never been married) filled up the grave, and it was a beautiful

grave- it must have been quite pleasant to lie there.

The grave was bordered with pieces of flower-pots and strewn

over with sand; quite at the top they had stuck up half a beer bottle,

with the neck upwards, and that was not at all allegorical.

The children danced round the grave, and the eldest of the boys

among them, a practical youngster of seven years, made the proposition

that there should be an exhibition of Puggie's burial-place for all

who lived in the lane; the price of admission was to be a trouser

button, for every boy would be sure to have one, and each might also

give one for a little girl. This proposal was adopted by acclamation.

And all the children out of the lane- yes, even out of the

little lane at the back- flocked to the place, and each gave a button.

Many were noticed to go about on that afternoon with only one

suspender; but then they had seen Puggie's grave, and the sight was

worth much more.

But in front of the tan-yard, close to the entrance, stood a

little girl clothed in rags, very pretty to look at, with curly

hair, and eyes so blue and clear that it was a pleasure to look into

them. The child said not a word, nor did she cry; but each time the

little door was opened she gave a long, long look into the yard. She

had not a button- that she knew right well, and therefore she remained

standing sorrowfully outside, till all the others had seen the grave

and had gone away; then she sat down, held her little brown hands

before her eyes, and burst into tears; this girl alone had not seen

Puggie's grave. It was a grief as great to her as any grown person can

experience.

We saw this from above; and looked at from above, how many a grief

of our own and of others can make us smile! That is the story, and

whoever does not understand it may go and purchase a share in the

tan-yard from the window.

THE END

.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A LEAF FROM HEAVEN

by Hans Christian Andersen

HIGH up in the clear, pure air flew an angel, with a flowerplucked from the garden of heaven. As he was kissing the flower a verylittle leaf fell from it and sunk down into the soft earth in themiddle of a wood. It immediately took root, sprouted, and sent outshoots among the other plants.

"What a ridiculous little shoot!" said one. "No one will recognizeit; not even the thistle nor the stinging-nettle."

"It must be a kind of garden plant," said another; and so theysneered and despised the plant as a thing from a garden.

"Where are you coming?" said the tall thistles whose leaves wereall armed with thorns. "It is stupid nonsense to allow yourself toshoot out in this way; we are not here to support you."

Winter came, and the plant was covered with snow, but the snowglittered over it as if it had sunshine beneath as well as above.

When spring came, the plant appeared in full bloom: a morebeautiful object than any other plant in the forest. And now theprofessor of botany presented himself, one who could explain hisknowledge in black and white. He examined and tested the plant, but itdid not belong to his system of botany, nor could he possibly find outto what class it did belong. "It must be some degenerate species,"said he; "I do not know it, and it is not mentioned in any system."

"Not known in any system!" repeated the thistles and the nettles.

The large trees which grew round it saw the plant and heard theremarks, but they said not a word either good or bad, which is thewisest plan for those who are ignorant.

There passed through the forest a poor innocent girl; her heartwas pure, and her understanding increased by her faith. Her chiefinheritance had been an old Bible, which she read and valued. From itspages she heard the voice of God speaking to her, and telling her toremember what was said of Joseph's brethren when persons wished toinjure her. "They imagined evil in their hearts, but God turned itto good." If we suffer wrongfully, if we are misunderstood ordespised, we must think of Him who was pure and holy, and who prayedfor those who nailed Him to the cross, "Father forgive them, forthey know not what they do."

The girl stood still before the wonderful plant, for the greenleaves exhaled a sweet and refreshing fragrance, and the flowersglittered and sparkled in the sunshine like colored flames, and theharmony of sweet sounds lingered round them as if each concealedwithin itself a deep fount of melody, which thousands of years couldnot exhaust. With pious gratitude the girl looked upon this gloriouswork of God, and bent down over one of the branches, that she mightexamine the flower and inhale the sweet perfume. Then a light broke inon her mind, and her heart expanded. Gladly would she have plucked aflower, but she could not overcome her reluctance to break one off.She knew it would so soon fade; so she took only a single greenleaf, carried it home, and laid it in her Bible, where it remainedever green, fresh, and unfading. Between the pages of the Bible itstill lay when, a few weeks afterwards, that Bible was laid underthe young girl's head in her coffin. A holy calm rested on her face,as if the earthly remains bore the impress of the truth that she nowstood in the presence of God.

In the forest the wonderful plant still continued to bloom till itgrew and became almost a tree, and all the birds of passage bowedthemselves before it.

"That plant is a foreigner, no doubt," said the thistles and theburdocks. "We can never conduct ourselves like that in thiscountry." And the black forest snails actually spat at the flower.

Then came the swineherd; he was collecting thistles and shrubsto burn them for the ashes. He pulled up the wonderful plant, rootsand all, and placed it in his bundle. "This will be as useful as any,"he said; so the plant was carried away.

Not long after, the king of the country suffered from thedeepest melancholy. He was diligent and industrious, but employmentdid him no good. They read deep and learned books to him, and then thelightest and most trifling that could be found, but all to no purpose.Then they applied for advice to one of the wise men of the world,and he sent them a message to say that there was one remedy whichwould relieve and cure him, and that it was a plant of heavenly originwhich grew in the forest in the king's own dominions. The messengerdescribed the flower so that is appearance could not be mistaken.

Then said the swineherd, "I am afraid I carried this plant awayfrom the forest in my bundle, and it has been burnt to ashes long ago.But I did not know any better."

"You did not know, any better! Ignorance upon ignorance indeed!"

The poor swineherd took these words to heart, for they wereaddressed to him; he knew not that there were others who wereequally ignorant. Not even a leaf of the plant could be found. Therewas one, but it lay in the coffin of the dead; no one knew anythingabout it.

Then the king, in his melancholy, wandered out to the spot inthe wood. "Here is where the plant stood," he said; "it is a sacredplace." Then he ordered that the place should be surrounded with agolden railing, and a sentry stationed near it.

The botanical professor wrote a long treatise about the heavenlyplant, and for this he was loaded with gold, which improved theposition of himself and his family.

And this part is really the most pleasant part of the story. Forthe plant had disappeared, and the king remained as melancholy and sadas ever, but the sentry said he had always been so.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A ROSE FROM HOMER'S GRAVE

by Hans Christian Andersen

ALL the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale forthe rose in the silent starlight night. The winged songsterserenades the fragrant flowers.

Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant drives his loadedcamels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath thelofty pines over holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses. Theturtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as thesunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they weremother-of-pearl. On the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful thanthem all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes; but the roseremained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on herleaves. At last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said,"Here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will Ispread my fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when thestorm scatters them. He who sung of Troy became earth, and from thatearth I have sprung. I, a rose from the grave of Homer, am too loftyto bloom for a nightingale." Then the nightingale sung himself todeath. A camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his blackslaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovelysongster in the grave of the great Homer, while the rose trembled inthe wind.

The evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closelyround her, and dreamed: and this was her dream.

It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who hadundertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among the strangers wasa minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliantlights of the aurora borealis. He plucked the rose and placed it ina book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, hisfatherland. The rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves ofthe book, which he opened in his own home, saying, "Here is a rosefrom the grave of Homer."

Then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind.A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer's grave. The sunrose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The day washot, and she was still in her own warm Asia. Then footstepsapproached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, cameby, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose,pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to thehome of the clouds and the northern lights. Like a mummy, the flowernow rests in his "Iliad," and, as in her dream, she hears him say,as he opens the book, "Here is a rose from the grave of Homer."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A STORY

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the garden all the apple-trees were in blossom. They hadhastened to bring forth flowers before they got green leaves, and inthe yard all the ducklings walked up and down, and the cat too: itbasked in the sun and licked the sunshine from its own paws. Andwhen one looked at the fields, how beautifully the corn stood andhow green it shone, without comparison! and there was a twittering anda fluttering of all the little birds, as if the day were a greatfestival; and so it was, for it was Sunday. All the bells wereringing, and all the people went to church, looking cheerful, anddressed in their best clothes. There was a look of cheerfulness oneverything. The day was so warm and beautiful that one might well havesaid: "God's kindness to us men is beyond all limits." But insidethe church the pastor stood in the pulpit, and spoke very loudly andangrily. He said that all men were wicked, and God would punish themfor their sins, and that the wicked, when they died, would be castinto hell, to burn for ever and ever. He spoke very excitedly,saying that their evil propensities would not be destroyed, norwould the fire be extinguished, and they should never find rest.That was terrible to hear, and he said it in such a tone ofconviction; he described hell to them as a miserable hole where allthe refuse of the world gathers. There was no air beside the hotburning sulphur flame, and there was no ground under their feet; they,the wicked ones, sank deeper and deeper, while eternal silencesurrounded them! It was dreadful to hear all that, for the preacherspoke from his heart, and all the people in the church were terrified.Meanwhile, the birds sang merrily outside, and the sun was shiningso beautifully warm, it seemed as though every little flower said:"God, Thy kindness towards us all is without limits." Indeed,outside it was not at all like the pastor's sermon.

The same evening, upon going to bed, the pastor noticed his wifesitting there quiet and pensive.

"What is the matter with you?" he asked her.

"Well, the matter with me is," she said, "that I cannot collect mythoughts, and am unable to grasp the meaning of what you said to-dayin church- that there are so many wicked people, and that theyshould burn eternally. Alas! eternally- how long! I am only a womanand a sinner before God, but I should not have the heart to let eventhe worst sinner burn for ever, and how could our Lord to do so, whois so infinitely good, and who knows how the wickedness comes fromwithout and within? No, I am unable to imagine that, although yousay so."

It was autumn; the trees dropped their leaves, the earnest andsevere pastor sat at the bedside of a dying person. A pious,faithful soul closed her eyes for ever; she was the pastor's wife.

..."If any one shall find rest in the grave and mercy before ourLord you shall certainly do so," said the pastor. He folded herhands and read a psalm over the dead woman.

She was buried; two large tears rolled over the cheeks of theearnest man, and in the parsonage it was empty and still, for itssun had set for ever. She had gone home.

It was night. A cold wind swept over the pastor's head; heopened his eyes, and it seemed to him as if the moon was shininginto his room. It was not so, however; there was a being standingbefore his bed, and looking like the ghost of his deceased wife. Shefixed her eyes upon him with such a kind and sad expression, just asif she wished to say something to him. The pastor raised himself inbed and stretched his arms towards her, saying, "Not even you can findeternal rest! You suffer, you best and most pious woman?"

The dead woman nodded her head as if to say "Yes," and put herhand on her breast.

"And can I not obtain rest in the grave for you?"

"Yes," was the answer.

"And how?"

"Give me one hair- only one single hair- from the head of thesinner for whom the fire shall never be extinguished, of the sinnerwhom God will condemn to eternal punishment in hell."

"Yes, one ought to be able to redeem you so easily, you pure,pious woman," he said.

"Follow me," said the dead woman. "It is thus granted to us. By myside you will be able to fly wherever your thoughts wish to go.Invisible to men, we shall penetrate into their most secretchambers; but with sure hand you must find out him who is destinedto eternal torture, and before the cock crows he must be found!" Asquickly as if carried by the winged thoughts they were in the greatcity, and from the walls the names of the deadly sins shone in flamingletters: pride, avarice, drunkenness, wantonness- in short, thewhole seven-coloured bow of sin.

"Yes, therein, as I believed, as I knew it," said the pastor, "areliving those who are abandoned to the eternal fire." And they werestanding before the magnificently illuminated gate; the broad stepswere adorned with carpets and flowers, and dance music was soundingthrough the festive halls. A footman dressed in silk and velvetstood with a large silver-mounted rod near the entrance.

"Our ball can compare favourably with the king's," he said, andturned with contempt towards the gazing crowd in the street. What hethought was sufficiently expressed in his features and movements:"Miserable beggars, who are looking in, you are nothing incomparison to me."

"Pride," said the dead woman; "do you see him?"

"The footman?" asked the pastor. "He is but a poor fool, and notdoomed to be tortured eternally by fire!"

"Only a fool!" It sounded through the whole house of pride: theywere all fools there.

Then they flew within the four naked walls of the miser. Lean as askeleton, trembling with cold, and hunger, the old man was clingingwith all his thoughts to his money. They saw him jump up feverishlyfrom his miserable couch and take a loose stone out of the wall; therelay gold coins in an old stocking. They saw him anxiously feeling overan old ragged coat in which pieces of gold were sewn, and his clammyfingers trembled.

"He is ill! That is madness- a joyless madness- besieged by fearand dreadful dreams!"

They quickly went away and came before the beds of thecriminals; these unfortunate people slept side by side, in longrows. Like a ferocious animal, one of them rose out of his sleep anduttered a horrible cry, and gave his comrade a violent dig in the ribswith his pointed elbow, and this one turned round in his sleep:

"Be quiet, monster- sleep! This happens every night!"

"Every night!" repeated the other. "Yes, every night he comesand tortures me! In my violence I have done this and that. I wasborn with an evil mind, which has brought me hither for the secondtime; but if I have done wrong I suffer punishment for it. Onething, however, I have not yet confessed. When I came out a littlewhile ago, and passed by the yard of my former master, evil thoughtsrose within me when I remembered this and that. I struck a match alittle bit on the wall; probably it came a little too close to thethatched roof. All burnt down- a great heat rose, such as sometimesovercomes me. I myself helped to rescue cattle and things, nothingalive burnt, except a flight of pigeons, which flew into the fire, andthe yard dog, of which I had not thought; one could hear him howlout of the fire, and this howling I still hear when I wish to sleep;and when I have fallen asleep, the great rough dog comes and placeshimself upon me, and howls, presses, and tortures me. Now listen towhat I tell you! You can snore; you are snoring the whole night, and Ihardly a quarter of an hour!" And the blood rose to the head of theexcited criminal; he threw himself upon his comrade, and beat him withhis clenced fist in the face.

"Wicked Matz has become mad again!" they said amongstthemselves. The other criminals seized him, wrestled with him, andbent him double, so that his head rested between his knees, and theytied him, so that the blood almost came out of his eyes and out of allhis pores.

"You are killing the unfortunate man," said the pastor, and ashe stretched out his hand to protect him who already suffered toomuch, the scene changed. They flew through rich halls and wretchedhovels; wantonness and envy, all the deadly sins, passed beforethem. An angel of justice read their crimes and their defence; thelatter was not a brilliant one, but it was read before God, Whoreads the heart, Who knows everything, the wickedness that comesfrom within and from without, Who is mercy and love personified. Thepastor's hand trembled; he dared not stretch it out, he did notventure to pull a hair out of the sinner's head. And tears gushed fromhis eyes like a stream of mercy and love, the cooling waters ofwhich extinguished the eternal fire of hell.

Just then the cock crowed.

"Father of all mercy, grant Thou to her the peace that I wasunable to procure for her!"

"I have it now!" said the dead woman. "It was your hard words,your despair of mankind, your gloomy belief in God and His creation,which drove me to you. Learn to know mankind! Even in the wicked onelives a part of God- and this extinguishes and conquers the flame ofhell!"

The pastor felt a kiss on his lips; a gleam of light surroundedhim- God's bright sun shone into the room, and his wife, alive,sweet and full of love, awoke him from a dream which God had sent him!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS

by Hans Christian Andersen

THIS story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of Jutland, but itdoes not begin there in the North, but far away in the South, inSpain. The wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation; journeyin thought; then, to sunny Spain. It is warm and beautiful there;the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels; a coolrefreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens,over the Moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls.Children go through the streets in procession with candles andwaving banners, and the sky, lofty and clear with its glitteringstars, rises above them. Sounds of singing and castanets can be heard,and youths and maidens dance upon the flowering acacia trees, whileeven the beggar sits upon a block of marble, refreshing himself with ajuicy melon, and dreamily enjoying life. It all seems like a beautifuldream.

Here dwelt a newly married couple who completely gave themselvesup to the charm of life; indeed they possessed every good thing theycould desire- health and happiness, riches and honour.

We are as happy as human beings can be," said the young couplefrom the depths of their hearts. They had indeed only one stephigher to mount on the ladder of happiness- they hoped that Godwould give them a child, a son like them in form and spirit. The happylittle one was to be welcomed with rejoicing, to be cared for withlove and tenderness, and enjoy every advantage of wealth and luxurythat a rich and influential family can give. So the days went bylike a joyous festival.

"Life is a gracious gift from God, almost too great a gift forus to appreciate!" said the young wife. "Yet they say that fulnessof joy for ever and ever can only be found in the future life. Icannot realise it!"

"The thought arises, perhaps, from the arrogance of men," said thehusband. "It seems a great pride to believe that we shall live forever, that we shall be as gods! Were not these the words of theserpent, the father of lies?"

"Surely you do not doubt the existence of a future life?"exclaimed the young wife. It seemed as if one of the first shadowspassed over her sunny thoughts.

"Faith realises it, and the priests tell us so," replied herhusband; "but amid all my happiness I feel that it is arrogant todemand a continuation of it- another life after this. Has not somuch been given us in this world that we ought to be, we must be,contented with it?"

"Yes, it has been given to us," said the young wife, "but thislife is nothing more than one long scene of trial and hardship to manythousands. How many have been cast into this world only to endurepoverty, shame, illness, and misfortune? If there were no future life,everything here would be too unequally divided, and God would not bethe personification of justice."

"The beggar there," said her husband, "has joys of his own whichseem to him great, and cause him as much pleasure as a king would findin the magnificence of his palace. And then do you not think thatthe beast of burden, which suffers blows and hunger, and worksitself to death, suffers just as much from its miserable fate? Thedumb creature might demand a future life also, and declare the lawunjust that excludes it from the advantages of the higher creation."

"Christ said: 'In my father's house are many mansions,'" sheanswered. "Heaven is as boundless as the love of our Creator; the dumbanimal is also His creature, and I firmly believe that no life will belost, but each will receive as much happiness as he can enjoy, whichwill be sufficient for him."

"This world is sufficient for me," said the husband, throwinghis arm round his beautiful, sweet-tempered wife. He sat by her sideon the open balcony, smoking a cigarette in the cool air, which wasloaded with the sweet scent of carnations and orange blossoms.Sounds of music and the clatter of castanets came from the roadbeneath, the stars shone above then, and two eyes full of affection-those of his wife- looked upon him with the expression of undyinglove. "Such a moment," he said, "makes it worth while to be born, todie, and to be annihilated!" He smiled- the young wife raised her handin gentle reproof, and the shadow passed away from her mind, andthey were happy- quite happy.

Everything seemed to work together for their good. They advancedin honour, in prosperity, and in happiness. A change came certainly,but it was only a change of place and not of circumstances.

The young man was sent by his Sovereign as ambassador to theRussian Court. This was an office of high dignity, but his birth andhis acquirements entitled him to the honour. He possessed a largefortune, and his wife had brought him wealth equal to his own, for shewas the daughter of a rich and respected merchant. One of thismerchant's largest and finest ships was to be sent that year toStockholm, and it was arranged that the dear young couple, thedaughter and the son-in-law, should travel in it to St. Petersburg.All the arrangements on board were princely and silk and luxury onevery side.

In an old war song, called "The King of England's Son," it says:

"Farewell, he said, and sailed away.

And many recollect that day.

The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,

And everywhere riches and wealth untold."

These words would aptly describe the vessel from Spain, for herewas the same luxury, and the same parting thought naturally arose:

"God grant that we once more may meet

In sweet unclouded peace and joy."

There was a favourable wind blowing as they left the Spanishcoast, and it would be but a short journey, for they hoped to reachtheir destination in a few weeks; but when they came out upon the wideocean the wind dropped, the sea became smooth and shining, and thestars shone brightly. Many festive evenings were spent on board. Atlast the travellers began to wish for wind, for a favourable breeze;but their wish was useless- not a breath of air stirred, or if itdid arise it was contrary. Weeks passed by in this way, two wholemonths, and then at length a fair wind blew from the south-west. Theship sailed on the high seas between Scotland and Jutland; then thewind increased, just as it did in the old song of "The King ofEngland's Son."

"'Mid storm and wind, and pelting hail,

Their efforts were of no avail.

The golden anchor forth they threw;

Towards Denmark the west wind blew."

This all happened a long time ago; King Christian VII, who saton the Danish throne, was still a young man. Much has happened sincethen, much has altered or been changed. Sea and moorland have beenturned into green meadows, stretches of heather have become arableland, and in the shelter of the peasant's cottages, apple-trees androse-bushes grow, though they certainly require much care, as thesharp west wind blows upon them. In West Jutland one may go back inthought to old times, farther back than the days when Christian VIIruled. The purple heather still extends for miles, with its barrowsand aerial spectacles, intersected with sandy uneven roads, just as itdid then; towards the west, where broad streams run into the bays, aremarshes and meadows encircled by lofty, sandy hills, which, like achain of Alps, raise their pointed summits near the sea; they are onlybroken by high ridges of clay, from which the sea, year by year, bitesout great mouthfuls, so that the overhanging banks fall down as ifby the shock of an earthquake. Thus it is there today and thus itwas long ago, when the happy pair were sailing in the beautiful ship.

It was a Sunday, towards the end of September; the sun wasshining, and the chiming of the church bells in the Bay of Nissumwas carried along by the breeze like a chain of sounds. The churchesthere are almost entirely built of hewn blocks of stone, each like apiece of rock. The North Sea might foam over them and they would notbe disturbed. Nearly all of them are without steeples, and the bellsare hung outside between two beams. The service was over, and thecongregation passed out into the churchyard, where not a tree orbush was to be seen; no flowers were planted there, and they had notplaced a single wreath upon any of the graves. It is just the samenow. Rough mounds show where the dead have been buried, and rankgrass, tossed by the wind, grows thickly over the whole churchyard;here and there a grave has a sort of monument, a block of half-decayedwood, rudely cut in the shape of a coffin; the blocks are brought fromthe forest of West Jutland, but the forest is the sea itself, andthe inhabitants find beams, and planks, and fragments which thewaves have cast upon the beach. One of these blocks had been placed byloving hands on a child's grave, and one of the women who had come outof the church walked up to it; she stood there, her eyes resting onthe weather-beaten memorial, and a few moments afterwards herhusband joined her. They were both silent, but he took her hand, andthey walked together across the purple heath, over moor and meadowtowards the sandhills. For a long time they went on without speaking.

"It was a good sermon to-day," the man said at last. "If we hadnot God to trust in, we should have nothing."

"Yes," replied the woman, "He sends joy and sorrow, and He has aright to send them. To-morrow our little son would have been fiveyears old if we had been permitted to keep him."

"It is no use fretting, wife," said the man. "The boy is wellprovided for. He is where we hope and pray to go to."

They said nothing more, but went out towards their houses amongthe sand-hills. All at once, in front of one of the houses where thesea grass did not keep the sand down with its twining roots, whatseemed to be a column of smoke rose up. A gust of wind rushedbetween the hills, hurling the particles of sand high into the air;another gust, and the strings of fish hung up to dry flapped andbeat violently against the walls of the cottage; then everything wasquiet once more, and the sun shone with renewed heat.

The man and his wife went into the cottage. They had soon takenoff their Sunday clothes and come out again, hurrying over the duneswhich stood there like great waves of sand suddenly arrested intheir course, while the sandweeds and dune grass with its bluishstalks spread a changing colour over them. A few neighbours alsocame out, and helped each other to draw the boats higher up on thebeach. The wind now blew more keenly, it was chilly and cold, and whenthey went back over the sand-hills, sand and little sharp stonesblew into their faces. The waves rose high, crested with white foam,and the wind cut off their crests, scattering the foam far and wide.

Evening came; there was a swelling roar in the air, a wailing ormoaning like the voices of despairing spirits, that sounded abovethe thunder of the waves. The fisherman's little cottage was on thevery margin, and the sand rattled against the window panes; everynow and then a violent gust of wind shook the house to its foundation.It was dark, but about midnight the moon would rise. Later on theair became clearer, but the storm swept over the perturbed sea withundiminished fury; the fisher folks had long since gone to bed, but insuch weather there was no chance of closing an eye. Presently therewas a tapping at the window; the door was opened, and a voice said:

"There's a large ship stranded on the farthest reef."

In a moment the fisher people sprung from their beds and hastilydressed themselves. The moon had risen, and it was light enough tomake the surrounding objects visible to those who could open theireyes in the blinding clouds of sand; the violence of the wind wasterrible, and it was only possible to pass among the sand-hills if onecrept forward between the gusts; the salt spray flew up from the sealike down, and the ocean foamed like a roaring cataract towards thebeach. Only a practised eye could discern the vessel out in theoffing; she was a fine brig, and the waves now lifted her over thereef, three or four cables' length out of the usual channel. She drovetowards the shore, struck on the second reef, and remained fixed.

It was impossible to render assistance; the sea rushed in upon thevessel, making a clean breach over her. Those on shore thought theyheard cries for help from those on board, and could plainlydistinguish the busy but useless efforts made by the stranded sailors.Now a wave came rolling onward. It fell with enormous force on thebowsprit, tearing it from the vessel, and the stern was lifted highabove the water. Two people were seen to embrace and plunge togetherinto the sea, and the next moment one of the largest waves that rolledtowards the sand-hills threw a body on the beach. It was a woman;the sailors said that she was quite dead, but the women thought theysaw signs of life in her, so the stranger was carried across thesand-hills to the fisherman's cottage. How beautiful and fair she was!She must be a great lady, they said.

They laid her upon the humble bed; there was not a yard of linenon it, only a woollen coverlet to keep the occupant warm.

Life returned to her, but she was delirious, and knew nothing ofwhat had happened or where she was; and it was better so, foreverything she loved and valued lay buried in the sea. The samething happened to her ship as to the one spoken of in the song about"The King of England's Son."

"Alas! how terrible to see

The gallant bark sink rapidly."

Fragments of the wreck and pieces of wood were washed ashore; theywere all that remained of the vessel. The wind still blew violently onthe coast.

For a few moments the strange lady seemed to rest; but she awokein pain, and uttered cries of anguish and fear. She opened herwonderfully beautiful eyes, and spoke a few words, but nobodyunderstood her.- And lo! as a reward for the sorrow and sufferingshe had undergone, she held in her arms a new-born babe. The childthat was to have rested upon a magnificent couch, draped with silkencurtains, in a luxurious home; it was to have been welcomed with joyto a life rich in all the good things of this world; and now Heavenhad ordained that it should be born in this humble retreat, that itshould not even receive a kiss from its mother, for when thefisherman's wife laid the child upon the mother's bosom, it restedon a heart that beat no more- she was dead.

The child that was to have been reared amid wealth and luxurywas cast into the world, washed by the sea among the sand-hills toshare the fate and hardships of the poor.

Here we are reminded again of the song about "The King ofEngland's Son," for in it mention is made of the custom prevalent atthe time, when knights and squires plundered those who had beensaved from shipwreck. The ship had stranded some distance south ofNissum Bay, and the cruel, inhuman days, when, as we have just said,the inhabitants of Jutland treated the shipwrecked people so crudelywere past, long ago. Affectionate sympathy and self-sacrifice forthe unfortunate existed then, just as it does in our own time inmany a bright example. The dying mother and the unfortunate childwould have found kindness and help wherever they had been cast bythe winds, but nowhere would it have been more sincere than in thecottage of the poor fisherman's wife, who had stood, only the daybefore, beside her child's grave, who would have been five years oldthat day if God had spared it to her.

No one knew who the dead stranger was, they could not even forma conjecture; the fragments of wreckage gave no clue to the matter.

No tidings reached Spain of the fate of the daughter andson-in-law. They did not arrive at their destination, and violentstorms had raged during the past weeks. At last the verdict was given:"Foundered at sea- all lost." But in the fisherman's cottage among thesand-hills near Hunsby, there lived a little scion of the rich Spanishfamily.

Where Heaven sends food for two, a third can manage to find ameal, and in the depth of the sea there is many a dish of fish for thehungry.

They called the boy Jurgen.

"It must certainly be a Jewish child, its skin is so dark," thepeople said.

"It might be an Italian or a Spaniard," remarked the clergyman.

But to the fisherman's wife these nations seemed all the same, andshe consoled herself with the thought that the child was baptized as aChristian.

The boy throve; the noble blood in his veins was warm, and hebecame strong on his homely fare. He grew apace in the humble cottage,and the Danish dialect spoken by the West Jutes became his language.The pomegranate seed from Spain became a hardy plant on the coast ofWest Jutland. Thus may circumstances alter the course of a man's life!To this home he clung with deep-rooted affection; he was to experiencecold and hunger, and the misfortunes and hardships that surround thepoor; but he also tasted of their joys.

Childhood has bright days for every one, and the memory of themshines through the whole after-life. The boy had many sources ofpleasure and enjoyment; the coast for miles and miles was full ofplaythings, for it was a mosaic of pebbles, some red as coral oryellow as amber, and others again white and rounded like birds' eggsand smoothed and prepared by the sea. Even the bleached fishes'skeletons, the water plants dried by the wind, and seaweed, whiteand shining long linen-like bands waving between the stones- all theseseemed made to give pleasure and occupation for the boy's thoughts,and he had an intelligent mind; many great talents lay dormant in him.How readily he remembered stories and songs that he heard, and howdexterous he was with his fingers! With stones and mussel-shells hecould put together pictures and ships with which one could decoratethe room; and he could make wonderful things from a stick, hisfoster-mother said, although he was still so young and little. Hehad a sweet voice, and every melody seemed to flow naturally fromhis lips. And in his heart were hidden chords, which might havesounded far out into the world if he had been placed anywhere elsethan in the fisherman's hut by the North Sea.

One day another ship was wrecked on the coast, and among otherthings a chest filled with valuable flower bulbs was washed ashore.Some were put into saucepans and cooked, for they were thought to befit to eat, and others lay and shrivelled in the sand- they did notaccomplish their purpose, or unfold their magnificent colours. WouldJurgen fare better? The flower bulbs had soon played their part, buthe had years of apprenticeship before him. Neither he nor hisfriends noticed in what a monotonous, uniform way one day followedanother, for there was always plenty to do and see. The ocean itselfwas a great lesson-book, and it unfolded a new leaf each day of calmor storm- the crested wave or the smooth surface.

The visits to the church were festive occasions, but among thefisherman's house one was especially looked forward to; this was, infact, the visit of the brother of Jurgen's foster-mother, theeel-breeder from Fjaltring, near Bovbjerg. He came twice a year in acart, painted red with blue and white tulips upon it, and full ofeels; it was covered and locked like a box, two dun oxen drew it,and Jurgen was allowed to guide them.

The eel-breeder was a witty fellow, a merry guest, and brought ameasure of brandy with him. They all received a small glassful or acupful if there were not enough glasses; even Jurgen had about athimbleful, that he might digest the fat eel, as the eel-breeder said;he always told one story over and over again, and if his hearerslaughed he would immediately repeat it to them. Jurgen while still aboy, and also when he was older, used phrases from the eel-breeder'sstory on various occasions, so it will be as well for us to listento it. It runs thus:

"The eels went into the bay, and the young ones begged leave to goa little farther out. 'Don't go too far,' said their mother; 'the uglyeel-spearer might come and snap you all up.' But they went too far,and of eight daughters only three came back to the mother, and thesewept and said, 'We only went a little way out, and the uglyeel-spearer came immediately and stabbed five of our sisters todeath.' 'They'll come back again,' said the mother eel. 'Oh, no,'exclaimed the daughters, 'for he skinned them, cut them in two, andfried them.' 'Oh, they'll come back again,' the mother eelpersisted. 'No,' replied the daughters, 'for he ate them up.' 'They'llcome back again,' repeated the mother eel. 'But he drank brandyafter them,' said the daughters. 'Ah, then they'll never come back,'said the mother, and she burst out crying, 'it's the brandy thatburies the eels.'"

"And therefore," said the eel-breeder in conclusion, "it is alwaysthe proper thing to drink brandy after eating eels."

This story was the tinsel thread, the most humorous recollectionof Jurgen's life. He also wanted to go a little way farther out and upthe bay- that is to say, out into the world in a ship- but hismother said, like the eel-breeder, "There are so many bad people-eel spearers!" He wished to go a little way past the sand-hills, outinto the dunes, and at last he did: four happy days, the brightestof his childhood, fell to his lot, and the whole beauty andsplendour of Jutland, all the happiness and sunshine of his home, wereconcentrated in these. He went to a festival, but it was a burialfeast.

A rich relation of the fisherman's family had died; the farm wassituated far eastward in the country and a little towards the north.Jurgen's foster parents went there, and he also went with them fromthe dunes, over heath and moor, where the Skjaerumaa takes itscourse through green meadows and contains many eels; mother eelslive there with their daughters, who are caught and eaten up by wickedpeople. But do not men sometimes act quite as cruelly towards theirown fellow-men? Was not the knight Sir Bugge murdered by wickedpeople? And though he was well spoken of, did he not also wish to killthe architect who built the castle for him, with its thick walls andtower, at the point where the Skjaerumaa falls into the bay? Jurgenand his parents now stood there; the wall and the ramparts stillremained, and red crumbling fragments lay scattered around. Here itwas that Sir Bugge, after the architect had left him, said to one ofhis men, "Go after him and say, 'Master, the tower shakes.' If heturns round, kill him and take away the money I paid him, but if hedoes not turn round let him go in peace." The man did as he wastold; the architect did not turn round, but called back "The towerdoes not shake in the least, but one day a man will come from the westin a blue cloak- he will cause it to shake!" And so indeed it happeneda hundred years later, for the North Sea broke in and cast down thetower; but Predbjorn Gyldenstjerne, the man who then possessed thecastle, built a new castle higher up at the end of the meadow, andthat one is standing to this day, and is called Norre-Vosborg.

Jurgen and his foster parents went past this castle. They had toldhim its story during the long winter evenings, and now he saw thestately edifice, with its double moat, and trees and bushes; the wall,covered with ferns, rose within the moat, but the lofty lime-treeswere the most beautiful of all; they grew up to the highest windows,and the air was full of their sweet fragrance. In a north-westcorner of the garden stood a great bush full of blossom, like wintersnow amid the summer's green; it was a juniper bush, the first thatJurgen had ever seen in bloom. He never forgot it, nor the lime-trees;the child's soul treasured up these memories of beauty and fragranceto gladden the old man.

From Norre-Vosborg, where the juniper blossomed, the journeybecame more pleasant, for they met some other people who were alsogoing to the funeral and were riding in waggons. Our travellers had tosit all together on a little box at the back of the waggon, but eventhis, they thought, was better than walking. So they continued theirjourney across the rugged heath. The oxen which drew the waggonstopped every now and then, where a patch of fresh grass appeared amidthe heather. The sun shone with considerable heat, and it waswonderful to behold how in the far distance something like smokeseemed to be rising; yet this smoke was clearer than the air; it wastransparent, and looked like rays of light rolling and dancing afarover the heath.

"That is Lokeman driving his sheep," said some one.

And this was enough to excite Jurgen's imagination. He felt asif they were now about to enter fairyland, though everything was stillreal. How quiet it was! The heath stretched far and wide around themlike a beautiful carpet. The heather was in blossom, and thejuniper-bushes and fresh oak saplings rose like bouquets from theearth. An inviting place for a frolic, if it had not been for thenumber of poisonous adders of which the travellers spoke; they alsomentioned that the place had formerly been infested with wolves, andthat the district was still called Wolfsborg for this reason. Theold man who was driving the oxen told them that in the lifetime of hisfather the horses had many a hard battle with the wild beasts thatwere now exterminated. One morning, when he himself had gone out tobring in the horses, he found one of them standing with its forefeeton a wolf it had killed, but the savage animal had torn andlacerated the brave horse's legs.

The journey over the heath and the deep sand was only tooquickly at an end. They stopped before the house of mourning, wherethey found plenty of guests within and without. Waggon after waggonstood side by side, while the horses and oxen had been turned out tograze on the scanty pasture. Great sand-hills like those at home bythe North Sea rose behind the house and extended far and wide. How hadthey come here, so many miles inland? They were as large and high asthose on the coast, and the wind had carried them there; there wasalso a legend attached to them.

Psalms were sung, and a few of the old people shed tears; withthis exception, the guests were cheerful enough, it seemed toJurgen, and there was plenty to eat and drink. There were eels ofthe fattest, requiring brandy to bury them, as the eel-breeder said;and certainly they did not forget to carry out his maxim here.

Jurgen went in and out the house; and on the third day he feltas much at home as he did in the fisherman's cottage among thesand-hills, where he had passed his early days. Here on the heath wereriches unknown to him until now; for flowers, blackberries, andbilberries were to be found in profusion, so large and sweet that whenthey were crushed beneath the tread of passers-by the heather wasstained with their red juice. Here was a barrow and yonder another.Then columns of smoke rose into the still air; it was a heath fire,they told him- how brightly it blazed in the dark evening!

The fourth day came, and the funeral festivities were at an end;they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes.

"Ours are better," said the old fisherman, Jurgen's foster-father;"these have no strength."

And they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland,and it seemed very easy to understand. This is how they explained it:

A dead body had been found on the coast, and the peasants buriedit in the churchyard. From that time the sand began to fly about andthe sea broke in with violence. A wise man in the district advisedthem to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying suckinghis thumb, for if so he must be a sailor, and the sea would not restuntil it had got him back. The grave was opened, and he really wasfound with his thumb in his mouth. So they laid him upon a cart, andharnessed two oxen to it; and the oxen ran off with the sailor overheath and moor to the ocean, as if they had been stung by an adder.Then the sand ceased to fly inland, but the hills that had beenpiled up still remained.

All this Jurgen listened to and treasured up in his memory ofthe happiest days of his childhood- the days of the burial feast.

How delightful it was to see fresh places and to mix withstrangers! And he was to go still farther, for he was not yet fourteenyears old when he went out in a ship to see the world. Heencountered bad weather, heavy seas, unkindness, and hard men- suchwere his experiences, for he became ship-boy. Cold nights, bad living,and blows had to be endured; then he felt his noble Spanish blood boilwithin him, and bitter, angry, words rose to his lips, but he gulpedthem down; it was better, although he felt as the eel must feel whenit is skinned, cut up, and put into the frying-pan.

"I shall get over it," said a voice within him.

He saw the Spanish coast, the native land of his parents. Heeven saw the town where they had lived in joy and prosperity, but heknew nothing of his home or his relations, and his relations knew justas little about him.

The poor ship boy was not permitted to land, but on the last dayof their stay he managed to get ashore. There were several purchasesto be made, and he was sent to carry them on board.

Jurgen stood there in his shabby clothes which looked as if theyhad been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney; he, who hadalways dwelt among the sand-hills, now saw a great city for thefirst time. How lofty the houses seemed, and what a number of peoplethere were in the streets! some pushing this way, some that- a perfectmaelstrom of citizens and peasants, monks and soldiers- the jinglingof bells on the trappings of asses and mules, the chiming of churchbells, calling, shouting, hammering and knocking- all going on atonce. Every trade was located in the basement of the houses or inthe side thoroughfares; and the sun shone with such heat, and theair was so close, that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles,cockchafers, bees and flies, all humming and buzzing together.Jurgen scarcely knew where he was or which way he went. Then he sawjust in front of him the great doorway of a cathedral; the lights weregleaming in the dark aisles, and the fragrance of incense was waftedtowards him. Even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into thesanctuary. Jurgen followed the sailor he was with into the church, andstood in the sacred edifice. Coloured pictures gleamed from theirgolden background, and on the altar stood the figure of the Virginwith the child Jesus, surrounded by lights and flowers; priests infestive robes were chanting, and choir boys in dazzling attire swungsilver censers. What splendour and magnificence he saw there! Itstreamed in upon his soul and overpowered him: the church and thefaith of his parents surrounded him, and touched a chord in hisheart that caused his eyes to overflow with tears.

They went from the church to the market-place. Here a quantityof provisions were given him to carry. The way to the harbour waslong; and weary and overcome with various emotions, he rested for afew moments before a splendid house, with marble pillars, statues, andbroad steps. Here he rested his burden against the wall. Then a porterin livery came out, lifted up a silver-headed cane, and drove himaway- him, the grandson of that house. But no one knew that, and hejust as little as any one. Then he went on board again, and oncemore encountered rough words and blows, much work and little sleep-such was his experience of life. They say it is good to suffer inone's young days, if age brings something to make up for it.

His period of service on board the ship came to an end, and thevessel lay once more at Ringkjobing in Jutland. He came ashore, andwent home to the sand-dunes near Hunsby; but his foster-mother haddied during his absence.

A hard winter followed this summer. Snow-storms swept over landand sea, and there was difficulty in getting from one place toanother. How unequally things are distributed in this world! Herethere was bitter cold and snow-storms, while in Spain there wasburning sunshine and oppressive heat. Yet, when a clear frosty daycame, and Jurgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the seatowards the land, across to Norre-Vosborg, it seemed to him thatpeople could breathe more freely here; the summer also in this part ofthe world was splendid. In imagination he saw the heath blossom andbecome purple with rich juicy berries, and the elder-bushes andlime-trees at Norre Vosborg in flower. He made up his mind to go thereagain.

Spring came, and the fishing began. Jurgen was now an activehelper in this, for he had grown during the last year, and was quickat work. He was full of life, and knew how to swim, to tread water,and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide. They often warnedhim to beware of the sharks, which seize the best swimmer, draw himdown, and devour him; but such was not to be Jurgen's fate.

At a neighbour's house in the dunes there was a boy namedMartin, with whom Jurgen was on very friendly terms, and they bothtook service in the same ship to Norway, and also went together toHolland. They never had a quarrel, but a person can be easilyexcited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered, for he oftenshows it in many ways; and this is just what Jurgen did one day whenthey fell out about the merest trifle. They were sitting behind thecabin door, eating from a delft plate, which they had placed betweenthem. Jurgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towardsMartin, and at the same time became ashy pale, and his eyes had anugly look. Martin only said, "Ah! ah! you are one of that sort, areyou? Fond of using the knife!"

The words were scarcely spoken, when Jurgen's hand sank down. Hedid not answer a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards returnedto his work. When they were resting again he walked up to Martin andsaid:

"Hit me in the face! I deserve it. But sometimes I feel as if Ihad a pot in me that boils over."

"There, let the thing rest," replied Martin.

And after that they were almost better friends than ever; whenafterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling theiradventures, this was told among the rest. Martin said that Jurgenwas certainly passionate, but a good fellow after all.

They were both young and healthy, well-grown and strong; butJurgen was the cleverer of the two.

In Norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattlethere to find pasture. On the west coast of Jutland huts have beenerected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, andthatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round thewalls, and here the fishermen live and sleep during the earlyspring. Every fisherman has a female helper, or manager as she iscalled, who baits his hooks, prepares warm beer for him when hecomes ashore, and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the timehe comes back to the hut tired and hungry. Besides this the managersbring up the fish from the boats, cut them open, prepare them, andhave generally a great deal to do.

Jurgen, his father, and several other fishermen and their managersinhabited the same hut; Martin lived in the next one.

One of the girls, whose name was Else, had known Jurgen fromchildhood; they were glad to see each other, and were of the sameopinion on many points, but in appearance they were entirely opposite;for he was dark, and she was pale, and fair, and had flaxen hair,and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine.

As they were walking together one day, Jurgen held her hand veryfirmly in his, and she said to him: "Jurgen, I have something I want to say to you; let me be yourmanager, for you are like a brother to me; but Martin, whosehousekeeper I am- he is my lover- but you need not tell this to theothers."

It seemed to Jurgen as if the loose sand was giving way underhis feet. He did not speak a word, but nodded his head, and that meant"yes." It was all that was necessary; but he suddenly felt in hisheart that he hated Martin, and the more he thought the more he feltconvinced that Martin had stolen away from him the only being heever loved, and that this was Else: he had never thought of Else inthis way before, but now it all became plain to him.

When the sea is rather rough, and the fishermen are coming home intheir great boats, it is wonderful to see how they cross the reefs.One of them stands upright in the bow of the boat, and the otherswatch him sitting with the oars in their hands. Outside the reef itlooks as if the boat was not approaching land but going back to sea;then the man who is standing up gives them the signal that the greatwave is coming which is to float them across the reef. The boat islifted high into the air, so that the keel is seen from the shore; thenext moment nothing can be seen, mast, keel, and people are allhidden- it seems as though the sea had devoured them; but in a fewmoments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves, andthe oars move as if the creature had legs. The second and third reefare passed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into thewater and push the boat towards the shore- every wave helps them-and at length they have it drawn up, beyond the reach of the breakers.

A wrong order given in front of the reef- the slightesthesitation- and the boat would be lost,

"Then it would be all over with me and Martin too!"

This thought passed through Jurgen's mind one day while theywere out at sea, where his foster-father had been taken suddenlyill. The fever had seized him. They were only a few oars' strokes fromthe reef, and Jurgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow.

"Father-let me come!" he said, and he glanced at Martin and acrossthe waves; every oar bent with the exertions of the rowers as thegreat wave came towards them, and he saw his father's pale face, anddared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain. Theboat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thoughtremained in his heart, and roused up every little fibre ofbitterness which he remembered between himself and Martin since theyhad known each other. But he could not weave the fibres together,nor did he endeavour to do so. He felt that Martin had robbed him, andthis was enough to make him hate his former friend. Several of thefishermen saw this, but Martin did not- he remained as obliging andtalkative as ever, in fact he talked rather too much.

Jurgen's foster-father took to his bed, and it became hisdeath-bed, for he died a week afterwards; and now Jurgen was heir tothe little house behind the sand-hills. It was small, certainly, butstill it was something, and Martin had nothing of the kind.

"You will not go to sea again, Jurgen, I suppose," observed one ofthe old fishermen. "You will always stay with us now."

But this was not Jurgen's intention; he wanted to see something ofthe world. The eel-breeder of Fjaltring had an uncle at Old Skjagen,who was a fisherman, but also a prosperous merchant with ships uponthe sea; he was said to be a good old man, and it would not be a badthing to enter his service. Old Skjagen lies in the extreme north ofJutland, as far away from the Hunsby dunes as one can travel in thatcountry; and this is just what pleased Jurgen, for he did not wantto remain till the wedding of Martin and Else, which would takeplace in a week or two.

The old fisherman said it was foolish to go away, for now thatJurgen had a home Else would very likely be inclined to take himinstead of Martin.

Jurgen gave such a vague answer that it was not easy to make outwhat he meant- the old man brought Else to him, and she said:

"You have a home now; you ought to think of that."

And Jurgen thought of many things.

The sea has heavy waves, but there are heavier waves in thehuman heart. Many thoughts, strong and weak, rushed through Jurgen'sbrain, and he said to Else:

"If Martin had a house like mine, which of us would you ratherhave?"

"But Martin has no house and cannot get one."

"Suppose he had one?"

"Well, then I would certainly take Martin, for that is what myheart tells me; but one cannot live upon love."

Jurgen turned these things over in his mind all night. Somethingwas working within him, he hardly knew what it was, but it was evenstronger than his love for Else; and so he went to Martin's, andwhat he said and did there was well considered. He let the house toMartin on most liberal terms, saying that he wished to go to seaagain, because he loved it. And Else kissed him when she heard ofit, for she loved Martin best.

Jurgen proposed to start early in the morning, and on theevening before his departure, when it was already getting rather late,he felt a wish to visit Martin once more. He started, and among thedunes met the old fisherman, who was angry at his leaving the place.The old man made jokes about Martin, and declared there must be somemagic about that fellow, of whom the girls were so fond.

Jurgen did not pay any attention to his remarks, but said good-byeto the old man and went on towards the house where Martin dwelt. Heheard loud talking inside; Martin was not alone, and this madeJurgen waver in his determination, for he did not wish to see Elseagain. On second thoughts, he decided that it was better not to hearany more thanks from Martin, and so he turned back.

On the following morning, before the sun rose, he fastened hisknapsack on his back, took his wooden provision box in his hand, andwent away among the sand-hills towards the coast path. This way wasmore pleasant than the heavy sand road, and besides it was shorter;and he intended to go first to Fjaltring, near Bovbjerg, where theeel-breeder lived, to whom he had promised a visit.

The sea lay before him, clear and blue, and the mussel shellsand pebbles, the playthings of his childhood, crunched over hisfeet. While he thus walked on his nose suddenly began to bleed; it wasa trifling occurrence, but trifles sometimes are of greatimportance. A few large drops of blood fell upon one of his sleeves.He wiped them off and stopped the bleeding, and it seemed to him as ifthis had cleared and lightened his brain. The sea-cale bloomed hereand there in the sand as he passed. He broke off a spray and stuckit in his hat; he determined to be merry and light-hearted, for he wasgoing out into the wide world- "a little way out, beyond the bay,"as the young eels had said. "Beware of bad people who will catchyou, and skin you, and put you in the frying-pan!" he repeated inhis mind, and smiled, for he thought he should find his way throughthe world- good courage is a strong weapon!

The sun was high in the heavens when he approached the narrowentrance to Nissum Bay. He looked back and saw a couple of horsemengalloping a long distance behind him, and there were other people withthem. But this did not concern him.

The ferry-boat was on the opposite side of the bay. Jurgencalled to the ferry-man, and the latter came over with his boat.Jurgen stepped in; but before he had got half-way across, the men whomhe had seen riding so hastily, came up, hailed the ferry-man, andcommanded him to return in the name of the law. Jurgen did notunderstand the reason of this, but he thought it would be best to turnback, and therefore he himself took an oar and returned. As soon asthe boat touched the shore, the men sprang on board, and before he wasaware of it, they had bound his hands with a rope.

"This wicked deed will cost you your life," they said. "It is agood thing we have caught you."

He was accused of nothing less than murder. Martin had beenfound dead, with his throat cut. One of the fishermen, late on theprevious evening, had met Jurgen going towards Martin's house; thiswas not the first time Jurgen had raised his knife against Martin,so they felt sure that he was the murderer. The prison was in a townat a great distance, and the wind was contrary for going there by sea;but it would not take half an hour to get across the bay, andanother quarter of an hour would bring them to Norre-Vosborg, thegreat castle with ramparts and moat. One of Jurgen's captors was afisherman, a brother of the keeper of the castle, and he said it mightbe managed that Jurgen should be placed for the present in the dungeonat Vosborg, where Long Martha the gipsy had been shut up till herexecution. They paid no attention to Jurgen's defence; the few dropsof blood on his shirt-sleeve bore heavy witness against him. But hewas conscious of his innocence, and as there was no chance of clearinghimself at present he submitted to his fate.

The party landed just at the place where Sir Bugge's castle hadstood, and where Jurgen had walked with his foster-parents after theburial feast, during. the four happiest days of his childhood. Hewas led by the well-known path, over the meadow to Vosborg; oncemore the elders were in bloom and the lofty lime-trees gave forthsweet fragrance, and it seemed as if it were but yesterday that he hadlast seen the spot. In each of the two wings of the castle there was astaircase which led to a place below the entrance, from whence thereis access to a low, vaulted cellar. In this dungeon Long Martha hadbeen imprisoned, and from here she was led away to the scaffold. Shehad eaten the hearts of five children, and had imagined that if shecould obtain two more she would be able to fly and make herselfinvisible. In the middle of the roof of the cellar there was alittle narrow air-hole, but no window. The flowering lime treescould not breathe refreshing fragrance into that abode, whereeverything was dark and mouldy. There was only a rough bench in thecell; but a good conscience is a soft pillow, and therefore Jurgencould sleep well.

The thick oaken door was locked, and secured on the outside byan iron bar; but the goblin of superstition can creep through akeyhole into a baron's castle just as easily as it can into afisherman's cottage, and why should he not creep in here, where Jurgensat thinking of Long Martha and her wicked deeds? Her last thoughts onthe night before her execution had filled this place, and the magicthat tradition asserted to have been practised here, in SirSvanwedel's time, came into Jurgen's mind, and made him shudder; but asunbeam, a refreshing thought from without, penetrated his hearteven here- it was the remembrance of the flowering elder and the sweetsmelling lime-trees.

He was not left there long. They took him away to the town ofRingkjobing, where he was imprisoned with equal severity.

Those times were not like ours. The common people were treatedharshly; and it was just after the days when farms were converted intoknights' estates, when coachmen and servants were often mademagistrates, and had power to sentence a poor man, for a smalloffence, to lose his property and to corporeal punishment. Judges ofthis kind were still to be found; and in Jutland, so far from thecapital, and from the enlightened, well-meaning, head of theGovernment, the law was still very loosely administered sometimes- thesmallest grievance Jurgen could expect was that his case should bedelayed.

His dwelling was cold and comfortless; and how long would he beobliged to bear all this? It seemed his fate to suffer misfortuneand sorrow innocently. He now had plenty of time to reflect on thedifference of fortune on earth, and to wonder why this fate had beenallotted to him; yet he felt sure that all would be made clear inthe next life, the existence that awaits us when this life is over.His faith had grown strong in the poor fisherman's cottage; thelight which had never shone into his father's mind, in all therichness and sunshine of Spain, was sent to him to be his comfort inpoverty and distress, a sign of that mercy of God which never fails.

The spring storms began to blow. The rolling and moaning of theNorth Sea could be heard for miles inland when the wind was blowing,and then it sounded like the rushing of a thousand waggons over a hardroad with a mine underneath. Jurgen heard these sounds in hisprison, and it was a relief to him. No music could have touched hisheart as did these sounds of the sea- the rolling sea, the boundlesssea, on which a man can be borne across the world before the wind,carrying his own house with him wherever he goes, just as the snailcarries its home even into a strange country.

He listened eagerly to its deep murmur and then the thought arose-"Free! free! How happy to be free, even barefooted and in raggedclothes!" Sometimes, when such thoughts crossed his mind, the fierynature rose within him, and he beat the wall with his clenched fists.

Weeks, months, a whole year had gone by, when Niels the thief,called also a horse-dealer, was arrested; and now better times came,and it was seen that Jurgen had been wrongly accused.

On the afternoon before Jurgen's departure from home, and beforethe murder, Niels the thief, had met Martin at a beer-house in theneighbourhood of Ringkjobing. A few glasses were drank, not enoughto cloud the brain, but enough to loosen Martin's tongue. He beganto boast and to say that he had obtained a house and intended tomarry, and when Niels asked him where he was going to get the money,he slapped his pocket proudly and said:

"The money is here, where it ought to be."

This boast cost him his life; for when he went home Niels followedhim, and cut his throat, intending to rob the murdered man of thegold, which did not exist.

All this was circumstantially explained; but it is enough for usto know that Jurgen was set free. But what compensation did he get forhaving been imprisoned a whole year, and shut out from allcommunication with his fellow creatures? They told him he wasfortunate in being proved innocent, and that he might go. Theburgomaster gave him two dollars for travelling expenses, and manycitizens offered him provisions and beer- there were still goodpeople; they were not all hard and pitiless. But the best thing of allwas that the merchant Bronne, of Skjagen, into whose service Jurgenhad proposed entering the year before, was just at that time onbusiness in the town of Ringkjobing. Bronne heard the whole story;he was kind-hearted, and understood what Jurgen must have felt andsuffered. Therefore he made up his mind to make it up to the poor lad,and convince him that there were still kind folks in the world.

So Jurgen went forth from prison as if to paradise, to findfreedom, affection, and trust. He was to travel this path now, forno goblet of life is all bitterness; no good man would pour out such adraught for his fellow-man, and how should He do it, Who is lovepersonified?

"Let everything be buried and forgotten," said Bronne, themerchant. "Let us draw a thick line through last year: we will evenburn the almanack. In two days we will start for dear, friendly,peaceful Skjagen. People call it an out-of-the-way corner; but it is agood warm chimney-corner, and its windows open toward every part ofthe world."

What a journey that was: It was like taking fresh breath out ofthe cold dungeon air into the warm sunshine. The heather bloomed inpride and beauty, and the shepherd-boy sat on a barrow and blew hispipe, which he had carved for himself out of a sheep bone. FataMorgana, the beautiful aerial phenomenon of the wilderness, appearedwith hanging gardens and waving forests, and the wonderful cloudcalled "Lokeman driving his sheep" also was seen.

Up towards Skjagen they went, through the land of the Wendels,whence the men with long beards (the Longobardi or Lombards) hademigrated in the reign of King Snio, when all the children and oldpeople were to have been killed, till the noble Dame Gambaruk proposedthat the young people should emigrate. Jurgen knew all this, he hadsome little knowledge; and although he did not know the land of theLombards beyond the lofty Alps, he had an idea that it must bethere, for in his boyhood he had been in the south, in Spain. Hethought of the plenteousness of the southern fruit, of the redpomegranate flowers, of the humming, buzzing, and toiling in the greatbeehive of a city he had seen; but home is the best place after all,and Jurgen's home was Denmark.

At last they arrived at "Vendilskaga," as Skjagen is called in oldNorwegian and Icelandic writings. At that time Old Skjagen, with theeastern and western town, extended for miles, with sand hills andarable land as far as the lighthouse near "Grenen." Then, as now,the houses were strewn among the wind-raised sand-hills- awilderness in which the wind sports with the sand, and where the voiceof the sea-gull and wild swan strikes harshly on the ear.

In the south-west, a mile from "Grenen," lies Old Skjagen;merchant Bronne dwelt here, and this was also to be Jurgen's homefor the future. The dwelling-house was tarred, and all the smallout-buildings had been put together from pieces of wreck. There was nofence, for indeed there was nothing to fence in except the long rowsof fishes which were hung upon lines, one above the other, to dry inthe wind. The entire coast was strewn with spoiled herrings, for therewere so many of these fish that a net was scarcely thrown into the seabefore it was filled. They were caught by carloads, and many of themwere either thrown back into the sea or left to lie on the beach.

The old man's wife and daughter and his servants also came to meethim with great rejoicing. There was a great squeezing of hands, andtalking and questioning. And the daughter, what a sweet face andbright eyes she had!

The inside of the house was comfortable and roomy. Fritters,that a king would have looked upon as a dainty dish, were placed onthe table, and there was wine from the Skjagen vineyard- that is,the sea; for there the grapes come ashore ready pressed and preparedin barrels and in bottles.

When the mother and daughter heard who Jurgen was, and howinnocently he had suffered, they looked at him in a still morefriendly way; and pretty Clara's eyes had a look of especialinterest as she listened to his story. Jurgen found a happy home inOld Skjagen. It did his heart good, for it had been sorely tried. Hehad drunk the bitter goblet of love which softens or hardens theheart, according to circumstances. Jurgen's heart was still soft- itwas young, and therefore it was a good thing that Miss Clara was goingin three weeks' time to Christiansand in Norway, in her father's ship,to visit an aunt and to stay there the whole winter.

On the Sunday before she went away they all went to church, to theHoly Communion. The church was large and handsome, and had beenbuilt centuries before by Scotchmen and Dutchmen; it stood some littleway out of the town. It was rather ruinous certainly, and the roadto it was heavy, through deep sand, but the people gladly surmountedthese difficulties to get to the house of God, to sing psalms and tohear the sermon. The sand had heaped itself up round the walls ofthe church, but the graves were kept free from it.

It was the largest church north of the Limfjorden. The VirginMary, with a golden crown on her head and the child Jesus in her arms,stood lifelike on the altar; the holy Apostles had been carved inthe choir, and on the walls there were portraits of the oldburgomasters and councillors of Skjagen; the pulpit was of carvedwork. The sun shone brightly into the church, and its radiance fell onthe polished brass chandelier and on the little ship that hung fromthe vaulted roof.

Jurgen felt overcome by a holy, childlike feeling, like that whichpossessed him, when, as a boy, he stood in the splendid Spanishcathedral. But here the feeling was different, for he felt consciousof being one of the congregation.

After the sermon followed Holy Communion. He partook of thebread and wine, and it so happened that he knelt by the side of MissClara; but his thoughts were so fixed upon heaven and the HolySacrament that he did not notice his neighbour until he rose fromhis knees, and then he saw tears rolling down her cheeks.

She left Skjagen and went to Norway two days later. He remainedbehind, and made himself useful on the farm and at the fishery. Hewent out fishing, and in those days fish were more plentiful andlarger than they are now. The shoals of the mackerel glittered inthe dark nights, and indicated where they were swimming; thegurnards snarled, and the crabs gave forth pitiful yells when theywere chased, for fish are not so mute as people say.

Every Sunday Jurgen went to church; and when his eyes rested onthe picture of the Virgin Mary over the altar as he sat there, theyoften glided away to the spot where they had knelt side by side.

Autumn came, and brought rain and snow with it; the water roseup right into the town of Skjagen, the sand could not suck it allin, one had to wade through it or go by boat. The storms threwvessel after vessel on the fatal reefs; there were snow-storm andsand-storms; the sand flew up to the houses, blocking the entrances,so that people had to creep up through the chimneys; that wasnothing at all remarkable here. It was pleasant and cheerfulindoors, where peat fuel and fragments of wood from the wrecksblazed and crackled upon the hearth. Merchant Bronne read aloud,from an old chronicle, about Prince Hamlet of Denmark, who had comeover from England, landed near Bovbjerg, and fought a battle; close byRamme was his grave, only a few miles from the place where theeel-breeder lived; hundreds of barrow rose there from the heath,forming as it were an enormous churchyard. Merchant Bronne hadhimself been at Hamlet's grave; they spoke about old times, and abouttheir neighbours, the English and the Scotch, and Jurgen sang the airof "The King of England's Son," and of his splendid ship and itsoutfit.

"In the hour of peril when most men fear,

He clasped the bride that he held so dear,

And proved himself the son of a King;

Of his courage and valour let us sing."

This verse Jurgen sang with so much feeling that his eyesbeamed, and they were black and sparkling since his infancy.

There was wealth, comfort, and happiness even among the domesticanimals, for they were all well cared for, and well kept. Thekitchen looked bright with its copper and tin utensils, and whiteplates, and from the rafters hung hams, beef, and winter stores inplenty. This can still be seen in many rich farms on the west coast ofJutland: plenty to eat and drink, clean, prettily decorated rooms,active minds, cheerful tempers, and hospitality can be found there, asin an Arab's tent.

Jurgen had never spent such a happy time since the famous burialfeast, and yet Miss Clara was absent, except in the thoughts andmemory of all.

In April a ship was to start for Norway, and Jurgen was to sail init. He was full of life and spirits, and looked so sturdy and wellthat Dame Bronne said it did her good to see him.

"And it does one good to look at you also, old wife," said themerchant. "Jurgen has brought fresh life into our winter evenings, andinto you too, mother. You look younger than ever this year, and seemwell and cheerful. But then you were once the prettiest girl inViborg, and that is saying a great deal, for I have always found theViborg girls the prettiest of any."

Jurgen said nothing, but he thought of a certain maiden ofSkjagen, whom he was soon to visit. The ship set sail forChristiansand in Norway, and as the wind was favourable it soonarrived there.

One morning merchant Bronne went out to the lighthouse, whichstands a little way out of Old Skjagen, not far from "Grenen." Thelight was out, and the sun was already high in the heavens, when hemounted the tower. The sand-banks extend a whole mile from theshore, beneath the water, outside these banks; many ships could beseen that day, and with the aid of his telescope the old man thoughthe descried his own ship, the Karen Bronne. Yes! certainly, thereshe was, sailing homewards with Clara and Jurgen on board.

Clara sat on deck, and saw the sand-hills gradually appearing inthe distance; the church and lighthouse looked like a heron and a swanrising from the blue waters. If the wind held good they might reachhome in about an hour. So near they were to home and all its joys-so near to death and all its terrors! A plank in the ship gave way,and the water rushed in; the crew flew to the pumps, and did theirbest to stop the leak. A signal of distress was hoisted, but they werestill fully a mile from the shore. Some fishing boats were in sight,but they were too far off to be of any use. The wind blew towardsthe land, the tide was in their favour, but it was all useless; theship could not be saved.

Jurgen threw his right arm round Clara, and pressed her to him.With what a look she gazed up into his face, as with a prayer to Godfor help he breasted the waves, which rushed over the sinking ship!She uttered a cry, but she felt safe and certain that he would notleave her to sink. And in this hour of terror and danger Jurgen feltas the king's son did, as told in the old song:

"In the hour of peril when most men fear,

He clasped the bride that he held so dear."

How glad he felt that he was a good swimmer! He worked his wayonward with his feet and one arm, while he held the young girl upfirmly with the other. He rested on the waves, he trod the water- infact, did everything he could think of, in order not to fatiguehimself, and to reserve strength enough to reach land. He heardClara sigh, and felt her shudder convulsively, and he pressed her moreclosely to him. Now and then a wave rolled over them, the currentlifted them; the water, although deep, was so clear that for amoment he imagined he saw the shoals of mackerel glittering, orLeviathan himself ready to swallow them. Now the clouds cast ashadow over the water, then again came the playing sunbeams; flocks ofloudly screaming birds passed over him, and the plump and lazy wildducks which allow themselves to be drifted by the waves rose upterrified at the sight of the swimmer. He began to feel his strengthdecreasing, but he was only a few cable lengths' distance from theshore, and help was coming, for a boat was approaching him. At thismoment he distinctly saw a white staring figure under the water- awave lifted him up, and he came nearer to the figure- he felt aviolent shock, and everything became dark around him.

On the sand reef lay the wreck of a ship, which was covered withwater at high tide; the white figure head rested against the anchor,the sharp iron edge of which rose just above the surface. Jurgen hadcome in contact with this; the tide had driven him against it withgreat force. He sank down stunned with the blow, but the next wavelifted him and the young girl up again. Some fishermen, coming witha boat, seized them and dragged them into it. The blood streameddown over Jurgen's face; he seemed dead, but still held the young girlso tightly that they were obliged to take her from him by force. Shewas pale and lifeless; they laid her in the boat, and rowed as quicklyas possible to the shore. They tried every means to restore Clara tolife, but it was all of no avail. Jurgen had been swimming for somedistance with a corpse in his arms, and had exhausted his strength forone who was dead.

Jurgen still breathed, so the fishermen carried him to the nearesthouse upon the sand-hills, where a smith and general dealer livedwho knew something of surgery, and bound up Jurgen's wounds in atemporary way until a surgeon could be obtained from the nearesttown the next day. The injured man's brain was affected, and in hisdelirium he uttered wild cries; but on the third day he lay quietand weak upon his bed; his life seemed to hang by a thread, and thephysician said it would be better for him if this thread broke. "Letus pray that God may take him," he said, "for he will never be thesame man again."

But life did not depart from him- the thread would not break,but the thread of memory was severed; the thread of his mind hadbeen cut through, and what was still more grievous, a body remained- aliving healthy body that wandered about like a troubled spirit.

Jurgen remained in merchant Bronne's house. "He was hurt whileendeavouring to save our child," said the old man, "and now he isour son." People called Jurgen insane, but that was not exactly thecorrect term. He was like an instrument in which the strings are looseand will give no sound; only occasionally they regained their powerfor a few minutes, and then they sounded as they used to do. Hewould sing snatches of songs or old melodies, pictures of the pastwould rise before him, and then disappear in the mist, as it were, butas a general rule he sat staring into vacancy, without a thought. Wemay conjecture that he did not suffer, but his dark eyes lost theirbrightness, and looked like clouded glass.

"Poor mad Jurgen," said the people. And this was the end of a lifewhose infancy was to have been surrounded with wealth and splendourhad his parents lived! All his great mental abilities had been lost,nothing but hardship, sorrow, and disappointment had been his fate. Hewas like a rare plant, torn from its native soil, and tossed uponthe beach to wither there. And was this one of God's creatures,fashioned in His own likeness, to have no better fate? Was he to beonly the plaything of fortune? No! the all-loving Creator wouldcertainly repay him in the life to come for what he had suffered andlost here. "The Lord is good to all; and His mercy is over all Hisworks." The pious old wife of the merchant repeated these words fromthe Psalms of David in patience and hope, and the prayer of herheart was that Jurgen might soon be called away to enter intoeternal life.

In the churchyard where the walls were surrounded with sandClara lay buried. Jurgen did not seem to know this; it did not enterhis mind, which could only retain fragments of the past. EverySunday he went to church with the old people, and sat theresilently, staring vacantly before him. One day, when the Psalms werebeing sung, he sighed deeply, and his eyes became bright; they werefixed upon a place near the altar where he had knelt with his friendwho was dead. He murmured her name, and became deadly pale, andtears rolled down his cheeks. They led him out of church; he toldthose standing round him that he was well, and had never been ill; he,who had been so grievously afflicted, the outcast, thrown upon theworld, could not remember his sufferings. The Lord our Creator is wiseand full of loving kindness- who can doubt it?

In Spain, where balmy breezes blow over the Moorish cupolas andgently stir the orange and myrtle groves, where singing and thesound of the castanets are always heard, the richest merchant in theplace, a childless old man, sat in a luxurious house, while childrenmarched in procession through the streets with waving flags andlighted tapers. If he had been able to press his children to hisheart, his daughter, or her child, that had, perhaps never seen thelight of day, far less the kingdom of heaven, how much of his wealthwould he not have given! "Poor child!" Yes, poor child- a child still,yet more than thirty years old, for Jurgen had arrived at this agein Old Skjagen.

The shifting sands had covered the graves in the courtyard,quite up to the church walls, but still, the dead must be buried amongtheir relatives and the dear ones who had gone before them. MerchantBronne and his wife now rested with their children under the whitesand.

It was in the spring- the season of storms. The sand from thedunes was whirled up in clouds; the sea was rough, and flocks of birdsflew like clouds in the storm, screaming across the sand-hills.Shipwreck followed upon shipwreck on the reefs between Old Skagenand the Hunsby dunes.

One evening Jurgen sat in his room alone: all at once his mindseemed to become clearer, and a restless feeling came over him, suchas had often, in his younger days, driven him out to wander over thesand-hills or on the heath. "Home, home!" he cried. No one heardhim. He went out and walked towards the dunes. Sand and stones blewinto his face, and whirled round him; he went in the direction ofthe church. The sand was banked up the walls, half covering thewindows, but it had been cleared away in front of the door, and theentrance was free and easy to open, so Jurgen went into the church.

The storm raged over the town of Skjagen; there had not beensuch a terrible tempest within the memory of the inhabitants, nor sucha rough sea. But Jurgen was in the temple of God, and while thedarkness of night reigned outside, a light arose in his soul thatwas never to depart from it; the heavy weight that pressed on hisbrain burst asunder. He fancied he heard the organ, but it was onlythe storm and the moaning of the sea. He sat down on one of the seats,and lo! the candies were lighted one by one, and there wasbrightness and grandeur such as he had only seen in the Spanishcathedral. The portraits of the old citizens became alive, steppeddown from the walls against which they had hung for centuries, andtook seats near the church door. The gates flew open, and all the deadpeople from the churchyard came in, and filled the church, whilebeautiful music sounded. Then the melody of the psalm burst forth,like the sound of the waters, and Jurgen saw that his foster parentsfrom the Hunsby dunes were there, also old merchant Bronne with hiswife and their daughter Clara, who gave him her hand. They both wentup to the altar where they had knelt before, and the priest joinedtheir hands and united them for life. Then music was heard again; itwas wonderfully sweet, like a child's voice, full of joy andexpectation, swelling to the powerful tones of a full organ, sometimessoft and sweet, then like the sounds of a tempest, delightful andelevating to hear, yet strong enough to burst the stone tombs of thedead. Then the little ship that hung from the roof of the choir waslet down and looked wonderfully large and beautiful with its silkensails and rigging:

"The ropes were of silk, the anchor of gold,

And everywhere riches and pomp untold,"as the old song says.

The young couple went on board, accompanied by the wholecongregation, for there was room and enjoyment for them all. Thenthe walls and arches of the church were covered with floweringjunipers and lime trees breathing forth fragrance; the branches waved,creating a pleasant coolness; they bent and parted, and the shipsailed between them through the air and over the sea. Every candlein the church became a star, and the wind sang a hymn in which theyall joined. "Through love to glory, no life is lost, the future isfull of blessings and happiness. Hallelujah!" These were the lastwords Jurgen uttered in this world, for the thread that bound hisimmortal soul was severed, and nothing but the dead body lay in thedark church, while the storm raged outside, covering it with loosesand.

The next day was Sunday, and the congregation and their pastorwent to the church. The road had always been heavy, but now it wasalmost unfit for use, and when they at last arrived at the church, agreat heap of sand lay piled up in front of them. The whole church wascompletely buried in sand. The clergyman offered a short prayer, andsaid that God had closed the door of His house here, and that thecongregation must go and build a new one for Him somewhere else. Sothey sung a hymn in the open air, and went home again.

Jurgen could not be found anywhere in the town of Skjagen, noron the dunes, though they searched for him everywhere. They came tothe conclusion that one of the great waves, which had rolled far upon the beach, had carried him away; but his body lay buried in agreat sepulchre- the church itself. The Lord had thrown down acovering for his grave during the storm, and the heavy mound of sandlies upon it to this day. The drifting sand had covered the vaultedroof of the church, the arched cloisters, and the stone aisles. Thewhite thorn and the dog rose now blossom above the place where thechurch lies buried, but the spire, like an enormous monument over agrave, can be seen for miles round. No king has a more splendidmemorial. Nothing disturbs the peaceful sleep of the dead. I was thefirst to hear this story, for the storm sung it to me among thesand-hills.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

ANNE LISBETH

by Hans Christian Andersen

ANNE LISBETH was a beautiful young woman, with a red and whitecomplexion, glittering white teeth, and clear soft eyes; and herfootstep was light in the dance, but her mind was lighter still. Shehad a little child, not at all pretty; so he was put out to benursed by a laborer's wife, and his mother went to the count's castle.She sat in splendid rooms, richly decorated with silk and velvet;not a breath of air was allowed to blow upon her, and no one wasallowed to speak to her harshly, for she was nurse to the count'schild. He was fair and delicate as a prince, and beautiful as anangel; and how she loved this child! Her own boy was provided for bybeing at the laborer's where the mouth watered more frequently thanthe pot boiled, and where in general no one was at home to take careof the child. Then he would cry, but what nobody knows nobody caresfor; so he would cry till he was tired, and then fall asleep; andwhile we are asleep we can feel neither hunger nor thirst. Ah, yes;sleep is a capital invention.

As years went on, Anne Lisbeth's child grew apace like weeds,although they said his growth had been stunted. He had become quitea member of the family in which he dwelt; they received money tokeep him, so that his mother got rid of him altogether. She had becomequite a lady; she had a comfortable home of her own in the town; andout of doors, when she went for a walk, she wore a bonnet; but shenever walked out to see the laborer: that was too far from the town,and, indeed, she had nothing to go for, the boy now belonged tothese laboring people. He had food, and he could also do somethingtowards earning his living; he took care of Mary's red cow, for heknew how to tend cattle and make himself useful.

The great dog by the yard gate of a nobleman's mansion sitsproudly on the top of his kennel when the sun shines, and barks atevery one that passes; but if it rains, he creeps into his house,and there he is warm and dry. Anne Lisbeth's boy also sat in thesunshine on the top of the fence, cutting out a little toy. If itwas spring-time, he knew of three strawberry-plants in blossom,which would certainly bear fruit. This was his most hopeful thought,though it often came to nothing. And he had to sit out in the rainin the worst weather, and get wet to the skin, and let the cold winddry the clothes on his back afterwards. If he went near the farmyardbelonging to the count, he was pushed and knocked about, for the menand the maids said he was so horrible ugly; but he was used to allthis, for nobody loved him. This was how the world treated AnneLisbeth's boy, and how could it be otherwise. It was his fate to bebeloved by no one. Hitherto he had been a land crab; the land atlast cast him adrift. He went to sea in a wretched vessel, and satat the helm, while the skipper sat over the grog-can. He was dirty andugly, half-frozen and half-starved; he always looked as if he neverhad enough to eat, which was really the case.

Late in the autumn, when the weather was rough, windy, and wet,and the cold penetrated through the thickest clothing, especially atsea, a wretched boat went out to sea with only two men on board, or,more correctly, a man and a half, for it was the skipper and hisboy. There had only been a kind of twilight all day, and it soongrew quite dark, and so bitterly cold, that the skipper took a dram towarm him. The bottle was old, and the glass too. It was perfect in theupper part, but the foot was broken off, and it had therefore beenfixed upon a little carved block of wood, painted blue. A dram is agreat comfort, and two are better still, thought the skipper, whilethe boy sat at the helm, which he held fast in his hard seamedhands. He was ugly, and his hair was matted, and he looked crippledand stunted; they called him the field-laborer's boy, though in thechurch register he was entered as Anne Lisbeth's son. The wind cutthrough the rigging, and the boat cut through the sea. The sails,filled by the wind, swelled out and carried them along in wild career.It was wet and rough above and below, and might still be worse.Hold! what is that? What has struck the boat? Was it a waterspout,or a heavy sea rolling suddenly upon them?

"Heaven help us!" cried the boy at the helm, as the boat heeledover and lay on its beam ends. It had struck on a rock, which rosefrom the depths of the sea, and sank at once, like an old shoe in apuddle. "It sank at once with mouse and man," as the saying is.There might have been mice on board, but only one man and a half,the skipper and the laborer's boy. No one saw it but the skimmingsea-gulls and the fishes beneath the water; and even they did notsee it properly, for they darted back with terror as the boat filledwith water and sank. There it lay, scarcely a fathom below thesurface, and those two were provided for, buried, and forgotten. Theglass with the foot of blue wood was the only thing that did not sink,for the wood floated and the glass drifted away to be cast upon theshore and broken; where and when, is indeed of no consequence. Ithad served its purpose, and it had been loved, which Anne Lisbeth'sboy had not been. But in heaven no soul will be able to say, "Neverloved."

Anne Lisbeth had now lived in the town many years; she wascalled "Madame," and felt dignified in consequence; she remembered theold, noble days, in which she had driven in the carriage, and hadassociated with countess and baroness. Her beautiful, noble childhad been a dear angel, and possessed the kindest heart; he had lovedher so much, and she had loved him in return; they had kissed andloved each other, and the boy had been her joy, her second life. Nowhe was fourteen years of age, tall, handsome, and clever. She hadnot seen him since she carried him in her arms; neither had she beenfor years to the count's palace; it was quite a journey thither fromthe town.

"I must make one effort to go," said Anne Lisbeth, "to see mydarling, the count's sweet child, and press him to my heart. Certainlyhe must long to see me, too, the young count; no doubt he thinks of meand loves me, as in those days when he would fling his angel-armsround my neck, and lisp 'Anne Liz.' It was music to my ears. Yes, Imust make an effort to see him again." She drove across the country ina grazier's cart, and then got out, and continued her journey on foot,and thus reached the count's castle. It was as great and magnificentas it had always been, and the garden looked the same as ever; all theservants were strangers to her, not one of them knew Anne Lisbeth, norof what consequence she had once been there; but she felt sure thecountess would soon let them know it, and her darling boy, too: howshe longed to see him!

Now that Anne Lisbeth was at her journey's end, she was keptwaiting a long time; and for those who wait, time passes slowly. Butbefore the great people went in to dinner, she was called in andspoken to very graciously. She was to go in again after dinner, andthen she would see her sweet boy once more. How tall, and slender, andthin he had grown; but the eyes and the sweet angel mouth were stillbeautiful. He looked at her, but he did not speak, he certainly didnot know who she was. He turned round and was going away, but sheseized his hand and pressed it to her lips.

"Well, well," he said; and with that he walked out of the room. Hewho filled her every thought! he whom she loved best, and who washer whole earthly pride!

Anne Lisbeth went forth from the castle into the public road,feeling mournful and sad; he whom she had nursed day and night, andeven now carried about in her dreams, had been cold and strange, andhad not a word or thought respecting her. A great black raven darteddown in front of her on the high road, and croaked dismally.

"Ah," said she, "what bird of ill omen art thou?" Presently shepassed the laborer's hut; his wife stood at the door, and the twowomen spoke to each other.

"You look well," said the woman; "you're fat and plump; you arewell off."

"Oh yes," answered Anne Lisbeth.

"The boat went down with them," continued the woman; "Hans theskipper and the boy were both drowned; so there's an end of them. Ialways thought the boy would be able to help me with a few dollars.He'll never cost you anything more, Anne Lisbeth."

"So they were drowned," repeated Anne Lisbeth; but she said nomore, and the subject was dropped. She felt very low-spirited, becauseher count-child had shown no inclination to speak to her who loved himso well, and who had travelled so far to see him. The journey had costmoney too, and she had derived no great pleasure from it. Still shesaid not a word of all this; she could not relieve her heart bytelling the laborer's wife, lest the latter should think she did notenjoy her former position at the castle. Then the raven flew over her,screaming again as he flew.

"The black wretch!" said Anne Lisbeth, "he will end by frighteningme today." She had brought coffee and chicory with her, for shethought it would be a charity to the poor woman to give them to her toboil a cup of coffee, and then she would take a cup herself.

The woman prepared the coffee, and in the meantime Anne Lisbethseated her in a chair and fell asleep. Then she dreamed of somethingwhich she had never dreamed before; singularly enough she dreamed ofher own child, who had wept and hungered in the laborer's hut, and hadbeen knocked about in heat and in cold, and who was now lying in thedepths of the sea, in a spot only known by God. She fancied she wasstill sitting in the hut, where the woman was busy preparing thecoffee, for she could smell the coffee-berries roasting. Butsuddenly it seemed to her that there stood on the threshold abeautiful young form, as beautiful as the count's child, and thisapparition said to her, "The world is passing away; hold fast to me,for you are my mother after all; you have an angel in heaven, holdme fast;" and the child-angel stretched out his hand and seized her.Then there was a terrible crash, as of a world crumbling to pieces,and the angel-child was rising from the earth, and holding her bythe sleeve so tightly that she felt herself lifted from the ground;but, on the other hand, something heavy hung to her feet and draggedher down, and it seemed as if hundreds of women were clinging toher, and crying, "If thou art to be saved, we must be saved too.Hold fast, hold fast." And then they all hung on her, but there weretoo many; and as they clung the sleeve was torn, and Anne Lisbeth felldown in horror, and awoke. Indeed she was on the point of falling overin reality with the chair on which she sat; but she was so startledand alarmed that she could not remember what she had dreamed, onlythat it was something very dreadful.

They drank their coffee and had a chat together, and then AnneLisbeth went away towards the little town where she was to meet thecarrier, who was to drive her back to her own home. But when shecame to him she found that he would not be ready to start till theevening of the next day. Then she began to think of the expense, andwhat the distance would be to walk. She remembered that the route bythe sea-shore was two miles shorter than by the high road; and asthe weather was clear, and there would be moonlight, she determined tomake her way on foot, and to start at once, that she might reachhome the next day.

The sun had set, and the evening bells sounded through the airfrom the tower of the village church, but to her it was not the bells,but the cry of the frogs in the marshes. Then they ceased, and allaround became still; not a bird could be heard, they were all at rest,even the owl had not left her hiding place; deep silence reigned onthe margin of the wood by the sea-shore. As Anne Lisbeth walked on shecould hear her own footsteps in the sands; even the waves of the seawere at rest, and all in the deep waters had sunk into silence.There was quiet among the dead and the living in the deep sea. AnneLisbeth walked on, thinking of nothing at all, as people say, orrather her thoughts wandered, but not away from her, for thought isnever absent from us, it only slumbers. Many thoughts that have laindormant are roused at the proper time, and begin to stir in the mindand the heart, and seem even to come upon us from above. It iswritten, that a good deed bears a blessing for its fruit; and it isalso written, that the wages of sin is death. Much has been said andmuch written which we pass over or know nothing of. A light ariseswithin us, and then forgotten things make themselves remembered; andthus it was with Anne Lisbeth. The germ of every vice and every virtuelies in our heart, in yours and in mine; they lie like little grainsof seed, till a ray of sunshine, or the touch of an evil hand, oryou turn the corner to the right or to the left, and the decision ismade. The little seed is stirred, it swells and shoots up, and poursits sap into your blood, directing your course either for good orevil. Troublesome thoughts often exist in the mind, fermentingthere, which are not realized by us while the senses are as it wereslumbering; but still they are there. Anne Lisbeth walked on thus withher senses half asleep, but the thoughts were fermenting within her.

From one Shrove Tuesday to another, much may occur to weigh downthe heart; it is the reckoning of a whole year; much may be forgotten,sins against heaven in word and thought, sins against our neighbor,and against our own conscience. We are scarcely aware of theirexistence; and Anne Lisbeth did not think of any of her errors. Shehad committed no crime against the law of the land; she was anhonorable person, in a good position- that she knew.

She continued her walk along by the margin of the sea. What was itshe saw lying there? An old hat; a man's hat. Now when might that havebeen washed overboard? She drew nearer, she stopped to look at thehat; "Ha! what was lying yonder?" She shuddered; yet it was nothingsave a heap of grass and tangled seaweed flung across a long stone,but it looked like a corpse. Only tangled grass, and yet she wasfrightened at it. As she turned to walk away, much came into hermind that she had heard in her childhood: old superstitions ofspectres by the sea-shore; of the ghosts of drowned but unburiedpeople, whose corpses had been washed up on the desolate beach. Thebody, she knew, could do no harm to any one, but the spirit couldpursue the lonely wanderer, attach itself to him, and demand to becarried to the churchyard, that it might rest in consecrated ground."Hold fast! hold fast!" the spectre would cry; and as Anne Lisbethmurmured these words to herself, the whole of her dream was suddenlyrecalled to her memory, when the mother had clung to her, anduttered these words, when, amid the crashing of worlds, her sleeve hadbeen torn, and she had slipped from the grasp of her child, who wantedto hold her up in that terrible hour. Her child, her own child,which she had never loved, lay now buried in the sea, and might riseup, like a spectre, from the waters, and cry, "Hold fast; carry meto consecrated ground!"

As these thoughts passed through her mind, fear gave speed toher feet, so that she walked faster and faster. Fear came upon heras if a cold, clammy hand had been laid upon her heart, so that shealmost fainted. As she looked across the sea, all there grew darker; aheavy mist came rolling onwards, and clung to bush and tree,distorting them into fantastic shapes. She turned and glanced at themoon, which had risen behind her. It looked like a pale, raylesssurface, and a deadly weight seemed to hang upon her limbs. "Hold,"thought she; and then she turned round a second time to look at themoon. A white face appeared quite close to her, with a mist, hanginglike a garment from its shoulders. "Stop! carry me to consecratedearth," sounded in her ears, in strange, hollow tones. The sound didnot come from frogs or ravens; she saw no sign of such creatures. "Agrave! dig me a grave!" was repeated quite loud. Yes, it was indeedthe spectre of her child. The child that lay beneath the ocean, andwhose spirit could have no rest until it was carried to thechurchyard, and until a grave had been dug for it in consecratedground. She would go there at once, and there she would dig. Sheturned in the direction of the church, and the weight on her heartseemed to grow lighter, and even to vanish altogether; but when sheturned to go home by the shortest way, it returned. "Stop! stop!"and the words came quite clear, though they were like the croak of afrog, or the wail of a bird. "A grave! dig me a grave!"

The mist was cold and damp, her hands and face were moist andclammy with horror, a heavy weight again seized her and clung toher, her mind became clear for thoughts that had never before beenthere.

In these northern regions, a beech-wood often buds in a singlenight and appears in the morning sunlight in its full glory ofyouthful green. So, in a single instant, can the consciousness ofthe sin that has been committed in thoughts, words, and actions of ourpast life, be unfolded to us. When once the conscience is awakened, itsprings up in the heart spontaneously, and God awakens theconscience when we least expect it. Then we can find no excuse forourselves; the deed is there and bears witness against us. Thethoughts seem to become words, and to sound far out into the world. Weare horrified at the thought of what we have carried within us, and atthe consciousness that we have not overcome the evil which has itsorigin in thoughtlessness and pride. The heart conceals withinitself the vices as well as the virtues, and they grow in theshallowest ground. Anne Lisbeth now experienced in thought what wehave clothed in words. She was overpowered by them, and sank downand crept along for some distance on the ground. "A grave! dig me agrave!" sounded again in her ears, and she would have gladly buriedherself, if in the grave she could have found forgetfulness of heractions.

It was the first hour of her awakening, full of anguish andhorror. Superstition made her alternately shudder with cold or burnwith the heat of fever. Many things, of which she had feared even tospeak, came into her mind. Silently, as the cloud-shadows in themoonshine, a spectral apparition flitted by her; she had heard of itbefore. Close by her galloped four snorting steeds, with fire flashingfrom their eyes and nostrils. They dragged a burning coach, and withinit sat the wicked lord of the manor, who had ruled there a hundredyears before. The legend says that every night, at twelve o'clock,he drove into his castleyard and out again. He was not as pale as deadmen are, but black as a coal. He nodded, and pointed to AnneLisbeth, crying out, "Hold fast! hold fast! and then you may rideagain in a nobleman's carriage, and forget your child."

She gathered herself up, and hastened to the churchyard; but blackcrosses and black ravens danced before her eyes, and she could notdistinguish one from the other. The ravens croaked as the raven haddone which she saw in the daytime, but now she understood what theysaid. "I am the raven-mother; I am the raven-mother," each ravencroaked, and Anne Lisbeth felt that the name also applied to her;and she fancied she should be transformed into a black bird, andhave to cry as they cried, if she did not dig the grave. And she threwherself upon the earth, and with her hands dug a grave in the hardground, so that the blood ran from her fingers. "A grave! dig me agrave!" still sounded in her ears; she was fearful that the cock mightcrow, and the first red streak appear in the east, before she hadfinished her work; and then she would be lost. And the cock crowed,and the day dawned in the east, and the grave was only half dug. Anicy hand passed over her head and face, and down towards her heart."Only half a grave," a voice wailed, and fled away. Yes, it fledaway over the sea; it was the ocean spectre; and, exhausted andoverpowered, Anne Lisbeth sunk to the ground, and her senses left her.

It was a bright day when she came to herself, and two men wereraising her up; but she was not lying in the churchyard, but on thesea-shore, where she had dug a deep hole in the sand, and cut her handwith a piece of broken glass, whose sharp stern was stuck in alittle block of painted wood. Anne Lisbeth was in a fever.Conscience had roused the memories of superstitions, and had soacted upon her mind, that she fancied she had only half a soul, andthat her child had taken the other half down into the sea. Never wouldshe be able to cling to the mercy of Heaven till she had recoveredthis other half which was now held fast in the deep water.

Anne Lisbeth returned to her home, but she was no longer the womanshe had been. Her thoughts were like a confused, tangled skein; onlyone thread, only one thought was clear to her, namely that she mustcarry the spectre of the sea-shore to the churchyard, and dig agrave for him there; that by so doing she might win back her soul.Many a night she was missed from her home, and was always found on thesea-shore waiting for the spectre.

In this way a whole year passed; and then one night she vanishedagain, and was not to be found. The whole of the next day was spent ina useless search after her.

Towards evening, when the clerk entered the church to toll thevesper bell, he saw by the altar Anne Lisbeth, who had spent the wholeday there. Her powers of body were almost exhausted, but her eyesflashed brightly, and on her cheeks was a rosy flush. The last rays ofthe setting sun shone upon her, and gleamed over the altar upon theshining clasps of the Bible, which lay open at the words of theprophet Joel, "Rend your hearts and not your garments, and turn untothe Lord."

"That was just a chance," people said; but do things happen bychance? In the face of Anne Lisbeth, lighted up by the evening sun,could be seen peace and rest. She said she was happy now, for shehad conquered. The spectre of the shore, her own child, had come toher the night before, and had said to her, "Thou hast dug me only halfa grave: but thou hast now, for a year and a day, buried me altogetherin thy heart, and it is there a mother can best hide her child!" Andthen he gave her back her lost soul, and brought her into thechurch. "Now I am in the house of God," she said, "and in that housewe are happy."

When the sun set, Anne Lisbeth's soul had risen to that regionwhere there is no more pain; and Anne Lisbeth's troubles were at anend.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

BEAUTY OF FORM AND BEAUTY OF MIND

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a sculptor, named Alfred, who having won thelarge gold medal and obtained a travelling scholarship, went to Italy,and then came back to his native land. He was young at that time-indeed, he is young still, although he is ten years older than hewas then. On his return, he went to visit one of the little towns inthe island of Zealand. The whole town knew who the stranger was; andone of the richest men in the place gave a party in his honor, and allwho were of any consequence, or who possessed some property, wereinvited. It was quite an event, and all the town knew of it, so thatit was not necessary to announce it by beat of drum.Apprentice-boys, children of the poor, and even the poor peoplethemselves, stood before the house, watching the lighted windows;and the watchman might easily fancy he was giving a party also,there were so many people in the streets. There was quite an air offestivity about it, and the house was full of it; for Mr. Alfred,the sculptor, was there. He talked and told anecdotes, and every onelistened to him with pleasure, not unmingled with awe; but none feltso much respect for him as did the elderly widow of a naval officer.She seemed, so far as Mr. Alfred was concerned, to be like a pieceof fresh blotting-paper that absorbed all he said and asked formore. She was very appreciative, and incredibly ignorant- a kind offemale Gaspar Hauser.

"I should like to see Rome," she said; "it must be a lovelycity, or so many foreigners would not be constantly arriving there.Now, do give me a description of Rome. How does the city look when youenter in at the gate?"

"I cannot very well describe it," said the sculptor; "but youenter on a large open space, in the centre of which stands an obelisk,which is a thousand years old."

"An organist!" exclaimed the lady, who had never heard the word'obelisk.' Several of the guests could scarcely forbear laughing,and the sculptor would have had some difficulty in keeping hiscountenance, but the smile on his lips faded away; for he caught sightof a pair of dark-blue eyes close by the side of the inquisitive lady.They belonged to her daughter; and surely no one who had such adaughter could be silly. The mother was like a fountain ofquestions; and the daughter, who listened but never spoke, mighthave passed for the beautiful maid of the fountain. How charming shewas! She was a study for the sculptor to contemplate, but not toconverse with; for she did not speak, or, at least, very seldom.

"Has the pope a great family?" inquired the lady.

The young man answered considerately, as if the question hadbeen a different one, "No; he does not come from a great family."

"That is not what I asked," persisted the widow; "I mean, has he awife and children?"

"The pope is not allowed to marry," replied the gentleman.

"I don't like that," was the lady's remark.

She certainly might have asked more sensible questions; but if shehad not been allowed to say just what she liked, would her daughterhave been there, leaning so gracefully on her shoulder, and lookingstraight before her, with a smile that was almost mournful on herface?

Mr. Alfred again spoke of Italy, and of the glorious colors inItalian scenery; the purple hills, the deep blue of the Mediterranean,the azure of southern skies, whose brightness and glory could onlybe surpassed in the north by the deep-blue eyes of a maiden; and hesaid this with a peculiar intonation; but she who should haveunderstood his meaning looked quite unconscious of it, which alsowas charming.

"Beautiful Italy!" sighed some of the guests.

"Oh, to travel there!" exclaimed others.

"Charming! Charming!" echoed from every voice.

"I may perhaps win a hundred thousand dollars in the lottery,"said the naval officer's widow; "and if I do, we will travel- I and mydaughter; and you, Mr. Alfred, must be our guide. We can all threetravel together, with one or two more of our good friends." And shenodded in such a friendly way at the company, that each imaginedhimself to be the favored person who was to accompany them to Italy."Yes, we must go," she continued; "but not to those parts wherethere are robbers. We will keep to Rome. In the public roads one isalways safe."

The daughter sighed very gently; and how much there may be in asigh, or attributed to it! The young man attributed a great deal ofmeaning to this sigh. Those deep-blue eyes, which had been lit up thisevening in honor of him, must conceal treasures, treasures of heartand mind, richer than all the glories of Rome; and so when he left theparty that night, he had lost it completely to the young lady. Thehouse of the naval officer's widow was the one most constantly visitedby Mr. Alfred, the sculptor. It was soon understood that his visitswere not intended for that lady, though they were the persons who keptup the conversation. He came for the sake of the daughter. They calledher Kaela. Her name was really Karen Malena, and these two names hadbeen contracted into the one name Kaela. She was really beautiful; butsome said she was rather dull, and slept late of a morning.

"She has been accustomed to that," her mother said. "She is abeauty, and they are always easily tired. She does sleep ratherlate; but that makes her eyes so clear."

What power seemed to lie in the depths of those dark eyes! Theyoung man felt the truth of the proverb, "Still waters run deep:"and his heart had sunk into their depths. He often talked of hisadventures, and the mamma was as simple and eager in her questionsas on the first evening they met. It was a pleasure to hear Alfreddescribe anything. He showed them colored plates of Naples, andspoke of excursions to Mount Vesuvius, and the eruptions of firefrom it. The naval officer's widow had never heard of them before.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "So that is a burning mountain; butis it not very dangerous to the people who live near it?"

"Whole cities have been destroyed," he replied; "for instance,Herculaneum and Pompeii."

"Oh, the poor people! And you saw all that with your own eyes?"

"No; I did not see any of the eruptions which are represented inthose pictures; but I will show you a sketch of my own, whichrepresents an eruption I once saw."

He placed a pencil sketch on the table; and mamma, who had beenover-powered with the appearance of the colored plates, threw a glanceat the pale drawing and cried in astonishment, "What, did you see itthrow up white fire?"

For a moment, Alfred's respect for Kaela's mamma underwent asudden shock, and lessened considerably; but, dazzled by the lightwhich surrounded Kaela, he soon found it quite natural that the oldlady should have no eye for color. After all, it was of very littleconsequence; for Kaela's mamma had the best of all possessions;namely, Kaela herself.

Alfred and Kaela were betrothed, which was a very naturalresult; and the betrothal was announced in the newspaper of the littletown. Mama purchased thirty copies of the paper, that she might cutout the paragraph and send it to friends and acquaintances. Thebetrothed pair were very happy, and the mother was happy too. She saidit seemed like connecting herself with Thorwalsden.

"You are a true successor of Thorwalsden," she said to Alfred; andit seemed to him as if, in this instance, mamma had said a cleverthing. Kaela was silent; but her eyes shone, her lips smiled, everymovement was graceful,- in fact, she was beautiful; that cannot berepeated too often. Alfred decided to take a bust of Kaela as wellas of her mother. They sat to him accordingly, and saw how hemoulded and formed the soft clay with his fingers.

"I suppose it is only on our account that you perform thiscommon-place work yourself, instead of leaving it to your servant todo all that sticking together."

"It is really necessary that I should mould the clay myself," hereplied.

"Ah, yes, you are always so polite," said mamma, with a smile; andKaela silently pressed his hand, all soiled as it was with the clay.

Then he unfolded to them both the beauties of Nature, in all herworks; he pointed out to them how, in the scale of creation, inanimatematter was inferior to animate nature; the plant above the mineral,the animal above the plant, and man above them all. He strove toshow them how the beauty of the mind could be displayed in the outwardform, and that it was the sculptor's task to seize upon that beauty ofexpression, and produce it in his works. Kaela stood silent, butnodded in approbation of what he said, while mamma-in-law made thefollowing confession:-

"It is difficult to follow you; but I go hobbling along afteryou with my thoughts, though what you say makes my head whirl roundand round. Still I contrive to lay hold on some of it."

Kaela's beauty had a firm hold on Alfred; it filled his soul,and held a mastery over him. Beauty beamed from Kaela's every feature,glittered in her eyes, lurked in the corners of her mouth, andpervaded every movement of her agile fingers. Alfred, the sculptor,saw this. He spoke only to her, thought only of her, and the twobecame one; and so it may be said she spoke much, for he was alwaystalking to her; and he and she were one. Such was the betrothal, andthen came the wedding, with bride's-maids and wedding presents, allduly mentioned in the wedding speech. Mamma-in-law had set upThorwalsden's bust at the end of the table, attired in adressing-gown; it was her fancy that he should be a guest. Songswere sung, and cheers given; for it was a gay wedding, and they were ahandsome pair. "Pygmalion loved his Galatea," said one of the songs.

"Ah, that is some of your mythologies," said mamma-in-law.

Next day the youthful pair started for Copenhagen, where they wereto live; mamma-in-law accompanied them, to attend to the "coarsework," as she always called the domestic arrangements. Kaela lookedlike a doll in a doll's house, for everything was bright and new,and so fine. There they sat, all three; and as for Alfred, a proverbmay describe his position- he looked like a swan amongst the geese.The magic of form had enchanted him; he had looked at the casketwithout caring to inquire what it contained, and that omission oftenbrings the greatest unhappiness into married life. The casket may beinjured, the gilding may fall off, and then the purchaser regretshis bargain.

In a large party it is very disagreeable to find a button givingway, with no studs at hand to fall back upon; but it is worse still ina large company to be conscious that your wife and mother-in-law aretalking nonsense, and that you cannot depend upon yourself toproduce a little ready wit to carry off the stupidity of the wholeaffair.

The young married pair often sat together hand in hand; he wouldtalk, but she could only now and then let fall a word in the samemelodious voice, the same bell-like tones. It was a mental relief whenSophy, one of her friends, came to pay them a visit. Sophy was not,pretty. She was, however, quite free from any physical deformity,although Kaela used to say she was a little crooked; but no eye,save an intimate acquaintance, would have noticed it. She was a verysensible girl, yet it never occurred to her that she might be adangerous person in such a house. Her appearance created a newatmosphere in the doll's house, and air was really required, theyall owned that. They felt the want of a change of air, andconsequently the young couple and their mother travelled to Italy.

"Thank heaven we are at home again within our own four walls,"said mamma-in-law and daughter both, on their return after a year'sabsence.

"There is no real pleasure in travelling," said mamma; "to tellthe truth, it's very wearisome; I beg pardon for saying so. I was soonvery tired of it, although I had my children with me; and, besides,it's very expensive work travelling, very expensive. And all thosegalleries one is expected to see, and the quantity of things you areobliged to run after! It must be done, for very shame; you are sure tobe asked when you come back if you have seen everything, and will mostlikely be told that you've omitted to see what was best worth seeingof all. I got tired at last of those endless Madonnas; I began tothink I was turning into a Madonna myself."

"And then the living, mamma," said Kaela.

"Yes, indeed," she replied, "no such a thing as a respectable meatsoup- their cookery is miserable stuff."

The journey had also tired Kaela; but she was always fatigued,that was the worst of it. So they sent for Sophy, and she was takeninto the house to reside with them, and her presence there was a greatadvantage. Mamma-in-law acknowledged that Sophy was not only aclever housewife, but well-informed and accomplished, though thatcould hardly be expected in a person of her limited means. She wasalso a generous-hearted, faithful girl; she showed that thoroughlywhile Kaela lay sick, fading away. When the casket is everything,the casket should be strong, or else all is over. And all was overwith the casket, for Kaela died.

"She was beautiful," said her mother; "she was quite differentfrom the beauties they call 'antiques,' for they are so damaged. Abeauty ought to be perfect, and Kaela was a perfect beauty."

Alfred wept, and mamma wept, and they both wore mourning. Theblack dress suited mamma very well, and she wore mourning the longest.She had also to experience another grief in seeing Alfred marry again,marry Sophy, who was nothing at all to look at. "He's gone to the veryextreme," said mamma-in-law; "he has gone from the most beautiful tothe ugliest, and he has forgotten his first wife. Men have noconstancy. My husband was a very different man,- but then he diedbefore me."

"'Pygmalion loved his Galatea,' was in the song they sung at myfirst wedding," said Alfred; "I once fell in love with a beautifulstatue, which awoke to life in my arms; but the kindred soul, which isa gift from heaven, the angel who can feel and sympathize with andelevate us, I have not found and won till now. You came, Sophy, not inthe glory of outward beauty, though you are even fairer than isnecessary. The chief thing still remains. You came to teach thesculptor that his work is but dust and clay only, an outward form madeof a material that decays, and that what we should seek to obtain isthe ethereal essence of mind and spirit. Poor Kaela! our life wasbut as a meeting by the way-side; in yonder world, where we shall knoweach other from a union of mind, we shall be but mere acquaintances."

"That was not a loving speech," said Sophy, "nor spoken like aChristian. In a future state, where there is neither marrying norgiving in marriage, but where, as you say, souls are attracted to eachother by sympathy; there everything beautiful develops itself, andis raised to a higher state of existence: her soul will acquire suchcompleteness that it may harmonize with yours, even more than mine,and you will then once more utter your first rapturous exclamationof your love, 'Beautiful, most beautiful!'"

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

BY THE ALMSHOUSE WINDOW

by Hans Christian Andersen

NEAR the grass-covered rampart which encircles Copenhagen lies agreat red house. Balsams and other flowers greet us from the long rowsof windows in the house, whose interior is sufficientlypoverty-stricken; and poor and old are the people who inhabit it.The building is the Warton Almshouse.

Look! at the window there leans an old maid. She plucks thewithered leaf from the balsam, and looks at the grass-covered rampart,on which many children are playing. What is the old maid thinkingof? A whole life drama is unfolding itself before her inward gaze.

"The poor little children, how happy they are- how merrily theyplay and romp together! What red cheeks and what angels' eyes! butthey have no shoes nor stockings. They dance on the green rampart,just on the place where, according to the old story, the ground alwayssank in, and where a sportive, frolicsome child had been lured bymeans of flowers, toys and sweetmeats into an open grave ready dug forit, and which was afterwards closed over the child; and from thatmoment, the old story says, the ground gave way no longer, the moundremained firm and fast, and was quickly covered with the green turf.The little people who now play on that spot know nothing of the oldtale, else would they fancy they heard a child crying deep below theearth, and the dewdrops on each blade of grass would be to themtears of woe. Nor do they know anything of the Danish King who here,in the face of the coming foe, took an oath before all his tremblingcourtiers that he would hold out with the citizens of his capital, anddie here in his nest; they know nothing of the men who have foughthere, or of the women who from here have drenched with boiling waterthe enemy, clad in white, and 'biding in the snow to surprise thecity.

"No! the poor little ones are playing with light, childishspirits. Play on, play on, thou little maiden! Soon the years willcome- yes, those glorious years. The priestly hands have been laidon the candidates for confirmation; hand in hand they walk on thegreen rampart. Thou hast a white frock on; it has cost thy mother muchlabor, and yet it is only cut down for thee out of an old largerdress! You will also wear a red shawl; and what if it hang too fardown? People will only see how large, how very large it is. You arethinking of your dress, and of the Giver of all good- so glorious isit to wander on the green rampart!

"And the years roll by; they have no lack of dark days, but youhave your cheerful young spirit, and you have gained a friend- youknow not how. You met, oh, how often! You walk together on the rampartin the fresh spring, on the high days and holidays, when all the worldcome out to walk upon the ramparts, and all the bells of the churchsteeples seem to be singing a song of praise for the coming spring.

"Scarcely have the violets come forth, but there on the rampart,just opposite the beautiful Castle of Rosenberg, there is a treebright with the first green buds. Every year this tree sends forthfresh green shoots. Alas! It is not so with the human heart! Darkmists, more in number than those that cover the northern skies,cloud the human heart. Poor child! thy friend's bridal chamber is ablack coffin, and thou becomest an old maid. From the almshousewindow, behind the balsams, thou shalt look on the merry children atplay, and shalt see thine own history renewed."

And that is the life drama that passes before the old maid whileshe looks out upon the rampart, the green, sunny rampart, where thechildren, with their red cheeks and bare shoeless feet, arerejoicing merrily, like the other free little birds.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

CHILDREN'S PRATTLE

by Hans Christian Andersen

AT a rich merchant's house there was a children's party, and thechildren of rich and great people were there. The merchant was alearned man, for his father had sent him to college, and he had passedhis examination. His father had been at first only a cattle dealer,but always honest and industrious, so that he had made money, andhis son, the merchant, had managed to increase his store. Clever as hewas, he had also a heart; but there was less said of his heart than ofhis money. All descriptions of people visited at the merchant's house,well born, as well as intellectual, and some who possessed neitherof these recommendations.

Now it was a children's party, and there was children's prattle,which always is spoken freely from the heart. Among them was abeautiful little girl, who was terribly proud; but this had beentaught her by the servants, and not by her parents, who were far toosensible people.

Her father was groom of the Chambers, which is a high office atcourt, and she knew it. "I am a child of the court," she said; now shemight just as well have been a child of the cellar, for no one canhelp his birth; and then she told the other children that she waswell-born, and said that no one who was not well-born could rise inthe world. It was no use to read and be industrious, for if a personwas not well-born, he could never achieve anything. "And those whosenames end with 'sen,'" said she, "can never be anything at all. Wemust put our arms akimbo, and make the elbow quite pointed, so as tokeep these 'sen' people at a great distance." And then she stuck outher pretty little arms, and made the elbows quite pointed, to show howit was to be done; and her little arms were very pretty, for she was asweet-looking child.

But the little daughter of the merchant became very angry atthis speech, for her father's name was Petersen, and she knew that thename ended in "sen," and therefore she said as proudly as she could,"But my papa can buy a hundred dollars' worth of bonbons, and givethem away to children. Can your papa do that?"

"Yes; and my papa," said the little daughter of the editor of apaper, "my papa can put your papa and everybody's papa into thenewspaper. All sorts of people are afraid of him, my mamma says, forhe can do as he likes with the paper." And the little maiden lookedexceedingly proud, as if she had been a real princess, who may beexpected to look proud.

But outside the door, which stood ajar, was a poor boy, peepingthrough the crack of the door. He was of such a lowly station thathe had not been allowed even to enter the room. He had been turningthe spit for the cook, and she had given him permission to standbehind the door and peep in at the well-dressed children, who werehaving such a merry time within; and for him that was a great deal."Oh, if I could be one of them," thought he, and then he heard whatwas said about names, which was quite enough to make him more unhappy.His parents at home had not even a penny to spare to buy anewspaper, much less could they write in one; and worse than all,his father's name, and of course his own, ended in "sen," andtherefore he could never turn out well, which was a very sadthought. But after all, he had been born into the world, and thestation of life had been chosen for him, therefore he must be content.

And this is what happened on that evening.

Many years passed, and most of the children became grown-uppersons.

There stood a splendid house in the town, filled with all kinds ofbeautiful and valuable objects. Everybody wished to see it, and peopleeven came in from the country round to be permitted to view thetreasures it contained.

Which of the children whose prattle we have described, couldcall this house his own? One would suppose it very easy to guess.No, no; it is not so very easy. The house belonged to the poorlittle boy who had stood on that night behind the door. He hadreally become something great, although his name ended in "sen,"-for it was Thorwaldsen.

And the three other children- the children of good birth, ofmoney, and of intellectual pride,- well, they were respected andhonored in the world, for they had been well provided for by birth andposition, and they had no cause to reproach themselves with whatthey had thought and spoken on that evening long ago, for, afterall, it was mere "children's prattle."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

DELAYING IS NOT FORGETTING

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was an old mansion surrounded by a marshy ditch with adrawbridge which was but seldom let down:- not all guests are goodpeople. Under the roof were loopholes to shoot through, and to pourdown boiling water or even molten lead on the enemy, should heapproach. Inside the house the rooms were very high and had ceilingsof beams, and that was very useful considering the great deal of smokewhich rose up from the chimney fire where the large, damp logs of woodsmouldered. On the walls hung pictures of knights in armour andproud ladies in gorgeous dresses; the most stately of all walked aboutalive. She was called Meta Mogen; she was the mistress of the house,to her belonged the castle.

Towards the evening robbers came; they killed three of herpeople and also the yard-dog, and attached Mrs. Meta to the kennelby the chain, while they themselves made good cheer in the hall anddrank the wine and the good ale out of her cellar. Mrs. Meta was nowon the chain, she could not even bark.

But lo! the servant of one of the robbers secretly approached her;they must not see it, otherwise they would have killed him.

"Mrs. Meta Mogen," said the fellow, "do you still remember howmy father, when your husband was still alive, had to ride on thewooden horse? You prayed for him, but it was no good, he was to rideuntil his limbs were paralysed; but you stole down to him, as Isteal now to you, you yourself put little stones under each of hisfeet that he might have support, nobody saw it, or they pretendednot to see it, for you were then the young gracious mistress. Myfather has told me this, and I have not forgotten it! Now I willfree you, Mrs. Meta Mogen!"

Then they pulled the horses out of the stable and rode off in rainand wind to obtain the assistance of friends.

"Thus the small service done to the old man was richlyrewarded!" said Meta Mogen.

"Delaying is not forgetting," said the fellow.

The robbers were hanged.

There was an old mansion, it is still there; it did not belongto Mrs. Meta Mogen, it belonged to another old noble family.

We are now in the present time. The sun is shining on the giltknob of the tower, little wooded islands lie like bouquets on thewater, and wild swans are swimming round them. In the garden growroses; the mistress of the house is herself the finest rose petal, shebeams with joy, the joy of good deeds: however, not done in the wideworld, but in her heart, and what is preserved there is not forgotten.Delaying is not forgetting!

Now she goes from the mansion to a little peasant hut in thefield. Therein lives a poor paralysed girl; the window of her littleroom looks northward, the sun does not enter here. The girl can onlysee a small piece of field which is surrounded by a high fence. Butto-day the sun shines here- the warm, beautiful sun of God is withinthe little room; it comes from the south through the new window, whereformerly the wall was.

The paralysed girl sits in the warm sunshine and can see thewood and the lake; the world had become so large, so beautiful, andonly through a single word from the kind mistress of the mansion.

"The word was so easy, the deed so small," she said, "the joy itafforded me was infinitely great and sweet!"

And therefore she does many a good deed, thinks of all in thehumble cottages and in the rich mansions, where there are alsoafflicted ones. It is concealed and hidden, but God does not forgetit. Delayed is not forgotten!

An old house stood there; it was in the large town with its busytraffic. There are rooms and halls in it, but we do not enter them, weremain in the kitchen, where it is warm and light, clean and tidy; thecopper utensils are shining, the table as if polished with beeswax;the sink looks like a freshly scoured meatboard. All this a singleservant has done, and yet she has time to spare as if she wished to goto church; she wears a bow on her cap, a black bow, that signifiesmourning. But she has no one to mourn, neither father nor mother,neither relations nor sweetheart. She is a poor girl. One day shewas engaged to a poor fellow; they loved each other dearly.

One day he came to her and said:

"We both have nothing! The rich widow over the way in the basementhas made advances to me; she will make me rich, but you are in myheart; what do you advise me to do?"

"I advise you to do what you think will turn out to yourhappiness," said the girl. "Be kind and good to her, but rememberthis; from the hour we part we shall never see each other again."

Years passed; then one day she met the old friend and sweetheartin the street; he looked ill and miserable, and she could not helpasking him, "How are you?"

"Rich and prospering in every respect," he said; "the woman isbrave and good, but you are in my heart. I have fought the battle,it will soon be ended; we shall not see each other again now untilwe meet before God!"

A week has passed; this morning his death was in the newspaper,that is the reason of the girl's mourning! Her old sweetheart isdead and has left a wife and three step-children, as the paper says;it sounds as if there is a crack, but the metal is pure.

The black bow signifies mourning, the girl's face points to thesame in a still higher degree; it is preserved in the heart and willnever be forgotten. Delaying is not forgetting!

These are three stories you see, three leaves on the same stalk.Do you wish for some more trefoil leaves? In the little heartbookare many more of them. Delaying is not forgetting!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

EVERYTHING IN THE RIGHT PLACE

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT is more than a hundred years ago! At the border of the wood,near a large lake, stood the old mansion: deep ditches surrounded iton every side, in which reeds and bulrushes grew. Close by thedrawbridge, near the gate, there was an old willow tree, which bentover the reeds.

From the narrow pass came the sound of bugles and the trampling ofhorses' feet; therefore a little girl who was watching the geesehastened to drive them away from the bridge, before the wholehunting party came galloping up; they came, however, so quickly,that the girl, in order to avoid being run over, placed herself on oneof the high corner-stones of the bridge. She was still half a childand very delicately built; she had bright blue eyes, and a gentle,sweet expression. But such things the baron did not notice; while hewas riding past the little goose-girl, he reversed his hunting crop,and in rough play gave her such a push with it that she fellbackward into the ditch.

"Everything in the right place!" he cried. "Into the ditch withyou."

Then he burst out laughing, for that he called fun; the othersjoined in- the whole party shouted and cried, while the hounds barked.

While the poor girl was falling she happily caught one of thebranches of the willow tree, by the help of which she held herselfover the water, and as soon as the baron with his company and the dogshad disappeared through the gate, the girl endeavoured to scramble up,but the branch broke off, and she would have fallen backward among therushes, had not a strong hand from above seized her at this moment. Itwas the hand of a pedlar; he had witnessed what had happened from ashort distance, and now hastened to assist her.

"Everything in the right place," he said, imitating the noblebaron, and pulling the little maid up to the dry ground. He wishedto put the branch back in the place it had been broken off, but itis not possible to put everything in the right place;" therefore hestuck the branch into the soft ground.

"Grow and thrive if you can, and produce a good flute for themyonder at the mansion," he said; it would have given him greatpleasure to see the noble baron and his companions well thrashed. Thenhe entered the castle- but not the banqueting hall; he was toohumble for that. No; he went to the servants' hall. The men-servantsand maids looked over his stock of articles and bargained with him;loud crying and screaming were heard from the master's table above:they called it singing- indeed, they did their best. Laughter andthe howls of dogs were heard through the open windows: there they werefeasting and revelling; wine and strong old ale were foaming in theglasses and jugs; the favourite dogs ate with their masters; now andthen the squires kissed one of these animals, after having wiped itsmouth first with the tablecloth. They ordered the pedlar to come up,but only to make fun of him. The wine had got into their heads, andreason had left them. They poured beer into a stocking that he coulddrink with them, but quick. That's what they called fun, and it madethem laugh. Then meadows, peasants, and farmyards were staked on onecard and lost.

"Everything in the right place!" the pedlar said when he had atlast safely got out of Sodom and Gomorrah, as he called it. "Theopen high road is my right place; up there I did not feel at ease."

The little maid, who was still watching the geese, nodded kindlyto him as he passed through the gate.

Days and weeks passed, and it was seen that the brokenwillow-branch which the peddlar had stuck into the ground near theditch remained fresh and green- nay, it even put forth fresh twigs;the little goose-girl saw that the branch had taken root, and was verypleased; the tree, so she said, was now her tree. While the tree wasadvancing, everything else at the castle was going backward, throughfeasting and gambling, for these are two rollers upon which nobodystands safely. Less than six years afterwards the baron passed outof his castle-gate a poor beggar, while the baronial seat had beenbought by a rich tradesman. He was the very pedlar they had made funof and poured beer into a stocking for him to drink; but honesty andindustry bring one forward, and now the pedlar was the possessor ofthe baronial estate. From that time forward no card-playing waspermitted there.

"That's a bad pastime," he said; "when the devil saw the Bible forthe first time he wanted to produce a caricature in opposition toit, and invented card-playing."

The new proprietor of the estate took a wife, and whom did hetake?- The little goose-girl, who had always remained good and kind,and who looked as beautiful in her new clothes as if she had been alady of high birth. And how did all this come about? That would be toolong a tale to tell in our busy time, but it really happened, andthe most important events have yet to be told.

It was pleasant and cheerful to live in the old place now: themother superintended the household, and the father looked after thingsout-of-doors, and they were indeed very prosperous.

Where honesty leads the way, prosperity is sure to follow. The oldmansion was repaired and painted, the ditches were cleaned andfruit-trees planted; all was homely and pleasant, and the floorswere as white and shining as a pasteboard. In the long winter eveningsthe mistress and her maids sat at the spinning-wheel in the largehall; every Sunday the counsellor- this title the pedlar had obtained,although only in his old days- read aloud a portion from the Bible.The children (for they had children) all received the besteducation, but they were not all equally clever, as is the case in allfamilies.

In the meantime the willow tree near the drawbridge had grown upinto a splendid tree, and stood there, free, and was never clipped."It is our genealogical tree," said the old people to theirchildren, "and therefore it must be honoured."

A hundred years had elapsed. It was in our own days; the lakehad been transformed into marsh land; the whole baronial seat had,as it were, disappeared. A pool of water near some ruined walls wasthe only remainder of the deep ditches; and here stood a magnificentold tree with overhanging branches- that was the genealogical tree.Here it stood, and showed how beautiful a willow can look if onedoes not interfere with it. The trunk, it is true, was cleft in themiddle from the root to the crown; the storms had bent it a little,but it still stood there, and out of every crevice and cleft, in whichwind and weather had carried mould, blades of grass and flowers sprangforth. Especially above, where the large boughs parted, there wasquite a hanging garden, in which wild raspberries and hart's-tongueferns throve, and even a little mistletoe had taken root, and grewgracefully in the old willow branches, which were reflected in thedark water beneath when the wind blew the chickweed into the corner ofthe pool. A footpath which led across the fields passed close by theold tree. High up, on the woody hillside, stood the new mansion. Ithad a splendid view, and was large and magnificent; its window paneswere so clear that one might have thought there were none there atall. The large flight of steps which led to the entrance looked like abower covered with roses and broad-leaved plants. The lawn was asgreen as if each blade of grass was cleaned separately morning andevening. Inside, in the hall, valuable oil paintings were hanging onthe walls. Here stood chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet,which could be easily rolled about on castors; there were tableswith polished marble tops, and books bound in morocco with gilt edges.Indeed, well-to-do and distinguished people lived here; it was thedwelling of the baron and his family. Each article was in keeping withits surroundings. "Everything in the right place" was the mottoaccording to which they also acted here, and therefore all thepaintings which had once been the honour and glory of the oldmansion were now hung up in the passage which led to the servants'rooms. It was all old lumber, especially two portraits- onerepresenting a man in a scarlet coat with a wig, and the other alady with powdered and curled hair holding a rose in her hand, each ofthem being surrounded by a large wreath of willow branches. Bothportraits had many holes in them, because the baron's sons used thetwo old people as targets for their crossbows. They represented thecounsellor and his wife, from whom the whole family descended. "Butthey did not properly belong to our family," said one of the boys; "hewas a pedlar and she kept the geese. They were not like papa andmamma." The portraits were old lumber, and "everything in its rightplace." That was why the great-grandparents had been hung up in thepassage leading to the servants' rooms.

The son of the village pastor was tutor at the mansion. One day hewent for a walk across the fields with his young pupils and theirelder sister, who had lately been confirmed. They walked along theroad which passed by the old willow tree, and while they were on theroad she picked a bunch of field-flowers. "Everything in the rightplace," and indeed the bunch looked very beautiful. At the same timeshe listened to all that was said, and she very much liked to hear thepastor's son speak about the elements and of the great men and womenin history. She had a healthy mind, noble in thought and deed, andwith a heart full of love for everything that God had created. Theystopped at the old willow tree, as the youngest of the baron's sonswished very much to have a flute from it, such as had been cut for himfrom other willow trees; the pastor's son broke a branch off. "Oh,pray do not do it!" said the young lady; but it was already done."That is our famous old tree. I love it very much. They often laugh atme at home about it, but that does not matter. There is a storyattached to this tree." And now she told him all that we alreadyknow about the tree- the old mansion, the pedlar and the goose-girlwho had met there for the first time, and had become the ancestorsof the noble family to which the young lady belonged.

"They did not like to be knighted, the good old people," she said;"their motto was 'everything in the right place,' and it would notbe right, they thought, to purchase a title for money. My grandfather,the first baron, was their son. They say he was a very learned man,a great favourite with the princes and princesses, and was invitedto all court festivities. The others at home love him best; but, Ido not know why, there seemed to me to be something about the oldcouple that attracts my heart! How homely, how patriarchal, it musthave been in the old mansion, where the mistress sat at thespinning-wheel with her maids, while her husband read aloud out of theBible!"

"They must have been excellent, sensible people," said thepastor's son. And with this the conversation turned naturally tonoblemen and commoners; from the manner in which the tutor spoke aboutthe significance of being noble, it seemed almost as if he did notbelong to a commoner's family.

"It is good fortune to be of a family who have distinguishedthemselves, and to possess as it were a spur in oneself to advanceto all that is good. It is a splendid thing to belong to a noblefamily, whose name serves as a card of admission to the highestcircles. Nobility is a distinction; it is a gold coin that bears thestamp of its own value. It is the fallacy of the time, and manypoets express it, to say that all that is noble is bad and stupid, andthat, on the contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the morebrilliant virtues one finds. I do not share this opinion, for it iswrong. In the upper classes one sees many touchingly beautiful traits;my own mother has told me of such, and I could mention several. Oneday she was visiting a nobleman's house in town; my grandmother, Ibelieve, had been the lady's nurse when she was a child. My mother andthe nobleman were alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an oldwoman on crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came everySunday to carry a gift away with her.

"'There is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is sodifficult for her to walk.'

"My mother had hardly understood what he said before hedisappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to save herthe troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch. Of course this isonly a little incident, but it has its good sound like the poorwidow's two mites in the Bible, the sound which echoes in the depth ofevery human heart; and this is what the poet ought to show and pointout- more especially in our own time he ought to sing of this; it doesgood, it mitigates and reconciles! But when a man, simply because heis of noble birth and possesses a genealogy, stands on his hind legsand neighs in the street like an Arabian horse, and says when acommoner has been in a room: 'Some people from the street have beenhere,' there nobility is decaying; it has become a mask of the kindthat Thespis created, and it is amusing when such a person isexposed in satire."

Such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but while hedelivered it he had finished cutting the flute.

There was a large party at the mansion; many guests from theneighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. There were ladies withtasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall was quite crowdedwith people. The clergymen stood humbly together in a corner, andlooked as if they were preparing for a funeral, but it was a festival-only the amusement had not yet begun. A great concert was to takeplace, and that is why the baron's young son had brought his willowflute with him; but he could not make it sound, nor could hisfather, and therefore the flute was good for nothing.

There was music and songs of the kind which delight most thosethat perform them; otherwise quite charming!

"Are you an artist?" said a cavalier, the son of his father;"you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it is genius thatrules- the place of honour is due to you."

"Certainly not! I only advance with the time, and that of courseone can't help."

"I hope you will delight us all with the little instrument- willyou not?" Thus saying he handed to the tutor the flute which hadbeen cut from the willow tree by the pool; and then announced in aloud voice that the tutor wished to perform a solo on the flute.They wished to tease him- that was evident, and therefore the tutordeclined to play, although he could do so very well. They urged andrequested him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute andplaced it to his lips.

That was a marvellous flute! Its sound was as thrilling as thewhistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger, for itsounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in the wood, andmany miles round in the country; at the same time a storm rose androared; "Everything in the right place." And with this the baron, asif carried by the wind, flew out of the hall straight into theshepherd's cottage, and the shepherd flew- not into the hall,thither he could not come- but into the servants' hall, among thesmart footmen who were striding about in silk stockings; these haughtymenials looked horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit attable with them. But in the hall the baron's daughter flew to theplace of honour at the end of the table- she was worthy to sitthere; the pastor's son had the seat next to her; the two sat there asif they were a bridal pair. An old Count, belonging to one of theoldest families of the country, remained untouched in his place ofhonour; the flute was just, and it is one's duty to be so. Thesharp-tongued cavalier who had caused the flute to be played, andwho was the child of his parents, flew headlong into the fowl-house,but not he alone.

The flute was heard at the distance of a mile, and strangeevents took place. A rich banker's family, who were driving in a coachand four, were blown out of it, and could not even find room behind itwith their footmen. Two rich farmers who had in our days shot uphigher than their own corn-fields, were flung into the ditch; it was adangerous flute. Fortunately it burst at the first sound, and that wasa good thing, for then it was put back into its owner's pocket- "itsright place."

The next day, nobody spoke a word about what had taken place; thusoriginated the phrase, "to pocket the flute." Everything was againin its usual order, except that the two old pictures of the peddlarand the goose-girl were hanging in the banqueting-hall. There theywere on the wall as if blown up there; and as a real expert saidthat they were painted by a master's hand, they remained there andwere restored. "Everything in the right place," and to this it willcome. Eternity is long, much longer indeed than this story.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

GRANDMOTHER

by Hans Christian AndersenGRANDMOTHER

GRANDMOTHER is very old, her face is wrinkled, and her hair isquite white; but her eyes are like two stars, and they have a mild,gentle expression in them when they look at you, which does yougood. She wears a dress of heavy, rich silk, with large flowers workedon it; and it rustles when she moves. And then she can tell the mostwonderful stories. Grandmother knows a great deal, for she was alivebefore father and mother- that's quite certain. She has a hymn-bookwith large silver clasps, in which she often reads; and in the book,between the leaves, lies a rose, quite flat and dry; it is not sopretty as the roses which are standing in the glass, and yet shesmiles at it most pleasantly, and tears even come into her eyes. "Iwonder why grandmother looks at the withered flower in the old bookthat way? Do you know?" Why, when grandmother's tears fall upon therose, and she is looking at it, the rose revives, and fills the roomwith its fragrance; the walls vanish as in a mist, and all aroundher is the glorious green wood, where in summer the sunlight streamsthrough thick foliage; and grandmother, why she is young again, acharming maiden, fresh as a rose, with round, rosy cheeks, fair,bright ringlets, and a figure pretty and graceful; but the eyes, thosemild, saintly eyes, are the same,- they have been left to grandmother.At her side sits a young man, tall and strong; he gives her a rose andshe smiles. Grandmother cannot smile like that now. Yes, she issmiling at the memory of that day, and many thoughts and recollectionsof the past; but the handsome young man is gone, and the rose haswithered in the old book, and grandmother is sitting there, again anold woman, looking down upon the withered rose in the book.

Grandmother is dead now. She had been sitting in her arm-chair,telling us a long, beautiful tale; and when it was finished, shesaid she was tired, and leaned her head back to sleep awhile. We couldhear her gentle breathing as she slept; gradually it became quieterand calmer, and on her countenance beamed happiness and peace. Itwas as if lighted up with a ray of sunshine. She smiled once more, andthen people said she was dead. She was laid in a black coffin, lookingmild and beautiful in the white folds of the shrouded linen, thoughher eyes were closed; but every wrinkle had vanished, her hairlooked white and silvery, and around her mouth lingered a sweet smile.We did not feel at all afraid to look at the corpse of her who hadbeen such a dear, good grandmother. The hymn-book, in which the rosestill lay, was placed under her head, for so she had wished it; andthen they buried grandmother.

On the grave, close by the churchyard wall, they planted arose-tree; it was soon full of roses, and the nightingale sat amongthe flowers, and sang over the grave. From the organ in the churchsounded the music and the words of the beautiful psalms, which werewritten in the old book under the head of the dead one.

The moon shone down upon the grave, but the dead was not there;every child could go safely, even at night, and pluck a rose fromthe tree by the churchyard wall. The dead know more than we do who areliving. They know what a terror would come upon us if such a strangething were to happen, as the appearance of a dead person among us.They are better off than we are; the dead return no more. The earthhas been heaped on the coffin, and it is earth only that lies withinit. The leaves of the hymn-book are dust; and the rose, with all itsrecollections, has crumbled to dust also. But over the grave freshroses bloom, the nightingale sings, and the organ sounds and therestill lives a remembrance of old grandmother, with the loving,gentle eyes that always looked young. Eyes can never die. Ours willonce again behold dear grandmother, young and beautiful as when, forthe first time, she kissed the fresh, red rose, that is now dust inthe grave.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

HOLGER DANSKE

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN Denmark there stands an old castle named Kronenburg, close bythe Sound of Elsinore, where large ships, both English, Russian, andPrussian, pass by hundreds every day. And they salute the old castlewith cannons, "Boom, boom," which is as if they said, "Good-day."And the cannons of the old castle answer "Boom," which means "Manythanks." In winter no ships sail by, for the whole Sound is coveredwith ice as far as the Swedish coast, and has quite the appearanceof a high-road. The Danish and the Swedish flags wave, and Danes andSwedes say, "Good-day," and "Thank you" to each other, not withcannons, but with a friendly shake of the hand; and they exchangewhite bread and biscuits with each other, because foreign articlestaste the best.

But the most beautiful sight of all is the old castle ofKronenburg, where Holger Danske sits in the deep, dark cellar, intowhich no one goes. He is clad in iron and steel, and rests his head onhis strong arm; his long beard hangs down upon the marble table,into which it has become firmly rooted; he sleeps and dreams, but inhis dreams he sees everything that happens in Denmark. On eachChristmas-eve an angel comes to him and tells him that all he hasdreamed is true, and that he may go to sleep again in peace, asDenmark is not yet in any real danger; but should danger ever come,then Holger Danske will rouse himself, and the table will burstasunder as he draws out his beard. Then he will come forth in hisstrength, and strike a blow that shall sound in all the countries ofthe world.

An old grandfather sat and told his little grandson all this aboutHolger Danske, and the boy knew that what his grandfather told himmust be true. As the old man related this story, he was carving animage in wood to represent Holger Danske, to be fastened to the prowof a ship; for the old grandfather was a carver in wood, that is,one who carved figures for the heads of ships, according to thenames given to them. And now he had carved Holger Danske, who stoodthere erect and proud, with his long beard, holding in one hand hisbroad battle-axe, while with the other he leaned on the Danish arms.The old grandfather told the little boy a great deal about Danishmen and women who had distinguished themselves in olden times, so thathe fancied he knew as much even as Holger Danske himself, who, afterall, could only dream; and when the little fellow went to bed, hethought so much about it that he actually pressed his chin against thecounterpane, and imagined that he had a long beard which had becomerooted to it. But the old grandfather remained sitting at his work andcarving away at the last part of it, which was the Danish arms. Andwhen he had finished he looked at the whole figure, and thought of allhe had heard and read, and what he had that evening related to hislittle grandson. Then he nodded his head, wiped his spectacles and putthem on, and said, "Ah, yes; Holger Danske will not appear in mylifetime, but the boy who is in bed there may very likely live tosee him when the event really comes to pass." And the oldgrandfather nodded again; and the more he looked at Holger Danske, themore satisfied he felt that he had carved a good image of him. Itseemed to glow with the color of life; the armor glittered like ironand steel. The hearts in the Danish arms grew more and more red; whilethe lions, with gold crowns on their heads, were leaping up. "Thatis the most beautiful coat of arms in the world," said the old man."The lions represent strength; and the hearts, gentleness and love."And as he gazed on the uppermost lion, he thought of King Canute,who chained great England to Denmark's throne; and he looked at thesecond lion, and thought of Waldemar, who untied Denmark and conqueredthe Vandals. The third lion reminded him of Margaret, who unitedDenmark, Sweden, and Norway. But when he gazed at the red hearts,their colors glowed more deeply, even as flames, and his memoryfollowed each in turn. The first led him to a dark, narrow prison,in which sat a prisoner, a beautiful woman, daughter of Christianthe Fourth, Eleanor Ulfeld, and the flame became a rose on herbosom, and its blossoms were not more pure than the heart of thisnoblest and best of all Danish women. "Ah, yes; that is indeed a nobleheart in the Danish arms," said the grandfather. and his spiritfollowed the second flame, which carried him out to sea, where cannonsroared and the ships lay shrouded in smoke, and the flaming heartattached itself to the breast of Hvitfeldt in the form of the ribbonof an order, as he blew himself and his ship into the air in orderto save the fleet. And the third flame led him to Greenland's wretchedhuts, where the preacher, Hans Egede, ruled with love in every wordand action. The flame was as a star on his breast, and added anotherheart to the Danish arms. And as the old grandfather's spirit followedthe next hovering flame, he knew whither it would lead him. In apeasant woman's humble room stood Frederick the Sixth, writing hisname with chalk on the beam. The flame trembled on his breast and inhis heart, and it was in the peasant's room that his heart becameone for the Danish arms. The old grandfather wiped his eyes, for hehad known King Frederick, with his silvery locks and his honest blueeyes, and had lived for him, and he folded his hands and remainedfor some time silent. Then his daughter came to him and said it wasgetting late, that he ought to rest for a while, and that the supperwas on the table.

"What you have been carving is very beautiful, grandfather,"said she. "Holger Danske and the old coat of arms; it seems to me asif I have seen the face somewhere."

"No, that is impossible," replied the old grandfather; "but I haveseen it, and I have tried to carve it in wood, as I have retained itin my memory. It was a long time ago, while the English fleet lay inthe roads, on the second of April, when we showed that we were true,ancient Danes. I was on board the Denmark, in Steene Bille's squadron;I had a man by my side whom even the cannon balls seemed to fear. Hesung old songs in a merry voice, and fired and fought as if he weresomething more than a man. I still remember his face, but fromwhence he came, or whither he went, I know not; no one knows. I haveoften thought it might have been Holger Danske himself, who had swamdown to us from Kronenburg to help us in the hour of danger. Thatwas my idea, and there stands his likeness."

The wooden figure threw a gigantic shadow on the wall, and even onpart of the ceiling; it seemed as if the real Holger Danske stoodbehind it, for the shadow moved; but this was no doubt caused by theflame of the lamp not burning steadily. Then the daughter-in-lawkissed the old grandfather, and led him to a large arm-chair by thetable; and she, and her husband, who was the son of the old man andthe father of the little boy who lay in bed, sat down to supper withhim. And the old grandfather talked of the Danish lions and the Danishhearts, emblems of strength and gentleness, and explained quiteclearly that there is another strength than that which lies in asword, and he pointed to a shelf where lay a number of old books,and amongst them a collection of Holberg's plays, which are muchread and are so clever and amusing that it is easy to fancy we haveknown the people of those days, who are described in them.

"He knew how to fight also," said the old man; "for he lashedthe follies and prejudices of people during his whole life."

Then the grandfather nodded to a place above the looking-glass,where hung an almanac, with a representation of the Round Tower uponit, and said "Tycho Brahe was another of those who used a sword, butnot one to cut into the flesh and bone, but to make the way of thestars of heaven clear, and plain to be understood. And then he whosefather belonged to my calling,- yes, he, the son of the oldimage-carver, he whom we ourselves have seen, with his silvery locksand his broad shoulders, whose name is known in all lands;- yes, hewas a sculptor, while I am only a carver. Holger Danske can appearin marble, so that people in all countries of the world may hear ofthe strength of Denmark. Now let us drink the health of Bertel."

But the little boy in bed saw plainly the old castle ofKronenburg, and the Sound of Elsinore, and Holger Danske, far downin the cellar, with his beard rooted to the table, and dreaming ofeverything that was passing above him.

And Holger Danske did dream of the little humble room in which theimage-carver sat; he heard all that had been said, and he nodded inhis dream, saying, "Ah, yes, remember me, you Danish people, keep mein your memory, I will come to you in the hour of need."

The bright morning light shone over Kronenburg, and the windbrought the sound of the hunting-horn across from the neighboringshores. The ships sailed by and saluted the castle with the boom ofthe cannon, and Kronenburg returned the salute, "Boom, boom." Butthe roaring cannons did not awake Holger Danske, for they meant only"Good morning," and "Thank you." They must fire in another fashionbefore he awakes; but wake he will, for there is energy yet inHolger Danske.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

IB AND LITTLE CHRISTINA

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the forest that extends from the banks of the Gudenau, in NorthJutland, a long way into the country, and not far from the clearstream, rises a great ridge of land, which stretches through thewood like a wall. Westward of this ridge, and not far from theriver, stands a farmhouse, surrounded by such poor land that the sandysoil shows itself between the scanty ears of rye and wheat whichgrow in it. Some years have passed since the people who lived herecultivated these fields; they kept three sheep, a pig, and two oxen;in fact they maintained themselves very well, they had quite enough tolive upon, as people generally have who are content with their lot.They even could have afforded to keep two horses, but it was asaying among the farmers in those parts, "The horse eats himselfup;" that is to say, he eats as much as he earns. Jeppe Janscultivated his fields in summer, and in the winter he made woodenshoes. He also had an assistant, a lad who understood as well as hehimself did how to make wooden shoes strong, but light, and in thefashion. They carved shoes and spoons, which paid well; therefore noone could justly call Jeppe Jans and his family poor people. LittleIb, a boy of seven years old and the only child, would sit by,watching the workmen, or cutting a stick, and sometimes his fingerinstead of the stick. But one day Ib succeeded so well in hiscarving that he made two pieces of wood look really like two littlewooden shoes, and he determined to give them as a present to LittleChristina.

"And who was Little Christina?" She was the boatman's daughter,graceful and delicate as the child of a gentleman; had she beendressed differently, no one would have believed that she lived in ahut on the neighboring heath with her father. He was a widower, andearned his living by carrying firewood in his large boat from theforest to the eel-pond and eel-weir, on the estate of Silkborg, andsometimes even to the distant town of Randers. There was no oneunder whose care he could leave Little Christina; so she was almostalways with him in his boat, or playing in the wood among theblossoming heath, or picking the ripe wild berries. Sometimes, whenher father had to go as far as the town, he would take LittleChristina, who was a year younger than Ib, across the heath to thecottage of Jeppe Jans, and leave her there. Ib and Christina agreedtogether in everything; they divided their bread and berries when theywere hungry; they were partners in digging their little gardens;they ran, and crept, and played about everywhere. Once they wandered along way into the forest, and even ventured together to climb the highridge. Another time they found a few snipes' eggs in the wood, whichwas a great event. Ib had never been on the heath where Christina'sfather lived, nor on the river; but at last came an opportunity.Christina's father invited him to go for a sail in his boat; and theevening before, he accompanied the boatman across the heath to hishouse. The next morning early, the two children were placed on the topof a high pile of firewood in the boat, and sat eating bread andwild strawberries, while Christina's father and his man drove the boatforward with poles. They floated on swiftly, for the tide was in theirfavor, passing over lakes, formed by the stream in its course;sometimes they seemed quite enclosed by reeds and water-plants, yetthere was always room for them to pass out, although the old treesoverhung the water and the old oaks stretched out their bare branches,as if they had turned up their sleeves and wished to show theirknotty, naked arms. Old alder-trees, whose roots were loosened fromthe banks, clung with their fibres to the bottom of the stream, andthe tops of the branches above the water looked like little woodyislands. The water-lilies waved themselves to and fro on the river,everything made the excursion beautiful, and at last they came tothe great eel-weir, where the water rushed through the flood-gates;and the children thought this a beautiful sight. In those days therewas no factory nor any town house, nothing but the great farm, withits scanty-bearing fields, in which could be seen a few herd ofcattle, and one or two farm laborers. The rushing of the water throughthe sluices, and the scream of the wild ducks, were almost the onlysigns of active life at Silkborg. After the firewood had beenunloaded, Christina's father bought a whole bundle of eels and asucking-pig, which were all placed in a basket in the stern of theboat. Then they returned again up the stream; and as the wind wasfavorable, two sails were hoisted, which carried the boat on as wellas if two horses had been harnessed to it. As they sailed on, theycame by chance to the place where the boatman's assistant lived, ata little distance from the bank of the river. The boat was moored; andthe two men, after desiring the children to sit still, both went onshore. they obeyed this order for a very short time, and then forgotit altogether. First they peeped into the basket containing the eelsand the sucking-pig; then they must needs pull out the pig and take itin their hands, and feel it, and touch it; and as they both wantedto hold it at the same time, the consequence was that they let it fallinto the water, and the pig sailed away with the stream.

Here was a terrible disaster. Ib jumped ashore, and ran a littledistance from the boat.

"Oh, take me with you," cried Christina; and she sprang after him.In a few minutes they found themselves deep in a thicket, and could nolonger see the boat or the shore. They ran on a little farther, andthen Christina fell down, and began to cry.

Ib helped her up, and said, "Never mind; follow me. Yonder isthe house." But the house was not yonder; and they wandered stillfarther, over the dry rustling leaves of the last year, and treadingon fallen branches that crackled under their little feet; then theyheard a loud, piercing cry, and they stood still to listen.Presently the scream of an eagle sounded through the wood; it was anugly cry, and it frightened the children; but before them, in thethickest part of the forest, grew the most beautiful blackberries,in wonderful quantities. They looked so inviting that the childrencould not help stopping; and they remained there so long eating,that their mouths and cheeks became quite black with the juice.

Presently they heard the frightful scream again, and Christinasaid, "We shall get into trouble about that pig."

"Oh, never mind," said Ib; "we will go home to my father'shouse. It is here in the wood." So they went on, but the road led themout of the way; no house could be seen, it grew dark, and the childrenwere afraid. The solemn stillness that reigned around them was now andthen broken by the shrill cries of the great horned owl and otherbirds that they knew nothing of. At last they both lost themselvesin the thicket; Christina began to cry, and then Ib cried too; and,after weeping and lamenting for some time, they stretched themselvesdown on the dry leaves and fell asleep.

The sun was high in the heavens when the two children woke. Theyfelt cold; but not far from their resting-place, on a hill, the sunwas shining through the trees. They thought if they went there theyshould be warm, and Ib fancied he should be able to see his father'shouse from such a high spot. But they were far away from home now,in quite another part of the forest. They clambered to the top ofthe rising ground, and found themselves on the edge of a declivity,which sloped down to a clear transparent lake. Great quantities offish could be seen through the clear water, sparkling in the sun'srays; they were quite surprised when they came so suddenly upon suchan unexpected sight.

Close to where they stood grew a hazel-bush, covered withbeautiful nuts. They soon gathered some, cracked them, and ate thefine young kernels, which were only just ripe. But there was anothersurprise and fright in store for them. Out of the thicket stepped atall old woman, her face quite brown, and her hair of a deep shiningblack; the whites of her eyes glittered like a Moor's; on her back shecarried a bundle, and in her hand a knotted stick. She was a gypsy.The children did not at first understand what she said. She drew outof her pocket three large nuts, in which she told them were hidden themost beautiful and lovely things in the world, for they were wishingnuts. Ib looked at her, and as she spoke so kindly, he took courage,and asked her if she would give him the nuts; and the woman gavethem to him, and then gathered some more from the bushes forherself, quite a pocket full. Ib and Christina looked at the wishingnuts with wide open eyes.

"Is there in this nut a carriage, with a pair of horses?" askedIb.

"Yes, there is a golden carriage, with two golden horses," repliedthe woman.

"Then give me that nut," said Christina; so Ib gave it to her, andthe strange woman tied up the nut for her in her handkerchief.

Ib held up another nut. "Is there, in this nut, a pretty littleneckerchief like the one Christina has on her neck?" asked Ib.

"There are ten neckerchiefs in it," she replied, "as well asbeautiful dresses, stockings, and a hat and veil."

"Then I will have that one also," said Christina; "and it is apretty one too. And then Ib gave her the second nut.

The third was a little black thing. "You may keep that one,"said Christina; "it is quite as pretty."

"What is in it?" asked Ib.

"The best of all things for you," replied the gypsy. So Ib heldthe nut very tight.

Then the woman promised to lead the children to the right path,that they might find their way home: and they went forward certainlyin quite another direction to the one they meant to take; therefore noone ought to speak against the woman, and say that she wanted to stealthe children. In the wild wood-path they met a forester who knew Ib,and, by his help, Ib and Christina reached home, where they foundevery one had been very anxious about them. They were pardoned andforgiven, although they really had both done wrong, and deserved toget into trouble; first, because they had let the sucking-pig fallinto the water; and, secondly, because they had run away. Christinawas taken back to her father's house on the heath, and Ib remainedin the farm-house on the borders of the wood, near the great landridge.

The first thing Ib did that evening was to take out of hispocket the little black nut, in which the best thing of all was saidto be enclosed. He laid it carefully between the door and thedoor-post, and then shut the door so that the nut cracked directly.But there was not much kernel to be seen; it was what we should callhollow or worm-eaten, and looked as if it had been filled with tobaccoor rich black earth. "It is just what I expected!" exclaimed Ib."How should there be room in a little nut like this for the best thingof all? Christina will find her two nuts just the same; there willbe neither fine clothes or a golden carriage in them."

Winter came; and the new year, and indeed many years passedaway; until Ib was old enough to be confirmed, and, therefore, he wentduring a whole winter to the clergyman of the nearest village to beprepared.

One day, about this time, the boatman paid a visit to Ib'sparents, and told them that Christina was going to service, and thatshe had been remarkably fortunate in obtaining a good place, with mostrespectable people. "Only think," he said, "She is going to the richinnkeeper's, at the hotel in Herning, many miles west from here. Sheis to assist the landlady in the housekeeping; and, if afterwardsshe behaves well and remains to be confirmed, the people will treather as their own daughter."

So Ib and Christina took leave of each other. People alreadycalled them "the betrothed," and at parting the girl showed Ib the twonuts, which she had taken care of ever since the time that they lostthemselves in the wood; and she told him also that the little woodenshoes he once carved for her when he was a boy, and gave her as apresent, had been carefully kept in a drawer ever since. And so theyparted.

After Ib's confirmation, he remained at home with his mother,for he had become a clever shoemaker, and in summer managed the farmfor her quite alone. His father had been dead some time, and hismother kept no farm servants. Sometimes, but very seldom, he heardof Christina, through a postillion or eel-seller who was passing.But she was well off with the rich innkeeper; and after beingconfirmed she wrote a letter to her father, in which was a kindmessage to Ib and his mother. In this letter, she mentioned that hermaster and mistress had made her a present of a beautiful new dress,and some nice under-clothes. This was, of course, pleasant news.

One day, in the following spring, there came a knock at the doorof the house where Ib's old mother lived; and when they opened it,lo and behold, in stepped the boatman and Christina. She had come topay them a visit, and to spend the day. A carriage had to come fromthe Herning hotel to the next village, and she had taken theopportunity to see her friends once more. She looked as elegant as areal lady, and wore a pretty dress, beautifully made on purpose forher. There she stood, in full dress, while Ib wore only his workingclothes. He could not utter a word; he could only seize her hand andhold it fast in his own, but he felt too happy and glad to open hislips. Christina, however, was quite at her ease; she talked andtalked, and kissed him in the most friendly manner. Even afterwards,when they were left alone, and she asked, "Did you know me again, Ib?"he still stood holding her hand, and said at last, "You are becomequite a grand lady, Christina, and I am only a rough working man;but I have often thought of you and of old times." Then theywandered up the great ridge, and looked across the stream to theheath, where the little hills were covered with the flowering broom.Ib said nothing; but before the time came for them to part, itbecame quite clear to him that Christina must be his wife: had theynot even in childhood been called the betrothed? To him it seemed asif they were really engaged to each other, although not a word hadbeen spoken on the subject. They had only a few more hours to remaintogether, for Christina was obliged to return that evening to theneighboring village, to be ready for the carriage which was to startthe next morning early for Herning. Ib and her father accompaniedher to the village. It was a fine moonlight evening; and when theyarrived, Ib stood holding Christina's hand in his, as if he couldnot let her go. His eyes brightened, and the words he uttered camewith hesitation from his lips, but from the deepest recesses of hisheart: "Christina, if you have not become too grand, and if you can becontented to live in my mother's house as my wife, we will bemarried some day. But we can wait for a while."

"Oh yes," she replied; "Let us wait a little longer, Ib. I cantrust you, for I believe that I do love you. But let me think itover." Then he kissed her lips; and so they parted.

On the way home, Ib told the boatman that he and Christina were asgood as engaged to each other; and the boatman found out that he hadalways expected it would be so, and went home with Ib that evening,and remained the night in the farmhouse; but nothing further wassaid of the engagement. During the next year, two letters passedbetween Ib and Christina. They were signed, "Faithful till death;" butat the end of that time, one day the boatman came over to see Ib, witha kind greeting from Christina. He had something else to say, whichmade him hesitate in a strange manner. At last it came out thatChristina, who had grown a very pretty girl, was more lucky than ever.She was courted and admired by every one; but her master's son, whohad been home on a visit, was so much pleased with Christina that hewished to marry her. He had a very good situation in an office atCopenhagen, and as she had also taken a liking for him, his parentswere not unwilling to consent. But Christina, in her heart, oftenthought of Ib, and knew how much he thought of her; so she feltinclined to refuse this good fortune, added the boatman. At first Ibsaid not a word, but he became as white as the wall, and shook hishead gently, and then he spoke,- "Christina must not refuse thisgood fortune."

"Then will you write a few words to her?" said the boatman.

Ib sat down to write, but he could not get on at all. The wordswere not what he wished to say, so he tore up the page. Thefollowing morning, however, a letter lay ready to be sent toChristina, and the following is what he wrote:-

"The letter written by you to your father I have read, and seefrom it that you are prosperous in everything, and that still betterfortune is in store for you. Ask your own heart, Christina, andthink over carefully what awaits you if you take me for yourhusband, for I possess very little in the world. Do not think of me orof my position; think only of your own welfare. You are bound to me byno promises; and if in your heart you have given me one, I release youfrom it. May every blessing and happiness be poured out upon you,Christina. Heaven will give me the heart's consolation.

Ever your sincere friend, IB."

This letter was sent, and Christina received it in due time. Inthe course of the following November, her banns were published inthe church on the heath, and also in Copenhagen, where thebridegroom lived. She was taken to Copenhagen under the protectionof her future mother-in-law, because the bridegroom could not sparetime from his numerous occupations for a journey so far intoJutland. On the journey, Christina met her father at one of thevillages through which they passed, and here he took leave of her.Very little was said about the matter to Ib, and he did not refer toit; his mother, however, noticed that he had grown very silent andpensive. Thinking as he did of old times, no wonder the three nutscame into his mind which the gypsy woman had given him when a child,and of the two which he had given to Christina. These wishing nuts,after all, had proved true fortune-tellers. One had contained a gildedcarriage and noble horses, and the other beautiful clothes; all ofthese Christina would now have in her new home at Copenhagen. Her parthad come true. And for him the nut had contained only black earth. Thegypsy woman had said it was the best for him. Perhaps it was, and thisalso would be fulfilled. He understood the gypsy woman's meaningnow. The black earth- the dark grave- was the best thing for him now.

Again years passed away; not many, but they seemed long years toIb. The old innkeeper and his wife died one after the other; and thewhole of their property, many thousand dollars, was inherited by theirson. Christina could have the golden carriage now, and plenty offine clothes. During the two long years which followed, no letter camefrom Christina to her father; and when at last her father received onefrom her, it did not speak of prosperity or happiness. Poor Christina!Neither she nor her husband understood how to economize or save, andthe riches brought no blessing with them, because they had not askedfor it.

Years passed; and for many summers the heath was covered withbloom; in winter the snow rested upon it, and the rough winds blewacross the ridge under which stood Ib's sheltered home. One spring daythe sun shone brightly, and he was guiding the plough across hisfield. The ploughshare struck against something which he fancied was afirestone, and then he saw glittering in the earth a splinter ofshining metal which the plough had cut from something which gleamedbrightly in the furrow. He searched, and found a large golden armletof superior workmanship, and it was evident that the plough haddisturbed a Hun's grave. He searched further, and found morevaluable treasures, which Ib showed to the clergyman, who explainedtheir value to him. Then he went to the magistrate, who informed thepresident of the museum of the discovery, and advised Ib to take thetreasures himself to the president.

"You have found in the earth the best thing you could find,"said the magistrate.

"The best thing," thought Ib; "the very best thing for me,- andfound in the earth! Well, if it really is so, then the gypsy woman wasright in her prophecy."

So Ib went in the ferry-boat from Aarhus to Copenhagen. To him whohad only sailed once or twice on the river near his own home, thisseemed like a voyage on the ocean; and at length he arrived atCopenhagen. The value of the gold he had found was paid to him; it wasa large sum- six hundred dollars. Then Ib of the heath went out, andwandered about in the great city.

On the evening before the day he had settled to return with thecaptain of the passage-boat, Ib lost himself in the streets, andtook quite a different turning to the one he wished to follow. Hewandered on till he found himself in a poor street of the suburbcalled Christian's Haven. Not a creature could be seen. At last a verylittle girl came out of one of the wretched-looking houses, and Ibasked her to tell him the way to the street he wanted; she looked uptimidly at him, and began to cry bitterly. He asked her what was thematter; but what she said he could not understand. So he went alongthe street with her; and as they passed under a lamp, the light fellon the little girl's face. A strange sensation came over Ib, as hecaught sight of it. The living, breathing embodiment of LittleChristina stood before him, just as he remembered her in the days ofher childhood. He followed the child to the wretched house, andascended the narrow, crazy staircase which led to a little garret inthe roof. The air in the room was heavy and stifling, no light wasburning, and from one corner came sounds of moaning and sighing. Itwas the mother of the child who lay there on a miserable bed. With thehelp of a match, Ib struck a light, and approached her.

"Can I be of any service to you?" he asked. "This little girlbrought me up here; but I am a stranger in this city. Are there noneighbors or any one whom I can call?"

Then he raised the head of the sick woman, and smoothed herpillow. He started as he did so. It was Christina of the heath! No onehad mentioned her name to Ib for years; it would have disturbed hispeace of mind, especially as the reports respecting her were not good.The wealth which her husband had inherited from his parents had madehim proud and arrogant. He had given up his certain appointment, andtravelled for six months in foreign lands, and, on his return, hadlived in great style, and got into terrible debt. For a time he hadtrembled on the high pedestal on which he had placed himself, tillat last he toppled over, and ruin came. His numerous merry companions,and the visitors at his table, said it served him right, for he hadkept house like a madman. One morning his corpse was found in thecanal. The cold hand of death had already touched the heart ofChristina. Her youngest child, looked for in the midst ofprosperity, had sunk into the grave when only a few weeks old; andat last Christina herself became sick unto death, and lay, forsakenand dying, in a miserable room, amid poverty she might have borne inher younger days, but which was now more painful to her from theluxuries to which she had lately been accustomed. It was her eldestchild, also a Little Christina, whom Ib had followed to her home,where she suffered hunger and poverty with her mother.

It makes me unhappy to think that I shall die, and leave this poorchild," sighed she. "Oh, what will become of her?" She could say nomore.

Then Ib brought out another match, and lighted a piece of candlewhich he found in the room, and it threw a glimmering light over thewretched dwelling. Ib looked at the little girl, and thought ofChristina in her young days. For her sake, could he not love thischild, who was a stranger to him? As he thus reflected, the dyingwoman opened her eyes, and gazed at him. Did she recognize him? Henever knew; for not another word escaped her lips.

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In the forest by the river Gudenau, not far from the heath, andbeneath the ridge of land, stood the little farm, newly painted andwhitewashed. The air was heavy and dark; there were no blossoms on theheath; the autumn winds whirled the yellow leaves towards theboatman's hut, in which strangers dwelt; but the little farm stoodsafely sheltered beneath the tall trees and the high ridge. The turfblazed brightly on the hearth, and within was sunlight, thesparkling light from the sunny eyes of a child; the birdlike tonesfrom the rosy lips ringing like the song of a lark in spring. Allwas life and joy. Little Christina sat on Ib's knee. Ib was to herboth father and mother; her own parents had vanished from hermemory, as a dream-picture vanishes alike from childhood and age. Ib'shouse was well and prettily furnished; for he was a prosperous mannow, while the mother of the little girl rested in the churchyard atCopenhagen, where she had died in poverty. Ib had money now- moneywhich had come to him out of the black earth; and he had Christina forhis own, after all.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

IN A THOUSAND YEARS

by Hans Christian Andersen

YES, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steamthrough the air, over the ocean! The young inhabitants of America willbecome visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see themonuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just aswe in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendors of SouthernAsia. In a thousand years they will come!

The Thames, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their course,Mont Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the NorthernLights gleam over the land of the North; but generation aftergeneration has become dust, whole rows of the mighty of the moment areforgotten, like those who already slumber under the hill on whichthe rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which hecan sit and look out across his waving corn fields.

"To Europe!" cry the young sons of America; "to the land of ourancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy- to Europe!"

The ship of the air comes. It is crowded with passengers, forthe transit is quicker than by sea. The electro-magnetic wire underthe ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan.Europe is in sight. It is the coast of Ireland that they see, butthe passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they areexactly over England. There they will first step on European shore, inthe land of Shakespeare, as the educated call it; in the land ofpolitics, the land of machines, as it is called by others.

Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the busy race candevote to the whole of England and Scotland. Then the journey iscontinued through the tunnel under the English Channel, to France, theland of Charlemagne and Napoleon. Moliere is named, the learned mentalk of the classic school of remote antiquity. There is rejoicing andshouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whomour time does not know, but who will be born after our time inParis, the centre of Europe, and elsewhere.

The air steamboat flies over the country whence Columbus wentforth, where Cortez was born, and where Calderon sang dramas insounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed women live still in theblooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the Cid and theAlhambra.

Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where once layold, everlasting Rome. It has vanished! The Campagna lies desert. Asingle ruined wall is shown as the remains of St. Peter's, but thereis a doubt if this ruin be genuine.

Next to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the topof Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey iscontinued to the Bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see theplace where Byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the haremstood in the time of the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading theirnets.

Over the remains of mighty cities on the broad Danube, citieswhich we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here andthere, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, thecaravan sometimes descends, and departs thence again.

Down below lies Germany, that was once covered with a close net ofrailway and canals, the region where Luther spoke, where Goethesang, and Mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. Great names shinethere, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. One daydevoted to seeing Germany, and one for the North, the country ofOersted and Linnaeus, and for Norway, the land of the old heroes andthe young Normans. Iceland is visited on the journey home. The geysersburn no more, Hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island isstill fixed in the midst of the foaming sea, a continual monument oflegend and poetry.

"There is really a great deal to be seen in Europe," says theyoung American, "and we have seen it in a week, according to thedirections of the great traveller" (and here he mentions the name ofone of his contemporaries) "in his celebrated work, 'How to See AllEurope in a Week.'"

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

IN THE NURSERY

by Hans Christian Andersen

FATHER, and mother, and brothers, and sisters, were gone to theplay; only little Anna and her grandpapa were left at home.

"We'll have a play too," he said, "and it may begin immediately."

"But we have no theatre," cried little Anna, "and we have no oneto act for us; my old doll cannot, for she is a fright, and my new onecannot, for she must not rumple her new clothes."

"One can always get actors if one makes use of what one has,"observed grandpapa.

"Now we'll go into the theatre. Here we will put up a book,there another, and there a third, in a sloping row. Now three on theother side; so, now we have the side scenes. The old box that liesyonder may be the back stairs; and we'll lay the flooring on top ofit. The stage represents a room, as every one may see. Now we want theactors. Let us see what we can find in the plaything-box. First thepersonages, and then we will get the play ready. One after theother; that will be capital! Here's a pipe-head, and yonder an oddglove; they will do very well for father and daughter."

"But those are only two characters," said little Anna. "Here'smy brother's old waistcoat- could not that play in our piece, too?"

"It's big enough, certainly," replied grandpapa. "It shall bethe lover. There's nothing in the pockets, and that's veryinteresting, for that's half of an unfortunate attachment. And here wehave the nut-cracker's boots, with spurs to them. Row, dow, dow! howthey can stamp and strut! They shall represent the unwelcome wooer,whom the lady does not like. What kind of a play will you have now?Shall it be a tragedy, or a domestic drama?"

"A domestic drama, please," said little Anna, "for the othersare so fond of that. Do you know one?"

"I know a hundred," said grandpapa. "Those that are most infavor are from the French, but they are not good for little girls.In the meantime, we may take one of the prettiest, for insidethey're all very much alike. Now I shake the pen! Cock-a-lorum! Sonow, here's the play, brin-bran-span new! Now listen to theplay-bill."

And grandpapa took a newspaper, and read as if he were readingfrom it:

THE PIPE-HEAD AND THE GOOD HEAD

A Family Drama in One Act

CHARACTERS

MR. PIPE-HEAD, a father.

MR. WAISTCOAT, a lover.

MISS GLOVE, a daughter.

MR. DE BOOTS, a suitor.

"And now we're going to begin. The curtain rises. We have nocurtain, so it has risen already. All the characters are there, and sowe have them at hand. Now I speak as Papa Pipe-head! He's angryto-day. One can see that he's a colored meerschaum.

"'Snik, snak, snurre, bassellurre! I'm master of this house! I'mthe father of my daughter! Will you hear what I have to say? Mr. deBoots is a person in whom one may see one's face; his upper part is ofmorocco, and he has spurs into the bargain. Snikke, snakke, snak! Heshall have my daughter!"

"Now listen to what the Waistcoat says, little Anna," saidgrandpapa. "Now the Waistcoat's speaking. The Waistcoat has alaydown collar, and is very modest; but he knows his own value, andhas quite a right to say what he says:

"'I haven't a spot on me! Goodness of material ought to beappreciated. I am of real silk, and have strings to me.'

"'- On the wedding day, but no longer; you don't keep your colorin the wash.' This is Mr. Pipe-head who is speaking. 'Mr. de Bootsis water-tight, of strong leather, and yet very delicate; he cancreak, and clank with his spurs, and has an Italian physiognomy-'"

"But they ought to speak in verses," said Anna, "for I've heardthat's the most charming way of all."

"They can do that too," replied grandpapa; "and if the publicdemands it, they will talk in that way. Just look at little MissGlove, how she's pointing her fingers!

"'Could I but have my love,

Who then so happy as Glove!

Ah!

If I from him must part,

I'm sure 'twill break my heart!'

'Bah!'The last word was spoken by Mr. Pipe-head; and now it's Mr.Waistcoat's turn:

"'O Glove, my own dear,

Though it cost thee a tear,

Thou must be mine,

For Holger Danske has sworn it!'

"Mr. de Boots, hearing this, kicks up, jingles his spurs, andknocks down three of the side-scenes."

"That's exceedingly charming!" cried little Anna.

"Silence! silence!" said grandpapa. "Silent approbation willshow that you are the educated public in the stalls. Now Miss Glovesings her great song with startling effects:

"'I can't see, heigho!

And therefore I'll crow!

Kikkeriki, in the lofty hall!'

"Now comes the exciting part, little Anna. This is the mostimportant in all the play. Mr. Waistcoat undoes himself, and addresseshis speech to you, that you may applaud; but leave it alone,- that'sconsidered more genteel.

"'I am driven to extremities! Take care of yourself! Now comes theplot! You are the Pipe-head, and I am the good head- snap! there yougo!"

"Do you notice this, little Anna?" asked grandpapa. "That's a mostcharming comedy. Mr. Waistcoat seized the old Pipe-head and put him inhis pocket; there he lies, and the Waistcoat says:

"'You are in my pocket; you can't come out till you promise tounite me to your daughter Glove on the left. I hold out my righthand.'"

"That's awfully pretty," said little Anna.

"And now the old Pipe-head replies:

"'Though I'm all ear,

Very stupid I appear:

Where's my humor? Gone, I fear,

And I feel my hollow stick's not here,

Ah! never, my dear,

Did I feel so queer.

Oh! pray let me out,

And like a lamb led to slaughter

I'll betroth you, no doubt,

To my daughter.'"

"Is the play over already?" asked little Anna.

"By no means," replied grandpapa. "It's only all over with Mr.de Boots. Now the lovers kneel down, and one of them sings:

"'Father!'and the other,

'Come, do as you ought to do,-

Bless your son and daughter.'And they receive his blessing, and celebrate their wedding, and allthe pieces of furniture sing in chorus,

"'Klink! clanks!

A thousand thanks;

And now the play is over!'

"And now we'll applaud," said grandpapa. "We'll call them all out,and the pieces of furniture too, for they are of mahogany."

"And is not our play just as good as those which the others havein the real theatre?"

"Our play is much better," said grandpapa. "It is shorter, theperformers are natural, and it has passed away the interval beforetea-time."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

IN THE UTTERMOST PARTS OF THE SEA

by Hans Christian Andersen

SOME years ago, large ships were sent towards the north pole, toexplore the distant coasts, and to try how far men could penetrateinto those unknown regions. For more than a year one of these shipshad been pushing its way northward, amid snow and ice, and the sailorshad endured many hardships; till at length winter set in, and thesun entirely disappeared; for many weeks there would be constantnight. All around, as far as the eye could reach, nothing could beseen but fields of ice, in which the ship remained stuck fast. Thesnow lay piled up in great heaps, and of these the sailors madehuts, in the form of bee-hives, some of them as large and spaciousas one of the "Huns' graves," and others only containing room enoughto hold three or four men. It was not quite dark; the northernlights shot forth red and blue flames, like continuous fireworks,and the snow glittered, and reflected back the light, so that thenight here was one long twilight. When the moon was brightest, thenatives came in crowds to see the sailors. They had a very singularappearance in their rough, hairy dresses of fur, and riding in sledgesover the ice. They brought with them furs and skins in greatabundance, so that the snow-houses were soon provided with warmcarpets, and the furs also served for the sailors to wrap themselvesin, when they slept under the roofs of snow, while outside it wasfreezing with a cold far more severe than in the winter with us. Inour country it was still autumn, though late in the season; and theythought of that in their distant exile, and often pictured tothemselves the yellow leaves on the trees at home. Their watchespointed to the hours of evening, and time to go to sleep, althoughin these regions it was now always night.

In one of the huts, two of the men laid themselves down to rest.The younger of these men had brought with him from home his best,his dearest treasure- a Bible, which his grandmother had given himon his departure. Every night the sacred volume rested under his head,and he had known from his childhood what was written in it. Everyday he read in the book, and while stretched on his cold couch, theholy words he had learnt would come into his mind: "If I take thewings of the morning, and fly to the uttermost parts of the sea,even there Thou art with me, and Thy right hand shall uphold me;"and under the influence of that faith which these holy words inspired,sleep came upon him, and dreams, which are the manifestations of Godto the spirit. The soul lives and acts, while the body is at rest.He felt this life in him, and it was as if he heard the sound of dear,well-known melodies, as if the breezes of summer floated around him;and over his couch shone a ray of brightness, as if it were shiningthrough the covering of his snow-roof. He lifted his head, and sawthat the bright gleaming was not the reflection of the glitteringsnow, but the dazzling brightness of the pinions of a mighty angel,into whose beaming face he was gazing. As from the cup of a lily,the angel rose from amidst the leaves of the Bible; and, stretchingout his arm, the walls of the hut sunk down, as though they had beenformed of a light, airy veil of mist, and the green hills andmeadows of home, with its ruddy woods, lay spread around him in thequiet sunshine of a lovely autumn day. The nest of the stork wasempty, but ripe fruit still hung on the wild apple-tree, althoughthe leaves had fallen. The red hips gleamed on the hedges, and thestarling which hung in the green cage outside the window of thepeasant's hut, which was his home, whistled the tune which he hadtaught him. His grandmother hung green birds'-food around the cage, ashe, her grandson, had been accustomed to do. The daughter of thevillage blacksmith, who was young and fair, stood at the well, drawingwater. She nodded to the grandmother, and the old woman nodded to her,and pointed to a letter which had come from a long way off. Thatvery morning the letter had arrived from the cold regions of thenorth; there, where the absent one was sweetly sleeping under theprotecting hand of God. They laughed and wept over the letter; and he,far away, amid ice and snow, under the shadow of the angel's wings,wept and smiled with them in spirit; for he saw and heard it all inhis dream. From the letter they read aloud the words of Holy Writ: "Inthe uttermost parts of the sea, Thy right hand shall uphold me." Andas the angel spread his wings like a veil over the sleeper, therewas the sound of beautiful music and a hymn. Then the vision fled.It was dark again in the snow-hut: but the Bible still restedbeneath his head, and faith and hope dwelt in his heart. God waswith him, and he carried home in his heart, even "in the uttermostparts of the sea.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

JACK THE DULLARD

AN OLD STORY TOLD ANEW

by Hans Christian Andersen

FAR in the interior of the country lay an old baronial hall, andin it lived an old proprietor, who had two sons, which two young menthought themselves too clever by half. They wanted to go out and woothe King's daughter; for the maiden in question had publicly announcedthat she would choose for her husband that youth who could arrange hiswords best.

So these two geniuses prepared themselves a full week for thewooing- this was the longest time that could be granted them; but itwas enough, for they had had much preparatory information, andeverybody knows how useful that is. One of them knew the whole Latindictionary by heart, and three whole years of the daily paper of thelittle town into the bargain, and so well, indeed, that he couldrepeat it all either backwards or forwards, just as he chose. Theother was deeply read in the corporation laws, and knew by heartwhat every corporation ought to know; and accordingly he thought hecould talk of affairs of state, and put his spoke in the wheel inthe council. And he knew one thing more: he could embroider suspenderswith roses and other flowers, and with arabesques, for he was a tasty,light-fingered fellow.

"I shall win the Princess!" So cried both of them. Therefore theirold papa gave to each of them a handsome horse. The youth who knew thedictionary and newspaper by heart had a black horse, and he who knewall about the corporation laws received a milk-white steed. Thenthey rubbed the corners of their mouths with fish-oil, so that theymight become very smooth and glib. All the servants stood below in thecourtyard, and looked on while they mounted their horses; and justby chance the third son came up. For the proprietor had really threesons, though nobody counted the third with his brothers, because hewas not so learned as they, and indeed he was generally known as "Jackthe Dullard."

"Hallo!" said Jack the Dullard, "where are you going? I declareyou have put on your Sunday clothes!"

"We're going to the King's court, as suitors to the King'sdaughter. Don't you know the announcement that has been made allthrough the country?" And they told him all about it.

"My word! I'll be in it too!" cried Jack the Dullard; and histwo brothers burst out laughing at him, and rode away.

"Father, dear," said Jack, "I must have a horse too. I do feelso desperately inclined to marry! If she accepts me, she accepts me;and if she won't have me, I'll have her; but she shall be mine!"

"Don't talk nonsense," replied the old gentleman. "You shallhave no horse from me. You don't know how to speak- you can'tarrange your words. Your brothers are very different fellows fromyou."

"Well," quoth Jack the Dullard, "If I can't have a horse, I'lltake the Billy-goat, who belongs to me, and he can carry me verywell!"

And so said, so done. He mounted the Billy-goat, pressed his heelsinto its sides, and galloped down the high street like a hurricane.

"Hei, houp! that was a ride! Here I come!" shouted Jack theDullard, and he sang till his voice echoed far and wide.

But his brothers rode slowly on in advance of him. They spokenot a word, for they were thinking about the fine extempore speechesthey would have to bring out, and these had to be cleverly preparedbeforehand.

"Hallo!" shouted Jack the Dullard. "Here am I! Look what I havefound on the high road." And he showed them what it was, and it wasa dead crow.

"Dullard!" exclaimed the brothers, "what are you going to dowith that?"

"With the crow? why, I am going to give it to the Princess."

"Yes, do so," said they; and they laughed, and rode on.

"Hallo, here I am again! just see what I have found now: you don'tfind that on the high road every day!"

And the brothers turned round to see what he could have found now.

"Dullard!" they cried, "that is only an old wooden shoe, and theupper part is missing into the bargain; are you going to give thatalso to the Princess?"

"Most certainly I shall," replied Jack the Dullard; and againthe brothers laughed and rode on, and thus they got far in advanceof him; but-

"Hallo- hop rara!" and there was Jack the Dullard again. "It isgetting better and better," he cried. "Hurrah! it is quite famous."

"Why, what have you found this time?" inquired the brothers.

"Oh," said Jack the Dullard, "I can hardly tell you. How gladthe Princess will be!"

"Bah!" said the brothers; "that is nothing but clay out of theditch."

"Yes, certainly it is," said Jack the Dullard; "and clay of thefinest sort. See, it is so wet, it runs through one's fingers." And hefilled his pocket with the clay.

But his brothers galloped on till the sparks flew, andconsequently they arrived a full hour earlier at the town gate thancould Jack. Now at the gate each suitor was provided with a number,and all were placed in rows immediately on their arrival, six ineach row, and so closely packed together that they could not movetheir arms; and that was a prudent arrangement, for they wouldcertainly have come to blows, had they been able, merely because oneof them stood before the other.

All the inhabitants of the country round about stood in greatcrowds around the castle, almost under the very windows, to see thePrincess receive the suitors; and as each stepped into the hall, hispower of speech seemed to desert him, like the light of a candlethat is blown out. Then the Princess would say, "He is of no use! Awaywith him out of the hall!"

At last the turn came for that brother who knew the dictionaryby heart; but he did not know it now; he had absolutely forgotten italtogether; and the boards seemed to re-echo with his footsteps, andthe ceiling of the hall was made of looking-glass, so that he sawhimself standing on his head; and at the window stood three clerks anda head clerk, and every one of them was writing down every single wordthat was uttered, so that it might be printed in the newspapers, andsold for a penny at the street corners. It was a terrible ordeal,and they had, moreover, made such a fire in the stove, that the roomseemed quite red hot.

"It is dreadfully hot here!" observed the first brother.

"Yes," replied the Princess, "my father is going to roast youngpullets today."

"Baa!" there he stood like a baa-lamb. He had not been preparedfor a speech of this kind, and had not a word to say, though heintended to say something witty. "Baa!"

"He is of no use!" said the Princess. "Away with him!"

And he was obliged to go accordingly. And now the second brothercame in.

"It is terribly warm here!" he observed.

"Yes, we're roasting pullets to-day," replied the Princess.

"What- what were you- were you pleased to ob-" stammered he- andall the clerks wrote down, "pleased to ob-"

"He is of no use!" said the Princess. "Away with him!"

Now came the turn of Jack the Dullard. He rode into the hall onhis goat.

"Well, it's most abominably hot here."

"Yes, because I'm roasting young pullets," replied the Princess.

"Ah, that's lucky!" exclaimed Jack the Dullard, "for I supposeyou'll let me roast my crow at the same time?"

"With the greatest pleasure," said the Princess. "But have youanything you can roast it in? for I have neither pot nor pan."

"Certainly I have!" said Jack. "Here's a cooking utensil with atin handle."

And he brought out the old wooden shoe, and put the crow into it.

"Well, that is a famous dish!" said the Princess. "But whatshall we do for sauce?"

"Oh, I have that in my pocket," said Jack; "I have so much of itthat I can afford to throw some away;" and he poured some of theclay out of his pocket.

"I like that!" said the Princess. "You can give an answer, and youhave something to say for yourself, and so you shall be my husband.But are you aware that every word we speak is being taken down, andwill be published in the paper to-morrow? Look yonder, and you willsee in every window three clerks and a head clerk; and the old headclerk is the worst of all, for he can't understand anything."

But she only said this to frighten Jack the Dullard; and theclerks gave a great crow of delight, and each one spurted a blot outof his pen on to the floor.

"Oh, those are the gentlemen, are they?" said Jack; "then I willgive the best I have to the head clerk." And he turned out hispockets, and flung the wet clay full in the head clerk's face.

"That was very cleverly done," observed the Princess. "I could nothave done that; but I shall learn in time."

And accordingly Jack the Dullard was made a king, and received acrown and a wife, and sat upon a throne. And this report we have wetfrom the press of the head clerk and the corporation of printers-but they are not to be depended upon in the least.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

LITTLE CLAUS AND BIG CLAUS

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN a village there once lived two men who had the same name.They were both called Claus. One of them had four horses, but theother had only one; so to distinguish them, people called the owner ofthe four horses, "Great Claus," and he who had only one, "LittleClaus." Now we shall hear what happened to them, for this is a truestory.

Through the whole week, Little Claus was obliged to plough forGreat Claus, and lend him his one horse; and once a week, on a Sunday,Great Claus lent him all his four horses. Then how Little Clauswould smack his whip over all five horses, they were as good as hisown on that one day. The sun shone brightly, and the church bells wereringing merrily as the people passed by, dressed in their bestclothes, with their prayer-books under their arms. They were goingto hear the clergyman preach. They looked at Little Claus ploughingwith his five horses, and he was so proud that he smacked his whip,and said, "Gee-up, my five horses."

"You must not say that," said Big Claus; "for only one of thembelongs to you." But Little Claus soon forgot what he ought to say,and when any one passed he would call out, "Gee-up, my five horses!"

"Now I must beg you not to say that again," said Big Claus; "forif you do, I shall hit your horse on the head, so that he will dropdead on the spot, and there will be an end of him."

"I promise you I will not say it any more," said the other; but assoon as people came by, nodding to him, and wishing him "Good day," hebecame so pleased, and thought how grand it looked to have five horsesploughing in his field, that he cried out again, "Gee-up, all myhorses!"

"I'll gee-up your horses for you," said Big Claus; and seizing ahammer, he struck the one horse of Little Claus on the head, and hefell dead instantly.

"Oh, now I have no horse at all, said Little Claus, weeping. Butafter a while he took off the dead horse's skin, and hung the hideto dry in the wind. Then he put the dry skin into a bag, and,placing it over his shoulder, went out into the next town to sellthe horse's skin. He had a very long way to go, and had to passthrough a dark, gloomy forest. Presently a storm arose, and he losthis way, and before he discovered the right path, evening came on, andit was still a long way to the town, and too far to return home beforenight. Near the road stood a large farmhouse. The shutters outside thewindows were closed, but lights shone through the crevices at the top."I might get permission to stay here for the night," thought LittleClaus; so he went up to the door and knocked. The farmer's wife openedthe door; but when she heard what he wanted, she told him to goaway, as her husband would not allow her to admit strangers. "Then Ishall be obliged to lie out here," said Little Claus to himself, asthe farmer's wife shut the door in his face. Near to the farmhousestood a large haystack, and between it and the house was a small shed,with a thatched roof. "I can lie up there," said Little Claus, as hesaw the roof; "it will make a famous bed, but I hope the stork willnot fly down and bite my legs;" for on it stood a living stork,whose nest was in the roof. So Little Claus climbed to the roof of theshed, and while he turned himself to get comfortable, he discoveredthat the wooden shutters, which were closed, did not reach to the topsof the windows of the farmhouse, so that he could see into a room,in which a large table was laid out with wine, roast meat, and asplendid fish. The farmer's wife and the sexton were sitting at thetable together; and she filled his glass, and helped him plenteouslyto fish, which appeared to be his favorite dish. "If I could onlyget some, too," thought Little Claus; and then, as he stretched hisneck towards the window he spied a large, beautiful pie,- indeedthey had a glorious feast before them.

At this moment he heard some one riding down the road, towards thefarmhouse. It was the farmer returning home. He was a good man, butstill he had a very strange prejudice,- he could not bear the sight ofa sexton. If one appeared before him, he would put himself in aterrible rage. In consequence of this dislike, the sexton had goneto visit the farmer's wife during her husband's absence from home, andthe good woman had placed before him the best she had in the houseto eat. When she heard the farmer coming she was frightened, andbegged the sexton to hide himself in a large empty chest that stood inthe room. He did so, for he knew her husband could not endure thesight of a sexton. The woman then quickly put away the wine, and hidall the rest of the nice things in the oven; for if her husband hadseen them he would have asked what they were brought out for.

"Oh, dear," sighed Little Claus from the top of the shed, as hesaw all the good things disappear.

"Is any one up there?" asked the farmer, looking up anddiscovering Little Claus. "Why are you lying up there? Come down,and come into the house with me." So Little Claus came down and toldthe farmer how he had lost his way and begged for a night's lodging.

"All right," said the farmer; "but we must have something to eatfirst."

The woman received them both very kindly, laid the cloth on alarge table, and placed before them a dish of porridge. The farmer wasvery hungry, and ate his porridge with a good appetite, but LittleClaus could not help thinking of the nice roast meat, fish and pies,which he knew were in the oven. Under the table, at his feet, laythe sack containing the horse's skin, which he intended to sell at thenext town. Now Little Claus did not relish the porridge at all, sohe trod with his foot on the sack under the table, and the dry skinsqueaked quite loud. "Hush!" said Little Claus to his sack, at thesame time treading upon it again, till it squeaked louder than before.

"Hallo! what have you got in your sack!" asked the farmer.

"Oh, it is a conjuror," said Little Claus; "and he says we neednot eat porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of roast meat,fish, and pie."

"Wonderful!" cried the farmer, starting up and opening the ovendoor; and there lay all the nice things hidden by the farmer's wife,but which he supposed had been conjured there by the wizard underthe table. The woman dared not say anything; so she placed thethings before them, and they both ate of the fish, the meat, and thepastry.

Then Little Claus trod again upon his sack, and it squeaked asbefore. "What does he say now?" asked the farmer.

"He says," replied Little Claus, "that there are three bottlesof wine for us, standing in the corner, by the oven."

So the woman was obliged to bring out the wine also, which she hadhidden, and the farmer drank it till he became quite merry. He wouldhave liked such a conjuror as Little Claus carried in his sack. "Couldhe conjure up the evil one?" asked the farmer. "I should like to seehim now, while I am so merry."

"Oh, yes!" replied Little Claus, "my conjuror can do anything Iask him,- can you not?" he asked, treading at the same time on thesack till it squeaked. "Do you hear? he answers 'Yes,' but he fearsthat we shall not like to look at him."

"Oh, I am not afraid. What will he be like?"

"Well, he is very much like a sexton."

"Ha!" said the farmer, "then he must be ugly. Do you know I cannotendure the sight of a sexton. However, that doesn't matter, I shallknow who it is; so I shall not mind. Now then, I have got up mycourage, but don't let him come too near me."

"Stop, I must ask the conjuror," said Little Claus; so he trodon the bag, and stooped his ear down to listen.

"What does he say?"

"He says that you must go and open that large chest which standsin the corner, and you will see the evil one crouching down inside;but you must hold the lid firmly, that he may not slip out."

"Will you come and help me hold it?" said the farmer, goingtowards the chest in which his wife had hidden the sexton, who now layinside, very much frightened. The farmer opened the lid a verylittle way, and peeped in.

"Oh," cried he, springing backwards, "I saw him, and he is exactlylike our sexton. How dreadful it is!" So after that he was obligedto drink again, and they sat and drank till far into the night.

"You must sell your conjuror to me," said the farmer; "ask as muchas you like, I will pay it; indeed I would give you directly a wholebushel of gold."

"No, indeed, I cannot," said Little Claus; "only think how muchprofit I could make out of this conjuror."

"But I should like to have him," said the fanner, still continuinghis entreaties.

"Well," said Little Claus at length, "you have been so good asto give me a night's lodging, I will not refuse you; you shall havethe conjuror for a bushel of money, but I will have quite fullmeasure."

"So you shall," said the farmer; "but you must take away the chestas well. I would not have it in the house another hour; there is noknowing if he may not be still there."

So Little Claus gave the farmer the sack containing the driedhorse's skin, and received in exchange a bushel of money- fullmeasure. The farmer also gave him a wheelbarrow on which to carry awaythe chest and the gold.

"Farewell," said Little Claus, as he went off with his money andthe great chest, in which the sexton lay still concealed. On oneside of the forest was a broad, deep river, the water flowed sorapidly that very few were able to swim against the stream. A newbridge had lately been built across it, and in the middle of thisbridge Little Claus stopped, and said, loud enough to be heard bythe sexton, "Now what shall I do with this stupid chest; it is asheavy as if it were full of stones: I shall be tired if I roll itany farther, so I may as well throw it in the river; if it swims afterme to my house, well and good, and if not, it will not much matter."

So he seized the chest in his hand and lifted it up a little, asif he were going to throw it into the water.

"No, leave it alone," cried the sexton from within the chest; "letme out first."

"Oh," exclaimed Little Claus, pretending to be frightened, "heis in there still, is he? I must throw him into the river, that he maybe drowned."

"Oh, no; oh, no," cried the sexton; "I will give you a wholebushel full of money if you will let me go.

"Why, that is another matter," said Little Claus, opening thechest. The sexton crept out, pushed the empty chest into the water,and went to his house, then he measured out a whole bushel full ofgold for Little Claus, who had already received one from the farmer,so that now he had a barrow full.

"I have been well paid for my horse," said he to himself when hereached home, entered his own room, and emptied all his money into aheap on the floor. "How vexed Great Claus will be when he finds outhow rich I have become all through my one horse; but I shall nottell him exactly how it all happened." Then he sent a boy to GreatClaus to borrow a bushel measure.

"What can he want it for?" thought Great Claus; so he smearedthe bottom of the measure with tar, that some of whatever was put intoit might stick there and remain. And so it happened; for when themeasure returned, three new silver florins were sticking to it.

"What does this mean?" said Great Claus; so he ran off directly toLittle Claus, and asked, "Where did you get so much money?"

"Oh, for my horse's skin, I sold it yesterday."

"It was certainly well paid for then," said Great Claus; and heran home to his house, seized a hatchet, and knocked all his fourhorses on the head, flayed off their skins, and took them to thetown to sell. "Skins, skins, who'll buy skins?" he cried, as he wentthrough the streets. All the shoemakers and tanners came running,and asked how much he wanted for them.

"A bushel of money, for each," replied Great Claus.

"Are you mad?" they all cried; "do you think we have money tospend by the bushel?"

"Skins, skins," he cried again, "who'll buy skins?" but to all whoinquired the price, his answer was, "a bushel of money."

"He is making fools of us," said they all; then the shoemakerstook their straps, and the tanners their leather aprons, and beganto beat Great Claus.

"Skins, skins!" they cried, mocking him; "yes, we'll mark yourskin for you, till it is black and blue."

"Out of the town with him," said they. And Great Claus was obligedto run as fast as he could, he had never before been so thoroughlybeaten.

"Ah," said he, as he came to his house; "Little Claus shall pay mefor this; I will beat him to death."

Meanwhile the old grandmother of Little Claus died. She had beencross, unkind, and really spiteful to him; but he was very sorry,and took the dead woman and laid her in his warm bed to see if hecould bring her to life again. There he determined that she should liethe whole night, while he seated himself in a chair in a corner of theroom as he had often done before. During the night, as he sat there,the door opened, and in came Great Claus with a hatchet. He knewwell where Little Claus's bed stood; so he went right up to it, andstruck the old grandmother on the head. thinking it must be LittleClaus.

"There," cried he, "now you cannot make a fool of me again;" andthen he went home.

"That is a very wicked man," thought Little Claus; "he meant tokill me. It is a good thing for my old grandmother that she wasalready dead, or he would have taken her life." Then he dressed hisold grandmother in her best clothes, borrowed a horse of his neighbor,and harnessed it to a cart. Then he placed the old woman on the backseat, so that she might not fall out as he drove, and rode awaythrough the wood. By sunrise they reached a large inn, where LittleClaus stopped and went to get something to eat. The landlord was arich man, and a good man too; but as passionate as if he had been madeof pepper and snuff.

"Good morning," said he to Little Claus; "you are come betimesto-day."

"Yes," said Little Claus; "I am going to the town with my oldgrandmother; she is sitting at the back of the wagon, but I cannotbring her into the room. Will you take her a glass of mead? but youmust speak very loud, for she cannot hear well."

"Yes, certainly I will," replied the landlord; and, pouring outa glass of mead, he carried it out to the dead grandmother, who satupright in the cart. "Here is a glass of mead from your grandson,"said the landlord. The dead woman did not answer a word, but sat quitestill. "Do you not hear?" cried the landlord as loud as he could;"here is a glass of mead from your grandson."

Again and again he bawled it out, but as she did not stir heflew into a passion, and threw the glass of mead in her face; itstruck her on the nose, and she fell backwards out of the cart, forshe was only seated there, not tied in.

Hallo!" cried Little Claus, rushing out of the door, and seizinghold of the landlord by the throat; "you have killed my grandmother;see, here is a great hole in her forehead."

"Oh, how unfortunate," said the landlord, wringing his hands."This all comes of my fiery temper. Dear Little Claus, I will give youa bushel of money; I will bury your grandmother as if she were my own;only keep silent, or else they will cut off my head, and that would bedisagreeable."

So it happened that Little Claus received another bushel of money,and the landlord buried his old grandmother as if she had been hisown. When Little Claus reached home again, he immediately sent a boyto Great Claus, requesting him to lend him a bushel measure. "How isthis?" thought Great Claus; "did I not kill him? I must go and see formyself." So he went to Little Claus, and took the bushel measurewith him. "How did you get all this money?" asked Great Claus, staringwith wide open eyes at his neighbor's treasures.

"You killed my grandmother instead of me," said Little Claus;"so I have sold her for a bushel of money."

"That is a good price at all events," said Great Claus. So he wenthome, took a hatchet, and killed his old grandmother with one blow.Then he placed her on a cart, and drove into the town to theapothecary, and asked him if he would buy a dead body.

"Whose is it, and where did you get it?" asked the apothecary.

"It is my grandmother," he replied; "I killed her with a blow,that I might get a bushel of money for her."

"Heaven preserve us!" cried the apothecary, "you are out of yourmind. Don't say such things, or you will lose your head." And thenhe talked to him seriously about the wicked deed he had done, and toldhim that such a wicked man would surely be punished. Great Claus gotso frightened that he rushed out of the surgery, jumped into the cart,whipped up his horses, and drove home quickly. The apothecary andall the people thought him mad, and let him drive where he liked.

"You shall pay for this," said Great Claus, as soon as he got intothe highroad, "that you shall, Little Claus." So as soon as he reachedhome he took the largest sack he could find and went over to LittleClaus. "You have played me another trick," said he. "First, I killedall my horses, and then my old grandmother, and it is all yourfault; but you shall not make a fool of me any more." So he laidhold of Little Claus round the body, and pushed him into the sack,which he took on his shoulders, saying, "Now I'm going to drown you inthe river.

He had a long way to go before he reached the river, and LittleClaus was not a very light weight to carry. The road led by thechurch, and as they passed he could hear the organ playing and thepeople singing beautifully. Great Claus put down the sack close to thechurch-door, and thought he might as well go in and hear a psalmbefore he went any farther. Little Claus could not possibly get out ofthe sack, and all the people were in church; so in he went.

"Oh dear, oh dear," sighed Little Claus in the sack, as heturned and twisted about; but he found he could not loosen thestring with which it was tied. Presently an old cattle driver, withsnowy hair, passed by, carrying a large staff in his hand, withwhich he drove a large herd of cows and oxen before him. They stumbledagainst the sack in which lay Little Claus, and turned it over. "Ohdear," sighed Little Claus, "I am very young, yet I am soon going toheaven."

"And I, poor fellow," said the drover, "I who am so old already,cannot get there."

"Open the sack," cried Little Claus; "creep into it instead of me,and you will soon be there."

"With all my heart," replied the drover, opening the sack, fromwhich sprung Little Claus as quickly as possible. "Will you takecare of my cattle?" said the old man, as he crept into the bag.

"Yes," said Little Claus, and he tied up the sack, and then walkedoff with all the cows and oxen.

When Great Claus came out of church, he took up the sack, andplaced it on his shoulders. It appeared to have become lighter, forthe old drover was not half so heavy as Little Claus.

"How light he seems now," said he. "Ah, it is because I havebeen to a church." So he walked on to the river, which was deep andbroad, and threw the sack containing the old drover into the water,believing it to be Little Claus. "There you may lie!" he exclaimed;"you will play me no more tricks now." Then he turned to go home,but when he came to a place where two roads crossed, there wasLittle Claus driving the cattle. "How is this?" said Great Claus. "DidI not drown you just now?"

"Yes," said Little Claus; "you threw me into the river abouthalf an hour ago."

"But wherever did you get all these fine beasts?" asked GreatClaus.

"These beasts are sea-cattle," replied Little Claus. "I'll tellyou the whole story, and thank you for drowning me; I am above younow, I am really very rich. I was frightened, to be sure, while Ilay tied up in the sack, and the wind whistled in my ears when youthrew me into the river from the bridge, and I sank to the bottomimmediately; but I did not hurt myself, for I fell upon beautifullysoft grass which grows down there; and in a moment, the sack opened,and the sweetest little maiden came towards me. She had snow-whiterobes, and a wreath of green leaves on her wet hair. She took me bythe hand, and said, 'So you are come, Little Claus, and here aresome cattle for you to begin with. About a mile farther on the road,there is another herd for you.' Then I saw that the river formed agreat highway for the people who live in the sea. They were walkingand driving here and there from the sea to the land at the, spot wherethe river terminates. The bed of the river was covered with theloveliest flowers and sweet fresh grass. The fish swam past me asrapidly as the birds do here in the air. How handsome all the peoplewere, and what fine cattle were grazing on the hills and in thevalleys!"

"But why did you come up again," said Great Claus, "if it wasall so beautiful down there? I should not have done so?"

"Well," said Little Claus, "it was good policy on my part; youheard me say just now that I was told by the sea-maiden to go a milefarther on the road, and I should find a whole herd of cattle. Bythe road she meant the river, for she could not travel any otherway; but I knew the winding of the river, and how it bends,sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, and it seemed a longway, so I chose a shorter one; and, by coming up to the land, and thendriving across the fields back again to the river, I shall save half amile, and get all my cattle more quickly."

"What a lucky fellow you are!" exclaimed Great Claus. "Do youthink I should get any sea-cattle if I went down to the bottom ofthe river?"

"Yes, I think so," said Little Claus; "but I cannot carry youthere in a sack, you are too heavy. However if you will go therefirst, and then creep into a sack, I will throw you in with thegreatest pleasure."

"Thank you," said Great Claus; "but remember, if I do not getany sea-cattle down there I shall come up again and give you a goodthrashing."

"No, now, don't be too fierce about it!" said Little Claus, asthey walked on towards the river. When they approached it, the cattle,who were very thirsty, saw the stream, and ran down to drink.

"See what a hurry they are in," said Little Claus, "they arelonging to get down again,"

"Come, help me, make haste," said Great Claus; "or you'll getbeaten." So he crept into a large sack, which had been lying acrossthe back of one of the oxen.

"Put in a stone," said Great Claus, "or I may not sink."

"Oh, there's not much fear of that," he replied; still he put alarge stone into the bag, and then tied it tightly, and gave it apush.

"Plump!" In went Great Claus, and immediately sank to the bottomof the river.

"I'm afraid he will not find any cattle," said Little Claus, andthen he drove his own beasts homewards.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

LITTLE IDA'S FLOWERS

by Hans Christian Andersen

"My poor flowers are quite dead," said little Ida, "they were sopretty yesterday evening, and now all the leaves are hanging downquite withered. What do they do that for," she asked, of the studentwho sat on the sofa; she liked him very much, he could tell the mostamusing stories, and cut out the prettiest pictures; hearts, andladies dancing, castles with doors that opened, as well as flowers; hewas a delightful student. "Why do the flowers look so faded to-day?"she asked again, and pointed to her nosegay, which was quite withered.

"Don't you know what is the matter with them?" said the student."The flowers were at a ball last night, and therefore, it is no wonderthey hang their heads."

"But flowers cannot dance?" cried little Ida.

"Yes indeed, they can," replied the student. "When it growsdark, and everybody is asleep, they jump about quite merrily. Theyhave a ball almost every night."

"Can children go to these balls?"

"Yes," said the student, "little daisies and lilies of thevalley."

"Where do the beautiful flowers dance?" asked little Ida.

"Have you not often seen the large castle outside the gates of thetown, where the king lives in summer, and where the beautiful gardenis full of flowers? And have you not fed the swans with bread whenthey swam towards you? Well, the flowers have capital balls there,believe me."

"I was in the garden out there yesterday with my mother," saidIda, "but all the leaves were off the trees, and there was not asingle flower left. Where are they? I used to see so many in thesummer."

"They are in the castle," replied the student. "You must know thatas soon as the king and all the court are gone into the town, theflowers run out of the garden into the castle, and you should seehow merry they are. The two most beautiful roses seat themselves onthe throne, and are called the king and queen, then all the redcockscombs range themselves on each side, and bow, these are thelords-in-waiting. After that the pretty flowers come in, and thereis a grand ball. The blue violets represent little naval cadets, anddance with hyacinths and crocuses which they call young ladies. Thetulips and tiger-lilies are the old ladies who sit and watch thedancing, so that everything may be conducted with order andpropriety."

"But," said little Ida, "is there no one there to hurt the flowersfor dancing in the king's castle?"

"No one knows anything about it," said the student. "The oldsteward of the castle, who has to watch there at night, sometimescomes in; but he carries a great bunch of keys, and as soon as theflowers hear the keys rattle, they run and hide themselves behindthe long curtains, and stand quite still, just peeping their headsout. Then the old steward says, 'I smell flowers here,' but hecannot see them."

"Oh how capital," said little Ida, clapping her hands. "Should Ibe able to see these flowers?"

"Yes," said the student, "mind you think of it the next time yougo out, no doubt you will see them, if you peep through the window.I did so to-day, and I saw a long yellow lily lying stretched out onthe sofa. She was a court lady."

"Can the flowers from the Botanical Gardens go to these balls?"asked Ida. "It is such a distance!"

"Oh yes," said the student 'whenever they like, for they canfly. Have you not seen those beautiful red, white. and yellowbutterflies, that look like flowers? They were flowers once. They haveflown off their stalks into the air, and flap their leaves as ifthey were little wings to make them fly. Then, if they behave well,they obtain permission to fly about during the day, instead of beingobliged to sit still on their stems at home, and so in time theirleaves become real wings. It may be, however, that the flowers inthe Botanical Gardens have never been to the king's palace, and,therefore, they know nothing of the merry doings at night, whichtake place there. I will tell you what to do, and the botanicalprofessor, who lives close by here, will be so surprised. You know himvery well, do you not? Well, next time you go into his garden, youmust tell one of the flowers that there is going to be a grand ball atthe castle, then that flower will tell all the others, and they willfly away to the castle as soon as possible. And when the professorwalks into his garden, there will not be a single flower left. Howhe will wonder what has become of them!"

"But how can one flower tell another? Flowers cannot speak?"

"No, certainly not," replied the student; "but they can makesigns. Have you not often seen that when the wind blows they nod atone another, and rustle all their green leaves?"

"Can the professor understand the signs?" asked Ida.

"Yes, to be sure he can. He went one morning into his garden,and saw a stinging nettle making signs with its leaves to abeautiful red carnation. It was saying, 'You are so pretty, I like youvery much.' But the professor did not approve of such nonsense, sohe clapped his hands on the nettle to stop it. Then the leaves,which are its fingers, stung him so sharply that he has never venturedto touch a nettle since."

"Oh how funny!" said Ida, and she laughed.

"How can anyone put such notions into a child's head?" said atiresome lawyer, who had come to pay a visit, and sat on the sofa.He did not like the student, and would grumble when he saw him cuttingout droll or amusing pictures. Sometimes it would be a man hangingon a gibbet and holding a heart in his hand as if he had been stealinghearts. Sometimes it was an old witch riding through the air on abroom and carrying her husband on her nose. But the lawyer did notlike such jokes, and he would say as he had just said, "How can anyoneput such nonsense into a child's head! what absurd fancies there are!"

But to little Ida, all these stories which the student told herabout the flowers, seemed very droll, and she thought over them agreat deal. The flowers did hang their heads, because they had beendancing all night, and were very tired, and most likely they were ill.Then she took them into the room where a number of toys lay on apretty little table, and the whole of the table drawer besides wasfull of beautiful things. Her doll Sophy lay in the doll's bed asleep,and little Ida said to her, "You must really get up Sophy, and becontent to lie in the drawer to-night; the poor flowers are ill, andthey must lie in your bed, then perhaps they will get well again."So she took the doll out, who looked quite cross, and said not asingle word, for she was angry at being turned out of her bed. Idaplaced the flowers in the doll's bed, and drew the quilt over them.Then she told them to lie quite still and be good, while she made sometea for them, so that they might be quite well and able to get upthe next morning. And she drew the curtains close round the littlebed, so that the sun might not shine in their eyes. During the wholeevening she could not help thinking of what the student had toldher. And before she went to bed herself, she was obliged to peepbehind the curtains into the garden where all her mother's beautifulflowers grew, hyacinths and tulips, and many others. Then shewhispered to them quite softly, "I know you are going to a ballto-night." But the flowers appeared as if they did not understand, andnot a leaf moved; still Ida felt quite sure she knew all about it. Shelay awake a long time after she was in bed, thinking how pretty itmust be to see all the beautiful flowers dancing in the king's garden."I wonder if my flowers have really been there," she said toherself, and then she fell asleep. In the night she awoke; she hadbeen dreaming of the flowers and of the student, as well as of thetiresome lawyer who found fault with him. It was quite still inIda's bedroom; the night-lamp burnt on the table, and her father andmother were asleep. "I wonder if my flowers are still lying in Sophy'sbed," she thought to herself; "how much I should like to know." Sheraised herself a little, and glanced at the door of the room where allher flowers and playthings lay; it was partly open, and as shelistened, it seemed as if some one in the room was playing thepiano, but softly and more prettily than she had ever before heard it."Now all the flowers are certainly dancing in there," she thought, "ohhow much I should like to see them," but she did not dare move forfear of disturbing her father and mother. "If they would only comein here," she thought; but they did not come, and the musiccontinued to play so beautifully, and was so pretty, that she couldresist no longer. She crept out of her little bed, went softly tothe door and looked into the room. Oh what a splendid sight therewas to be sure! There was no night-lamp burning, but the room appearedquite light, for the moon shone through the window upon the floor, andmade it almost like day. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in twolong rows down the room, not a single flower remained in the window,and the flower-pots were all empty. The flowers were dancinggracefully on the floor, making turns and holding each other bytheir long green leaves as they swung round. At the piano sat alarge yellow lily which little Ida was sure she had seen in thesummer, for she remembered the student saying she was very much likeMiss Lina, one of Ida's friends. They all laughed at him then, but nowit seemed to little Ida as if the tall, yellow flower was reallylike the young lady. She had just the same manners while playing,bending her long yellow face from side to side, and nodding in time tothe beautiful music. Then she saw a large purple crocus jump intothe middle of the table where the playthings stood, go up to thedoll's bedstead and draw back the curtains; there lay the sickflowers, but they got up directly, and nodded to the others as asign that they wished to dance with them. The old rough doll, with thebroken mouth, stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers. They did notlook ill at all now, but jumped about and were very merry, yet none ofthem noticed little Ida. Presently it seemed as if something fell fromthe table. Ida looked that way, and saw a slight carnival rodjumping down among the flowers as if it belonged to them; it was,however, very smooth and neat, and a little wax doll with a broadbrimmed hat on her head, like the one worn by the lawyer, sat upon it.The carnival rod hopped about among the flowers on its three redstilted feet, and stamped quite loud when it danced the Mazurka; theflowers could not perform this dance, they were too light to stampin that manner. All at once the wax doll which rode on the carnivalrod seemed to grow larger and taller, and it turned round and saidto the paper flowers, "How can you put such things in a child'shead? they are all foolish fancies;" and then the doll was exactlylike the lawyer with the broad brimmed hat, and looked as yellow andas cross as he did; but the paper dolls struck him on his thin legs,and he shrunk up again and became quite a little wax doll. This wasvery amusing, and Ida could not help laughing. The carnival rod wenton dancing, and the lawyer was obliged to dance also. It was no use,he might make himself great and tall, or remain a little wax doll witha large black hat; still he must dance. Then at last the other flowersinterceded for him, especially those who had lain in the doll's bed,and the carnival rod gave up his dancing. At the same moment a loudknocking was heard in the drawer, where Ida's doll Sophy lay with manyother toys. Then the rough doll ran to the end of the table, laidhimself flat down upon it, and began to pull the drawer out a littleway.

Then Sophy raised himself, and looked round quite astonished,"There must be a ball here to-night," said Sophy. "Why did notsomebody tell me?"

"Will you dance with me?" said the rough doll.

"You are the right sort to dance with, certainly," said she,turning her back upon him.

Then she seated herself on the edge of the drawer, and thoughtthat perhaps one of the flowers would ask her to dance; but none ofthem came. Then she coughed, "Hem, hem, a-hem;" but for all that notone came. The shabby doll now danced quite alone, and not verybadly, after all. As none of the flowers seemed to notice Sophy, shelet herself down from the drawer to the floor, so as to make a verygreat noise. All the flowers came round her directly, and asked if shehad hurt herself, especially those who had lain in her bed. But shewas not hurt at all, and Ida's flowers thanked her for the use ofthe nice bed, and were very kind to her. They led her into themiddle of the room, where the moon shone, and danced with her, whileall the other flowers formed a circle round them. Then Sophy wasvery happy, and said they might keep her bed; she did not mind lyingin the drawer at all. But the flowers thanked her very much, andsaid,-

"We cannot live long. To-morrow morning we shall be quite dead;and you must tell little Ida to bury us in the garden, near to thegrave of the canary; then, in the summer we shall wake up and bemore beautiful than ever."

"No, you must not die," said Sophy, as she kissed the flowers.

Then the door of the room opened, and a number of beautifulflowers danced in. Ida could not imagine where they could come from,unless they were the flowers from the king's garden. First came twolovely roses, with little golden crowns on their heads; these were theking and queen. Beautiful stocks and carnations followed, bowing toevery one present. They had also music with them. Large poppies andpeonies had pea-shells for instruments, and blew into them till theywere quite red in the face. The bunches of blue hyacinths and thelittle white snowdrops jingled their bell-like flowers, as if theywere real bells. Then came many more flowers: blue violets, purpleheart's-ease, daisies, and lilies of the valley, and they all dancedtogether, and kissed each other. It was very beautiful to behold.

At last the flowers wished each other good-night. Then littleIda crept back into her bed again, and dreamt of all she had seen.When she arose the next morning, she went quickly to the little table,to see if the flowers were still there. She drew aside the curtains ofthe little bed. There they all lay, but quite faded; much more so thanthe day before. Sophy was lying in the drawer where Ida had placedher; but she looked very sleepy.

"Do you remember what the flowers told you to say to me?" saidlittle Ida. But Sophy looked quite stupid, and said not a single word.

"You are not kind at all," said Ida; "and yet they all danced withyou."

Then she took a little paper box, on which were paintedbeautiful birds, and laid the dead flowers in it.

"This shall be your pretty coffin," she said; "and by and by, whenmy cousins come to visit me, they shall help me to bury you out in thegarden; so that next summer you may grow up again more beautifulthan ever."

Her cousins were two good-tempered boys, whose names were Jamesand Adolphus. Their father had given them each a bow and arrow, andthey had brought them to show Ida. She told them about the poorflowers which were dead; and as soon as they obtained permission, theywent with her to bury them. The two boys walked first, with theircrossbows on their shoulders, and little Ida followed, carrying thepretty box containing the dead flowers. They dug a little grave in thegarden. Ida kissed her flowers and then laid them, with the box, inthe earth. James and Adolphus then fired their crossbows over thegrave, as they had neither guns nor cannons.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

LITTLE TINY OR THUMBELINA

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a woman who wished very much to have a littlechild, but she could not obtain her wish. At last she went to a fairy,and said, "I should so very much like to have a little child; canyou tell me where I can find one?"

"Oh, that can be easily managed," said the fairy. "Here is abarleycorn of a different kind to those which grow in the farmer'sfields, and which the chickens eat; put it into a flower-pot, andsee what will happen."

"Thank you," said the woman, and she gave the fairy twelveshillings, which was the price of the barleycorn. Then she went homeand planted it, and immediately there grew up a large handsome flower,something like a tulip in appearance, but with its leaves tightlyclosed as if it were still a bud. "It is a beautiful flower," said thewoman, and she kissed the red and golden-colored leaves, and while shedid so the flower opened, and she could see that it was a realtulip. Within the flower, upon the green velvet stamens, sat a verydelicate and graceful little maiden. She was scarcely half as longas a thumb, and they gave her the name of "Thumbelina," or Tiny,because she was so small. A walnut-shell, elegantly polished, servedher for a cradle; her bed was formed of blue violet-leaves, with arose-leaf for a counterpane. Here she slept at night, but during theday she amused herself on a table, where the woman had placed aplateful of water. Round this plate were wreaths of flowers with theirstems in the water, and upon it floated a large tulip-leaf, whichserved Tiny for a boat. Here the little maiden sat and rowed herselffrom side to side, with two oars made of white horse-hair. It reallywas a very pretty sight. Tiny could, also, sing so softly andsweetly that nothing like her singing had ever before been heard.One night, while she lay in her pretty bed, a large, ugly, wet toadcrept through a broken pane of glass in the window, and leaped rightupon the table where Tiny lay sleeping under her rose-leaf quilt."What a pretty little wife this would make for my son, said thetoad, and she took up the walnut-shell in which little Tiny layasleep, and jumped through the window with it into the garden.

In the swampy margin of a broad stream in the garden lived thetoad, with her son. He was uglier even than his mother, and when hesaw the pretty little maiden in her elegant bed, he could only cry,"Croak, croak, croak."

"Don't speak so loud, or she will wake," said the toad, "andthen she might run away, for she is as light as swan's down. We willplace her on one of the water-lily leaves out in the stream; it willbe like an island to her, she is so light and small, and then shecannot escape; and, while she is away, we will make haste andprepare the state-room under the marsh, in which you are to livewhen you are married."

Far out in the stream grew a number of water-lilies, with broadgreen leaves, which seemed to float on the top of the water. Thelargest of these leaves appeared farther off than the rest, and theold toad swam out to it with the walnut-shell, in which little Tinylay still asleep. The tiny little creature woke very early in themorning, and began to cry bitterly when she found where she was, forshe could see nothing but water on every side of the large green leaf,and no way of reaching the land. Meanwhile the old toad was verybusy under the marsh, decking her room with rushes and wild yellowflowers, to make it look pretty for her new daughter-in-law. Thenshe swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on which she had placedpoor little Tiny. She wanted to fetch the pretty bed, that she mightput it in the bridal chamber to be ready for her. The old toad bowedlow to her in the water, and said, "Here is my son, he will be yourhusband, and you will live happily in the marsh by the stream."

"Croak, croak, croak," was all her son could say for himself; sothe toad took up the elegant little bed, and swam away with it,leaving Tiny all alone on the green leaf, where she sat and wept.She could not bear to think of living with the old toad, and havingher ugly son for a husband. The little fishes, who swam about in thewater beneath, had seen the toad, and heard what she said, so theylifted their heads above the water to look at the little maiden. Assoon as they caught sight of her, they saw she was very pretty, and itmade them very sorry to think that she must go and live with theugly toads. "No, it must never be!" so they assembled together inthe water, round the green stalk which held the leaf on which thelittle maiden stood, and gnawed it away at the root with theirteeth. Then the leaf floated down the stream, carrying Tiny far awayout of reach of land.

Tiny sailed past many towns, and the little birds in the bushessaw her, and sang, "What a lovely little creature;" so the leaf swamaway with her farther and farther, till it brought her to other lands.A graceful little white butterfly constantly fluttered round her,and at last alighted on the leaf. Tiny pleased him, and she was gladof it, for now the toad could not possibly reach her, and thecountry through which she sailed was beautiful, and the sun shone uponthe water, till it glittered like liquid gold. She took off her girdleand tied one end of it round the butterfly, and the other end of theribbon she fastened to the leaf, which now glided on much fasterthan ever, taking little Tiny with it as she stood. Presently alarge cockchafer flew by; the moment he caught sight of her, he seizedher round her delicate waist with his claws, and flew with her intoa tree. The green leaf floated away on the brook, and the butterflyflew with it, for he was fastened to it, and could not get away.

Oh, how frightened little Tiny felt when the cockchafer flewwith her to the tree! But especially was she sorry for the beautifulwhite butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf, for if he couldnot free himself he would die of hunger. But the cockchafer did nottrouble himself at all about the matter. He seated himself by her sideon a large green leaf, gave her some honey from the flowers to eat,and told her she was very pretty, though not in the least like acockchafer. After a time, all the cockchafers turned up their feelers,and said, "She has only two legs! how ugly that looks." "She has nofeelers," said another. "Her waist is quite slim. Pooh! she is likea human being."

"Oh! she is ugly," said all the lady cockchafers, although Tinywas very pretty. Then the cockchafer who had run away with her,believed all the others when they said she was ugly, and would havenothing more to say to her, and told her she might go where she liked.Then he flew down with her from the tree, and placed her on a daisy,and she wept at the thought that she was so ugly that even thecockchafers would have nothing to say to her. And all the while shewas really the loveliest creature that one could imagine, and astender and delicate as a beautiful rose-leaf. During the wholesummer poor little Tiny lived quite alone in the wide forest. She woveherself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it up under a broad leaf,to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the honey from theflowers for food, and drank the dew from their leaves every morning.So passed away the summer and the autumn, and then came the winter,-the long, cold winter. All the birds who had sung to her so sweetlywere flown away, and the trees and the flowers had withered. The largeclover leaf under the shelter of which she had lived, was now rolledtogether and shrivelled up, nothing remained but a yellow witheredstalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and shewas herself so frail and delicate, that poor little Tiny was nearlyfrozen to death. It began to snow too; and the snow-flakes, as theyfell upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us, forwe are tall, but she was only an inch high. Then she wrapped herselfup in a dry leaf, but it cracked in the middle and could not keepher warm, and she shivered with cold. Near the wood in which she hadbeen living lay a corn-field, but the corn had been cut a long time;nothing remained but the bare dry stubble standing up out of thefrozen ground. It was to her like struggling through a large wood. Oh!how she shivered with the cold. She came at last to the door of afield-mouse, who had a little den under the corn-stubble. Theredwelt the field-mouse in warmth and comfort, with a whole roomful ofcorn, a kitchen, and a beautiful dining room. Poor little Tiny stoodbefore the door just like a little beggar-girl, and begged for a smallpiece of barley-corn, for she had been without a morsel to eat for twodays.

"You poor little creature," said the field-mouse, who was really agood old field-mouse, "come into my warm room and dine with me." Shewas very pleased with Tiny, so she said, "You are quite welcome tostay with me all the winter, if you like; but you must keep my roomsclean and neat, and tell me stories, for I shall like to hear themvery much." And Tiny did all the field-mouse asked her, and foundherself very comfortable.

"We shall have a visitor soon," said the field-mouse one day;"my neighbor pays me a visit once a week. He is better off than Iam; he has large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. Ifyou could only have him for a husband, you would be well providedfor indeed. But he is blind, so you must tell him some of yourprettiest stories.

But Tiny did not feel at all interested about this neighbor, forhe was a mole. However, he came and paid his visit dressed in hisblack velvet coat.

"He is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times largerthan mine," said the field-mouse.

He was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightinglyof the sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them.Tiny was obliged to sing to him, "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly awayhome," and many other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with herbecause she had such a sweet voice; but he said nothing yet, for hewas very cautious. A short time before, the mole had dug a longpassage under the earth, which led from the dwelling of thefield-mouse to his own, and here she had permission to walk withTiny whenever she liked. But he warned them not to be alarmed at thesight of a dead bird which lay in the passage. It was a perfectbird, with a beak and feathers, and could not have been dead long, andwas lying just where the mole had made his passage. The mole took apiece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth, and it glittered likefire in the dark; then he went before them to light them through thelong, dark passage. When they came to the spot where lay the deadbird, the mole pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the earthgave way, so that there was a large hole, and the daylight shoneinto the passage. In the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, hisbeautiful wings pulled close to his sides, his feet and his head drawnup under his feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of the cold.It made little Tiny very sad to see it, she did so love the littlebirds; all the summer they had sung and twittered for her sobeautifully. But the mole pushed it aside with his crooked legs, andsaid, "He will sing no more now. How miserable it must be to be born alittle bird! I am thankful that none of my children will ever bebirds, for they can do nothing but cry, 'Tweet, tweet,' and always dieof hunger in the winter."

"Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man!" exclaimed thefield-mouse, "What is the use of his twittering, for when winter comeshe must either starve or be frozen to death. Still birds are very highbred."

Tiny said nothing; but when the two others had turned theirbacks on the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the softfeathers which covered the head, and kissed the closed eyelids."Perhaps this was the one who sang to me so sweetly in the summer,"she said; "and how much pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty bird."

The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight shone,and then accompanied the lady home. But during the night Tiny couldnot sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet ofhay; then she carried it to the dead bird, and spread it over him;with some down from the flowers which she had found in thefield-mouse's room. It was as soft as wool, and she spread some ofit on each side of the bird, so that he might lie warmly in the coldearth. "Farewell, you pretty little bird," said she, "farewell;thank you for your delightful singing during the summer, when allthe trees were green, and the warm sun shone upon us. Then she laidher head on the bird's breast, but she was alarmed immediately, for itseemed as if something inside the bird went "thump, thump." It was thebird's heart; he was not really dead, only benumbed with the cold, andthe warmth had restored him to life. In autumn, all the swallows flyaway into warm countries, but if one happens to linger, the coldseizes it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as if dead; it remainswhere it fell, and the cold snow covers it. Tiny trembled very much;she was quite frightened, for the bird was large, a great deallarger than herself,- she was only an inch high. But she took courage,laid the wool more thickly over the poor swallow, and then took a leafwhich she had used for her own counterpane, and laid it over thehead of the poor bird. The next morning she again stole out to seehim. He was alive but very weak; he could only open his eyes for amoment to look at Tiny, who stood by holding a piece of decayed woodin her hand, for she had no other lantern. "Thank you, pretty littlemaiden," said the sick swallow; "I have been so nicely warmed, thatI shall soon regain my strength, and be able to fly about again in thewarm sunshine."

"Oh," said she, "it is cold out of doors now; it snows andfreezes. Stay in your warm bed; I will take care of you."

Then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, andafter he had drank, he told her that he had wounded one of his wingsin a thorn-bush, and could not fly as fast as the others, who weresoon far away on their journey to warm countries. Then at last hehad fallen to the earth, and could remember no more, nor how he cameto be where she had found him. The whole winter the swallow remainedunderground, and Tiny nursed him with care and love. Neither themole nor the field-mouse knew anything about it, for they did not likeswallows. Very soon the spring time came, and the sun warmed theearth. Then the swallow bade farewell to Tiny, and she opened the holein the ceiling which the mole had made. The sun shone in upon themso beautifully, that the swallow asked her if she would go with him;she could sit on his back, he said, and he would fly away with herinto the green woods. But Tiny knew it would make the field-mouse verygrieved if she left her in that manner, so she said, "No, I cannot."

"Farewell, then, farewell, you good, pretty little maiden," saidthe swallow; and he flew out into the sunshine.

Tiny looked after him, and the tears rose in her eyes. She wasvery fond of the poor swallow.

"Tweet, tweet," sang the bird, as he flew out into the greenwoods, and Tiny felt very sad. She was not allowed to go out intothe warm sunshine. The corn which had been sown in the field overthe house of the field-mouse had grown up high into the air, andformed a thick wood to Tiny, who was only an inch in height.

"You are going to be married, Tiny," said the field-mouse. "Myneighbor has asked for you. What good fortune for a poor child likeyou. Now we will prepare your wedding clothes. They must be bothwoollen and linen. Nothing must be wanting when you are the mole'swife."

Tiny had to turn the spindle, and the field-mouse hired fourspiders, who were to weave day and night. Every evening the molevisited her, and was continually speaking of the time when thesummer would be over. Then he would keep his wedding-day with Tiny;but now the heat of the sun was so great that it burned the earth, andmade it quite hard, like a stone. As soon, as the summer was over, thewedding should take place. But Tiny was not at all pleased; for shedid not like the tiresome mole. Every morning when the sun rose, andevery evening when it went down, she would creep out at the door,and as the wind blew aside the ears of corn, so that she could see theblue sky, she thought how beautiful and bright it seemed out there,and wished so much to see her dear swallow again. But he neverreturned; for by this time he had flown far away into the lovely greenforest.

When autumn arrived, Tiny had her outfit quite ready; and thefield-mouse said to her, "In four weeks the wedding must take place."

Then Tiny wept, and said she would not marry the disagreeablemole.

"Nonsense," replied the field-mouse. "Now don't be obstinate, or Ishall bite you with my white teeth. He is a very handsome mole; thequeen herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. Hiskitchen and cellars are quite full. You ought to be very thankfulfor such good fortune."

So the wedding-day was fixed, on which the mole was to fetchTiny away to live with him, deep under the earth, and never again tosee the warm sun, because he did not like it. The poor child wasvery unhappy at the thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun,and as the field-mouse had given her permission to stand at thedoor, she went to look at it once more.

"Farewell bright sun," she cried, stretching out her arm towardsit; and then she walked a short distance from the house; for thecorn had been cut, and only the dry stubble remained in the fields."Farewell, farewell," she repeated, twining her arm round a little redflower that grew just by her side. "Greet the little swallow fromme, if you should see him again."

"Tweet, tweet," sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, andthere was the swallow himself flying close by. As soon as he spiedTiny, he was delighted; and then she told him how unwilling she feltto marry the ugly mole, and to live always beneath the earth, andnever to see the bright sun any more. And as she told him she wept.

"Cold winter is coming," said the swallow, "and I am going tofly away into warmer countries. Will you go with me? You can sit on myback, and fasten yourself on with your sash. Then we can fly away fromthe ugly mole and his gloomy rooms,- far away, over the mountains,into warmer countries, where the sun shines more brightly- thanhere; where it is always summer, and the flowers bloom in greaterbeauty. Fly now with me, dear little Tiny; you saved my life when Ilay frozen in that dark passage."

"Yes, I will go with you," said Tiny; and she seated herself onthe bird's back, with her feet on his outstretched wings, and tied hergirdle to one of his strongest feathers.

Then the swallow rose in the air, and flew over forest and oversea, high above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. Tinywould have been frozen in the cold air, but she crept under the bird'swarm feathers, keeping her little head uncovered, so that she mightadmire the beautiful lands over which they passed. At length theyreached the warm countries, where the sun shines brightly, and the skyseems so much higher above the earth. Here, on the hedges, and bythe wayside, grew purple, green, and white grapes; lemons andoranges hung from trees in the woods; and the air was fragrant withmyrtles and orange blossoms. Beautiful children ran along thecountry lanes, playing with large gay butterflies; and as theswallow flew farther and farther, every place appeared still morelovely.

At last they came to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded bytrees of the deepest green, stood a palace of dazzling white marble,built in the olden times. Vines clustered round its lofty pillars, andat the top were many swallows' nests, and one of these was the home ofthe swallow who carried Tiny.

"This is my house," said the swallow; "but it would not do for youto live there- you would not be comfortable. You must choose foryourself one of those lovely flowers, and I will put you down upon it,and then you shall have everything that you can wish to make youhappy."

"That will be delightful," she said, and clapped her littlehands for joy.

A large marble pillar lay on the ground, which, in falling, hadbeen broken into three pieces. Between these pieces grew the mostbeautiful large white flowers; so the swallow flew down with Tiny, andplaced her on one of the broad leaves. But how surprised she was tosee in the middle of the flower, a tiny little man, as white andtransparent as if he had been made of crystal! He had a gold crownon his head, and delicate wings at his shoulders, and was not muchlarger than Tiny herself. He was the angel of the flower; for a tinyman and a tiny woman dwell in every flower; and this was the king ofthem all.

"Oh, how beautiful he is!" whispered Tiny to the swallow.

The little prince was at first quite frightened at the bird, whowas like a giant, compared to such a delicate little creature ashimself; but when he saw Tiny, he was delighted, and thought her theprettiest little maiden he had ever seen. He took the gold crownfrom his head, and placed it on hers, and asked her name, and if shewould be his wife, and queen over all the flowers.

This certainly was a very different sort of husband to the sonof a toad, or the mole, with my black velvet and fur; so she said,"Yes," to the handsome prince. Then all the flowers opened, and out ofeach came a little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite apleasure to look at them. Each of them brought Tiny a present; but thebest gift was a pair of beautiful wings, which had belonged to a largewhite fly and they fastened them to Tiny's shoulders, so that shemight fly from flower to flower. Then there was much rejoicing, andthe little swallow who sat above them, in his nest, was asked tosing a wedding song, which he did as well as he could; but in hisheart he felt sad for he was very fond of Tiny, and would have likednever to part from her again.

"You must not be called Tiny any more," said the spirit of theflowers to her. "It is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. Wewill call you Maia."

"Farewell, farewell," said the swallow, with a heavy heart as heleft the warm countries to fly back into Denmark. There he had anest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairytales. The swallow sang, "Tweet, tweet," and from his song came thewhole story.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

LITTLE TUK

by Hans Christian Andersen

YES, they called him Little Tuk, but it was not his real name;he had called himself so before he could speak plainly, and he meantit for Charles. It was all very well for those who knew him, but notfor strangers.

Little Tuk was left at home to take care of his little sister,Gustava, who was much younger than himself, and he had to learn hislessons at the same time, and the two things could not very well beperformed together. The poor boy sat there with his sister on his lap,and sung to her all the songs he knew, and now and then he looked intohis geography lesson that lay open before him. By the next morninghe had to learn by heart all the towns in Zealand, and all thatcould be described of them.

His mother came home at last, and took little Gustava in her arms.Then Tuk ran to the window, and read so eagerly that he nearly readhis eyes out; for it had become darker and darker every minute, andhis mother had no money to buy a light.

"There goes the old washerwoman up the lane," said the mother,as she looked out of the window; "the poor woman can hardly dragherself along, and now she had to drag a pail of water from thewell. Be a good boy, Tuk, and run across and help the old woman, won'tyou?"

So Tuk ran across quickly, and helped her, but when he came backinto the room it was quite dark, and there was not a word said about alight, so he was obliged to go to bed on his little trucklebedstead, and there he lay and thought of his geography lesson, and ofZealand, and of all the master had told him. He ought really to haveread it over again, but he could not for want of light. So he putthe geography book under his pillow, for he had heard that this wasa great help towards learning a lesson, but not always to bedepended upon. He still lay thinking and thinking, when all at once itseemed as if some one kissed him on his eyes and mouth. He slept andyet he did not sleep; and it appeared as if the old washerwoman lookedat him with kind eyes and said, "It would be a great pity if you didnot know your lesson to-morrow morning; you helped me, and now Iwill help you, and Providence will always keep those who helpthemselves;" and at the same time the book under Tuk's pillow began tomove about. "Cluck, cluck, cluck," cried a hen as she crept towardshim. "I am a hen from Kjoge," and then she told him how manyinhabitants the town contained, and about a battle that had beenfought there, which really was not worth speaking of.

"Crack, crack," down fell something. It was a wooden bird, theparrot which is used as a target as Prastoe. He said there were asmany inhabitants in that town as he had nails in his body. He was veryproud, and said, "Thorwalsden lived close to me, and here I am now,quite comfortable."

But now little Tuk was no longer in bed; all in a moment hefound himself on horseback. Gallop, gallop, away he went, seated infront of a richly-attired knight, with a waving plume, who held him onthe saddle, and so they rode through the wood by the old town ofWordingburg, which was very large and busy. The king's castle wassurrounded by lofty towers, and radiant light streamed from all thewindows. Within there were songs and dancing; King Waldemar and theyoung gayly-dressed ladies of the court were dancing together. Morningdawned, and as the sun rose, the whole city and the king's castle sanksuddenly down together. One tower after another fell, till at lastonly one remained standing on the hill where the castle had formerlybeen.

The town now appeared small and poor, and the school-boys readin their books, which they carried under their arms, that it containedtwo thousand inhabitants; but this was a mere boast, for it did notcontain so many.

And again little Tuk lay in his bed, scarcely knowing whether hewas dreaming or not, for some one stood by him.

"Tuk! little Tuk!" said a voice. It was a very little person whospoke. He was dressed as a sailor, and looked small enough to be amiddy, but he was not one. "I bring you many greetings from Corsor. Itis a rising town, full of life. It has steamships and mail-coaches. Intimes past they used to call it ugly, but that is no longer true. Ilie on the sea-shore," said Corsor; "I have high-roads andpleasure-gardens; I have given birth to a poet who was witty andentertaining, which they are not all. I once wanted to fit out aship to sail round the world, but I did not accomplish it, though mostlikely I might have done so. But I am fragrant with perfume, for closeto my gates most lovely roses bloom."

Then before the eyes of little Tuk appeared a confusion of colors,red and green; but it cleared off, and he could distinguish a cliffclose to the bay, the slopes of which were quite overgrown withverdure, and on its summit stood a fine old church with pointedtowers. Springs of water flowed out of the cliff in thick waterspouts,so that there was a continual splashing. Close by sat an old king witha golden crown on his white head. This was King Hroar of the Springsand near the springs stood the town of Roeskilde, as it is called.Then all the kings and queens of Denmark went up the ascent to the oldchurch, hand in hand, with golden crowns on their heads, while theorgan played and the fountains sent forth jets of water.

Little Tuk saw and heard it all. "Don't forget the names ofthese towns," said King Hroar.

All at once everything vanished; but where! It seemed to himlike turning over the leaves of a book. And now there stood before himan old peasant woman, who had come from Soroe where the grass grows inthe market-place. She had a green linen apron thrown over her head andshoulders, and it was quite wet, as if it had been raining heavily."Yes, that it has," said she, and then, just as she was going totell him a great many pretty stories from Holberg's comedies, andabout Waldemar and Absalom, she suddenly shrunk up together, andwagged her head as if she were a frog about to spring. "Croak," shecried; "it is always wet, and as quiet as death in Soroe." Then littleTuk saw she was changed into a frog. "Croak," and again she was an oldwoman. "One must dress according to the weather," said she. "It iswet, and my town is just like a bottle. By the cork we must go in, andby the cork we must come out again. In olden times I had beautifulfish, and now I have fresh, rosy-cheeked boys in the bottom of thebottle, and they learn wisdom, Hebrew and Greek."

"Croak." How it sounded like the cry of the frogs on the moor,or like the creaking of great boots when some one is marching,- alwaysthe same tone, so monotonous and wearing, that little Tuk at lengthfell fast asleep, and then the sound could not annoy him. But evenin this sleep came a dream or something like it. His little sisterGustava, with her blue eyes, and fair curly hair, had grown up abeautiful maiden all at once, and without having wings she couldfly. And they flew together over Zealand, over green forests andblue lakes.

"Hark, so you hear the cock crow, little Tuk. 'Cock-a-doodle-doo.'The fowls are flying out of Kjoge. You shall have a large farm-yard.You shall never suffer hunger or want. The bird of good omen shallbe yours, and you shall become a rich and happy man; your houseshall rise up like King Waldemar's towers, and shall be richly adornedwith marble statues, like those at Prastoe. Understand me well; yourname shall travel with fame round the world like the ship that wasto sail from Corsor, and at Roeskilde,- Don't forget the names ofthe towns, as King Hroar said,- you shall speak well and clearlylittle Tuk, and when at last you lie in your grave you shall sleeppeacefully, as-"

"As if I lay in Soroe," said little Tuk awaking. It was brightdaylight, and he could not remember his dream, but that was notnecessary, for we are not to know what will happen to us in thefuture. Then he sprang out of bed quickly, and read over his lesson inthe book, and knew it all at once quite correctly. The old washerwomanput her head in at the door, and nodded to him quite kindly, and said,"Many thanks, you good child, for your help yesterday. I hope all yourbeautiful dreams will come true."

Little Tuk did not at all know what he had dreamt, but One abovedid.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

OLE THE TOWER-KEEPER

by Hans Christian Andersen

"IN the world it's always going up and down; and now I can't go upany higher!" So said Ole the tower-keeper. "Most people have to tryboth the ups and the downs; and, rightly considered, we all get tobe watchmen at last, and look down upon life from a height."

Such was the speech of Ole, my friend, the old tower-keeper, astrange, talkative old fellow, who seemed to speak out everything thatcame into his head, and who for all that had many a serious thoughtdeep in his heart. Yes, he was the child of respectable people, andthere were even some who said that he was the son of a privycouncillor, or that he might have been. He had studied, too, and hadbeen assistant teacher and deputy clerk; but of what service was allthat to him? In those days he lived in the clerk's house, and was tohave everything in the house- to be at free quarters, as the sayingis; but he was still, so to speak, a fine young gentleman. He wantedto have his boots cleaned with patent blacking, and the clerk couldonly afford ordinary grease; and upon that point they split. One spokeof stinginess, the other of vanity, and the blacking became theblack cause of enmity between them, and at last they parted.

This is what he demanded of the world in general, namely, patentblacking, and he got nothing but grease. Accordingly, he at lastdrew back from all men, and became a hermit; but the church tower isthe only place in a great city where hermitage, office and bread canbe found together. So he betook himself up thither, and smoked hispipe as he made his solitary rounds. He looked upward and downward,and had his own thoughts, and told in his own way of what he read inbooks and in himself. I often lent him books- good books; and youmay know by the company he keeps. He loved neither the Englishgoverness novels nor the French ones, which he called a mixture ofempty wind and raisin-stalks: he wanted biographies, anddescriptions of the wonders of, the world. I visited him at least oncea year, generally directly after New Year's day, and then he alwaysspoke of this and that which the change of the year had put into hishead.

I will tell the story of three of these visits, and will reproducehis own words whenever I can remember them.

FIRST VISIT

Among the books which I had lately lent Ole, was one which hadgreatly rejoiced and occupied him. It was a geological book,containing an account of the boulders.

"Yes, they're rare old fellows, those boulders!" he said; "andto think that we should pass them without noticing them! And overthe street pavement, the paving stones, those fragments of theoldest remains of antiquity, one walks without ever thinking aboutthem. I have done the very thing myself. But now I look respectfullyat every paving-stone. Many thanks for the book! It has filled me withthought, and has made me long to read more on the subject. The romanceof the earth is, after all, the most wonderful of all romances. It's apity one can't read the first volume of it, because it is written in alanguage that we don't understand. One must read in the differentstrata, in the pebble-stones, for each separate period. Yes, it is aromance, a very wonderful romance, and we all have our place in it. Wegrope and ferret about, and yet remain where we are; but the ballkeeps turning, without emptying the ocean over us; the clod on whichwe move about, holds, and does not let us through. And then it's astory that has been acting for thousands upon thousands of years andis still going on. My best thanks for the book about the boulders.Those are fellows indeed! They could tell us something worthhearing, if they only knew how to talk. It's really a pleasure now andthen to become a mere nothing, especially when a man is as highlyplaced as I am. And then to think that we all, even with patentlacquer, are nothing more than insects of a moment on that ant-hillthe earth, though we may be insects with stars and garters, places andoffices! One feels quite a novice beside these venerablemillion-year-old boulders. On last New Year's eve I was reading thebook, and had lost myself in it so completely, that I forgot myusual New Year's diversion, namely, the wild hunt to Amack. Ah, youdon't know what that is!

"The journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough known-that journey is taken on St. John's eve, to the Brocken; but we have awild journey, also which is national and modern, and that is thejourney to Amack on the night of the New Year. All indifferent poetsand poetesses, musicians, newspaper writers, and artisticnotabilities,- I mean those who are no good,- ride in the New Year'snight through the air to Amack. They sit backwards on their paintingbrushes or quill pens, for steel pens won't bear them- they're toostiff. As I told you, I see that every New Year's night, and couldmention the majority of the riders by name, but I should not like todraw their enmity upon myself, for they don't like people to talkabout their ride to Amack on quill pens. I've a kind of niece, whois a fishwife, and who, as she tells me, supplies three respectablenewspapers with the terms of abuse and vituperation they use, andshe has herself been at Amack as an invited guest; but she was carriedout thither, for she does not own a quill pen, nor can she ride. Shehas told me all about it. Half of what she said is not true, but theother half gives us information enough. When she was out there, thefestivities began with a song; each of the guests had written hisown song, and each one sang his own song, for he thought that thebest, and it was all one, all the same melody. Then those camemarching up, in little bands, who are only busy with their mouths.There were ringing bells that rang alternately; and then came thelittle drummers that beat their tattoo in the family circle; andacquaintance was made with those who write without putting theirnames, which here means as much as using grease instead of patentblacking; and then there was the beadle with his boy, and the boywas worst off, for in general he gets no notice taken of him; then,too, there was the good street sweeper with his cart, who turns overthe dust-bin, and calls it 'good, very good, remarkably good.' Andin the midst of the pleasure that was afforded by the mere meetingof these folks, there shot up out of the great dirt-heap at Amack astem, a tree, an immense flower, a great mushroom, a perfect roof,which formed a sort of warehouse for the worthy company, for in ithung everything they had given to the world during the Old Year. Outof the tree poured sparks like flames of fire; these were the ideasand thoughts, borrowed from others, which they had used, and which nowgot free and rushed away like so many fireworks. They played at 'thestick burns,' and the young poets played at 'heart-burns,' and thewitlings played off their jests, and the jests rolled away with athundering sound, as if empty pots were being shattered against doors.'It was very amusing!' my niece said; in fact, she said many thingsthat were very malicious but very amusing, but I won't mention them,for a man must be good-natured, and not a carping critic. But you willeasily perceive that when a man once knows the rights of the journeyto Amack, as I know them, it's quite natural that on the New Year'snight one should look out to see the wild chase go by. If in the NewYear I miss certain persons who used to be there, I am sure tonotice others who are new arrivals; but this year I omitted takingmy look at the guests, I bowled away on the boulders, rolled backthrough millions of years, and saw the stones break loose high up inthe north, saw them drifting about on icebergs, long before Noah's arkwas constructed, saw them sink down to the bottom of the sea, andre-appear with a sand-bank, with that one that peered forth from theflood and said, 'This shall be Zealand!' I saw them become thedwelling-place of birds that are unknown to us, and then become theseat of wild chiefs of whom we know nothing, until with their axesthey cut their Runic signs into a few of these stones, which then cameinto the calendar of time. But as for me, I had gone quite beyondall lapse of time, and had become a cipher and a nothing. Then threeor four beautiful falling stars came down, which cleared the air,and gave my thoughts another direction. You know what a falling staris, do you not? The learned men are not at all clear about it. Ihave my own ideas about shooting stars, as the common people in manyparts call them, and my idea is this: How often are silentthanksgivings offered up for one who has done a good and noble action!The thanks are often speechless, but they are not lost for all that. Ithink these thanks are caught up, and the sunbeams bring the silent,hidden thankfulness over the head of the benefactor; and if it be awhole people that has been expressing its gratitude through a longlapse of time, the thankfulness appears as a nosegay of flowers, andat length falls in the form of a shooting star over the good man'sgrave. I am always very much pleased when I see a shooting star,especially in the New Year's night, and then find out for whom thegift of gratitude was intended. Lately a gleaming star fell in thesouthwest, as a tribute of thanksgiving to many- many! 'For whom wasthat star intended?' thought I. It fell, no doubt, on the hill bythe Bay of Plensberg, where the Danebrog waves over the graves ofSchleppegrell, Lasloes, and their comrades. One star also fell inthe midst of the land, fell upon Soro, a flower on the grave ofHolberg, the thanks of the year from a great many - thanks for hischarming plays!

"It is a great and pleasant thought to know that a shooting starfalls upon our graves. On mine certainly none will fall- no sunbeambrings thanks to me, for here there is nothing worthy of thanks. Ishall not get the patent lacquer," said Ole, "for my fate on earthis only grease, after all."

SECOND VISIT

It was New Year's day, and I went up on the tower. Ole spoke ofthe toasts that were drunk on the transition from the Old Year intothe New- from one grave into the other, as he said. And he told me astory about the glasses, and this story had a very deep meaning. Itwas this:

"When on the New Year's night the clock strikes twelve, the peopleat the table rise up with full glasses in their hands, and drain theseglasses, and drink success to the New Year. They begin the year withthe glass in their hands; that is a good beginning for drunkards. Theybegin the New Year by going to bed, and that's a good beginning fordrones. Sleep is sure to play a great part in the New Year, and theglass likewise. Do you know what dwells in the glass?" asked Ole. "Iwill tell you. There dwell in the glass, first, health, and thenpleasure, then the most complete sensual delight; and misfortune andthe bitterest woe dwell in the glass also. Now, suppose we count theglasses- of course I count the different degrees in the glasses fordifferent people.

"You see, the first glass, that's the glass of health, and in thatthe herb of health is found growing. Put it up on the beam in theceiling, and at the end of the year you may be sitting in the arbor ofhealth.

"If you take the second glass- from this a little bird soarsupward, twittering in guileless cheerfulness, so that a man may listento his song, and perhaps join in 'Fair is life! no downcast looks!Take courage, and march onward!'

"Out of the third glass rises a little winged urchin, who cannotcertainly be called an angel child, for there is goblin blood in hisveins, and he has the spirit of a goblin- not wishing to hurt orharm you, indeed, but very ready to play off tricks upon you. He'llsit at your ear and whisper merry thoughts to you; he'll creep intoyour heart and warm you, so that you grow very merry, and become awit, so far as the wits of the others can judge.

"In the fourth glass is neither herb, bird, nor urchin. In thatglass is the pause drawn by reason, and one may never go beyond thatsign.

"Take the fifth glass, and you will weep at yourself, you willfeel such a deep emotion; or it will affect you in a different way.Out of the glass there will spring with a bang Prince Carnival, ninetimes and extravagantly merry. He'll draw you away with him; you'llforget your dignity, if you have any, and you'll forget more thanyou should or ought to forget. All is dance, song and sound: the maskswill carry you away with them, and the daughters of vanity, clad insilk and satin, will come with loose hair and alluring charms; buttear yourself away if you can!

"The sixth glass! Yes, in that glass sits a demon, in the formof a little, well dressed, attractive and very fascinating man, whothoroughly understands you, agrees with you in everything, and becomesquite a second self to you. He has a lantern with him, to give youlight as he accompanies you home. There is an old legend about a saintwho was allowed to choose one of the seven deadly sins, and whoaccordingly chose drunkenness, which appeared to him the least, butwhich led him to commit all the other six. The man's blood ismingled with that of the demon. It is the sixth glass, and with thatthe germ of all evil shoots up within us; and each one grows up with astrength like that of the grains of mustard-seed, and shoots up into atree, and spreads over the whole world: and most people have no choicebut to go into the oven, to be re-cast in a new form.

"That's the history of the glasses," said the tower-keeper Ole,"and it can be told with lacquer or only with grease; but I give ityou with both!"

THIRD VISIT

On this occasion I chose the general "moving-day" for my visitto Ole, for on that day it is anything but agreeable down in thestreets in the town; for they are full of sweepings, shreds, andremnants of all sorts, to say nothing of the cast-off rubbish in whichone has to wade about. But this time I happened to see two childrenplaying in this wilderness of sweepings. They were playing at "goingto bed," for the occasion seemed especially favorable for thissport. They crept under the straw, and drew an old bit of raggedcurtain over themselves by way of coverlet. "It was splendid!" theysaid; but it was a little too strong for me, and besides, I wasobliged to mount up on my visit to Ole.

"It's moving-day to day," he said; "streets and houses are likea dust-bin- a large dust-bin; but I'm content with a cartload. I mayget something good out of that, and I really did get something goodout of it once. Shortly after Christmas I was going up the street;it was rough weather, wet and dirty- the right kind of weather tocatch cold in. The dustman was there with his cart, which was full,and looked like a sample of streets on moving-day. At the back ofthe cart stood a fir tree, quite green still, and with tinsel on itstwigs; it had been used on Christmas eve, and now it was thrown outinto the street, and the dustman had stood it up at the back of hiscart. It was droll to look at, or you may say it was mournful- alldepends on what you think of when you see it; and I thought aboutit, and thought this and that of many things that were in the cart: orI might have done so, and that comes to the same thing. There was anold lady's glove, too: I wonder what that was thinking of? Shall Itell you? The glove was lying there, pointing with its little fingerat the tree. 'I'm sorry for the tree,' it thought; 'and I was alsoat the feast, where the chandeliers glittered. My life was, so tospeak, a ball night- a pressure of the hand, and I burst! My memorykeeps dwelling upon that, and I have really nothing else to live for!'This is what the glove thought, or what it might have thought. 'That'sa stupid affair with yonder fir tree,' said the potsherds. You see,potsherds think everything is stupid. 'When one is in thedust-cart,' they said, 'one ought not to give one's self airs and weartinsel. I know that I have been useful in the world- far more usefulthan such a green stick.' This was a view that might be taken, and Idon't think it quite a peculiar one; but for all that, the fir treelooked very well: it was like a little poetry in the dust-heap; andtruly there is dust enough in the streets on moving-day. The way isdifficult and troublesome then, and I feel obliged to run away outof the confusion; or, if I am on the tower, I stay there and lookdown, and it is amusing enough.

"There are the good people below, playing at 'changing houses.'They toil and tug away with their goods and chattels, and thehousehold goblin sits in an old tub and moves with them. All thelittle griefs of the lodging and the family, and the real cares andsorrows, move with them out of the old dwelling into the new; and whatgain is there for them or for us in the whole affair? Yes, there waswritten long ago the good old maxim: 'Think on the great moving-day ofdeath!' That is a serious thought. I hope it is not disagreeable toyou that I should have touched upon it? Death is the most certainmessenger, after all, in spite of his various occupations. Yes,Death is the omnibus conductor, and he is the passport writer, andhe countersigns our service-book, and he is director of the savingsbank of life. Do you understand me? All the deeds of our life, thegreat and the little alike, we put into this savings bank; and whenDeath calls with his omnibus, and we have to step in, and drive withhim into the land of eternity, then on the frontier he gives us ourservice-book as a pass. As a provision for the journey, he takesthis or that good deed we have done, and lets it accompany us; andthis may be very pleasant or very terrific. Nobody has ever escapedthe omnibus journey. There is certainly a talk about one who was notallowed to go- they call him the Wandering Jew: he has to ridebehind the omnibus. If he had been allowed to get in, he would haveescaped the clutches of the poets.

"Just cast your mind's eye into that great omnibus. The society ismixed, for king and beggar, genius and idiot, sit side by side. Theymust go without their property and money; they have only theservice-book and the gift out of the savings bank with them. But whichof our deeds is selected and given to us? Perhaps quite a littleone, one that we have forgotten, but which has been recorded- small asa pea, but the pea can send out a blooming shoot. The poor bumpkin whosat on a low stool in the corner, and was jeered at and flouted,will perhaps have his worn-out stool given him as a provision; and thestool may become a litter in the land of eternity, and rise up then asa throne, gleaming like gold and blooming as an arbor. He who alwayslounged about, and drank the spiced draught of pleasure, that he mightforget the wild things he had done here, will have his barrel given tohim on the journey, and will have to drink from it as they go on;and the drink is bright and clear, so that the thoughts remain pure,and all good and noble feelings are awakened, and he sees and feelswhat in life he could not or would not see; and then he has within himthe punishment, the gnawing worm, which will not die through timeincalculable. If on the glasses there stood written 'oblivion,' on thebarrel 'remembrance' is inscribed.

"When I read a good book, an historical work, I always think atlast of the poetry of what I am reading, and of the omnibus ofdeath, and wonder, which of the hero's deeds Death took out of thesavings bank for him, and what provisions he got on the journey intoeternity. There was once a French king- I have forgotten his name, forthe names of good people are sometimes forgotten, even by me, but itwill come back some day;- there was a king who, during a famine,became the benefactor of his people; and the people raised up to hismemory a monument of snow, with the inscription, 'Quicker than thismelts didst thou bring help!' I fancy that Death, looking back uponthe monument, gave him a single snow-flake as provision, asnow-flake that never melts, and this flake floated over his royalhead, like a white butterfly, into the land of eternity. Thus, too,there was Louis XI. I have remembered his name, for one remembers whatis bad- a trait of him often comes into my thoughts, and I wish onecould say the story is not true. He had his lord high constableexecuted, and he could execute him, right or wrong; but he had theinnocent children of the constable, one seven and the other eightyears old, placed under the scaffold so that the warm blood of theirfather spurted over them, and then he had them sent to the Bastille,and shut up in iron cages, where not even a coverlet was given them toprotect them from the cold. And King Louis sent the executioner tothem every week, and had a tooth pulled out of the head of each,that they might not be too comfortable; and the elder of the boyssaid, 'My mother would die of grief if she knew that my youngerbrother had to suffer so cruelly; therefore pull out two of myteeth, and spare him.' The tears came into the hangman's eyes, but theking's will was stronger than the tears; and every week two littleteeth were brought to him on a silver plate; he had demanded them, andhe had them. I fancy that Death took these two teeth out of thesavings bank of life, and gave them to Louis XI, to carry with himon the great journey into the land of immortality; they fly before himlike two flames of fire; they shine and burn, and they bite him, theinnocent children's teeth.

"Yes, that's a serious journey, the omnibus ride on the greatmoving-day! And when is it to be undertaken? That's just the seriouspart of it. Any day, any hour, any minute, the omnibus may draw up.Which of our deeds will Death take out of the savings bank, and giveto us as provision? Let us think of the moving-day that is notmarked in the calendar."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

OLE-LUK-OIE, THE DREAM-GOD

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE is nobody in the world who knows so many stories asOle-Luk-Oie, or who can relate them so nicely. In the evening, whilethe children are seated at the table or in their little chairs, hecomes up the stairs very softly, for he walks in his socks, then heopens the doors without the slightest noise, and throws a smallquantity of very fine dust in their eyes, just enough to preventthem from keeping them open, and so they do not see him. Then hecreeps behind them, and blows softly upon their necks, till theirheads begin to droop. But Ole-Luk-Oie does not wish to hurt them,for he is very fond of children, and only wants them to be quietthat he may relate to them pretty stories, and they never are quietuntil they are in bed and asleep. As soon as they are asleep,Ole-Luk-Oie seats himself upon the bed. He is nicely dressed; his coatis made of silken stuff; it is impossible to say of what color, for itchanges from green to red, and from red to blue as he turns fromside to side. Under each arm he carries an umbrella; one of them, withpictures on the inside, he spreads over the good children, and thenthey dream the most beautiful stories the whole night. But the otherumbrella has no pictures, and this he holds over the naughtychildren so that they sleep heavily, and wake in the morning withouthaving dreamed at all.

Now we shall hear how Ole-Luk-Oie came every night during awhole week to the little boy named Hjalmar, and what he told him.There were seven stories, as there are seven days in the week.MONDAY

MONDAY

"Now pay attention," said Ole-Luk-Oie, in the evening, whenHjalmar was in bed, "and I will decorate the room."

Immediately all the flowers in the flower-pots became large trees,with long branches reaching to the ceiling, and stretching along thewalls, so that the whole room was like a greenhouse. All thebranches were loaded with flowers, each flower as beautiful and asfragrant as a rose; and, had any one tasted them, he would havefound them sweeter even than jam. The fruit glittered like gold, andthere were cakes so full of plums that they were nearly bursting. Itwas incomparably beautiful. At the same time sounded dismal moans fromthe table-drawer in which lay Hjalmar's school books.

"What can that be now?" said Ole-Luk-Oie, going to the table andpulling out the drawer.

It was a slate, in such distress because of a false number inthe sum, that it had almost broken itself to pieces. The pencil pulledand tugged at its string as if it were a little dog that wanted tohelp, but could not.

And then came a moan from Hjalmar's copy-book. Oh, it was quiteterrible to hear! On each leaf stood a row of capital letters, everyone having a small letter by its side. This formed a copy; under thesewere other letters, which Hjalmar had written: they fancied theylooked like the copy, but they were mistaken; for they were leaning onone side as if they intended to fall over the pencil-lines.

"See, this is the way you should hold yourselves," said thecopy. "Look here, you should slope thus, with a graceful curve."

"Oh, we are very willing to do so, but we cannot," saidHjalmar's letters; "we are so wretchedly made."

"You must be scratched out, then," said Ole-Luk-Oie.

"Oh, no!" they cried, and then they stood up so gracefully itwas quite a pleasure to look at them.

"Now we must give up our stories, and exercise these letters,"said Ole-Luk-Oie; "One, two- one, two- " So he drilled them tillthey stood up gracefully, and looked as beautiful as a copy couldlook. But after Ole-Luk-Oie was gone, and Hjalmar looked at them inthe morning, they were as wretched and as awkward as ever.TUESDAY

TUESDAY

As soon as Hjalmar was in bed, Ole-Luk-Oie touched, with hislittle magic wand, all the furniture in the room, which immediatelybegan to chatter, and each article only talked of itself.

Over the chest of drawers hung a large picture in a gilt frame,representing a landscape, with fine old trees, flowers in the grass,and a broad stream, which flowed through the wood, past severalcastles, far out into the wild ocean. Ole-Luk-Oie touched thepicture with his magic wand, and immediately the birds commencedsinging, the branches of the trees rustled, and the clouds movedacross the sky, casting their shadows on the landscape beneath them.Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame, and placed hisfeet in the picture, just on the high grass, and there he stood withthe sun shining down upon him through the branches of the trees. Heran to the water, and seated himself in a little boat which lay there,and which was painted red and white. The sails glittered likesilver, and six swans, each with a golden circlet round its neck,and a bright blue star on its forehead, drew the boat past the greenwood, where the trees talked of robbers and witches, and the flowersof beautiful little elves and fairies, whose histories the butterflieshad related to them. Brilliant fish, with scales like silver and gold,swam after the boat, sometimes making a spring and splashing the waterround them, while birds, red and blue, small and great, flew after himin two long lines. The gnats danced round them, and the cockchaferscried "Buz, buz." They all wanted to follow Hjalmar, and all hadsome story to tell him. It was a most pleasant sail. Sometimes theforests were thick and dark, sometimes like a beautiful garden, gaywith sunshine and flowers; then he passed great palaces of glass andof marble, and on the balconies stood princesses, whose faces werethose of little girls whom Hjalmar knew well, and had often playedwith. One of them held out her hand, in which was a heart made ofsugar, more beautiful than any confectioner ever sold. As Hjalmarsailed by, he caught hold of one side of the sugar heart, and heldit fast, and the princess held fast also, so that it broke in twopieces. Hjalmar had one piece, and the princess the other, butHjalmar's was the largest. At each castle stood little princesacting as sentinels. They presented arms, and had golden swords, andmade it rain plums and tin soldiers, so that they must have beenreal princes.

Hjalmar continued to sail, sometimes through woods, sometimes asit were through large halls, and then by large cities. At last he cameto the town where his nurse lived, who had carried him in her armswhen he was a very little boy, and had always been kind to him. Shenodded and beckoned to him, and then sang the little verses she hadherself composed and set to him,-

"How oft my memory turns to thee,

My own Hjalmar, ever dear!

When I could watch thy infant glee,

Or kiss away a pearly tear.

'Twas in my arms thy lisping tongue

First spoke the half-remembered word,

While o'er thy tottering steps I hung,

My fond protection to afford.

Farewell! I pray the Heavenly Power

To keep thee till thy dying hour."And all the birds sang the same tune, the flowers danced on theirstems, and the old trees nodded as if Ole-Luk-Oie had been tellingthem stories as well.WEDNESDAY

WEDNESDAY

How the rain did pour down! Hjalmar could hear it in his sleep;.and when Ole-Luk-Oie opened the window, the water flowed quite up tothe window-sill. It had the appearance of a large lake outside, anda beautiful ship lay close to the house.

"Wilt thou sail with me to-night, little Hjalmar?" saidOle-Luk-Oie; "then we shall see foreign countries, and thou shaltreturn here in the morning."

All in a moment, there stood Hjalmar, in his best clothes, onthe deck of the noble ship; and immediately the weather became fine.They sailed through the streets, round by the church, and on everyside rolled the wide, great sea. They sailed till the landdisappeared, and then they saw a flock of storks, who had left theirown country, and were travelling to warmer climates. The storks flewone behind the other, and had already been a long, long time on thewing. One of them seemed so tired that his wings could scarcelycarry him. He was the last of the row, and was soon left very farbehind. At length he sunk lower and lower, with outstretched wings,flapping them in vain, till his feet touched the rigging of theship, and he slided from the sails to the deck, and stood before them.Then a sailor-boy caught him, and put him in the hen-house, with thefowls, the ducks, and the turkeys, while the poor stork stood quitebewildered amongst them.

"Just look at that fellow," said the chickens.

Then the turkey-cock puffed himself out as large as he could,and inquired who he was; and the ducks waddled backwards, crying,"Quack, quack."

Then the stork told them all about warm Africa, of the pyramids,and of the ostrich, which, like a wild horse, runs across thedesert. But the ducks did not understand what he said, and quackedamongst themselves, "We are all of the same opinion; namely, that heis stupid."

"Yes, to be sure, he is stupid," said the turkey-cock; andgobbled.

Then the stork remained quite silent, and thought of his home inAfrica.

"Those are handsome thin legs of yours," said the turkey-cock."What do they cost a yard?"

"Quack, quack, quack," grinned the ducks; but, the stork pretendednot to hear.

"You may as well laugh," said the turkey; "for that remark wasrather witty, or perhaps it was above you. Ah, ah, is he not clever?He will be a great amusement to us while he remains here." And then hegobbled, and the ducks quacked, "Gobble, gobble; Quack, quack."

What a terrible uproar they made, while they were having suchfun among themselves!

Then Hjalmar went to the hen-house; and, opening the door,called to the stork. Then he hopped out on the deck. He had restedhimself now, and he looked happy, and seemed as if he nodded toHjalmar, as if to thank him. Then he spread his wings, and flew awayto warmer countries, while the hens clucked, the ducks quacked, andthe turkey-cock turned quite scarlet in the head.

"To-morrow you shall be made into soup," said Hjalmar to thefowls; and then he awoke, and found himself lying in his little bed.

It was a wonderful journey which Ole-Luk-Oie had made him takethis night.THURSDAY

THURSDAY

"What do you think I have got here?" said Ole-Luk-Oie, "Do notbe frightened, and you shall see a little mouse." And then he held outhis hand to him, in which lay a lovely little creature. "It has cometo invite you to a wedding. Two little mice are going to enter intothe marriage state tonight. They reside under the floor of yourmother's store-room, and that must be a fine dwelling-place."

"But how can I get through the little mouse-hole in the floor?"asked Hjalmar.

"Leave me to manage that," said Ole-Luk-Oie. "I will soon make yousmall enough." And then he touched Hjalmar with his magic wand,whereupon he became less and less, until at last he was not longerthan a little finger. "Now you can borrow the dress of the tinsoldier. I think it will just fit you. It looks well to wear a uniformwhen you go into company."

"Yes, certainly," said Hjalmar; and in a moment he was dressedas neatly as the neatest of all tin soldiers.

"Will you be so good as to seat yourself in your mamma's thimble,"said the little mouse, "that I may have the pleasure of drawing you tothe wedding."

"Will you really take so much trouble, young lady?" saidHjalmar. And so in this way he rode to the mouse's wedding.

First they went under the floor, and then passed through a longpassage, which was scarcely high enough to allow the thimble todrive under, and the whole passage was lit up with thephosphorescent light of rotten wood.

"Does it not smell delicious?" asked the mouse, as she drew himalong. "The wall and the floor have been smeared with bacon-rind;nothing can be nicer."

Very soon they arrived at the bridal hall. On the right stoodall the little lady-mice, whispering and giggling, as if they weremaking game of each other. To the left were the gentlemen-mice,stroking their whiskers with their fore-paws; and in the centre of thehall could be seen the bridal pair, standing side by side, in a hollowcheese-rind, and kissing each other, while all eyes were upon them;for they had already been betrothed, and were soon to be married. Moreand more friends kept arriving, till the mice were nearly treadingeach other to death; for the bridal pair now stood in the doorway, andnone could pass in or out.

The room had been rubbed over with bacon-rind, like the passage,which was all the refreshment offered to the guests. But for dessertthey produced a pea, on which a mouse belonging to the bridal pair hadbitten the first letters of their names. This was something quiteuncommon. All the mice said it was a very beautiful wedding, andthat they had been very agreeably entertained.

After this, Hjalmar returned home. He had certainly been ingrand society; but he had been obliged to creep under a room, and tomake himself small enough to wear the uniform of a tin soldier.FRIDAY

FRIDAY

"It is incredible how many old people there are who would beglad to have me at night," said Ole-Luk-Oie, "especially those whohave done something wrong. 'Good little Ole,' say they to me, 'wecannot close our eyes, and we lie awake the whole night and see allour evil deeds sitting on our beds like little imps, and sprinkling uswith hot water. Will you come and drive them away, that we may havea good night's rest?' and then they sigh so deeply and say, 'Wewould gladly pay you for it. Good-night, Ole-Luk, the money lies onthe window.' But I never do anything for gold." "What shall we doto-night?" asked Hjalmar. "I do not know whether you would care togo to another wedding," he replied, "although it is quite adifferent affair to the one we saw last night. Your sister's largedoll, that is dressed like a man, and is called Herman, intends tomarry the doll Bertha. It is also the dolls' birthday, and they willreceive many presents."

"Yes, I know that already," said Hjalmar, "my sister always allowsher dolls to keep their birthdays or to have a wedding when theyrequire new clothes; that has happened already a hundred times, I amquite sure."

"Yes, so it may; but to-night is the hundred and first wedding,and when that has taken place it must be the last, therefore this isto be extremely beautiful. Only look."

Hjalmar looked at the table, and there stood the little card-boarddoll's house, with lights in all the windows, and drawn up before itwere the tin soldiers presenting arms. The bridal pair were seatedon the floor, leaning against the leg of the table, looking verythoughtful, and with good reason. Then Ole-Luk-Oie dressed up ingrandmother's black gown married them.

As soon as the ceremony was concluded, all the furniture in theroom joined in singing a beautiful song, which had been composed bythe lead pencil, and which went to the melody of a military tattoo.

"What merry sounds are on the wind,

As marriage rites together bind

A quiet and a loving pair,

Though formed of kid, yet smooth and fair!

Hurrah! If they are deaf and blind,

We'll sing, though weather prove unkind."

And now came the present; but the bridal pair had nothing toeat, for love was to be their food.

"Shall we go to a country house, or travel?" asked the bridegroom.

Then they consulted the swallow who had travelled so far, andthe old hen in the yard, who had brought up five broods of chickens.

And the swallow talked to them of warm countries, where the grapeshang in large clusters on the vines, and the air is soft and mild, andabout the mountains glowing with colors more beautiful than we canthink of.

"But they have no red cabbage like we have," said the hen, "Iwas once in the country with my chickens for a whole summer, there wasa large sand-pit, in which we could walk about and scratch as weliked. Then we got into a garden in which grew red cabbage; oh, hownice it was, I cannot think of anything more delicious."

"But one cabbage stalk is exactly like another," said the swallow;"and here we have often bad weather."

"Yes, but we are accustomed to it," said the hen.

"But it is so cold here, and freezes sometimes."

"Cold weather is good for cabbages," said the hen; "besides wedo have it warm here sometimes. Four years ago, we had a summer thatlasted more than five weeks, and it was so hot one could scarcelybreathe. And then in this country we have no poisonous animals, and weare free from robbers. He must be wicked who does not consider ourcountry the finest of all lands. He ought not to be allowed to livehere." And then the hen wept very much and said, "I have alsotravelled. I once went twelve miles in a coop, and it was not pleasanttravelling at all."

"The hen is a sensible woman," said the doll Bertha. "I don't carefor travelling over mountains, just to go up and come down again.No, let us go to the sand-pit in front of the gate, and then take awalk in the cabbage garden."

And so they settled it.SATURDAY

SATURDAY

"Am I to hear any more stories?" asked little Hjalmar, as soonas Ole-Luk-Oie had sent him to sleep.

"We shall have no time this evening," said he, spreading out hisprettiest umbrella over the child. "Look at these Chinese," and thenthe whole umbrella appeared like a large china bowl, with blue treesand pointed bridges, upon which stood little Chinamen nodding theirheads. "We must make all the world beautiful for to-morrow morning,"said Ole-Luk-Oie, "for it will be a holiday, it is Sunday. I mustnow go to the church steeple and see if the little sprites who livethere have polished the bells, so that they may sound sweetly. ThenI must go into the fields and see if the wind has blown the dustfrom the grass and the leaves, and the most difficult task of allwhich I have to do, is to take down all the stars and brighten themup. I have to number them first before I put them in my apron, andalso to number the places from which I take them, so that they maygo back into the right holes, or else they would not remain, and weshould have a number of falling stars, for they would all tumbledown one after the other."

"Hark ye! Mr. Luk-Oie," said an old portrait which hung on thewall of Hjalmar's bedroom. "Do you know me? I am Hjalmar'sgreat-grandfather. I thank you for telling the boy stories, but youmust not confuse his ideas. The stars cannot be taken down from thesky and polished; they are spheres like our earth, which is a goodthing for them."

"Thank you, old great-grandfather," said Ole-Luk-Oie. "I thankyou; you may be the head of the family, as no doubt you are, but Iam older than you. I am an ancient heathen. The old Romans andGreeks named me the Dream-god. I have visited the noblest houses,and continue to do so; still I know how to conduct myself both to highand low, and now you may tell the stories yourself:" and soOle-Luk-Oie walked off, taking his umbrellas with him.

"Well, well, one is never to give an opinion, I suppose," grumbledthe portrait. And it woke Hjalmar.SUNDAY

SUNDAY

"Good evening," said Ole-Luk-Oie.

Hjalmar nodded, and then sprang out of bed, and turned hisgreat-grandfather's portrait to the wall, so that it might notinterrupt them as it had done yesterday. "Now," said he, "you musttell me some stories about five green peas that lived in one pod; orof the chickseed that courted the chickweed; or of the darning needle,who acted so proudly because she fancied herself an embroideryneedle."

"You may have too much of a good thing," said Ole-Luk-Oie. "Youknow that I like best to show you something, so I will show you mybrother. He is also called Ole-Luk-Oie but he never visits any one butonce, and when he does come, he takes him away on his horse, and tellshim stories as they ride along. He knows only two stories. One ofthese is so wonderfully beautiful, that no one in the world canimagine anything at all like it; but the other is just as ugly andfrightful, so that it would be impossible to describe it." ThenOle-Luk-Oie lifted Hjalmar up to the window. "There now, you can seemy brother, the other Ole-Luk-Oie; he is also called Death. Youperceive he is not so bad as they represent him in picture books;there he is a skeleton, but now his coat is embroidered with silver,and he wears the splendid uniform of a hussar, and a mantle of blackvelvet flies behind him, over the horse. Look, how he gallopsalong." Hjalmar saw that as this Ole-Luk-Oie rode on, he lifted up oldand young, and carried them away on his horse. Some he seated in frontof him, and some behind, but always inquired first, "How stands themark-book?"

"Good," they all answered.

"Yes, but let me see for myself," he replied; and they wereobliged to give him the books. Then all those who had "Very good,"or "Exceedingly good," came in front of the horse, and heard thebeautiful story; while those who had "Middling," or "Tolerablygood," in their books, were obliged to sit behind, and listen to thefrightful tale. They trembled and cried, and wanted to jump downfrom the horse, but they could not get free, for they seemedfastened to the seat.

"Why, Death is a most splendid Luk-Oie," said Hjalmar. "I am notin the least afraid of him."

"You need have no fear of him," said Ole-Luk-Oie, "if you takecare and keep a good conduct book."

"Now I call that very instructive," murmured thegreat-grandfather's portrait. "It is useful sometimes to express anopinion;" so he was quite satisfied.

These are some of the doings and sayings of Ole-Luk-Oie. I hope hemay visit you himself this evening, and relate some more.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

OUR AUNT

by Hans Christian Andersen

You ought to have known our aunt; she was charming! That is tosay, she was not charming at all as the word is usually understood;but she was good and kind, amusing in her way, and was just as any oneought to be whom people are to talk about and to laugh at. She mighthave been put into a play, and wholly and solely on account of thefact that she only lived for the theatre and for what was donethere. She was an honorable matron; but Agent Fabs, whom she used tocall "Flabs," declared that our aunt was stage-struck.

"The theatre is my school," said she, "the source of my knowledge.From thence I have resuscitated Biblical history. Now, 'Moses' and'Joseph in Egypt'- there are operas for you! I get my universalhistory from the theatre, my geography, and my knowledge of men. Outof the French pieces I get to know life in Paris- slippery, butexceedingly interesting. How I have cried over "La FamilleRoquebourg'- that the man must drink himself to death, so that she maymarry the young fellow! Yes, how many tears I have wept in the fiftyyears I have subscribed to the theatre!"

Our aunt knew every acting play, every bit of scenery, everycharacter, every one who appeared or had appeared. She seemed reallyonly to live during the nine months the theatre was open. Summertimewithout a summer theatre seemed to be only a time that made her old;while, on the other hand, a theatrical evening that lasted tillmidnight was a lengthening of her life. She did not say, as otherpeople do, "Now we shall have spring, the stork is here," or, "They'veadvertised the first strawberries in the papers." She, on thecontrary, used to announce the coming of autumn, with "Have youheard they're selling boxes for the theatre? now the performances willbegin."

She used to value a lodging entirely according to its proximity tothe theatre. It was a real sorrow to her when she had to leave thelittle lane behind the playhouse, and move into the great streetthat lay a little farther off, and live there in a house where she hadno opposite neighbors.

"At home," said she, "my windows must be my opera-box. Onecannot sit and look into one's self till one's tired; one must seepeople. But now I live just as if I'd go into the country. If I wantto see human beings, I must go into my kitchen, and sit down on thesink, for there only I have opposite neighbors. No; when I lived in mydear little lane, I could look straight down into the ironmonger'sshop, and had only three hundred paces to the theatre; and now I'vethree thousand paces to go, military measurement."

Our aunt was sometimes ill, but however unwell she might feel, shenever missed the play. The doctor prescribed one day that she shouldput her feet in a bran bath, and she followed his advice; but shedrove to the theatre all the same, and sat with her feet in branthere. If she had died there, she would have been very glad.Thorwaldsen died in the theatre, and she called that a happy death.

She could not imagine but that in heaven there must be a theatretoo. It had not, indeed, been promised us, but we might very wellimagine it. The many distinguished actors and actresses who had passedaway must surely have a field for their talent.

Our aunt had an electric wire from the theatre to her room. Atelegram used to be dispatched to her at coffee-time, and it used toconsist of the words, "Herr Sivertsen is at the machinery;" for it washe who gave the signal for drawing the curtain up and down and forchanging the scenes.

From him she used to receive a short and concise description ofevery piece. His opinion of Shakspeare's "Tempest," was, "Madnonsense! There's so much to put up, and the first scene begins with'Water to the front of the wings.'" That is to say, the water had tocome forward so far. But when, on the other hand, the same interiorscene remained through five acts, he used to pronounce it asensible, well-written play, a resting play, which performed itself,without putting up scenes.

In earlier times, by which name our aunt used to designatethirty years ago, she and the before-mentioned Herr Sivertsen had beenyounger. At that time he had already been connected with themachinery, and was, as she said, her benefactor. It used to be thecustom in those days that in the evening performances in the onlytheatre the town possessed, spectators were admitted to the partcalled the "flies," over the stage, and every machinist had one or twoplaces to give away. Often the flies were quite full of goodcompany; it was said that generals' wives and privy councillors' wiveshad been up there. It was quite interesting to look down behind thescenes, and to see how the people walked to and fro on the stagewhen the curtain was down.

Our aunt had been there several times, as well when there was atragedy as when there was a ballet; for the pieces in which there werethe greatest number of characters on the stage were the mostinteresting to see from the flies. One sat pretty much in the darkup there, and most people took their supper up with them. Once threeapples and a great piece of bread and butter and sausage fell downright into the dungeon of Ugolino, where that unhappy man was to bestarved to death; and there was great laughter among the audience. Thesausage was one of the weightiest reasons why the worthy managementrefused in future to have any spectators up in the flies.

"But I was there seven-and-thirty times," said our aunt, "and Ishall always remember Mr. Sivertsen for that."

On the very last evening when the flies were still open to thepublic, the "Judgment of Solomon" was performed, as our auntremembered very well. She had, through the influence of herbenefactor, Herr Sivertsen, procured a free admission for the AgentFabs, although he did not deserve it in the least, for he was alwayscutting his jokes about the theatre and teasing our aunt; but shehad procured him a free admission to the flies, for all that. Hewanted to look at this player-stuff from the other side.

"Those were his own words, and they were just like him," saidour aunt.

He looked down from above on the 'Judgment of Solomon," and fellasleep over it. One would have thought that he had come from adinner where many toasts had been given. He went to sleep, and waslocked in. And there he sat through the dark night in the flies, andwhen he woke, he told a story, but our aunt would not believe it.

"The 'Judgment of Solomon' was over," he said, "and all the peoplehad gone away, up stairs and down stairs; but now the real play began,the after-piece, which was the best of all," said the agent. "Thenlife came into the affair. It was not the 'Judgment of Solomon' thatwas performed; no, a real court of judgment was held upon thestage." And Agent Fabs had the impudence to try and make our auntbelieve all this. That was the thanks she got for having got him aplace in the flies.

What did the agent say? Why, it was curious enough to hear, butthere was malice and satire in it.

"It looked dark enough up there," said the agent; "but then themagic business began- a great performance, 'The Judgment in theTheatre.' The box-keepers were at their posts, and every spectator hadto show his ghostly pass-book, that it might be decided if he was tobe admitted with hands loose or bound, and with or without a muzzle.Grand people who came too late, when the performance had begun, andyoung people, who could not always watch the time, were tied upoutside, and had list slippers put on their feet, with which they wereallowed to go in before the beginning of the next act, and they hadmuzzles too. And then the 'Judgment on the Stage' began."

"All malice, and not a bit of truth in it," said our aunt.

The painter, who wanted to get to Paradise, had to go up astaircase which he had himself painted, but which no man couldmount. That was to expiate his sins against perspective. All theplants and buildings, which the property-man had placed, with infinitepains, in countries to which they did not belong, the poor fellowwas obliged to put in their right places before cockcrow, if he wantedto get into Paradise. Let Herr Fabs see how he would get in himself;but what he said of the performers, tragedians and comedians,singers and dancers, that was the most rascally of all. Mr. Fabs,indeed!- Flabs! He did not deserve to be admitted at all, and our auntwould not soil her lips with what he said. And he said, did Flabs,that the whole was written down, and it should be printed when hewas dead and buried, but not before, for he would not risk havinghis arms and legs broken.

Once our aunt had been in fear and trembling in her temple ofhappiness, the theatre. It was on a winter day, one of those days inwhich one has a couple of hours of daylight, with a gray sky. It wasterribly cold and snowy, but aunt must go to the theatre. A littleopera and a great ballet were performed, and a prologue and anepilogue into the bargain; and that would last till late at night. Ouraunt must needs go; so she borrowed a pair of fur boots of her lodger-boots with fur inside and out, and which reached far up her legs.

She got to the theatre, and to her box; the boots were warm, andshe kept them on. Suddenly there was a cry of "Fire!" Smoke was comingfrom one of the side scenes, and streamed down from the flies, andthere was a terrible panic. The people came rushing out, and ouraunt was the last in the box, "on the second tier, left-hand side, forfrom there the scenery looks best," she used to say. "The scenes arealways arranged that they look best from the King's side." Aunt wantedto come out, but the people before her, in their fright andheedlessness, slammed the door of the box; and there sat our aunt, andcouldn't get out, and couldn't get in; that is to say, she couldn'tget into the next box, for the partition was too high for her. Shecalled out, and no one heard her; she looked down into the tier ofboxes below her, and it was empty, and low, and looked quite near, andaunt in her terror felt quite young and light. She thought ofjumping down, and had got one leg over the partition, the otherresting on the bench. There she sat astride, as if on horseback,well wrapped up in her flowered cloak with one leg hanging out- aleg in a tremendous fur boot. That was a sight to behold; and whenit was beheld, our aunt was heard too, and was saved from burning, forthe theatre was not burned down.

That was the most memorable evening of her life, and she wasglad that she could not see herself, for she would have died withconfusion.

Her benefactor in the machinery department, Herr Sivertsen,visited her every Sunday, but it was a long time from Sunday toSunday. In the latter time, therefore, she used to have in a littlechild "for the scraps;" that is to say, to eat up the remains of thedinner. It was a child employed in the ballet, one that certainlywanted feeding. The little one used to appear, sometimes as an elf,sometimes as a page; the most difficult part she had to play was thelion's hind leg in the "Magic Flute;" but as she grew larger she couldrepresent the fore-feet of the lion. She certainly only got half aguilder for that, whereas the hind legs were paid for with a wholeguilder; but then she had to walk bent, and to do without fresh air."That was all very interesting to hear," said our aunt.

She deserved to live as long as the theatre stood, but she couldnot last so long; and she did not die in the theatre, butrespectably in her bed. Her last words were, moreover, not withoutmeaning. She asked,

"What will the play be to-morrow?"

At her death she left about five hundred dollars. We presumethis from the interest, which came to twenty dollars. This our aunthad destined as a legacy for a worthy old spinster who had no friends;it was to be devoted to a yearly subscription for a place in thesecond tier, on the left side, for the Saturday evening, "for onthat evening two pieces were always given," it said in the will; andthe only condition laid upon the person who enjoyed the legacy was,that she should think, every Saturday evening, of our aunt, who waslying in her grave.

This was our aunt's religion.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

POULTRY MEG'S FAMILY

by Hans Christian Andersen

POULTRY MEG was the only person who lived in the new statelydwelling that had been built for the fowls and ducks belonging tothe manor house. It stood there where once the old knightly buildinghad stood with its tower, its pointed gables, its moat, and itsdrawbridge. Close by it was a wilderness of trees and thicket; herethe garden had been, and had stretched out to a great lake, whichwas now moorland. Crows and choughs flew screaming over the old trees,and there were crowds of birds; they did not seem to get fewer whenany one shot among them, but seemed rather to increase. One heardthe screaming into the poultry-house, where Poultry Meg sat with theducklings running to and fro over her wooden shoes. She knew everyfowl and every duck from the moment it crept out of the shell; and shewas fond of her fowls and her ducks, and proud of the stately housethat had been built for them. Her own little room in the house wasclean and neat, for that was the wish of the gracious lady to whom thehouse belonged. She often came in the company of grand noble guests,to whom she showed "the hens' and ducks' barracks," as she calledthe little house.

Here were a clothes cupboard, and an, arm-chair, and even achest of drawers; and on these drawers a polished metal plate had beenplaced, whereon was engraved the word "Grubbe," and this was thename of the noble family that had lived in the house of old. The brassplate had been found when they were digging the foundation; and theclerk has said it had no value except in being an old relic. The clerkknew all about the place, and about the old times, for he had hisknowledge from books, and many a memorandum had been written and putin his table-drawer. But the oldest of the crows perhaps knew morethan he, and screamed it out in her own language; but that was thecrow's language, and the clerk did not understand that, clever as hewas.

After the hot summer days the mist sometimes hung over themoorland as if a whole lake were behind the old trees, among which thecrows and the daws were fluttering; and thus it had looked when thegood Knight Grubbe had lived here- when the old manor house stood withits thick red walls. The dog-chain used to reach in those days quiteover the gateway; through the tower one went into a paved passagewhich led to the rooms; the windows were narrow, and the panes weresmall, even in the great hall where the dancing used to be; but in thetime of the last Grubbe, there had been no dancing in the hallwithin the memory of man, although an old drum still lay there thathad served as part of the music. Here stood a quaintly carvedcupboard, in which rare flower-roots were kept, for my Lady Grubbe wasfond of plants and cultivated trees and shrubs. Her husbandpreferred riding out to shoot wolves and boars; and his littledaughter Marie always went with him part of the way. When she was onlyfive years old, she would sit proudly on her horse, and look saucilyround with her great black eyes. It was a great amusement to her tohit out among the hunting-dogs with her whip; but her father wouldrather have seen her hit among the peasant boys, who came running upto stare at their lord.

The peasant in the clay hut close by the knightly house had ason named Soren, of the same age as the gracious little lady. Theboy could climb well, and had always to bring her down the bird'snests. The birds screamed as loud as they could, and one of thegreatest of them hacked him with its beak over the eye so that theblood ran down, and it was at first thought the eye had beendestroyed; but it had not been injured after all. Marie Grubbe used tocall him her Soren, and that was a great favor, and was an advantageto Soren's father- poor Jon, who had one day committed a fault, andwas to be punished by riding on the wooden horse. This same horsestood in the courtyard, and had four poles for legs, and a singlenarrow plant for a back; on this Jon had to ride astride, and someheavy bricks were fastened to his feet into the bargain, that he mightnot sit too comfortably. He made horrible grimaces, and Soren wept andimplored little Marie to interfere. She immediately ordered thatSoren's father should be taken down, and when they did not obey her,she stamped on the floor, and pulled at her father's sleeve till itwas torn to pieces. She would have her way, and she got her way, andSoren's father was taken down.

Lady Grubbe, who now came up, parted her little daughter's hairfrom the child's brow, and looked at her affectionately; but Marie didnot understand why.

She wanted to go to the hounds, and not to her mother, who wentdown into the garden, to the lake where the water-lily bloomed, andthe heads of bulrushes nodded amid the reeds; and she looked at allthis beauty and freshness. "How pleasant!" she said. In the gardenstood at that time a rare tree, which she herself had planted. Itwas called the blood-beech- a kind of negro growing among the othertrees, so dark brown were the leaves. This tree required muchsunshine, for in continual shade it would become bright green like theother trees, and thus lose its distinctive character. In the loftychestnut trees were many birds' nests, and also in the thickets and inthe grassy meadows. It seemed as though the birds knew that theywere protected here, and that no one must fire a gun at them.

Little Marie came here with Soren. He knew how to climb, as wehave already said, and eggs and fluffy-feathered young birds werebrought down. The birds, great and small, flew about in terror andtribulation; the peewit from the fields, and the crows and daws fromthe high trees, screamed and screamed; it was just such din as thefamily will raise to the present day.

"What are you doing, you children?" cried the gentle lady; "thatis sinful!"

Soren stood abashed, and even the little gracious lady looked downa little; but then he said, quite short and pretty,

"My father lets me do it!"

"Craw-craw! away-away from here!" cried the great black birds, andthey flew away; but on the following day they came back, for they wereat home here.

The quiet gentle lady did not remain long at home here on earth,for the good God called her away; and, indeed, her home was ratherwith Him than in the knightly house; and the church bells tolledsolemnly when her corpse was carried to the church, and the eyes ofthe poor people were wet with tears, for she had been good to them.

When she was gone, no one attended to her plantations, and thegarden ran to waste. Grubbe the knight was a hard man, they said;but his daughter, young as she was, knew how to manage him. He used tolaugh and let her have her way. She was now twelve years old, andstrongly built. She looked the people through and through with herblack eyes, rode her horse as bravely as a man, and could fire off hergun like a practiced hunter.

One day there were great visitors in the neighborhood, thegrandest visitors who could come. The young King, and his half-brotherand comrade, the Lord Ulric Frederick Gyldenlowe. They wanted tohunt the wild boar, and to pass a few days at the castle of Grubbe.

Gyldenlowe sat at table next to Marie Grubbe, and he took her bythe hand and gave her a kiss, as if she had been a relation; but shegave him a box on the ear, and told him she could not bear him, atwhich there was great laughter, as if that had been a very amusingthing.

And perhaps it was very amusing, for, five years afterwards,when Marie had fulfilled her seventeenth year, a messenger arrivedwith a letter, in which Lord Gyldenlowe proposed for the hand of thenoble young lady. There was a thing for you!

"He is the grandest and most gallant gentleman in the wholecountry," said Grubbe the knight; "that is not a thing to despise."

"I don't care so very much about him," said Marie Grubbe; butshe did not despise the grandest man of all the country, who sat bythe king's side.

Silver plate, and fine linen and woollen, went off to Copenhagenin a ship, while the bride made the journey by land in ten days. Butthe outfit met with contrary winds, or with no winds at all, forfour months passed before it arrived; and when it came, my LadyGyldenlowe was gone.

"I'd rather lie on coarse sacking than lie in his silken beds,"she declared. "I'd rather walk barefoot than drive with him in acoach!"

Late one evening in November two women came riding into the townof Aarhuus. They were the gracious Lady Gyldenlowe (Marie Grubbe)and her maid. They came from the town of Weile, whither they hadcome in a ship from Copenhagen. They stopped at Lord Grubbe's stonemansion in Aarhuus. Grubbe was not well pleased with this visit. Mariewas accosted in hard words; but she had a bedroom given her, and gother beer soup of a morning; but the evil part of her father's naturewas aroused against her, and she was not used to that. She was notof a gentle temper, and we often answer as we are addressed. Sheanswered openly, and spoke with bitterness and hatred of herhusband, with whom she declared she would not live; she was toohonorable for that.

A year went by, but it did not go by pleasantly. There were evilwords between the father and the daughter, and that ought never to be.Bad words bear bad fruit. What could be the end of such a state ofthings?

"We two cannot live under the same roof," said the father one day."Go away from here to our old manor house; but you had better biteyour tongue off than spread any lies among the people."

And so the two parted. She went with her maid to the old castlewhere she had been born, and near which the gentle, pious lady, hermother, was lying in the church vault. An old cowherd lived in thecourtyard, and was the only other inhabitant of the place. In therooms heavy black cobwebs hung down, covered with dust; in thegarden everything grew just as it would; hops and climbing plantsran like a net between the trees and bushes, and the hemlock andnettle grew larger and stronger. The blood-beech had been outgrownby other trees, and now stood in the shade; and its leaves weregreen like those of the common trees, and its glory had departed.Crows and choughs, in great close masses, flew past over the tallchestnut trees, and chattered and screamed as if they had somethingvery important to tell one another- as if they were saying, "Now she'scome back again, the little girl who had their eggs and their youngones stolen from them; and as for the thief who had got them down,he had to climb up a leafless tree, for he sat on a tall ship'smast, and was beaten with a rope's end if he did not behave himself."

The clerk told all this in our own times; he had collected itand looked it up in books and memoranda. It was to be found, with manyother writings, locked up in his table-drawer.

"Upward and downward is the course of the world," said he. "Itis strange to hear.

And we will hear how it went with Marie Grubbe. We need not forthat forget Poultry Meg, who is sitting in her capital hen-house, inour own time. Marie Grubbe sat down in her times, but not with thesame spirit that old Poultry Meg showed.

The winter passed away, and the spring and the summer passed away,and the autumn came again, with the damp, cold sea-fog. It was alonely, desolate life in the old manor house. Marie Grubbe took hergun in her hand and went out to the heath, and shot hares and foxes,and whatever birds she could hit. More than once she met the noble SirPalle Dyre, of Norrebak, who was also wandering about with his gun andhis dogs. He was tall and strong, and boasted of this when they talkedtogether. He could have measured himself against the deceased Mr.Brockenhuus, of Egeskov, of whom the people still talked. Palle Dyrehad, after the example of Brockenhuus, caused an iron chain with ahunting-horn to be hung in his gateway; and when he came ridinghome, he used to seize the chain, and lift himself and his horsefrom the ground, and blow the horn.

"Come yourself, and see me do that, Dame Marie," he said. 'One canbreathe fresh and free at Norrebak.

When she went to his castle is not known, but on the altarcandlestick in the church of Norrebak it was inscribed that theywere the gift of Palle Dyre and Marie Grubbe, of Norrebak Castle.

A great stout man was Palle Dyre. He drank like a sponge. He waslike a tub that could never get full; he snored like a whole sty ofpigs, and he looked red and bloated.

"He is treacherous and malicious," said Dame Pally Dyre,Grubbe's daughter. Soon she was weary of her life with him, but thatdid not make it better.

One day the table was spread, and the dishes grew cold. Palle Dyrewas out hunting foxes, and the gracious lady was nowhere to befound. Towards midnight Palle Dyre came home, but Dame Dyre cameneither at midnight, nor next morning. She had turned her back uponNorrebak, and had ridden away without saying good-bye.

It was gray, wet weather; the wind grew cold, and a flight ofblack screaming birds flew over her head. They were not so homeless asshe.

First she journeyed southward, quite down into the German land.A couple of golden rings with costly stones were turned into money;and then she turned to the east, and then she turned again and wenttowards the west. She had no food before her eyes, and murmuredagainst everything, even against the good God himself, so wretched washer soul. Soon her body became wretched too, and she was scarcely ableto move a foot. The peewit flew up as she stumbled over the mound ofearth where it had built its nest. The bird cried, as it always cried,"You thief! you thief!" She had never stolen her neighbor's goods; butas a little girl she had caused eggs and young birds to be takenfrom the trees, and she thought of that now.

From where she lay she could see the sand-dunes. By the seashorelived fishermen; but she could not get so far, she was so ill. Thegreat white sea-mews flew over her head, and screamed as the crows anddaws screamed at home in the garden of the manor house. The birds flewquite close to her, and at last it seemed to her as if they becameblack as crows, and then all was night before her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, she was being lifted andcarried. A great strong man had taken her up in his arms, and shewas looking straight into his bearded face. He had a scar over oneeye, which seemed to divide the eyebrow into two parts. Weak as shewas, he carried her to the ship, where he got a rating for it from thecaptain.

The next day the ship sailed away. Madame Grubbe had not beenput ashore, so she sailed away with it. But she will return, willshe not? Yes, but where, and when?

The clerk could tell about this too, and it was not a storywhich he patched together himself. He had the whole strange historyout of an old authentic book, which we ourselves can take out andread. The Danish historian, Ludwig Holberg, who has written so manyuseful books and merry comedies, from which we can get such a goodidea of his times and their people, tells in his letters of MarieGrubbe, where and how he met her. It is well worth hearing; but forall that, we don't at all forget Poultry Meg, who is sittingcheerful and comfortable in the charming fowl-house.

The ship sailed away with Marie Grubbe. That's where we left off.

Long years went by.

The plague was raging at Copenhagen; it was in the year 1711.The Queen of Denmark went away to her German home, the King quittedthe capital, and everybody who could do so hurried away. The students,even those who had board and lodging gratis, left the city. One ofthese students, the last who had remained in the free college, at lastwent away too. It was two o'clock in the morning. He was carryinghis knapsack, which was better stacked with books and writings thanwith clothes. A damp mist hung over the town; not a person was to beseen in the streets; the street-doors around were marked with crosses,as a sign that the plague was within, or that all the inmates weredead. A great wagon rattled past him; the coachman brandished hiswhip, and the horses flew by at a gallop. The wagon was filled withcorpses. The young student kept his hand before his face, and smelt atsome strong spirits that he had with him on a sponge in a little brassscent-case. Out of a small tavern in one of the streets there weresounds of singing and of unhallowed laughter, from people who drankthe night through to forget that the plague was at their doors, andthat they might be put into the wagon as the others had been. Thestudent turned his steps towards the canal at the castle bridge, wherea couple of small ships were lying; one of these was weighinganchor, to get away from the plague-stricken city.

"If God spares our lives and grants us a fair wind, we are goingto Gronmud, near Falster," said the captain; and he asked the nameof the student who wished to go with him.

"Ludwig Holberg," answered the student; and the name soundedlike any other. But now there sounds in it one of the proudest namesof Denmark; then it was the name of a young, unknown student.

The ship glided past the castle. It was not yet bright day when itwas in the open sea. A light wind filled the sails, and the youngstudent sat down with his face turned towards the fresh wind, and wentto sleep, which was not exactly the most prudent thing he could havedone.

Already on the third day the ship lay by the island of Falster.

"Do you know any one here with whom I could lodge cheaply?"Holberg asked the captain.

"I should think you would do well to go to the ferry-woman inBorrehaus," answered the captain. "If you want to be very civil toher, her name is Mother Soren Sorensen Muller. But it may happenthat she may fly into a fury if you are too polite to her. The manis in custody for a crime, and that's why she manages the ferry-boatherself- she has fists of her own."

The student took his knapsack and betook himself to theferry-house. The house door was not locked- it opened, and he wentinto a room with a brick floor, where a bench, with a great coverletof leather, formed the chief article of furniture. A white hen, whohad a brood of chickens, was fastened to the bench, and had overturnedthe pipkin of water, so that the wet ran across the floor. Therewere no people either here or in the adjoining room; only a cradlestood there, in which was a child. The ferry-boat came back withonly one person in it. Whether that person was a man or a woman wasnot an easy matter to determine. The person in question was wrapped ina great cloak, and wore a kind of hood. Presently the boat lay to.

It was a woman who got out of it and came into the room. Shelooked very stately when she straightened her back; two proud eyeslooked forth from beneath her black eyebrows. It was Mother Soren, theferry-wife. The crows and daws might have called out another namefor her, which we know better.

She looked morose, and did not seem to care to talk; but this muchwas settled, that the student should board in her house for anindefinite time, while things looked so bad in Copenhagen.

This or that honest citizen would often come to the ferry-housefrom the neighboring little town. There came Frank the cutler, andSivert the exciseman. They drank a mug of beer in the ferry-house, andused to converse with the student, for he was a clever young man,who knew his "Practica," as they called it; he could read Greek andLatin, and was well up in learned subjects.

"The less one knows, the less it presses upon one," said MotherSoren.

"You have to work hard," said Holberg one day, when she wasdipping clothes in the strong soapy water, and was obliged herselfto split the logs for the fire.

"That's my affair," she replied.

"Have you been obliged to toil in this way from your childhood?"

"You can read that from my hands," she replied, and held out herhands, that were small indeed, but hard and strong, with bitten nails."You are learned, and can read."

At Christmas-time it began to snow heavily. The cold came on,the wind blue sharp, as if there were vitriol in it to wash thepeople's faces. Mother Soren did not let that disturb her; she threwher cloak around her, and drew her hood over her head. Early in theafternoon- it was already dark in the house- she laid wood and turf onthe hearth, and then she sat down to darn her stockings, for there wasno one to do it for her. Towards evening she spoke more words to thestudent than it was customary with her to use; she spoke of herhusband.

"He killed a sailor of Dragor by mischance, and for that he has towork for three years in irons. He's only a common sailor, andtherefore the law must take its course."

"The law is there for people of high rank, too," said Holberg.

"Do you think so?" said Mother Soren; then she looked into thefire for a while; but after a time she began to speak again. "Have youheard of Kai Lykke, who caused a church to be pulled down, and whenthe clergyman, Master Martin, thundered from the pulpit about it, hehad him put in irons, and sat in judgment upon him, and condemnedhim to death? Yes, and the clergyman was obliged to bow his head tothe stroke. And yet Kai Lykke went scot-free."

"He had a right to do as he did in those times," said Holberg;"but now we have left those times behind us."

"You may get a fool to believe that," cried Mother Soren; andshe got up and went into the room where the child lay. She lifted upthe child, and laid it down more comfortably. Then she arranged thebed-place of the student. He had the green coverlet, for he felt thecold more than she, though he was born in Norway.

On New Year's morning it was a bright sunshiny day. The frosthad been so strong, and was still so strong, that the fallen snowhad become a hard mass, and one could walk upon it. The bells of thelittle town were tolling for church. Student Holberg wrapped himselfup in his woollen cloak, and wanted to go to the town.

Over the ferry-house the crows and daws were flying with loudcries; one could hardly hear the church bells for their screaming.Mother Soren stood in front of the house, filling a brass pot withsnow, which she was going to put on the fire to get drinking water.She looked up to the crowd of birds, and thought her own thoughts.

Student Holberg went to church. On his way there and on his returnhe passed by the house of tax-collector Sivert, by the town-gate. Herehe was invited to take a mug of brown beer with treacle and sugar. Thediscourse fell upon Mother Soren, but the tax collector did not knowmuch about her, and, indeed, few knew much about her. She did notbelong to the island of Falster, he said; she had a little property ofher own at one time. Her husband was a common sailor, a fellow of avery hot temper, and had killed a sailor of Dragor; and he beat hiswife, and yet she defended him.

"I should not endure such treatment," said the tax-collector'swife. "I am come of more respectable people. My father wasstocking-weaver to the Court."

"And consequently you have married a governmental official,"said Holberg, and made a bow to her and to the collector.

It was on Twelfth Night, the evening of the festival of theThree Kings, Mother Soren lit up for Holberg a three-king candle, thatis, a tallow candle with three wicks, which she had herself prepared.

"A light for each man," said Holberg.

"For each man?" repeated the woman, looking sharply at him.

"For each of the wise men from the East," said Holberg.

"You mean it that way," said she, and then she was silent for along time. But on this evening he learned more about her than he hadyet known.

"You speak very affectionately of your husband," observed Holberg,"and yet the people say that he ill-uses you every day."

"That's no one's business but mine," she replied. "The blows mighthave done me good when I was a child; now, I suppose, I get them formy sins. But I know what good he has done me," and she rose up."When I lay sick upon the desolate heath, and no one would have pityon me, and no one would have anything to do with me, except thecrows and daws, which came to peck me to bits, he carried me in hisarms, and had to bear hard words because of the burden he brought onboard ship. It's not in my nature to be sick, and so I got well. Everyman has his own way, and Soren has his; but the horse must not bejudged by the halter. Taking one thing with another, I have lived moreagreeably with him than with the man whom they called the most nobleand gallant of the King's subjects. I have had the StadtholderGyldenlowe, the King's half-brother, for my husband; and afterwardsI took Palle Dyre. One is as good as another, each in his own way, andI in mine. That was a long gossip, but now you know all about me."

And with those words she left the room.

It was Marie Grubbe! so strangely had fate played with her. Shedid not live to see many anniversaries of the festival of the ThreeKings; Holberg has recorded that she died in June, 1716; but he hasnot written down, for he did not know, that a number of great blackbirds circled over the ferry-house, when Mother Soren, as she wascalled, was lying there a corpse. They did not scream, as if they knewthat at a burial silence should be observed. So soon as she lay in theearth, the birds disappeared; but on the same evening in Jutland, atthe old manor house, an enormous number of crows and choughs wereseen; they all cried as loud as they could, as if they had someannouncement to make. Perhaps they talked of him who, as a little boy,had taken away their eggs and their young; of the peasant's son, whohad to wear an iron garter, and of the noble young lady, who endedby being a ferryman's wife.

"Brave! brave!" they cried.

And the whole family cried, "Brave! brave!" when the old house waspulled down.

"They are still crying, and yet there's nothing to cry about,"said the clerk, when he told the story. "The family is extinct, thehouse has been pulled down, and where it stood is now the statelypoultry-house, with gilded weathercocks, and the old Poultry Meg.She rejoices greatly in her beautiful dwelling. If she had not comehere," the old clerk added, "she would have had to go into thework-house."

The pigeons cooed over her, the turkey-cocks gobbled, and theducks quacked.

"Nobody knew her," they said; "she belongs to no family. It's purecharity that she is here at all. She has neither a drake father nora hen mother, and has no descendants."

She came of a great family, for all that; but she did not know it,and the old clerk did not know it, though he had so much written down;but one of the old crows knew about it, and told about it. She hadheard from her own mother and grandmother about Poultry Meg's motherand grandmother. And we know the grandmother too. We saw her ride,as child, over the bridge, looking proudly around her, as if the wholeworld belonged to her, and all the birds' nests in it; and we sawher on the heath, by the sand-dunes; and, last of all, in theferry-house. The granddaughter, the last of her race, had come back tothe old home, where the old castle had stood, where the black wildbirds were screaming; but she sat among the tame birds, and these knewher and were fond of her. Poultry Meg had nothing left to wish for;she looked forward with pleasure to her death, and she was oldenough to die.

"Grave, grave!" cried the crows.

And Poultry Meg has a good grave, which nobody knew except the oldcrow, if the old crow is not dead already.

And now we know the story of the old manor house, of its oldproprietors, and of all Poultry Meg's family.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

SHE WAS GOOD FOR NOTHING

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE mayor stood at the open window. He looked smart, for hisshirt-frill, in which he had stuck a breast-pin, and his ruffles, werevery fine. He had shaved his chin uncommonly smooth, although he hadcut himself slightly, and had stuck a piece of newspaper over theplace. "Hark 'ee, youngster!" cried he.

The boy to whom he spoke was no other than the son of a poorwasher-woman, who was just going past the house. He stopped, andrespectfully took off his cap. The peak of this cap was broken inthe middle, so that he could easily roll it up and put it in hispocket. He stood before the mayor in his poor but clean andwell-mended clothes, with heavy wooden shoes on his feet, looking ashumble as if it had been the king himself.

"You are a good and civil boy," said the mayor. "I suppose yourmother is busy washing the clothes down by the river, and you aregoing to carry that thing to her that you have in your pocket. It isvery bad for your mother. How much have you got in it?"

"Only half a quartern," stammered the boy in a frightened voice.

"And she has had just as much this morning already?"

"No, it was yesterday," replied the boy.

"Two halves make a whole," said the mayor. "She's good fornothing. What a sad thing it is with these people. Tell your mothershe ought to be ashamed of herself. Don't you become a drunkard, but Iexpect you will though. Poor child! there, go now."

The boy went on his way with his cap in his hand, while the windfluttered his golden hair till the locks stood up straight. Heturned round the corner of the street into the little lane that led tothe river, where his mother stood in the water by her washing bench,beating the linen with a heavy wooden bar. The floodgates at themill had been drawn up, and as the water rolled rapidly on, the sheetswere dragged along by the stream, and nearly overturned the bench,so that the washer-woman was obliged to lean against it to keep itsteady. "I have been very nearly carried away," she said; "it is agood thing that you are come, for I want something to strengthen me.It is cold in the water, and I have stood here six hours. Have youbrought anything for me?"

The boy drew the bottle from his pocket, and the mother put itto her lips, and drank a little.

"Ah, how much good that does, and how it warms me," she said;"it is as good as a hot meal, and not so dear. Drink a little, my boy;you look quite pale; you are shivering in your thin clothes, andautumn has really come. Oh, how cold the water is! I hope I shallnot be ill. But no, I must not be afraid of that. Give me a littlemore, and you may have a sip too, but only a sip; you must not getused to it, my poor, dear child." She stepped up to the bridge onwhich the boy stood as she spoke, and came on shore. The water drippedfrom the straw mat which she had bound round her body, and from hergown. "I work hard and suffer pain with my poor hands," said she, "butI do it willingly, that I may be able to bring you up honestly andtruthfully, my dear boy."

At the same moment, a woman, rather older than herself, cametowards them. She was a miserable-looking object, lame of one leg, andwith a large false curl hanging down over one of her eyes, which wasblind. This curl was intended to conceal the blind eye, but it madethe defect only more visible. She was a friend of the laundress, andwas called, among the neighbors, "Lame Martha, with the curl." "Oh,you poor thing; how you do work, standing there in the water!" sheexclaimed. "You really do need something to give you a littlewarmth, and yet spiteful people cry out about the few drops you take."And then Martha repeated to the laundress, in a very few minutes,all that the mayor had said to her boy, which she had overheard; andshe felt very angry that any man could speak, as he had done, of amother to her own child, about the few drops she had taken; and shewas still more angry because, on that very day, the mayor was going tohave a dinner-party, at which there would be wine, strong, richwine, drunk by the bottle. "Many will take more than they ought, butthey don't call that drinking! They are all right, you are good fornothing indeed!" cried Martha indignantly.

"And so he spoke to you in that way, did he, my child?" said thewasher-woman, and her lips trembled as she spoke. "He says you havea mother who is good for nothing. Well, perhaps he is right, but heshould not have said it to my child. How much has happened to mefrom that house!"

"Yes," said Martha; "I remember you were in service there, andlived in the house when the mayor's parents were alive; how many yearsago that is. Bushels of salt have been eaten since then, and peoplemay well be thirsty," and Martha smiled. "The mayor's greatdinner-party to-day ought to have been put off, but the news cametoo late. The footman told me the dinner was already cooked, when aletter came to say that the mayor's younger brother in Copenhagen isdead."

"Dead!" cried the laundress, turning pale as death.

"Yes, certainly," replied Martha; "but why do you take it somuch to heart? I suppose you knew him years ago, when you were inservice there?"

"Is he dead?" she exclaimed. "Oh, he was such a kind, good-heartedman, there are not many like him," and the tears rolled down hercheeks as she spoke. Then she cried, "Oh, dear me; I feel quite ill:everything is going round me, I cannot bear it. Is the bottleempty?" and she leaned against the plank.

"Dear me, you are ill indeed," said the other woman. "Come,cheer up; perhaps it will pass off. No, indeed, I see you are reallyill; the best thing for me to do is to lead you home."

"But my washing yonder?"

"I will take care of that. Come, give me your arm. The boy canstay here and take care of the linen, and I'll come back and finishthe washing; it is but a trifle."

The limbs of the laundress shook under her, and she said, "Ihave stood too long in the cold water, and I have had nothing to eatthe whole day since the morning. O kind Heaven, help me to get home; Iam in a burning fever. Oh, my poor child," and she burst into tears.And he, poor boy, wept also, as he sat alone by the river, near to andwatching the damp linen.

The two women walked very slowly. The laundress slipped andtottered through the lane, and round the corner, into the street wherethe mayor lived; and just as she reached the front of his house, shesank down upon the pavement. Many persons came round her, and LameMartha ran into the house for help. The mayor and his guests came tothe window.

"Oh, it is the laundress," said he; "she has had a little drop toomuch. She is good for nothing. It is a sad thing for her pretty littleson. I like the boy very well; but the mother is good for nothing."

After a while the laundress recovered herself, and they led her toher poor dwelling, and put her to bed. Kind Martha warmed a mug ofbeer for her, with butter and sugar- she considered this the bestmedicine- and then hastened to the river, washed and rinsed, badlyenough, to be sure, but she did her best. Then she drew the linenashore, wet as it was, and laid it in a basket. Before evening, shewas sitting in the poor little room with the laundress. The mayor'scook had given her some roasted potatoes and a beautiful piece offat for the sick woman. Martha and the boy enjoyed these good thingsvery much; but the sick woman could only say that the smell was verynourishing, she thought. By-and-by the boy was put to bed, in the samebed as the one in which his mother lay; but he slept at her feet,covered with an old quilt made of blue and white patchwork. Thelaundress felt a little better by this time. The warm beer hadstrengthened her, and the smell of the good food had been pleasantto her.

"Many thanks, you good soul," she said to Martha. "Now the boyis asleep, I will tell you all. He is soon asleep. How gentle andsweet he looks as he lies there with his eyes closed! He does not knowhow his mother has suffered; and Heaven grant he never may know it.I was in service at the counsellor's, the father of the mayor, andit happened that the youngest of his sons, the student, came home. Iwas a young wild girl then, but honest; that I can declare in thesight of Heaven. The student was merry and gay, brave andaffectionate; every drop of blood in him was good and honorable; abetter man never lived on earth. He was the son of the house, and Iwas only a maid; but he loved me truly and honorably, and he toldhis mother of it. She was to him as an angel upon earth; she was sowise and loving. He went to travel, and before he started he placeda gold ring on my finger; and as soon as he was out of the house, mymistress sent for me. Gently and earnestly she drew me to her, andspake as if an angel were speaking. She showed me clearly, in spiritand in truth, the difference there was between him and me. 'He ispleased now,' she said, 'with your pretty face; but good looks donot last long. You have not been educated like he has. You are notequals in mind and rank, and therein lies the misfortune. I esteem thepoor,' she added. 'In the sight of God, they may occupy a higher placethan many of the rich; but here upon earth we must beware ofentering upon a false track, lest we are overturned in our plans, likea carriage that travels by a dangerous road. I know a worthy man, anartisan, who wishes to marry you. I mean Eric, the glovemaker. He is awidower, without children, and in a good position. Will you think itover?' Every word she said pierced my heart like a knife; but I knewshe was right, and the thought pressed heavily upon me. I kissed herhand, and wept bitter tears, and I wept still more when I went to myroom, and threw myself on the bed. I passed through a dreadfulnight; God knows what I suffered, and how I struggled. The followingSunday I went to the house of God to pray for light to direct my path.It seemed like a providence that as I stepped out of church Ericcame towards me; and then there remained not a doubt in my mind. Wewere suited to each other in rank and circumstances. He was, eventhen, a man of good means. I went up to him, and took his hand, andsaid, 'Do you still feel the same for me?' 'Yes; ever and always,'said he. 'Will you, then, marry a maiden who honors and esteems you,although she cannot offer you her love? but that may come.' 'Yes, itwill come,' said he; and we joined our hands together, and I went hometo my mistress. The gold ring which her son had given me I wore nextto my heart. I could not place it on my finger during the daytime, butonly in the evening, when I went to bed. I kissed the ring till mylips almost bled, and then I gave it to my mistress, and told her thatthe banns were to be put up for me and the glovemaker the followingweek. Then my mistress threw her arms round me, and kissed me. She didnot say that I was 'good for nothing;' very likely I was better thenthan I am now; but the misfortunes of this world, were unknown to methen. At Michaelmas we were married, and for the first year everythingwent well with us. We had a journeyman and an apprentice, and you wereour servant, Martha."

"Ah, yes, and you were a dear, good mistress," said Martha, "Ishall never forget how kind you and your husband were to me."

"Yes, those were happy years when you were with us, although wehad no children at first. The student I never met again. Yet I saw himonce, although he did not see me. He came to his mother's funeral. Isaw him, looking pale as death, and deeply troubled, standing at hergrave; for she was his mother. Sometime after, when his father died,he was in foreign lands, and did not come home. I know that he nevermarried, I believe he became a lawyer. He had forgotten me, and evenhad we met he would not have known me, for I have lost all my goodlooks, and perhaps that is all for the best." And then she spoke ofthe dark days of trial, when misfortune had fallen upon them.

"We had five hundred dollars," she said, "and there was a house inthe street to be sold for two hundred, so we thought it would be worthour while to pull it down and build a new one in its place; so itwas bought. The builder and carpenter made an estimate that the newhouse would cost ten hundred and twenty dollars to build. Eric hadcredit, so he borrowed the money in the chief town. But the captain,who was bringing it to him, was shipwrecked, and the money lost.Just about this time, my dear sweet boy, who lies sleeping there,was born, and my husband was attacked with a severe lingering illness.For three quarters of a year I was obliged to dress and undress him.We were backward in our payments, we borrowed more money, and all thatwe had was lost and sold, and then my husband died. Since then Ihave worked, toiled, and striven for the sake of the child. I havescrubbed and washed both coarse and fine linen, but I have not beenable to make myself better off; and it was God's will. In His own timeHe will take me to Himself, but I know He will never forsake myboy." Then she fell asleep. In the morning she felt much refreshed,and strong enough, as she thought, to go on with her work. But as soonas she stepped into the cold water, a sudden faintness seized her; sheclutched at the air convulsively with her hand, took one step forward,and fell. Her head rested on dry land, but her feet were in the water;her wooden shoes, which were only tied on by a wisp of straw, werecarried away by the stream, and thus she was found by Martha whenshe came to bring her some coffee.

In the meantime a messenger had been sent to her house by themayor, to say that she must come to him immediately, as he hadsomething to tell her. It was too late; a surgeon had been sent for toopen a vein in her arm, but the poor woman was dead.

"She has drunk herself to death," said the cruel mayor. In theletter, containing the news of his brother's death, it was stated thathe had left in his will a legacy of six hundred dollars to theglovemaker's widow, who had been his mother's maid, to be paid withdiscretion, in large or small sums to the widow or her child.

"There was something between my brother and her, I remember," saidthe mayor; "it is a good thing that she is out of the way, for now theboy will have the whole. I will place him with honest people tobring him up, that he may become a respectable working man." And theblessing of God rested upon these words. The mayor sent for the boy tocome to him, and promised to take care of him, but most cruellyadded that it was a good thing that his mother was dead, for "shewas good for nothing." They carried her to the churchyard, thechurchyard in which the poor were buried. Martha strewed sand on thegrave and planted a rose-tree upon it, and the boy stood by her side.

"Oh, my poor mother!" he cried, while the tears rolled down hischeeks. "Is it true what they say, that she was good for nothing?"

"No, indeed, it is not true," replied the old servant, raising hereyes to heaven; "she was worth a great deal; I knew it years ago,and since the last night of her life I am more certain of it thanever. I say she was a good and worthy woman, and God, who is inheaven, knows I am speaking the truth, though the world may say,even now she was good for nothing."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

SOMETHING

by Hans Christian AndersenSOMETHING

"I MEAN to be somebody, and do something useful in the world,"said the eldest of five brothers. "I don't care how humble my positionis, so that I can only do some good, which will be something. I intendto be a brickmaker; bricks are always wanted, and I shall be reallydoing something."

"Your 'something' is not enough for me," said the secondbrother; "what you talk of doing is nothing at all, it is journeyman'swork, or might even be done by a machine. No! I should prefer to bea builder at once, there is something real in that. A man gains aposition, he becomes a citizen, has his own sign, his own house ofcall for his workmen: so I shall be a builder. If all goes well, intime I shall become a master, and have my own journeymen, and mywife will be treated as a master's wife. This is what I callsomething."

"I call it all nothing," said the third; "not in reality anyposition. There are many in a town far above a master builder inposition. You may be an upright man, but even as a master you willonly be ranked among common men. I know better what to do than that. Iwill be an architect, which will place me among those who possessriches and intellect, and who speculate in art. I shall certainly haveto rise by my own endeavors from a bricklayer's laborer, or as acarpenter's apprentice- a lad wearing a paper cap, although I now weara silk hat. I shall have to fetch beer and spirits for the journeymen,and they will call me 'thou,' which will be an insult. I shallendure it, however, for I shall look upon it all as a mererepresentation, a masquerade, a mummery, which to-morrow, that is,when I myself as a journeyman, shall have served my time, will vanish,and I shall go my way, and all that has passed will be nothing tome. Then I shall enter the academy, and get instructed in drawing, andbe called an architect. I may even attain to rank, and havesomething placed before or after my name, and I shall build asothers have done before me. By this there will be always 'something'to make me remembered, and is not that worth living for?"

"Not in my opinion," said the fourth; "I will never follow thelead of others, and only imitate what they have done. I will be agenius, and become greater than all of you together. I will create anew style of building, and introduce a plan for erecting housessuitable to the climate, with material easily obtained in the country,and thus suit national feeling and the developments of the age,besides building a storey for my own genius."

"But supposing the climate and the material are not good formuch," said the fifth brother, "that would be very unfortunate foryou, and have an influence over your experiments. Nationality mayassert itself until it becomes affectation, and the developments ofa century may run wild, as youth often does. I see clearly that noneof you will ever really be anything worth notice, however you maynow fancy it. But do as you like, I shall not imitate you. I mean tokeep clear of all these things, and criticize what you do. In everyaction something imperfect may be discovered, something not right,which I shall make it my business to find out and expose; that will besomething, I fancy." And he kept his word, and became a critic.

People said of this fifth brother, "There is something veryprecise about him; he has a good head-piece, but he does nothing." Andon that very account they thought he must be something.

Now, you see, this is a little history which will never end; aslong as the world exists, there will always be men like these fivebrothers. And what became of them? Were they each nothing orsomething? You shall hear; it is quite a history.

The eldest brother, he who fabricated bricks, soon discovered thateach brick, when finished, brought him in a small coin, if only acopper one; and many copper pieces, if placed one upon another, can bechanged into a shining shilling; and at whatever door a person knocks,who has a number of these in his hands, whether it be the baker's, thebutcher's, or the tailor's, the door flies open, and he can get all hewants. So you see the value of bricks. Some of the bricks, however,crumbled to pieces, or were broken, but the elder brother found ause for even these.

On the high bank of earth, which formed a dyke on the sea-coast, apoor woman named Margaret wished to build herself a house, so allthe imperfect bricks were given to her, and a few whole ones withthem; for the eldest brother was a kind-hearted man, although he neverachieved anything higher than making bricks. The poor woman builtherself a little house- it was small and narrow, and the window wasquite crooked, the door too low, and the straw roof might have beenbetter thatched. But still it was a shelter, and from within you couldlook far over the sea, which dashed wildly against the sea-wall onwhich the little house was built. The salt waves sprinkled their whitefoam over it, but it stood firm, and remained long after he who hadgiven the bricks to build it was dead and buried.

The second brother of course knew better how to build than poorMargaret, for he served an apprenticeship to learn it. When his timewas up, he packed up his knapsack, and went on his travels, singingthe journeyman's song,-

"While young, I can wander without a care,

And build new houses everywhere;

Fair and bright are my dreams of home,

Always thought of wherever I roam.

Hurrah for a workman's life of glee!

There's a loved one at home who thinks of me;

Home and friends I can ne'er forget,

And I mean to be a master yet."And that is what he did. On his return home, he became a masterbuilder,- built one house after another in the town, till theyformed quite a street, which, when finished, became really an ornamentto the town. These houses built a house for him in return, which wasto be his own. But how can houses build a house? If the houses wereasked, they could not answer; but the people would understand, andsay, "Certainly the street built his house for him." It was not verylarge, and the floor was of lime; but when he danced with his bride onthe lime-covered floor, it was to him white and shining, and fromevery stone in the wall flowers seemed to spring forth and decoratethe room as with the richest tapestry. It was really a pretty house,and in it were a happy pair. The flag of the corporation flutteredbefore it, and the journeymen and apprentices shouted "Hurrah." He hadgained his position, he had made himself something, and at last hedied, which was "something" too.

Now we come to the architect, the third brother, who had beenfirst a carpenter's apprentice, had worn a cap, and served as anerrand boy, but afterwards went to the academy, and risen to be anarchitect, a high and noble gentleman. Ah yes, the houses of the newstreet, which the brother who was a master builder erected, may havebuilt his house for him, but the street received its name from thearchitect, and the handsomest house in the street became his property.That was something, and he was "something," for he had a list oftitles before and after his name. His children were called "wellborn,"and when he died, his widow was treated as a lady of position, andthat was "something." His name remained always written at the cornerof the street, and lived in every one's mouth as its name. Yes, thisalso was something."

And what about the genius of the family- the fourth brother- whowanted to invent something new and original? He tried to build a loftystorey himself, but it fell to pieces, and he fell with it and brokehis neck. However, he had a splendid funeral, with the city flagsand music in the procession; flowers were strewn on the pavement,and three orations were spoken over his grave, each one longer thanthe other. He would have liked this very much during his life, as wellas the poems about him in the papers, for he liked nothing so wellas to be talked of. A monument was also erected over his grave. It wasonly another storey over him, but that was "something," Now he wasdead, like the three other brothers.

The youngest- the critic- outlived them all, which was quite rightfor him. It gave him the opportunity of having the last word, which tohim was of great importance. People always said he had a goodhead-piece. At last his hour came, and he died, and arrived at thegates of heaven. Souls always enter these gates in pairs; so hefound himself standing and waiting for admission with another; and whoshould it be but old dame Margaret, from the house on the dyke! "It isevidently for the sake of contrast that I and this wretched soulshould arrive here exactly at the same time," said the critic. "Praywho are you, my good woman?" said he; "do you want to get in heretoo?"

And the old woman curtsied as well as she could; she thought itmust be St. Peter himself who spoke to her. "I am a poor old woman,"she said, "without my family. I am old Margaret, that lived in thehouse on the dyke."

"Well, and what have you done- what great deed have youperformed down below?"

"I have done nothing at all in the world that could give me aclaim to have these doors open for me," she said. "It would be onlythrough mercy that I can be allowed to slip in through the gate."

"In what manner did you leave the world?" he asked, just for thesake of saying something; for it made him feel very weary to standthere and wait.

"How I left the world?" she replied; "why, I can scarcely tellyou. During the last years of my life I was sick and miserable, andI was unable to bear creeping out of bed suddenly into the frost andcold. Last winter was a hard winter, but I have got over it all now.There were a few mild days, as your honor, no doubt, knows. The icelay thickly on the lake, as far one could see. The people came fromthe town, and walked upon it, and they say there were dancing andskating upon it, I believe, and a great feasting. The sound ofbeautiful music came into my poor little room where I lay. Towardsevening, when the moon rose beautifully, though not yet in her fullsplendor, I glanced from my bed over the wide sea; and there, justwhere the sea and sky met, rose a curious white cloud. I lay lookingat the cloud till I observed a little black spot in the middle ofit, which gradually grew larger and larger, and then I knew what itmeant- I am old and experienced; and although this token is notoften seen, I knew it, and a shuddering seized me. Twice in my lifehad I seen this same thing, and I knew that there would be an awfulstorm, with a spring tide, which would overwhelm the poor people whowere now out on the ice, drinking, dancing, and making merry. Youngand old, the whole city, were there; who was to warn them, if no onenoticed the sign, or knew what it meant as I did? I was so alarmed,that I felt more strength and life than I had done for some time. Igot out of bed, and reached the window; I could not crawl anyfarther from weakness and exhaustion; but I managed to open thewindow. I saw the people outside running and jumping about on the ice;I saw the beautiful flags waving in the wind; I heard the boysshouting, 'Hurrah!' and the lads and lasses singing, and everythingfull of merriment and joy. But there was the white cloud with theblack spot hanging over them. I cried out as loudly as I could, but noone heard me; I was too far off from the people. Soon would thestorm burst, the ice break, and all who were on it be irretrievablylost. They could not hear me, and to go to them was quite out of mypower. Oh, if I could only get them safe on land! Then came thethought, as if from heaven, that I would rather set fire to my bed,and let the house be burnt down, than that so many people shouldperish miserably. I got a light, and in a few moments the red flamesleaped up as a beacon to them. I escaped fortunately as far as thethreshold of the door; but there I fell down and remained: I couldgo no farther. The flames rushed out towards me, flickered on thewindow, and rose high above the roof. The people on the ice becameaware of the fire, and ran as fast as possible to help a poor sickwoman, who, as they thought, was being burnt to death. There was notone who did not run. I heard them coming, and I also at the sametime was conscious of a rush of air and a sound like the roar of heavyartillery. The spring flood was lifting the ice covering, whichbrake into a thousand pieces. But the people had reached the sea-wall,where the sparks were flying round. I had saved them all; but Isuppose I could not survive the cold and fright; so I came up hereto the gates of paradise. I am told they are open to poor creaturessuch as I am, and I have now no house left on earth; but I do notthink that will give me a claim to be admitted here."

Then the gates were opened, and an angel led the old woman in. Shehad dropped one little straw out of her straw bed, when she set iton fire to save the lives of so many. It had been changed into thepurest gold- into gold that constantly grew and expanded intoflowers and fruit of immortal beauty.

"See," said the angel, pointing to the wonderful straw, "this iswhat the poor woman has brought. What dost thou bring? I know thouhast accomplished nothing, not even made a single brick. Even ifthou couldst return, and at least produce so much, very likely, whenmade, the brick would be useless, unless done with a good will,which is always something. But thou canst not return to earth, and Ican do nothing for thee."

Then the poor soul, the old mother who had lived in the house onthe dyke, pleaded for him. She said, "His brother made all the stoneand bricks, and sent them to me to build my poor little dwelling,which was a great deal to do for a poor woman like me. Could not allthese bricks and pieces be as a wall of stone to prevail for him? Itis an act of mercy; he is wanting it now; and here is the veryfountain of mercy."

"Then," said the angel, "thy brother, he who has been lookedupon as the meanest of you all, he whose honest deeds to thee appearedso humble,- it is he who has sent you this heavenly gift. Thou shaltnot be turned away. Thou shalt have permission to stand without thegate and reflect, and repent of thy life on earth; but thou shaltnot be admitted here until thou hast performed one good deed ofrepentance, which will indeed for thee be something."

"I could have expressed that better," thought the critic; but hedid not say it aloud, which for him was SOMETHING, after all.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

SOUP FROM A SAUSAGE SKEWER

by Hans Christian Andersen

"WE had such an excellent dinner yesterday," said an old mouseof the female sex to another who had not been present at the feast. "Isat number twenty-one below the mouse-king, which was not a bad place.Shall I tell you what we had? Everything was first rate. Mouldy bread,tallow candle, and sausage. And then, when we had finished thatcourse, the same came on all over again; it was as good as two feasts.We were very sociable, and there was as much joking and fun as if wehad been all of one family circle. Nothing was left but the sausageskewers, and this formed a subject of conversation, till at last itturned to the proverb, 'Soup from sausage skins;' or, as the people inthe neighboring country call it, 'Soup from a sausage skewer.' Everyone had heard the proverb, but no one had ever tasted the soup, muchless prepared it. A capital toast was drunk to the inventor of thesoup, and some one said he ought to be made a relieving officer to thepoor. Was not that witty? Then the old mouse-king rose and promisedthat the young lady-mouse who should learn how best to prepare thismuch-admired and savory soup should be his queen, and a year and a dayshould be allowed for the purpose."

"That was not at all a bad proposal," said the other mouse; "buthow is the soup made?"

"Ah, that is more than I can tell you. All the young lady micewere asking the same question. They wished very much to be queen,but they did not want to take the trouble of going out into theworld to learn how to make soup, which was absolutely necessary tobe done first. But it is not every one who would care to leave herfamily, or her happy corner by the fire-side at home, even to bemade queen. It is not always easy to find bacon and cheese-rind inforeign lands every day, and it is not pleasant to have to endurehunger, and be perhaps, after all, eaten up alive by the cat."

"Most probably some such thoughts as these discouraged themajority from going out into the world to collect the requiredinformation. Only four mice gave notice that they were ready to setout on the journey. They were young and lively, but poor. Each of themwished to visit one of the four divisions of the world, so that itmight be seen which was the most favored by fortune. Every one tooka sausage skewer as a traveller's staff, and to remind them of theobject of their journey. They left home early in May, and none of themreturned till the first of May in the following year, and then onlythree of them. Nothing was seen or heard of the fourth, although theday of decision was close at hand. "Ah, yes, there is always sometrouble mixed up with the greatest pleasure," said the mouse-king; buthe gave orders that all the mice within a circle of many milesshould be invited at once. They were to assemble in the kitchen, andthe three travelled mice were to stand in a row before them, while asausage skewer, covered with crape, was to be stuck up instead ofthe missing mouse. No one dared to express an opinion until the kingspoke, and desired one of them to go on with her story. And now weshall hear what she said.

WHAT THE FIRST LITTLE MOUSE

SAW AND HEARD ON HER TRAVELS

"When I first went out into the world," said the little mouse,"I fancied, as so many of my age do, that I already knew everything,but it was not so. It takes years to acquire great knowledge. I wentat once to sea in a ship bound for the north. I had been told that theship's cook must know how to prepare every dish at sea, and it is easyenough to do that with plenty of sides of bacon, and large tubs ofsalt meat and mouldy flour. There I found plenty of delicate food, butno opportunity for learning how to make soup from a sausage skewer. Wesailed on for many days and nights; the ship rocked fearfully, andwe did not escape without a wetting. As soon as we arrived at the portto which the ship was bound, I left it, and went on shore at a placefar towards the north. It is a wonderful thing to leave your ownlittle corner at home, to hide yourself in a ship where there are sureto be some nice snug corners for shelter, then suddenly to findyourself thousands of miles away in a foreign land. I saw largepathless forests of pine and birch trees, which smelt so strong that Isneezed and thought of sausage. There were great lakes also whichlooked as black as ink at a distance, but were quite clear when I cameclose to them. Large swans were floating upon them, and I thought atfirst they were only foam, they lay so still; but when I saw them walkand fly, I knew what they were directly. They belong to the goosespecies, one can see that by their walk. No one can attempt todisguise family descent. I kept with my own kind, and associatedwith the forest and field mice, who, however, knew very little,especially about what I wanted to know, and which had actually made metravel abroad. The idea that soup could be made from a sausageskewer was to them such an out-of-the-way, unlikely thought, that itwas repeated from one to another through the whole forest. Theydeclared that the problem would never be solved, that the thing was animpossibility. How little I thought that in this place, on the veryfirst night, I should be initiated into the manner of its preparation.

"It was the height of summer, which the mice told me was thereason that the forest smelt so strong, and that the herbs were sofragrant, and the lakes with the white swimming swans so dark, and yetso clear. On the margin of the wood, near to three or four houses, apole, as large as the mainmast of a ship, had been erected, and fromthe summit hung wreaths of flowers and fluttering ribbons; it wasthe Maypole. Lads and lasses danced round the pole, and tried to outdothe violins of the musicians with their singing. They were as merry asever at sunset and in the moonlight, but I took no part in themerry-making. What has a little mouse to do with a Maypole dance? Isat in the soft moss, and held my sausage skewer tight. The moon threwits beams particularly on one spot where stood a tree covered withexceedingly fine moss. I may almost venture to say that it was as fineand soft as the fur of the mouse-king, but it was green, which is acolor very agreeable to the eye. All at once I saw the most charminglittle people marching towards me. They did not reach higher than myknee; they looked like human beings, but were better proportioned, andthey called themselves elves. Their clothes were very delicate andfine, for they were made of the leaves of flowers, trimmed with thewings of flies and gnats, which had not a bad effect. By their manner,it appeared as if they were seeking for something. I knew not what,till at last one of them espied me and came towards me, and theforemost pointed to my sausage skewer, and said, 'There, that isjust what we want; see, it is pointed at the top; is it notcapital?' and the longer he looked at my pilgrim's staff, the moredelighted he became. 'I will lend it to you,' said I, 'but not tokeep.'

"'Oh no, we won't keep it!' they all cried; and then they seizedthe skewer, which I gave up to them, and danced with it to the spotwhere the delicate moss grew, and set it up in the middle of thegreen. They wanted a maypole, and the one they now had seemed cutout on purpose for them. Then they decorated it so beautifully that itwas quite dazzling to look at. Little spiders spun golden threadsaround it, and then it was hung with fluttering veils and flags sodelicately white that they glittered like snow in the moonshine. Afterthat they took colors from the butterfly's wing, and sprinkled themover the white drapery "which gleamed as if covered with flowers anddiamonds, so that I could not recognize my sausage skewer at all. Sucha maypole had never been seen in all the world as this. Then came agreat company of real elves. Nothing could be finer than theirclothes, and they invited me to be present at the feast; but I wasto keep at a certain distance, because I was too large for them.Then commenced such music that it sounded like a thousand glass bells,and was so full and strong that I thought it must be the song of theswans. I fancied also that I heard the voices of the cuckoo and theblack-bird, and it seemed at last as if the whole forest sent forthglorious melodies- the voices of children, the tinkling of bells,and the songs of the birds; and all this wonderful melody came fromthe elfin maypole. My sausage peg was a complete peal of bells. Icould scarcely believe that so much could have been produced fromit, till I remembered into what hands it had fallen. I was so muchaffected that I wept tears such as a little mouse can weep, but theywere tears of joy. The night was far too short for me; there are nolong nights there in summer, as we often have in this part of theworld. When the morning dawned, and the gentle breeze rippled theglassy mirror of the forest lake, all the delicate veils and flagsfluttered away into thin air; the waving garlands of the spider's web,the hanging bridges and galleries, or whatever else they may becalled, vanished away as if they had never been. Six elves broughtme back my sausage skewer, and at the same time asked me to make anyrequest, which they would grant if in their power; so I begged them,if they could, to tell me how to make soup from a sausage skewer.

"'How do we make it?' said the chief of the elves with a smile.'Why you have just seen it; you scarcely knew your sausage skeweragain, I am sure.'

"They think themselves very wise, thought I to myself. Then I toldthem all about it, and why I had travelled so far, and also whatpromise had been made at home to the one who should discover themethod of preparing this soup. 'What use will it be,' I asked, 'to themouse-king or to our whole mighty kingdom that I have seen all thesebeautiful things? I cannot shake the sausage peg and say, Look, hereis the skewer, and now the soup will come. That would only produce adish to be served when people were keeping a fast.'

"Then the elf dipped his finger into the cup of a violet, and saidto me, 'Look here, I will anoint your pilgrim's staff, so that whenyou return to your own home and enter the king's castle, you have onlyto touch the king with your staff, and violets will spring forth andcover the whole of it, even in the coldest winter time; so I think Ihave given you really something to carry home, and a little morethan something.'"

But before the little mouse explained what this something morewas, she stretched her staff out to the king, and as it touched himthe most beautiful bunch of violets sprang forth and filled theplace with perfume. The smell was so powerful that the mouse-kingordered the mice who stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tailsinto the fire, that there might be a smell of burning, for the perfumeof the violets was overpowering, and not the sort of scent thatevery one liked.

"But what was the something more of which you spoke just now?"asked the mouse-king.

"Why," answered the little mouse, "I think it is what they call'effect;'" and thereupon she turned the staff round, and behold nota single flower was to be seen upon it! She now only held the nakedskewer, and lifted it up as a conductor lifts his baton at aconcert. "Violets, the elf told me," continued the mouse, "are for thesight, the smell, and the touch; so we have only now to produce theeffect of hearing and tasting;" and then, as the little mouse beattime with her staff, there came sounds of music, not such music as washeard in the forest, at the elfin feast, but such as is often heard inthe kitchen- the sounds of boiling and roasting. It came quitesuddenly, like wind rushing through the chimneys, and seemed as ifevery pot and kettle were boiling over. The fire-shovel clattered downon the brass fender; and then, quite as suddenly, all was still,-nothing could be heard but the light, vapory song of the tea-kettle,which was quite wonderful to hear, for no one could rightlydistinguish whether the kettle was just beginning to boil or goingto stop. And the little pot steamed, and the great pot simmered, butwithout any regard for each; indeed there seemed no sense in thepots at all. And as the little mouse waved her baton still morewildly, the pots foamed and threw up bubbles, and boiled over; whileagain the wind roared and whistled through the chimney, and at lastthere was such a terrible hubbub, that the little mouse let herstick fall.

"That is a strange sort of soup," said the mouse-king; "shall wenot now hear about the preparation?"

"That is all," answered the little mouse, with a bow.

"That all!" said the mouse-king; "then we shall be glad to hearwhat information the next may have to give us."

WHAT THE SECOND MOUSE HAD TO TELL

"I was born in the library, at a castle," said the second mouse."Very few members of our family ever had the good fortune to getinto the dining-room, much less the store-room. On my journey, andhere to-day, are the only times I have ever seen a kitchen. We wereoften obliged to suffer hunger in the library, but then we gained agreat deal of knowledge. The rumor reached us of the royal prizeoffered to those who should be able to make soup from a sausageskewer. Then my old grandmother sought out a manuscript which,however, she could not read, but had heard it read, and in it waswritten, 'Those who are poets can make soup of sausage skewers.' Shethen asked me if I was a poet. I felt myself quite innocent of anysuch pretensions. Then she said I must go out and make myself apoet. I asked again what I should be required to do, for it seemedto me quite as difficult as to find out how to make soup of asausage skewer. My grandmother had heard a great deal of reading inher day, and she told me three principal qualifications werenecessary- understanding, imagination, and feeling. 'If you can manageto acquire these three, you will be a poet, and the sausage-skewersoup will be quite easy to you.'

"So I went forth into the world, and turned my steps towards thewest, that I might become a poet. Understanding is the mostimportant matter in everything. I knew that, for the two otherqualifications are not thought much of; so I went first to seek forunderstanding. Where was I to find it? 'Go to the ant and learnwisdom,' said the great Jewish king. I knew that from living in alibrary. So I went straight on till I came to the first greatant-hill, and then I set myself to watch, that I might become wise.The ants are a very respectable people, they are wisdom itself. Allthey do is like the working of a sum in arithmetic, which comes right.'To work and to lay eggs,' say they, and to provide for posterity,is to live out your time properly;' and that they truly do. They aredivided into the clean and the dirty ants, their rank is pointed outby a number, and the ant-queen is number ONE; and her opinion is theonly correct one on everything; she seems to have the whole wisdomof the world in her, which was just the important matter I wished toacquire. She said a great deal which was no doubt very clever; yetto me it sounded like nonsense. She said the ant-hill was the loftiestthing in the world, and yet close to the mound stood a tall tree,which no one could deny was loftier, much loftier, but no mentionwas made of the tree. One evening an ant lost herself on this tree;she had crept up the stem, not nearly to the top, but higher thanany ant had ever ventured; and when at last she returned home she saidthat she had found something in her travels much higher than theant-hill. The rest of the ants considered this an insult to thewhole community; so she was condemned to wear a muzzle and to livein perpetual solitude. A short time afterwards another ant got onthe tree, and made the same journey and the same discovery, but shespoke of it cautiously and indefinitely, and as she was one of thesuperior ants and very much respected, they believed her, and when shedied they erected an eggshell as a monument to her memory, for theycultivated a great respect for science. I saw," said the little mouse,"that the ants were always running to and fro with her burdens ontheir backs. Once I saw one of them drop her load; she gave herselfa great deal of trouble in trying to raise it again, but she could notsucceed. Then two others came up and tried with all their strengthto help her, till they nearly dropped their own burdens in doing so;then they were obliged to stop for a moment in their help, for everyone must think of himself first. And the ant-queen remarked that theirconduct that day showed that they possessed kind hearts and goodunderstanding. 'These two qualities,' she continued, 'place us ants inthe highest degree above all other reasonable beings. Understandingmust therefore be seen among us in the most prominent manner, and mywisdom is greater than all.' And so saying she raised herself on hertwo hind legs, that no one else might be mistaken for her. I could nottherefore make an error, so I ate her up. We are to go to the antsto learn wisdom, and I had got the queen.

"I now turned and went nearer to the lofty tree already mentioned,which was an oak. It had a tall trunk with a wide-spreading top, andwas very old. I knew that a living being dwelt here, a dryad as she iscalled, who is born with the tree and dies with it. I had heard thisin the library, and here was just such a tree, and in it anoak-maiden. She uttered a terrible scream when she caught sight ofme so near to her; like many women, she was very much afraid ofmice. And she had more real cause for fear than they have, for I mighthave gnawed through the tree on which her life depended. I spoke toher in a kind and friendly manner, and begged her to take courage.At last she took me up in her delicate hand, and then I told herwhat had brought me out into the world, and she promised me thatperhaps on that very evening she should be able to obtain for me oneof the two treasures for which I was seeking. She told me thatPhantaesus was her very dear friend, that he was as beautiful as thegod of love, that he remained often for many hours with her underthe leafy boughs of the tree which then rustled and waved more thanever over them both. He called her his dryad, she said, and the treehis tree; for the grand old oak, with its gnarled trunk, was just tohis taste. The root, spreading deep into the earth, the top risinghigh in the fresh air, knew the value of the drifted snow, the keenwind, and the warm sunshine, as it ought to be known. 'Yes,' continuedthe dryad, 'the birds sing up above in the branches, and talk toeach other about the beautiful fields they have visited in foreignlands; and on one of the withered boughs a stork has built hisnest,- it is beautifully arranged, and besides it is pleasant tohear a little about the land of the pyramids. All this pleasesPhantaesus, but it is not enough for him; I am obliged to relate tohim of my life in the woods; and to go back to my childhood, when Iwas little, and the tree so small and delicate that astinging-nettle could overshadow it, and I have to tell everythingthat has happened since then till now that the tree is so large andstrong. Sit you down now under the green bindwood and pay attention,when Phantaesus comes I will find an opportunity to lay hold of hiswing and to pull out one of the little feathers. That feather youshall have; a better was never given to any poet, it will be quiteenough for you.'

"And when Phantaesus came the feather was plucked, and," saidthe little mouse, "I seized and put it in water, and kept it theretill it was quite soft. It was very heavy and indigestible, but Imanaged to nibble it up at last. It is not so easy to nibble one'sself into a poet, there are so many things to get through. Now,however, I had two of them, understanding and imagination; and throughthese I knew that the third was to be found in the library. A greatman has said and written that there are novels whose sole and only useappeared to be that they might relieve mankind of overflowing tears- akind of sponge, in fact, for sucking up feelings and emotions. Iremembered a few of these books, they had always appeared temptingto the appetite; they had been much read, and were so greasy, thatthey must have absorbed no end of emotions in themselves. I retracedmy steps to the library, and literally devoured a whole novel, thatis, properly speaking, the interior or soft part of it; the crust,or binding, I left. When I had digested not only this, but a second, Ifelt a stirring within me; then I ate a small piece of a thirdromance, and felt myself a poet. I said it to myself, and toldothers the same. I had head-ache and back-ache, and I cannot tell whataches besides. I thought over all the stories that may be said to beconnected with sausage pegs, and all that has ever been writtenabout skewers, and sticks, and staves, and splinters came to mythoughts; the ant-queen must have had a wonderfully clearunderstanding. I remembered the man who placed a white stick in hismouth by which he could make himself and the stick invisible. Ithought of sticks as hobby-horses, staves of music or rhyme, ofbreaking a stick over a man's back, and heaven knows how many morephrases of the same sort relating to sticks, staves, and skewers.All my thoughts rein on skewers, sticks of wood, and staves; and asI am, at last, a poet, and I have worked terribly hard to makemyself one, I can of course make poetry on anything. I shall thereforebe able to wait upon you every day in the week with a poetical historyof a skewer. And that is my soup."

"In that case," said the mouse-king, "we will hear what thethird mouse has to say."

"Squeak, squeak," cried a little mouse at the kitchen door; it wasthe fourth, and not the third, of the four who were contending for theprize, one whom the rest supposed to be dead. She shot in like anarrow, and overturned the sausage peg that had been covered withcrape. She had been running day and night. She had watched anopportunity to get into a goods train, and had travelled by therailway; and yet she had arrived almost too late. She pressed forward,looking very much ruffled. She had lost her sausage skewer, but nother voice; for she began to speak at once as if they only waited forher, and would hear her only, and as if nothing else in the worldwas of the least consequence. She spoke out so clearly and plainly,and she had come in so suddenly, that no one had time to stop her orto say a word while she was speaking. And now let us hear what shesaid.

WHAT THE FOURTH MOUSE, WHO SPOKE

BEFORE THE THIRD, HAD TO TELL

"I started off at once to the largest town," said she, "but thename of it has escaped me. I have a very bad memory for names. I wascarried from the railway, with some forfeited goods, to the jail,and on arriving I made my escape, and ran into the house of theturnkey. The turnkey was speaking of his prisoners, especially ofone who had uttered thoughtless words. These words had given rise toother words, and at length they were written down and registered: 'Thewhole affair is like making soup of sausage skewers,' said he, 'butthe soup may cost him his neck.'

"Now this raised in me an interest for the prisoner," continuedthe little mouse, "and I watched my opportunity, and slipped intohis apartment, for there is a mouse-hole to be found behind everyclosed door. The prisoner looked pale; he had a great beard and large,sparkling eyes. There was a lamp burning, but the walls were soblack that they only looked the blacker for it. The prisoner scratchedpictures and verses with white chalk on the black walls, but I did notread the verses. I think he found his confinement wearisome, so that Iwas a welcome guest. He enticed me with bread-crumbs, withwhistling, and with gentle words, and seemed so friendly towards me,that by degrees I gained confidence in him, and we became friends;he divided his bread and water with me, gave me cheese and sausage,and I really began to love him. Altogether, I must own that it was avery pleasant intimacy. He let me run about on his hand, and on hisarm, and into his sleeve; and I even crept into his beard, and hecalled me his little friend. I forgot what I had come out into theworld for; forgot my sausage skewer which I had laid in a crack in thefloor- it is lying there still. I wished to stay with him always whereI was, for I knew that if I went away the poor prisoner would haveno one to be his friend, which is a sad thing. I stayed, but he didnot. He spoke to me so mournfully for the last time, gave me double asmuch bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me. Then hewent away, and never came back. I know nothing more of his history.

"The jailer took possession of me now. He said something aboutsoup from a sausage skewer, but I could not trust him. He took me inhis hand certainly, but it was to place me in a cage like atread-mill. Oh how dreadful it was! I had to run round and roundwithout getting any farther in advance, and only to make everybodylaugh. The jailer's grand-daughter was a charming little thing. Shehad curly hair like the brightest gold, merry eyes, and such a smilingmouth.

"'You poor little mouse,' said she, one day as she peeped intomy cage, 'I will set you free.' She then drew forth the ironfastening, and I sprang out on the window-sill, and from thence to theroof. Free! free! that was all I could think of; not of the objectof my journey. It grew dark, and as night was coming on I found alodging in an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I had noconfidence in either of them, least of all in the owl, which is like acat, and has a great failing, for she eats mice. One may however bemistaken sometimes; and so was I, for this was a respectable andwell-educated old owl, who knew more than the watchman, and even asmuch as I did myself. The young owls made a great fuss abouteverything, but the only rough words she would say to them were,'You had better go and make some soup from sausage skewers.' She wasvery indulgent and loving to her children. Her conduct gave me suchconfidence in her, that from the crack where I sat I called out'squeak.' This confidence of mine pleased her so much that she assuredme she would take me under her own protection, and that not a creatureshould do me harm. The fact was, she wickedly meant to keep me inreserve for her own eating in winter, when food would be scarce. Yetshe was a very clever lady-owl; she explained to me that thewatchman could only hoot with the horn that hung loose at his side;and then she said he is so terribly proud of it, that he imagineshimself an owl in the tower;- wants to do great things, but onlysucceeds in small; all soup on a sausage skewer. Then I begged the owlto give me the recipe for this soup. 'Soup from a sausage skewer,'said she, 'is only a proverb amongst mankind, and may be understood inmany ways. Each believes his own way the best, and after all, theproverb signifies nothing.' 'Nothing!' I exclaimed. I was quitestruck. Truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everythingelse, as the old owl said. I thought over all this, and saw quiteplainly that if truth was really so far above everything else, it mustbe much more valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. So I hastenedto get away, that I might be home in time, and bring what washighest and best, and above everything- namely, the truth. The miceare an enlightened people, and the mouse-king is above them all. He istherefore capable of making me queen for the sake of truth."

"Your truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yetspoken; "I can prepare the soup, and I mean to do so."

HOW IT WAS PREPARED

"I did not travel," said the third mouse; "I stayed in thiscountry: that was the right way. One gains nothing by travelling-everything can be acquired here quite as easily; so I stayed athome. I have not obtained what I know from supernatural beings. I haveneither swallowed it, nor learnt it from conversing with owls. Ihave got it all from my reflections and thoughts. Will you now set thekettle on the fire- so? Now pour the water in- quite full- up to thebrim; place it on the fire; make up a good blaze; keep it burning,that the water may boil; it must boil over and over. There, now Ithrow in the skewer. Will the mouse-king be pleased now to dip histail into the boiling water, and stir it round with the tail. Thelonger the king stirs it, the stronger the soup will become. Nothingmore is necessary, only to stir it."

"Can no one else do this?" asked the king.

"No," said the mouse; "only in the tail of the mouse-king isthis power contained."

And the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood closebeside the kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance; but heturned round, and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy, when theywish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails andafterwards lick it off. But the mous

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE ANGEL

by Hans Christian Andersen

"WHENEVER a good child dies, an angel of God comes down fromheaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his greatwhite wings, and flies with him over all the places which the childhad loved during his life. Then he gathers a large handful of flowers,which he carries up to the Almighty, that they may bloom more brightlyin heaven than they do on earth. And the Almighty presses theflowers to His heart, but He kisses the flower that pleases Himbest, and it receives a voice, and is able to join the song of thechorus of bliss."

These words were spoken by an angel of God, as he carried a deadchild up to heaven, and the child listened as if in a dream. Then theypassed over well-known spots, where the little one had often played,and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.

"Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplantedthere?" asked the angel.

Close by grew a slender, beautiful, rose-bush, but some wickedhand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rosebuds hung fadedand withered on the trailing branches.

"Poor rose-bush!" said the child, "let us take it with us toheaven, that it may bloom above in God's garden."

The angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child, and thelittle one half opened his eyes. The angel gathered also somebeautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups andheart's-ease.

"Now we have flowers enough," said the child; but the angel onlynodded, he did not fly upward to heaven.

It was night, and quite still in the great town. Here theyremained, and the angel hovered over a small, narrow street, inwhich lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings from thehouses of people who had removed. There lay fragments of plates,pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish not pleasant tosee. Amidst all this confusion, the angel pointed to the pieces of abroken flower-pot, and to a lump of earth which had fallen out ofit. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of awithered field-flower, which had been thrown amongst the rubbish.

"We will take this with us," said the angel, "I will tell youwhy as we fly along."

And as they flew the angel related the history.

"Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor sick boy;he had been afflicted from his childhood, and even in his best days hecould just manage to walk up and down the room on crutches once ortwice, but no more. During some days in summer, the sunbeams would lieon the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot thepoor sick boy would sit warming himself in the sunshine, andwatching the red blood through his delicate fingers as he held thembefore his face. Then he would say he had been out, yet he knewnothing of the green forest in its spring verdure, till a neighbor'sson brought him a green bough from a beech-tree. This he would placeover his head, and fancy that he was in the beech-wood while the sunshone, and the birds carolled gayly. One spring day the neighbor's boybrought him some field-flowers, and among them was one to which theroot still adhered. This he carefully planted in a flower-pot, andplaced in a window-seat near his bed. And the flower had beenplanted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots,and blossomed every year. It became a splendid flower-garden to thesick boy, and his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, andcherished it, and took care it should have the benefit of everysunbeam that found its way into the cellar, from the earliestmorning ray to the evening sunset. The flower entwined itself evenin his dreams- for him it bloomed, for him spread its perfume. Andit gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even in death,when the Lord called him. He has been one year with God. During thattime the flower has stood in the window, withered and forgotten,till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street, on theday of the lodgers' removal. And this poor flower, withered andfaded as it is, we have added to our nosegay, because it gave morereal joy than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen."

"But how do you know all this?" asked the child whom the angel wascarrying to heaven.

"I know it," said the angel, "because I myself was the poor sickboy who walked upon crutches, and I know my own flower well."

Then the child opened his eyes and looked into the glorioushappy face of the angel, and at the same moment they foundthemselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness and joy. AndGod pressed the dead child to His heart, and wings were given him sothat he could fly with the angel, hand in hand. Then the Almightypressed all the flowers to His heart; but He kissed the witheredfield-flower, and it received a voice. Then it joined in the song ofthe angels, who surrounded the throne, some near, and others in adistant circle, but all equally happy. They all joined in the chorusof praise, both great and small,- the good, happy child, and thepoor field-flower, that once lay withered and cast away on a heap ofrubbish in a narrow, dark street.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BEETLE WHO WENT ON HIS TRAVELS

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once an Emperor who had a horse shod with gold. He had agolden shoe on each foot, and why was this? He was a beautifulcreature, with slender legs, bright, intelligent eyes, and a mane thathung down over his neck like a veil. He had carried his master throughfire and smoke in the battle-field, with the bullets whistling roundhim; he had kicked and bitten, and taken part in the fight, when theenemy advanced; and, with his master on his back, he had dashed overthe fallen foe, and saved the golden crown and the Emperor's life,which was of more value than the brightest gold. This is the reason ofthe Emperor's horse wearing golden shoes.

A beetle came creeping forth from the stable, where the farrierhad been shoeing the horse. "Great ones, first, of course," said he,"and then the little ones; but size is not always a proof ofgreatness." He stretched out his thin leg as he spoke.

"And pray what do you want?" asked the farrier.

"Golden shoes," replied the beetle.

"Why, you must be out of your senses," cried the farrier."Golden shoes for you, indeed!"

"Yes, certainly; golden shoes," replied the beetle. "Am I not justas good as that great creature yonder, who is waited upon and brushed,and has food and drink placed before him? And don't I belong to theroyal stables?"

"But why does the horse have golden shoes?" asked the farrier; "ofcourse you understand the reason?"

"Understand! Well, I understand that it is a personal slight tome," cried the beetle. "It is done to annoy me, so I intend to goout into the world and seek my fortune."

"Go along with you," said the farrier.

"You're a rude fellow," cried the beetle, as he walked out ofthe stable; and then he flew for a short distance, till he foundhimself in a beautiful flower-garden, all fragrant with roses andlavender. The lady-birds, with red and black shells on their backs,and delicate wings, were flying about, and one of them said, "Is itnot sweet and lovely here? Oh, how beautiful everything is."

"I am accustomed to better things," said the beetle. "Do youcall this beautiful? Why, there is not even a dung-heap." Then he wenton, and under the shadow of a large haystack he found a caterpillarcrawling along. "How beautiful this world is!" said the caterpillar."The sun is so warm, I quite enjoy it. And soon I shall go to sleep,and die as they call it, but I shall wake up with beautiful wings tofly with, like a butterfly."

"How conceited you are!" exclaimed the beetle. "Fly about as abutterfly, indeed! what of that. I have come out of the Emperor'sstable, and no one there, not even the Emperor's horse, who, infact, wears my cast-off golden shoes, has any idea of flying,excepting myself. To have wings and fly! why, I can do thatalready;" and so saying, he spread his wings and flew away. "I don'twant to be disgusted," he said to himself, "and yet I can't helpit." Soon after, he fell down upon an extensive lawn, and for a timepretended to sleep, but at last fell asleep in earnest. Suddenly aheavy shower of rain came falling from the clouds. The beetle wokeup with the noise and would have been glad to creep into the earth forshelter, but he could not. He was tumbled over and over with the rain,sometimes swimming on his stomach and sometimes on his back; and asfor flying, that was out of the question. He began to doubt whether heshould escape with his life, so he remained, quietly lying where hewas. After a while the weather cleared up a little, and the beetle wasable to rub the water from his eyes, and look about him. He sawsomething gleaming, and he managed to make his way up to it. It waslinen which had been laid to bleach on the grass. He crept into a foldof the damp linen, which certainly was not so comfortable a place tolie in as the warm stable, but there was nothing better, so heremained lying there for a whole day and night, and the rain kept onall the time. Towards morning he crept out of his hiding-place,feeling in a very bad temper with the climate. Two frogs weresitting on the linen, and their bright eyes actually glistened withpleasure.

"Wonderful weather this," cried one of them, "and so refreshing.This linen holds the water together so beautifully, that my hindlegs quiver as if I were going to swim."

"I should like to know," said another, "If the swallow who fliesso far in her many journeys to foreign lands, ever met with a betterclimate than this. What delicious moisture! It is as pleasant as lyingin a wet ditch. I am sure any one who does not enjoy this has nolove for his fatherland."

"Have you ever been in the Emperor's stable?" asked the beetle."There the moisture is warm and refreshing; that's the climate for me,but I could not take it with me on my travels. Is there not even adunghill here in this garden, where a person of rank, like myself,could take up his abode and feel at home?" But the frogs either didnot or would not understand him.

"I never ask a question twice," said the beetle, after he hadasked this one three times, and received no answer. Then he went ona little farther and stumbled against a piece of broken crockery-ware,which certainly ought not to have been lying there. But as it wasthere, it formed a good shelter against wind and weather to severalfamilies of earwigs who dwelt in it. Their requirements were not many,they were very sociable, and full of affection for their children,so much so that each mother considered her own child the mostbeautiful and clever of them all.

"Our dear son has engaged himself," said one mother, "dearinnocent boy; his greatest ambition is that he may one day creepinto a clergyman's ear. That is a very artless and loveable wish;and being engaged will keep him steady. What happiness for a mother!"

"Our son," said another, "had scarcely crept out of the egg,when he was off on his travels. He is all life and spirits, I expecthe will wear out his horns with running. How charming this is for amother, is it not Mr. Beetle?" for she knew the stranger by hishorny coat.

"You are both quite right," said he; so they begged him to walkin, that is to come as far as he could under the broken piece ofearthenware.

"Now you shall also see my little earwigs," said a third and afourth mother, "they are lovely little things, and highly amusing.They are never ill-behaved, except when they are uncomfortable intheir inside, which unfortunately often happens at their age."

Thus each mother spoke of her baby, and their babies talkedafter their own fashion, and made use of the little nippers theyhave in their tails to nip the beard of the beetle.

"They are always busy about something, the little rogues," saidthe mother, beaming with maternal pride; but the beetle felt it abore, and he therefore inquired the way to the nearest dung-heap.

"That is quite out in the great world, on the other side of theditch," answered an earwig, "I hope none of my children will ever goso far, it would be the death of me."

"But I shall try to get so far," said the beetle, and he walkedoff without taking any formal leave, which is considered a politething to do.

When he arrived at the ditch, he met several friends, all thembeetles; "We live here," they said, "and we are very comfortable.May we ask you to step down into this rich mud, you must be fatiguedafter your journey."

"Certainly," said the beetle, "I shall be most happy; I havebeen exposed to the rain, and have had to lie upon linen, andcleanliness is a thing that greatly exhausts me; I have also painsin one of my wings from standing in the draught under a piece ofbroken crockery. It is really quite refreshing to be with one's ownkindred again."

"Perhaps you came from a dung-heap," observed the oldest of them.

"No, indeed, I came from a much grander place," replied thebeetle; "I came from the emperor's stable, where I was born, withgolden shoes on my feet. I am travelling on a secret embassy, butyou must not ask me any questions, for I cannot betray my secret."

Then the beetle stepped down into the rich mud, where sat threeyoung-lady beetles, who tittered, because they did not know what tosay.

"None of them are engaged yet," said their mother, and thebeetle maidens tittered again, this time quite in confusion.

"I have never seen greater beauties, even in the royal stables,"exclaimed the beetle, who was now resting himself.

"Don't spoil my girls," said the mother; "and don't talk tothem, pray, unless you have serious intentions."

But of course the beetle's intentions were serious, and after awhile our friend was engaged. The mother gave them her blessing, andall the other beetles cried "hurrah."

Immediately after the betrothal came the marriage, for there wasno reason to delay. The following day passed very pleasantly, andthe next was tolerably comfortable; but on the third it becamenecessary for him to think of getting food for his wife, and, perhaps,for children.

"I have allowed myself to be taken in," said our beetle tohimself, "and now there's nothing to be done but to take them in, inreturn."

No sooner said than done. Away he went, and stayed away all dayand all night, and his wife remained behind a forsaken widow.

"Oh," said the other beetles, "this fellow that we have receivedinto our family is nothing but a complete vagabond. He has gone awayand left his wife a burden upon our hands."

"Well, she can be unmarried again, and remain here with my otherdaughters," said the mother. "Fie on the villain that forsook her!"

In the mean time the beetle, who had sailed across the ditch ona cabbage leaf, had been journeying on the other side. In themorning two persons came up to the ditch. When they saw him theytook him up and turned him over and over, looking very learned all thetime, especially one, who was a boy. "Allah sees the black beetle inthe black stone, and the black rock. Is not that written in theKoran?" he asked.

Then he translated the beetle's name into Latin, and said agreat deal upon the creature's nature and history. The secondperson, who was older and a scholar, proposed to carry the beetlehome, as they wanted just such good specimens as this. Our beetleconsidered this speech a great insult, so he flew suddenly out ofthe speaker's hand. His wings were dry now, so they carried him to agreat distance, till at last he reached a hothouse, where a sash ofthe glass roof was partly open, so he quietly slipped in and buriedhimself in the warm earth. "It is very comfortable here," he said tohimself, and soon after fell asleep. Then he dreamed that theemperor's horse was dying, and had left him his golden shoes, and alsopromised that he should have two more. All this was very delightful,and when the beetle woke up he crept forth and looked around him. Whata splendid place the hothouse was! At the back, large palm-treeswere growing; and the sunlight made the leaves- look quite glossy; andbeneath them what a profusion of luxuriant green, and of flowers redlike flame, yellow as amber, or white as new-fallen snow! "What awonderful quantity of plants," cried the beetle; "how good they willtaste when they are decayed! This is a capital store-room. Theremust certainly be some relations of mine living here; I will justsee if I can find any one with whom I can associate. I'm proud,certainly; but I'm also proud of being so. Then he prowled about inthe earth, and thought what a pleasant dream that was about thedying horse, and the golden shoes he had inherited. Suddenly a handseized the beetle, and squeezed him, and turned him round and round.The gardener's little son and his playfellow had come into thehothouse, and, seeing the beetle, wanted to have some fun with him.First, he was wrapped, in a vine-leaf, and put into a warm trousers'pocket. He twisted and turned about with all his might, but he got agood squeeze from the boy's hand, as a hint for him to keep quiet.Then the boy went quickly towards a lake that lay at the end of thegarden. Here the beetle was put into an old broken wooden shoe, inwhich a little stick had been fastened upright for a mast, and to thismast the beetle was bound with a piece of worsted. Now he was asailor, and had to sail away. The lake was not very large, but tothe beetle it seemed an ocean, and he was so astonished at its sizethat he fell over on his back, and kicked out his legs. Then thelittle ship sailed away; sometimes the current of the water seized it,but whenever it went too far from the shore one of the boys turnedup his trousers, and went in after it, and brought it back to land.But at last, just as it went merrily out again, the two boys werecalled, and so angrily, that they hastened to obey, and ran away asfast as they could from the pond, so that the little ship was leftto its fate. It was carried away farther and farther from the shore,till it reached the open sea. This was a terrible prospect for thebeetle, for he could not escape in consequence of being bound to themast. Then a fly came and paid him a visit. "What beautifulweather," said the fly; "I shall rest here and sun myself. You musthave a pleasant time of it."

"You speak without knowing the facts," replied the beetle;"don't you see that I am a prisoner?"

"Ah, but I'm not a prisoner," remarked the fly, and away he flew.

"Well, now I know the world," said the beetle to himself; "it's anabominable world; I'm the only respectable person in it. First, theyrefuse me my golden shoes; then I have to lie on damp linen, and tostand in a draught; and to crown all, they fasten a wife upon me.Then, when I have made a step forward in the world, and found out acomfortable position, just as I could wish it to be, one of thesehuman boys comes and ties me up, and leaves me to the mercy of thewild waves, while the emperor's favorite horse goes prancing aboutproudly on his golden shoes. This vexes me more than anything. Butit is useless to look for sympathy in this world. My career has beenvery interesting, but what's the use of that if nobody knowsanything about it? The world does not deserve to be made acquaintedwith my adventures, for it ought to have given me golden shoes whenthe emperor's horse was shod, and I stretched out my feet to beshod, too. If I had received golden shoes I should have been anornament to the stable; now I am lost to the stable and to theworld. It is all over with me."

But all was not yet over. A boat, in which were a few young girls,came rowing up. "Look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along,"said one of the younger girls.

"And there's a poor little creature bound fast in it," saidanother.

The boat now came close to our beetle's ship, and the younggirls fished it out of the water. One of them drew a small pair ofscissors from her pocket, and cut the worsted without hurting thebeetle, and when she stepped on shore she placed him on the grass."There," she said, "creep away, or fly, if thou canst. It is asplendid thing to have thy liberty." Away flew the beetle, straightthrough the open window of a large building; there he sank down, tiredand exhausted, exactly on the mane of the emperor's favorite horse,who was standing in his stable; and the beetle found himself at homeagain. For some time he clung to the mane, that he might recoverhimself. "Well," he said, "here I am, seated on the emperor's favoritehorse,- sitting upon him as if I were the emperor himself. But whatwas it the farrier asked me? Ah, I remember now,- that's a goodthought,- he asked me why the golden shoes were given to the horse.The answer is quite clear to me, now. They were given to the horseon my account." And this reflection put the beetle into a good temper.The sun's rays also came streaming into the stable, and shone uponhim, and made the place lively and bright. "Travelling expands themind very much," said the beetle. "The world is not so bad afterall, if you know how to take things as they come.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BELL

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the narrow streets of a large town people often heard in theevening, when the sun was setting, and his last rays gave a goldentint to the chimney-pots, a strange noise which resembled the sound ofa church bell; it only lasted an instant, for it was lost in thecontinual roar of traffic and hum of voices which rose from thetown. "The evening bell is ringing," people used to say; "the sun issetting!" Those who walked outside the town, where the houses wereless crowded and interspersed by gardens and little fields, saw theevening sky much better, and heard the sound of the bell much moreclearly. It seemed as though the sound came from a church, deep in thecalm, fragrant wood, and thither people looked with devout feelings.

A considerable time elapsed: one said to the other, "I reallywonder if there is a church out in the wood. The bell has indeed astrange sweet sound! Shall we go there and see what the cause of itis?" The rich drove, the poor walked, but the way seemed to themextraordinarily long, and when they arrived at a number of willowtrees on the border of the wood they sat down, looked up into thegreat branches and thought they were now really in the wood. Aconfectioner from the town also came out and put up a stall there;then came another confectioner who hung a bell over his stall, whichwas covered with pitch to protect it from the rain, but the clapperwas wanting.

When people came home they used to say that it had been veryromantic, and that really means something else than merely taking tea.Three persons declared that they had gone as far as the end of thewood; they had always heard the strange sound, but there it seemedto them as if it came from the town. One of them wrote verses aboutthe bell, and said that it was like the voice of a mother speakingto an intelligent and beloved child; no tune, he said, was sweeterthan the sound of the bell.

The emperor of the country heard of it, and declared that he whowould really find out where the sound came from should receive thetitle of "Bellringer to the World," even if there was no bell at all.

Now many went out into the wood for the sake of this splendidberth; but only one of them came back with some sort of explanation.None of them had gone far enough, nor had he, and yet he said that thesound of the bell came from a large owl in a hollow tree. It was awisdom owl, which continually knocked its head against the tree, buthe was unable to say with certainty whether its head or the hollowtrunk of the tree was the cause of the noise.

He was appointed "Bellringer to the World," and wrote every year ashort dissertation on the owl, but by this means people did not becomeany wiser than they had been before.

It was just confirmation-day. The clergyman had delivered abeautiful and touching sermon, the candidates were deeply moved by it;it was indeed a very important day for them; they were all at oncetransformed from mere children to grown-up people; the childish soulwas to fly over, as it were, into a more reasonable being.

The sun shone most brightly; and the sound of the great unknownbell was heard more distinctly than ever. They had a mind to gothither, all except three. One of them wished to go home and try onher ball dress, for this very dress and the ball were the cause of herbeing confirmed this time, otherwise she would not have been allowedto go. The second, a poor boy, had borrowed a coat and a pair of bootsfrom the son of his landlord to be confirmed in, and he had toreturn them at a certain time. The third said that he never wentinto strange places if his parents were not with him; he had alwaysbeen a good child, and wished to remain so, even after beingconfirmed, and they ought not to tease him for this; they, however,did it all the same. These three, therefore did not go; the otherswent on. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and theconfirmed children sang too, holding each other by the hand, forthey had no position yet, and they were all equal in the eyes ofGod. Two of the smallest soon became tired and returned to the town;two little girls sat down and made garlands of flowers, they,therefore, did not go on. When the others arrived at the willow trees,where the confectioner had put up his stall, they said: "Now we areout here; the bell does not in reality exist- it is only somethingthat people imagine!"

Then suddenly the sound of the bell was heard so beautifully andsolemnly from the wood that four or five made up their minds to gostill further on. The wood was very thickly grown. It was difficult toadvance: wood lilies and anemones grew almost too high; floweringconvolvuli and brambles were hanging like garlands from tree totree; while the nightingales were singing and the sunbeams played.That was very beautiful! But the way was unfit for the girls; theywould have torn their dresses. Large rocks, covered with moss ofvarious hues, were lying about; the fresh spring water rippled forthwith a peculiar sound. "I don't think that can be the bell," saidone of the confirmed children, and then he lay down and listened."We must try to find out if it is!" And there he remained, and let theothers walk on.

They came to a hut built of the bark of trees and branches; alarge crab-apple tree spread its branches over it, as if it intendedto pour all its fruit on the roof, upon which roses were blooming; thelong boughs covered the gable, where a little bell was hanging. Wasthis the one they had heard? All agreed that it must be so, except onewho said that the bell was too small and too thin to be heard atsuch a distance, and that it had quite a different sound to that whichhad so touched men's hearts.

He who spoke was a king's son, and therefore the others saidthat such a one always wishes to be cleverer than other people.

Therefore they let him go alone; and as he walked on, the solitudeof the wood produced a feeling of reverence in his breast; but stillhe heard the little bell about which the others rejoiced, andsometimes, when the wind blew in that direction, he could hear thesounds from the confectioner's stall, where the others were singing attea. But the deep sounds of the bell were much stronger; soon itseemed to him as if an organ played an accompaniment- the sound camefrom the left, from the side where the heart is. Now something rustledamong the bushes, and a little boy stood before the king's son, inwooden shoes and such a short jacket that the sleeves did not reach tohis wrists. They knew each other: the boy was the one who had not beenable to go with them because he had to take the coat and boots back tohis landlord's son. That he had done, and had started again in hiswooden shoes and old clothes, for the sound of the bell was tooenticing- he felt he must go on.

"We might go together," said the king's son. But the poor boy withthe wooden shoes was quite ashamed; he pulled at the short sleevesof his jacket, and said that he was afraid he could not walk sofast; besides, he was of opinion that the bell ought to be sought atthe right, for there was all that was grand and magnificent.

"Then we shall not meet," said the king's son, nodding to the poorboy, who went into the deepest part of the wood, where the thorns torehis shabby clothes and scratched his hands, face, and feet untilthey bled. The king's son also received several good scratches, butthe sun was shining on his way, and it is he whom we will nowfollow, for he was a quick fellow. "I will and must find the bell," hesaid, "if I have to go to the end of the world."

Ugly monkeys sat high in the branches and clenched their teeth."Shall we beat him?" they said. "Shall we thrash him? He is a king'sson!"

But he walked on undaunted, deeper and deeper into the wood, wherethe most wonderful flowers were growing; there were standing whitestar lilies with blood-red stamens, sky-blue tulips shining when thewind moved them; apple-trees covered with apples like large glitteringsoap bubbles: only think how resplendent these trees were in thesunshine! All around were beautiful green meadows, where hart and hindplayed in the grass. There grew magnificent oaks and beech-trees;and if the bark was split of any of them, long blades of grass grewout of the clefts; there were also large smooth lakes in the wood,on which the swans were swimming about and flapping their wings. Theking's son often stood still and listened; sometimes he thought thatthe sound of the bell rose up to him out of one of these deep lakes,but soon he found that this was a mistake, and that the bell wasringing still farther in the wood. Then the sun set, the clouds wereas red as fire; it became quiet in the wood; he sank down on hisknees, sang an evening hymn and said: "I shall never find what I amlooking for! Now the sun is setting, and the night, the dark night, isapproaching. Yet I may perhaps see the round sun once more before hedisappears beneath the horizon. I will climb up these rocks, theyare as high as the highest trees!" And then, taking hold of thecreepers and roots, he climbed up on the wet stones, wherewater-snakes were wriggling and the toads, as it were, barked athim: he reached the top before the sun, seen from such a height, hadquite set. "Oh, what a splendour!" The sea, the great majestic sea,which was rolling its long waves against the shore, stretched outbefore him, and the sun was standing like a large bright altar andthere where sea and heaven met- all melted together in the mostglowing colours; the wood was singing, and his heart too. The whole ofnature was one large holy church, in which the trees and hoveringclouds formed the pillars, the flowers and grass the woven velvetcarpet, and heaven itself was the great cupola; up there the flamecolour vanished as soon as the sun disappeared, but millions ofstars were lighted; diamond lamps were shining, and the king's sonstretched his arms out towards heaven, towards the sea, and towardsthe wood. Then suddenly the poor boy with the short-sleeved jacket andthe wooden shoes appeared; he had arrived just as quickly on theroad he had chosen. And they ran towards each other and took oneanother's hand, in the great cathedral of nature and poesy, andabove them sounded the invisible holy bell; happy spirits surroundedthem, singing hallelujahs and rejoicing.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BELL-DEEP

by Hans Christian Andersen

"DING-DONG! ding-dong!" It sounds up from the "bell-deep" in theOdense-Au. Every child in the old town of Odense, on the island ofFunen, knows the Au, which washes the gardens round about the town,and flows on under the wooden bridges from the dam to thewater-mill. In the Au grow the yellow water-lilies and brownfeathery reeds; the dark velvety flag grows there, high and thick; oldand decayed willows, slanting and tottering, hang far out over thestream beside the monk's meadow and by the bleaching ground; butopposite there are gardens upon gardens, each different from the rest,some with pretty flowers and bowers like little dolls' pleasuregrounds, often displaying cabbage and other kitchen plants; and hereand there the gardens cannot be seen at all, for the great elder treesthat spread themselves out by the bank, and hang far out over thestreaming waters, which are deeper here and there than an oar canfathom. Opposite the old nunnery is the deepest place, which is calledthe "bell-deep," and there dwells the old water spirit, the "Au-mann."This spirit sleeps through the day while the sun shines down uponthe water; but in starry and moonlit nights he shows himself. He isvery old. Grandmother says that she has heard her own grandmother tellof him; he is said to lead a solitary life, and to have nobody withwhom he can converse save the great old church Bell. Once the Bellhung in the church tower; but now there is no trace left of thetower or of the church, which was called St. Alban's.

"Ding-dong! ding-dong!" sounded the Bell, when the tower stillstood there; and one evening, while the sun was setting, and theBell was swinging away bravely, it broke loose and came flying downthrough the air, the brilliant metal shining in the ruddy beam.

"Ding-dong! ding-dong! Now I'll retire to rest!" sang the Bell,and flew down into the Odense-Au, where it is deepest; and that is whythe place is called the "bell-deep."

But the Bell got neither rest nor sleep. Down in the Au-mann'shaunt it sounds and rings, so that the tones sometimes pierce upwardthrough the waters; and many people maintain that its strains forebodethe death of some one; but that is not true, for the Bell is onlytalking with the Au-mann, who is now no longer alone.

And what is the Bell telling? It is old, very old, as we havealready observed; it was there long before grandmother's grandmotherwas born; and yet it is but a child in comparison with the Au-mann,who is quite an old quiet personage, an oddity, with his hose ofeel-skin, and his scaly Jacket with the yellow lilies for buttons, anda wreath of reed in his hair and seaweed in his beard; but he looksvery pretty for all that.

What the Bell tells? To repeat it all would require years anddays; for year by year it is telling the old stories, sometimesshort ones, sometimes long ones, according to its whim; it tells ofold times, of the dark hard times, thus:

"In the church of St. Alban, the monk had mounted up into thetower. He was young and handsome, but thoughtful exceedingly. Helooked through the loophole out upon the Odense-Au, when the bed ofthe water was yet broad, and the monks' meadow was still a lake. Helooked out over it, and over the rampart, and over the nuns' hillopposite, where the convent lay, and the light gleamed forth fromthe nun's cell. He had known the nun right well, and he thought ofher, and his heart beat quicker as he thought. Ding-dong! ding-dong!"

Yes, this was the story the Bell told.

"Into the tower came also the dapper man-servant of the bishop;and when I, the Bell, who am made of metal, rang hard and loud, andswung to and fro, I might have beaten out his brains. He sat downclose under me, and played with two little sticks as if they hadbeen a stringed instrument; and he sang to it. 'Now I may sing itout aloud, though at other times I may not whisper it. I may sing ofeverything that is kept concealed behind lock and bars. Yonder it iscold and wet. The rats are eating her up alive! Nobody knows of it!Nobody hears of it! Not even now, for the bell is ringing andsinging its loud Ding-dong, ding-dong!'

"There was a King in those days. They called him Canute. Hebowed himself before bishop and monk; but when he offended the freepeasants with heavy taxes and hard words, they seized their weaponsand put him to flight like a wild beast. He sought shelter in thechurch, and shut gate and door behind him. The violent band surroundedthe church; I heard tell of it. The crows, ravens and magpiesstarted up in terror at the yelling and shouting that soundedaround. They flew into the tower and out again, they looked downupon the throng below, and they also looked into the windows of thechurch, and screamed out aloud what they saw there. King Canuteknelt before the altar in prayer; his brothers Eric and Benedict stoodby him as a guard with drawn swords; but the King's servant, thetreacherous Blake, betrayed his master. The throng in front of thechurch knew where they could hit the King, and one of them flung astone through a pane of glass, and the King lay there dead! Thecries and screams of the savage horde and of the birds sounded throughthe air, and I joined in it also; for I sang 'Ding-dong! ding-dong!'

"The church bell hangs high, and looks far around, and sees thebirds around it, and understands their language. The wind roars inupon it through windows and loopholes; and the wind knowseverything, for he gets it from the air, which encircles all things,and the church bell understands his tongue, and rings it out intothe world, 'Ding-dong! ding-dong!'

"But it was too much for me to hear and to know; I was not ableany longer to ring it out. I became so tired, so heavy, that thebeam broke, and I flew out into the gleaming Au, where the water isdeepest, and where the Au-mann lives, solitary and alone; and yearby year I tell him what I have heard and what I know. Ding-dong!ding-dong"

Thus it sounds complainingly out of the bell-deep in theOdense-Au. That is what grandmother told us.

But the schoolmaster says that there was not any bell that rungdown there, for that it could not do so; and that no Au-mann dweltyonder, for there was no Au-mann at all! And when all the other churchbells are sounding sweetly, he says that it is not really the bellsthat are sounding, but that it is the air itself which sends forth thenotes; and grandmother said to us that the Bell itself said it was theair who told it to him, consequently they are agreed on that point,and this much is sure.

"Be cautious, cautious, and take good heed to thyself," theyboth say.

The air knows everything. It is around us, it is in us, it talksof our thoughts and of our deeds, and it speaks longer of them thandoes the Bell down in the depths of the Odense-Au where the Au-manndwells. It rings it out in the vault of heaven, far, far out,forever and ever, till the heaven bells sound "Ding-dong! ding-dong!"

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BIRD OF POPULAR SONG

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT is winter-time. The earth wears a snowy garment, and looks likemarble hewn out of the rock; the air is bright and clear; the windis sharp as a well-tempered sword, and the trees stand like branchesof white coral or blooming almond twigs, and here it is keen as on thelofty Alps.

The night is splendid in the gleam of the Northern Lights, andin the glitter of innumerable twinkling stars.

But we sit in the warm room, by the hot stove, and talk aboutthe old times. And we listen to this story:

By the open sea was a giant's grave; and on the grave-mound sat atmidnight the spirit of the buried hero, who had been a king. Thegolden circlet gleamed on his brow, his hair fluttered in the wind,and he was clad in steel and iron. He bent his head mournfully, andsighed in deep sorrow, as an unquiet spirit might sigh.

And a ship came sailing by. Presently the sailors lowered theanchor and landed. Among them was a singer, and he approached theroyal spirit, and said,

"Why mournest thou, and wherefore dost thou suffer thus?"

And the dead man answered,

"No one has sung the deeds of my life; they are dead andforgotten. Song doth not carry them forth over the lands, nor into thehearts of men; therefore I have no rest and no peace."

And he spoke of his works, and of his warlike deeds, which hiscontemporaries had known, but which had not been sung, because therewas no singer among his companions.

Then the old bard struck the strings of his harp, and sang ofthe youthful courage of the hero, of the strength of the man, and ofthe greatness of his good deeds. Then the face of the dead one gleamedlike the margin of the cloud in the moonlight. Gladly and of goodcourage, the form arose in splendor and in majesty, and vanishedlike the glancing of the northern light. Nought was to be seen but thegreen turfy mound, with the stones on which no Runic record has beengraven; but at the last sound of the harp there soared over thehill, as though he had fluttered from the harp, a little bird, acharming singing-bird, with ringing voice of the thrush, with themoving voice pathos of the human heart, with a voice that told ofhome, like the voice that is heard by the bird of passage. Thesinging-bird soared away, over mountain and valley, over field andwood- he was the Bird of Popular Song, who never dies.

We hear his song- we hear it now in the room while the whitebees are swarming without, and the storm clutches the windows. Thebird sings not alone the requiem of heroes; he sings also sweet gentlesongs of love, so many and so warm, of Northern fidelity and truth. Hehas stories in words and in tones; he has proverbs and snatches ofproverbs; songs which, like Runes laid under a dead man's tongue,force him to speak; and thus Popular Song tells of the land of hisbirth.

In the old heathen days, in the times of the Vikings, thepopular speech was enshrined in the harp of the bard.

In the days of knightly castles, when the strongest fist heldthe scales of justice, when only might was right, and a peasant anda dog were of equal importance, where did the Bird of Song findshelter and protection? Neither violence nor stupidity gave him athought.

But in the gabled window of the knightly castle, the lady of thecastle sat with the parchment roll before her, and wrote down theold recollections in song and legend, while near her stood the oldwoman from the wood, and the travelling peddler who went wanderingthrough the country. As these told their tales, there fluttered aroundthem, with twittering and song, the Bird of Popular Song, who neverdies so long as the earth has a hill upon which his foot may rest.

And now he looks in upon us and sings. Without are the night andthe snow-storm. He lays the Runes beneath our tongues, and we know theland of our home. Heaven speaks to us in our native tongue, in thevoice of the Bird of Popular Song. The old remembrances awake, thefaded colors glow with a fresh lustre, and story and song pour us ablessed draught which lifts up our minds and our thoughts, so that theevening becomes as a Christmas festival.

The snow-flakes chase each other, the ice cracks, the stormrules without, for he has the might, he is lord- but not the LORD OFALL.

It is winter time. The wind is sharp as a two-edged sword, thesnow-flakes chase each other; it seems as though it had been snowingfor days and weeks, and the snow lies like a great mountain over thewhole town, like a heavy dream of the winter night. Everything onthe earth is hidden away, only the golden cross of the church, thesymbol of faith, arises over the snow grave, and gleams in the blueair and in the bright sunshine.

And over the buried town fly the birds of heaven, the small andthe great; they twitter and they sing as best they may, each bird withhis beak.

First comes the band of sparrows: they pipe at every trifle in thestreets and lanes, in the nests and the houses; they have stories totell about the front buildings and the back buildings.

"We know the buried town," they say; "everything living in it ispiep! piep! piep!"

The black ravens and crows flew on over the white snow.

"Grub, grub!" they cried. "There's something to be got down there;something to swallow, and that's most important. That's the opinion ofmost of them down there, and the opinion is goo-goo-good!"

The wild swans come flying on whirring pinions, and sing of thenoble and the great, that will still sprout in the hearts of men, downin the town which is resting beneath its snowy veil.

No death is there- life reigns yonder; we hear it on the notesthat swell onward like the tones of the church organ, which seize uslike sounds from the elf-hill, like the songs of Ossian, like therushing swoop of the wandering spirits' wings. What harmony! Thatharmony speaks to our hearts, and lifts up our souls! It is the Birdof Popular Song whom we hear.

And at this moment the warm breath of heaven blows down from thesky. There are gaps in the snowy mountains, the sun shines into theclefts; spring is coming, the birds are returning, and new races arecoming with the same home sounds in their hearts.

Hear the story of the year: "The night of the snow-storm, theheavy dream of the winter night, all shall be dissolved, all shallrise again in the beauteous notes of the Bird of Popular Song, whonever dies!"

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BISHOP OF BORGLUM AND HIS WARRIORS

by Hans Christian Andersen

OUR scene is laid in Northern Jutland, in the so-called "wildmoor." We hear what is called the "Wester-wow-wow"- the peculiarroar of the North Sea as it breaks against the western coast ofJutland. It rolls and thunders with a sound that penetrates formiles into the land; and we are quite near the roaring. Before usrises a great mound of sand- a mountain we have long seen, and towardswhich we are wending our way, driving slowly along through the deepsand. On this mountain of sand is a lofty old building- the convent ofBorglum. In one of its wings (the larger one) there is still a church.And at this convent we now arrive in the late evening hour; but theweather is clear in the bright June night around us, and the eye canrange far, far over field and moor to the Bay of Aalborg, over heathand meadow, and far across the deep blue sea.

Now we are there, and roll past between barns and other farmbuildings; and at the left of the gate we turn aside to the Old CastleFarm, where the lime trees stand in lines along the walls, and,sheltered from the wind and weather, grow so luxuriantly that theirtwigs and leaves almost conceal the windows.

We mount the winding staircase of stone, and march through thelong passages under the heavy roof-beams. The wind moans verystrangely here, both within and without. It is hardly known how, butthe people say- yes, people say a great many things when they arefrightened or want to frighten others- they say that the old deadchoir-men glide silently past us into the church, where mass issung. They can be heard in the rushing of the storm, and their singingbrings up strange thoughts in the hearers- thoughts of the old timesinto which we are carried back.

On the coast a ship is stranded; and the bishop's warriors arethere, and spare not those whom the sea has spared. The sea washesaway the blood that has flowed from the cloven skulls. The strandedgoods belong to the bishop, and there is a store of goods here. Thesea casts up tubs and barrels filled with costly wine for theconvent cellar, and in the convent is already good store of beer andmead. There is plenty in the kitchen- dead game and poultry, hamsand sausages; and fat fish swim in the ponds without.

The Bishop of Borglum is a mighty lord. He has greatpossessions, but still he longs for more- everything must bow beforethe mighty Olaf Glob. His rich cousin at Thyland is dead, and hiswidow is to have the rich inheritance. But how comes it that onerelation is always harder towards another than even strangers wouldbe? The widow's husband had possessed all Thyland, with theexception of the church property. Her son was not at home. In hisboyhood he had already started on a journey, for his desire was to seeforeign lands and strange people. For years there had been no newsof him. Perhaps he had been long laid in the grave, and would nevercome back to his home, to rule where his mother then ruled.

"What has a woman to do with rule?" said the bishop.

He summoned the widow before a law court; but what did he gainthereby? The widow had never been disobedient to the law, and wasstrong in her just rights.

Bishop Olaf of Borglum, what dost thou purpose? What writestthou on yonder smooth parchment, sealing it with thy seal, andintrusting it to the horsemen and servants, who ride away, far away,to the city of the Pope?

It is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soonicy winter will come.

Twice had icy winter returned before the bishop welcomed thehorsemen and servants back to their home. They came from Rome with apapal decree- a ban, or bull, against the widow who had dared tooffend the pious bishop. "Cursed be she and all that belongs to her.Let her be expelled from the congregation and the Church. Let no manstretch forth a helping hand to her, and let friends and relationsavoid her as a plague and a pestilence!"

"What will not bend must break," said the Bishop of Borglum

And all forsake the widow; but she holds fast to her God. He isher helper and defender.

One servant only- an old maid- remained faithful to her; andwith the old servant, the widow herself followed the plough; and thecrop grew, although the land had been cursed by the Pope and by thebishop.

"Thou child of perdition, I will yet carry out my purpose!"cried the Bishop of Borglum. "Now will I lay the hand of the Pope uponthee, to summon thee before the tribunal that shall condemn thee!"

Then did the widow yoke the last two oxen that remained to herto a wagon, and mounted up on the wagon, with her old servant, andtravelled away across the heath out of the Danish land. As astranger she came into a foreign country, where a strange tongue wasspoken and where new customs prevailed. Farther and farther shejourneyed, to where green hills rise into mountains, and the vineclothes their sides. Strange merchants drive by her, and they lookanxiously after their wagons laden with merchandise. They fear anattack from the armed followers of the robber-knights. The two poorwomen, in their humble vehicle drawn by two black oxen, travelfearlessly through the dangerous sunken road and through thedarksome forest. And now they were in Franconia. And there met thema stalwart knight, with a train of twelve armed followers. Hepaused, gazed at the strange vehicle, and questioned the women as tothe goal of their journey and the place whence they came. Then oneof them mentioned Thyland in Denmark, and spoke of her sorrows, of herwoes, which were soon to cease, for so Divine Providence had willedit. For the stranger knight is the widow's son! He seized her hand, heembraced her, and the mother wept. For years she had not been ableto weep, but had only bitten her lips till the blood started.

It is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soonwill icy winter come.

The sea rolled wine-tubs to the shore for the bishop's cellar.In the kitchen the deer roasted on the spit before the fire. AtBorglum it was warm and cheerful in the heated rooms, while coldwinter raged without, when a piece of news was brought to thebishop. "Jens Glob, of Thyland, has come back, and his mother withhim." Jens Glob laid a complaint against the bishop, and summonedhim before the temporal and the spiritual court.

"That will avail him little," said the bishop. "Best leave off thyefforts, knight Jens."

Again it is the time of falling leaves and stranded ships. Icywinter comes again, and the "white bees" are swarming, and sting thetraveller's face till they melt.

"Keen weather to-day!" say the people, as they step in.

Jens Glob stands so deeply wrapped in thought, that he singesthe skirt of his wide garment.

"Thou Borglum bishop," he exclaims, "I shall subdue thee afterall! Under the shield of the Pope, the law cannot reach thee; but JensGlob shall reach thee!"

Then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law, Olaf Hase, inSallingland, and prays that knight to meet him on Christmas eve, atmass, in the church at Widberg. The bishop himself is to read themass, and consequently will journey from Borglum to Thyland; andthis is known to Jens Glob.

Moorland and meadow are covered with ice and snow. The marshwill bear horse and rider, the bishop with his priests and armedmen. They ride the shortest way, through the waving reeds, where thewind moans sadly.

Blow thy brazen trumpet, thou trumpeter clad in fox-skin! itsounds merrily in the clear air. So they ride on over heath andmoorland- over what is the garden of Fata Morgana in the hot summer,though now icy, like all the country- towards the church of Widberg.

The wind is blowing his trumpet too- blowing it harder and harder.He blows up a storm- a terrible storm- that increases more and more.Towards the church they ride, as fast as they may through the storm.The church stands firm, but the storm careers on over field andmoorland, over land and sea.

Borglum's bishop reaches the church; but Olaf Hase will scarcedo so, however hard he may ride. He journeys with his warriors onthe farther side of the bay, in order that he may help Jens Glob,now that the bishop is to be summoned before the judgment seat ofthe Highest.

The church is the judgment hall; the altar is the council table.The lights burn clear in the heavy brass candelabra. The storm readsout the accusation and the sentence, roaming in the air over moorand heath, and over the rolling waters. No ferry-boat can sail overthe bay in such weather as this.

Olaf Hase makes halt at Ottesworde. There he dismisses hiswarriors, presents them with their horses and harness, and givesthem leave to ride home and greet his wife. He intends to risk hislife alone in the roaring waters; but they are to bear witness for himthat it is not his fault if Jens Glob stands without reinforcementin the church at Widberg. The faithful warriors will not leave him,but follow him out into the deep waters. Ten of them are carried away;but Olaf Hase and two of the youngest men reach the farther side. Theyhave still four miles to ride.

It is past midnight. It is Christmas. The wind has abated. Thechurch is lighted up; the gleaming radiance shines through thewindow-frames, and pours out over meadow and heath. The mass haslong been finished, silence reigns in the church, and the wax is hearddropping from the candles to the stone pavement. And now Olaf Hasearrives.

In the forecourt Jens Glob greets him kindly, and says,

"I have just made an agreement with the bishop."

"Sayest thou so?" replied Olaf Hase. "Then neither thou nor thebishop shall quit this church alive."

And the sword leaps from the scabbard, and Olaf Hase deals ablow that makes the panel of the church door, which Jens Globhastily closes between them, fly in fragments.

"Hold, brother! First hear what the agreement was that I made. Ihave slain the bishop and his warriors and priests. They will haveno word more to say in the matter, nor will I speak again of all thewrong that my mother has endured."

The long wicks of the altar lights glimmer red; but there is aredder gleam upon the pavement, where the bishop lies with clovenskull, and his dead warriors around him, in the quiet of the holyChristmas night.

And four days afterwards the bells toll for a funeral in theconvent of Borglum. The murdered bishop and the slain warriors andpriests are displayed under a black canopy, surrounded by candelabradecked with crape. There lies the dead man, in the black cloak wroughtwith silver; the crozier in the powerless hand that was once somighty. The incense rises in clouds, and the monks chant the funeralhymn. It sounds like a wail- it sounds like a sentence of wrath andcondemnation, that must be heard far over the land, carried by thewind- sung by the wind- the wail that sometimes is silent, but neverdies; for ever again it rises in song, singing even into our owntime this legend of the Bishop of Borglum and his hard nephew. It isheard in the dark night by the frightened husbandman, driving by inthe heavy sandy road past the convent of Borglum. It is heard by thesleepless listener in the thickly-walled rooms at Borglum. And notonly to the ear of superstition is the sighing and the tread ofhurrying feet audible in the long echoing passages leading to theconvent door that has long been locked. The door still seems toopen, and the lights seem to flame in the brazen candlesticks; thefragrance of incense arises; the church gleams in its ancientsplendor; and the monks sing and say the mass over the slain bishop,who lies there in the black silver-embroidered mantle, with thecrozier in his powerless hand; and on his pale proud forehead gleamsthe red wound like fire, and there burn the worldly mind and thewicked thoughts.

Sink down into his grave- into oblivion- ye terrible shapes of thetimes of old!

Hark to the raging of the angry wind, sounding above the rollingsea! A storm approaches without, calling aloud for human lives. Thesea has not put on a new mind with the new time. This night it is ahorrible pit to devour up lives, and to-morrow, perhaps, it may be aglassy mirror- even as in the old time that we have buried. Sleepsweetly, if thou canst sleep!

Now it is morning.

The new time flings sunshine into the room. The wind still keepsup mightily. A wreck is announced- as in the old time.

During the night, down yonder by Lokken, the little fishingvillage with the red-tiled roofs- we can see it up here from thewindow- a ship has come ashore. It has struck, and is fast embedded inthe sand; but the rocket apparatus has thrown a rope on board, andformed a bridge from the wreck to the mainland; and all on board aresaved, and reach the land, and are wrapped in warm blankets; andto-day they are invited to the farm at the convent of Borglum. Incomfortable rooms they encounter hospitality and friendly faces.They are addressed in the language of their country, and the pianosounds for them with melodies of their native land; and before thesehave died away, the chord has been struck, the wire of thought thatreaches to the land of the sufferers announces that they arerescued. Then their anxieties are dispelled; and at even they joinin the dance at the feast given in the great hall at Borglum.Waltzes and Styrian dances are given, and Danish popular songs, andmelodies of foreign lands in these modern times.

Blessed be thou, new time! Speak thou of summer and of purergales! Send thy sunbeams gleaming into our hearts and thoughts! On thyglowing canvas let them be painted- the dark legends of the rough hardtimes that are past!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BOTTLE NECK

by Hans Christian Andersen

CLOSE to the corner of a street, among other abodes of poverty,stood an exceedingly tall, narrow house, which had been so knockedabout by time that it seemed out of joint in every direction. Thishouse was inhabited by poor people, but the deepest poverty wasapparent in the garret lodging in the gable. In front of the littlewindow, an old bent bird-cage hung in the sunshine, which had not evena proper water-glass, but instead of it the broken neck of a bottle,turned upside down, and a cork stuck in to make it hold the water withwhich it was filled. An old maid stood at the window; she had hungchickweed over the cage, and the little linnet which it containedhopped from perch to perch and sang and twittered merrily.

"Yes, it's all very well for you to sing," said the bottle neck:that is, he did not really speak the words as we do, for the neck of abottle cannot speak; but he thought them to himself in his own mind,just as people sometimes talk quietly to themselves.

"Yes, you may sing very well, you have all your limbs uninjured;you should feel what it is like to lose your body, and only have aneck and a mouth left, with a cork stuck in it, as I have: youwouldn't sing then, I know. After all, it is just as well that thereare some who can be happy. I have no reason to sing, nor could Ising now if I were ever so happy; but when I was a whole bottle, andthey rubbed me with a cork, didn't I sing then? I used to be calleda complete lark. I remember when I went out to a picnic with thefurrier's family, on the day his daughter was betrothed,- it seemsas if it only happened yesterday. I have gone through a great dealin my time, when I come to recollect: I have been in the fire and inthe water, I have been deep in the earth, and have mounted higher inthe air than most other people, and now I am swinging here, outsidea bird-cage, in the air and the sunshine. Oh, indeed, it would beworth while to hear my history; but I do not speak it aloud, for agood reason- because I cannot."

Then the bottle neck related his history, which was reallyrather remarkable; he, in fact, related it to himself, or, at least,thought it in his own mind. The little bird sang his own song merrily;in the street below there was driving and running to and fro, everyone thought of his own affairs, or perhaps of nothing at all; butthe bottle neck thought deeply. He thought of the blazing furnace inthe factory, where he had been blown into life; he remembered howhot it felt when he was placed in the heated oven, the home from whichhe sprang, and that he had a strong inclination to leap out againdirectly; but after a while it became cooler, and he found himselfvery comfortable. He had been placed in a row, with a whole regimentof his brothers and sisters all brought out of the same furnace;some of them had certainly been blown into champagne bottles, andothers into beer bottles, which made a little difference between them.In the world it often happens that a beer bottle may contain themost precious wine, and a champagne bottle be filled with blacking,but even in decay it may always be seen whether a man has been wellborn. Nobility remains noble, as a champagne bottle remains thesame, even with blacking in its interior. When the bottles were packedour bottle was packed amongst them; it little expected then tofinish its career as a bottle neck, or to be used as a water-glassto a bird's-cage, which is, after all, a place of honor, for it isto be of some use in the world. The bottle did not behold the light ofday again, until it was unpacked with the rest in the winemerchant's cellar, and, for the first time, rinsed with water, whichcaused some very curious sensations. There it lay empty, and without acork, and it had a peculiar feeling, as if it wanted something it knewnot what. At last it was filled with rich and costly wine, a corkwas placed in it, and sealed down. Then it was labelled "firstquality," as if it had carried off the first prize at anexamination; besides, the wine and the bottle were both good, andwhile we are young is the time for poetry. There were sounds of songwithin the bottle, of things it could not understand, of green sunnymountains, where the vines grow and where the merry vine-dresserslaugh, sing, and are merry. "Ah, how beautiful is life." All thesetones of joy and song in the bottle were like the working of a youngpoet's brain, who often knows not the meaning of the tones which aresounding within him. One morning the bottle found a purchaser in thefurrier's apprentice, who was told to bring one of the best bottles ofwine. It was placed in the provision basket with ham and cheese andsausages. The sweetest fresh butter and the finest bread were put intothe basket by the furrier's daughter herself, for she packed it. Shewas young and pretty; her brown eyes laughed, and a smile lingeredround her mouth as sweet as that in her eyes. She had delicatehands, beautifully white, and her neck was whiter still. It couldeasily be seen that she was a very lovely girl, and as yet she was notengaged. The provision basket lay in the lap of the young girl asthe family drove out to the forest, and the neck of the bottlepeeped out from between the folds of the white napkin. There was thered wax on the cork, and the bottle looked straight at the younggirl's face, and also at the face of the young sailor who sat nearher. He was a young friend, the son of a portrait painter. He hadlately passed his examination with honor, as mate, and the nextmorning he was to sail in his ship to a distant coast. There hadbeen a great deal of talk on this subject while the basket was beingpacked, and during this conversation the eyes and the mouth of thefurrier's daughter did not wear a very joyful expression. The youngpeople wandered away into the green wood, and talked together. Whatdid they talk about? The bottle could not say, for he was in theprovision basket. It remained there a long time; but when at last itwas brought forth it appeared as if something pleasant had happened,for every one was laughing; the furrier's daughter laughed too, butshe said very little, and her cheeks were like two roses. Then herfather took the bottle and the cork-screw into his hands. What astrange sensation it was to have the cork drawn for the first time!The bottle could never after that forget the performance of thatmoment; indeed there was quite a convulsion within him as the corkflew out, and a gurgling sound as the wine was poured forth into theglasses.

"Long life to the betrothed," cried the papa, and every glasswas emptied to the dregs, while the young sailor kissed hisbeautiful bride.

"Happiness and blessing to you both," said the old people-fatherand mother, and the young man filled the glasses again.

"Safe return, and a wedding this day next year," he cried; andwhen the glasses were empty he took the bottle, raised it on high, andsaid, "Thou hast been present here on the happiest day of my life;thou shalt never be used by others!" So saying, he hurled it high inthe air.

The furrier's daughter thought she should never see it again,but she was mistaken. It fell among the rushes on the borders of alittle woodland lake. The bottle neck remembered well how long itlay there unseen. "I gave them wine, and they gave me muddy water," hehad said to himself, "but I suppose it was all well meant." He couldno longer see the betrothed couple, nor the cheerful old people; butfor a long time he could hear them rejoicing and singing. At lengththere came by two peasant boys, who peeped in among the reeds andspied out the bottle. Then they took it up and carried it home withthem, so that once more it was provided for. At home in their woodencottage these boys had an elder brother, a sailor, who was about tostart on a long voyage. He had been there the day before to sayfarewell, and his mother was now very busy packing up various thingsfor him to take with him on his voyage. In the evening his fatherwas going to carry the parcel to the town to see his son once more,and take him a farewell greeting from his mother. A small bottle hadalready been filled with herb tea, mixed with brandy, and wrapped in aparcel; but when the boys came in they brought with them a largerand stronger bottle, which they had found. This bottle would hold somuch more than the little one, and they all said the brandy would beso good for complaints of the stomach, especially as it was mixed withmedical herbs. The liquid which they now poured into the bottle wasnot like the red wine with which it had once been filled; these werebitter drops, but they are of great use sometimes-for the stomach. Thenew large bottle was to go, not the little one: so the bottle oncemore started on its travels. It was taken on board (for Peter Jensenwas one of the crew) the very same ship in which the young mate was tosail. But the mate did not see the bottle: indeed, if he had hewould not have known it, or supposed it was the one out of whichthey had drunk to the felicity of the betrothed and to the prospect ofa marriage on his own happy return. Certainly the bottle no longerpoured forth wine, but it contained something quite as good; and so ithappened that whenever Peter Jensen brought it out, his messmates gaveit the name of "the apothecary," for it contained the best medicine tocure the stomach, and he gave it out quite willingly as long as a dropremained. Those were happy days, and the bottle would sing when rubbedwith a cork, and it was called a great lark," "Peter Jensen's lark."

Long days and months rolled by, during which the bottle stoodempty in a corner, when a storm arose- whether on the passage out orhome it could not tell, for it had never been ashore. It was aterrible storm, great waves arose, darkly heaving and tossing thevessel to and fro. The main mast was split asunder, the ship spranga leak, and the pumps became useless, while all around was black asnight. At the last moment, when the ship was sinking, the young matewrote on a piece of paper, "We are going down: God's will be done."Then he wrote the name of his betrothed, his own name, and that of theship. Then he put the leaf in an empty bottle that happened to be athand, corked it down tightly, and threw it into the foaming sea. Heknew not that it was the very same bottle from which the goblet of joyand hope had once been filled for him, and now it was tossing on thewaves with his last greeting, and a message from the dead. The shipsank, and the crew sank with her; but the bottle flew on like abird, for it bore within it a loving letter from a loving heart. Andas the sun rose and set, the bottle felt as at the time of its firstexistence, when in the heated glowing stove it had a longing to flyaway. It outlived the storms and the calm, it struck against no rocks,was not devoured by sharks, but drifted on for more than a year,sometimes towards the north, sometimes towards the south, just asthe current carried it. It was in all other ways its own master, buteven of that one may get tired. The written leaf, the last farewell ofthe bridegroom to his bride, would only bring sorrow when once itreached her hands; but where were those hands, so soft and delicate,which had once spread the table-cloth on the fresh grass in thegreen wood, on the day of her betrothal? Ah, yes! where was thefurrier's daughter? and where was the land which might lie nearestto her home?

The bottle knew not, it travelled onward and onward, and at lastall this wandering about became wearisome; at all events it was notits usual occupation. But it had to travel, till at length itreached land- a foreign country. Not a word spoken in this countrycould the bottle understand; it was a language it had never beforeheard, and it is a great loss not to be able to understand a language.The bottle was fished out of the water, and examined on all sides. Thelittle letter contained within it was discovered, taken out, andturned and twisted in every direction; but the people could notunderstand what was written upon it. They could be quite sure that thebottle had been thrown overboard from a vessel, and that somethingabout it was written on this paper: but what was written? that was thequestion,- so the paper was put back into the bottle, and then bothwere put away in a large cupboard of one of the great houses of thetown. Whenever any strangers arrived, the paper was taken out andturned over and over, so that the address, which was only written inpencil, became almost illegible, and at last no one coulddistinguish any letters on it at all. For a whole year the bottleremained standing in the cupboard, and then it was taken up to theloft, where it soon became covered with dust and cobwebs. Ah! howoften then it thought of those better days- of the times when in thefresh, green wood, it had poured forth rich wine; or, while rockedby the swelling waves, it had carried in its bosom a secret, a letter,a last parting sigh. For full twenty years it stood in the loft, andit might have stayed there longer but that the house was going to berebuilt. The bottle was discovered when the roof was taken off; theytalked about it, but the bottle did not understand what they said- alanguage is not to be learnt by living in a loft, even for twentyyears. "If I had been down stairs in the room," thought the bottle, "Imight have learnt it." It was now washed and rinsed, which process wasreally quite necessary, and afterwards it looked clean andtransparent, and felt young again in its old age; but the paperwhich it had carried so faithfully was destroyed in the washing.They filled the bottle with seeds, though it scarcely knew what hadbeen placed in it. Then they corked it down tightly, and carefullywrapped it up. There not even the light of a torch or lantern couldreach it, much less the brightness of the sun or moon. "And yet,"thought the bottle, "men go on a journey that they may see as muchas possible, and I can see nothing." However, it did something quiteas important; it travelled to the place of its destination, and wasunpacked.

"What trouble they have taken with that bottle over yonder!"said one, and very likely it is broken after all." But the bottlewas not broken, and, better still, it understood every word that wassaid: this language it had heard at the furnaces and at the winemerchant's; in the forest and on the ship,- it was the only good oldlanguage it could understand. It had returned home, and the languagewas as a welcome greeting. For very joy, it felt ready to jump outof people's hands, and scarcely noticed that its cork had beendrawn, and its contents emptied out, till it found itself carried to acellar, to be left there and forgotten. "There's no place like home,even if it's a cellar." It never occurred to him to think that hemight lie there for years, he felt so comfortable. For many long yearshe remained in the cellar, till at last some people came to carry awaythe bottles, and ours amongst the number.

Out in the garden there was a great festival. Brilliant lamps hungin festoons from tree to tree; and paper lanterns, through which thelight shone till they looked like transparent tulips. It was abeautiful evening, and the weather mild and clear. The stars twinkled;and the new moon, in the form of a crescent, was surrounded by theshadowy disc of the whole moon, and looked like a gray globe with agolden rim: it was a beautiful sight for those who had good eyes.The illumination extended even to the most retired of the gardenwalks, at least not so retired that any one need lose himself there.In the borders were placed bottles, each containing a light, and amongthem the bottle with which we are acquainted, and whose fate it was,one day, to be only a bottle neck, and to serve as a water-glass toa bird's-cage. Everything here appeared lovely to our bottle, for itwas again in the green wood, amid joy and feasting; again it heardmusic and song, and the noise and murmur of a crowd, especially inthat part of the garden where the lamps blazed, and the paper lanternsdisplayed their brilliant colors. It stood in a distant walkcertainly, but a place pleasant for contemplation; and it carried alight; and was at once useful and ornamental. In such an hour it iseasy to forget that one has spent twenty years in a loft, and a goodthing it is to be able to do so. Close before the bottle passed asingle pair, like the bridal pair- the mate and the furrier'sdaughter- who had so long ago wandered in the wood. It seemed to thebottle as if he were living that time over again. Not only theguests but other people were walking in the garden, who were allowedto witness the splendor and the festivities. Among the latter camean old maid, who seemed to be quite alone in the world. She wasthinking, like the bottle, of the green wood, and of a young betrothedpair, who were closely connected with herself; she was thinking ofthat hour, the happiest of her life, in which she had taken part, whenshe had herself been one of that betrothed pair; such hours arenever to be forgotten, let a maiden be as old as she may. But shedid not recognize the bottle, neither did the bottle notice the oldmaid. And so we often pass each other in the world when we meet, asdid these two, even while together in the same town.

The bottle was taken from the garden, and again sent to a winemerchant, where it was once more filled with wine, and sold to anaeronaut, who was to make an ascent in his balloon on the followingSunday. A great crowd assembled to witness the sight; military musichad been engaged, and many other preparations made. The bottle sawit all from the basket in which he lay close to a live rabbit. Therabbit was quite excited because he knew that he was to be taken up,and let down again in a parachute. The bottle, however, knew nothingof the "up," or the "down;" he saw only that the balloon wasswelling larger and larger till it could swell no more, and began torise and be restless. Then the ropes which held it were cut through,and the aerial ship rose in the air with the aeronaut and the basketcontaining the bottle and the rabbit, while the music sounded andall the people shouted "Hurrah."

"This is a wonderful journey up into the air," thought the bottle;"it is a new way of sailing, and here, at least, there is no fear ofstriking against anything."

Thousands of people gazed at the balloon, and the old maid who wasin the garden saw it also; for she stood at the open window of thegarret, by which hung the cage containing the linnet, who then hadno water-glass, but was obliged to be contented with an old cup. Inthe window-sill stood a myrtle in a pot, and this had been pushed alittle on one side, that it might not fall out; for the old maid wasleaning out of the window, that she might see. And she did seedistinctly the aeronaut in the balloon, and how he let down the rabbitin the parachute, and then drank to the health of all the spectatorsin the wine from the bottle. After doing this, he hurled it highinto the air. How little she thought that this was the very samebottle which her friend had thrown aloft in her honor, on that happyday of rejoicing, in the green wood, in her youthful days. Thebottle had no time to think, when raised so suddenly; and before itwas aware, it reached the highest point it had ever attained in itslife. Steeples and roofs lay far, far beneath it, and the peoplelooked as tiny as possible. Then it began to descend much more rapidlythan the rabbit had done, made somersaults in the air, and felt itselfquite young and unfettered, although it was half full of wine. Butthis did not last long. What a journey it was! All the people couldsee the bottle; for the sun shone upon it. The balloon was already faraway, and very soon the bottle was far away also; for it fell upon aroof, and broke in pieces. But the pieces had got such an impetus inthem, that they could not stop themselves. They went jumping androlling about, till at last they fell into the court-yard, and werebroken into still smaller pieces; only the neck of the bottlemanaged to keep whole, and it was broken off as clean as if it hadbeen cut with a diamond.

"That would make a capital bird's glass," said one of thecellar-men; but none of them had either a bird or a cage, and it wasnot to be expected they would provide one just because they hadfound a bottle neck that could be used as a glass. But the old maidwho lived in the garret had a bird, and it really might be useful toher; so the bottle neck was provided with a cork, and taken up to her;and, as it often happens in life, the part that had been uppermost wasnow turned downwards, and it was filled with fresh water. Then theyhung it in the cage of the little bird, who sang and twittered moremerrily than ever.

"Ah, you have good reason to sing," said the bottle neck, whichwas looked upon as something very remarkable, because it had been in aballoon; nothing further was known of its history. As it hung there inthe bird's-cage, it could hear the noise and murmur of the people inthe street below, as well as the conversation of the old maid in theroom within. An old friend had just come to visit her, and theytalked, not about the bottle neck, but of the myrtle in the window.

"No, you must not spend a dollar for your daughter's bridalbouquet," said the old maid; "you shall have a beautiful littlebunch for a nosegay, full of blossoms. Do you see how splendidly thetree has grown? It has been raised from only a little sprig ofmyrtle that you gave me on the day after my betrothal, and fromwhich I was to make my own bridal bouquet when a year had passed:but that day never came; the eyes were closed which were to havebeen my light and joy through life. In the depths of the sea mybeloved sleeps sweetly; the myrtle has become an old tree, and I ama still older woman. Before the sprig you gave me faded, I took aspray, and planted it in the earth; and now, as you see, it has becomea large tree, and a bunch of the blossoms shall at last appear at awedding festival, in the bouquet of your daughter."

There were tears in the eyes of the old maid, as she spoke ofthe beloved of her youth, and of their betrothal in the wood. Manythoughts came into her mind; but the thought never came, that quiteclose to her, in that very window, was a remembrance of those oldentimes,- the neck of the bottle which had, as it were shouted for joywhen the cork flew out with a bang on the betrothal day. But thebottle neck did not recognize the old maid; he had not beenlistening to what she had related, perhaps because he was thinkingso much about her.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BRAVE TIN SOLDIER

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers, who were allbrothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon. Theyshouldered arms and looked straight before them, and wore a splendiduniform, red and blue. The first thing in the world they ever heardwere the words, "Tin soldiers!" uttered by a little boy, who clappedhis hands with delight when the lid of the box, in which they lay, wastaken off. They were given him for a birthday present, and he stood atthe table to set them up. The soldiers were all exactly alike,excepting one, who had only one leg; he had been left to the last, andthen there was not enough of the melted tin to finish him, so theymade him to stand firmly on one leg, and this caused him to be veryremarkable.

The table on which the tin soldiers stood, was covered withother playthings, but the most attractive to the eye was a prettylittle paper castle. Through the small windows the rooms could beseen. In front of the castle a number of little trees surrounded apiece of looking-glass, which was intended to represent atransparent lake. Swans, made of wax, swam on the lake, and werereflected in it. All this was very pretty, but the prettiest of allwas a tiny little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle; she,also, was made of paper, and she wore a dress of clear muslin, witha narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders just like a scarf. In front ofthese was fixed a glittering tinsel rose, as large as her wholeface. The little lady was a dancer, and she stretched out both herarms, and raised one of her legs so high, that the tin soldier couldnot see it at all, and he thought that she, like himself, had only oneleg. "That is the wife for me," he thought; "but she is too grand, andlives in a castle, while I have only a box to live in, five-and-twentyof us altogether, that is no place for her. Still I must try andmake her acquaintance." Then he laid himself at full length on thetable behind a snuff-box that stood upon it, so that he could peepat the little delicate lady, who continued to stand on one leg withoutlosing her balance. When evening came, the other tin soldiers were allplaced in the box, and the people of the house went to bed. Then theplaythings began to have their own games together, to pay visits, tohave sham fights, and to give balls. The tin soldiers rattled in theirbox; they wanted to get out and join the amusements, but they couldnot open the lid. The nut-crackers played at leap-frog, and the penciljumped about the table. There was such a noise that the canary woke upand began to talk, and in poetry too. Only the tin soldier and thedancer remained in their places. She stood on tiptoe, with her legsstretched out, as firmly as he did on his one leg. He never took hiseyes from her for even a moment. The clock struck twelve, and, witha bounce, up sprang the lid of the snuff-box; but, instead of snuff,there jumped up a little black goblin; for the snuff-box was a toypuzzle.

"Tin soldier," said the goblin, "don't wish for what does notbelong to you.

But the tin soldier pretended not to hear.

"Very well; wait till to-morrow, then," said the goblin.

When the children came in the next morning, they placed the tinsoldier in the window. Now, whether it was the goblin who did it, orthe draught, is not known, but the window flew open, and out fellthe tin soldier, heels over head, from the third story, into thestreet beneath. It was a terrible fall; for he came head downwards,his helmet and his bayonet stuck in between the flagstones, and hisone leg up in the air. The servant maid and the little boy went downstairs directly to look for him; but he was nowhere to be seen,although once they nearly trod upon him. If he had called out, "Here Iam," it would have been all right, but he was too proud to cry out forhelp while he wore a uniform.

Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster andfaster, till there was a heavy shower. When it was over, two boyshappened to pass by, and one of them said, "Look, there is a tinsoldier. He ought to have a boat to sail in."

So they made a boat out of a newspaper, and placed the tin soldierin it, and sent him sailing down the gutter, while the two boys ran bythe side of it, and clapped their hands. Good gracious, what largewaves arose in that gutter! and how fast the stream rolled on! for therain had been very heavy. The paper boat rocked up and down, andturned itself round sometimes so quickly that the tin soldiertrembled; yet he remained firm; his countenance did not change; helooked straight before him, and shouldered his musket. Suddenly theboat shot under a bridge which formed a part of a drain, and then itwas as dark as the tin soldier's box.

"Where am I going now?" thought he. "This is the black goblin'sfault, I am sure. Ah, well, if the little lady were only here withme in the boat, I should not care for any darkness."

Suddenly there appeared a great water-rat, who lived in the drain.

"Have you a passport?" asked the rat, "give it to me at once." Butthe tin soldier remained silent and held his musket tighter than ever.The boat sailed on and the rat followed it. How he did gnash his teethand cry out to the bits of wood and straw, "Stop him, stop him; he hasnot paid toll, and has not shown his pass." But the stream rushed onstronger and stronger. The tin soldier could already see daylightshining where the arch ended. Then he heard a roaring sound quiteterrible enough to frighten the bravest man. At the end of thetunnel the drain fell into a large canal over a steep place, whichmade it as dangerous for him as a waterfall would be to us. He was tooclose to it to stop, so the boat rushed on, and the poor tin soldiercould only hold himself as stiffly as possible, without moving aneyelid, to show that he was not afraid. The boat whirled round threeor four times, and then filled with water to the very edge; nothingcould save it from sinking. He now stood up to his neck in water,while deeper and deeper sank the boat, and the paper became soft andloose with the wet, till at last the water closed over the soldier'shead. He thought of the elegant little dancer whom he should never seeagain, and the words of the song sounded in his ears-

"Farewell, warrior! ever brave,

Drifting onward to thy grave."

Then the paper boat fell to pieces, and the soldier sank intothe water and immediately afterwards was swallowed up by a great fish.Oh how dark it was inside the fish! A great deal darker than in thetunnel, and narrower too, but the tin soldier continued firm, andlay at full length shouldering his musket. The fish swam to and fro,making the most wonderful movements, but at last he became quitestill. After a while, a flash of lightning seemed to pass through him,and then the daylight approached, and a voice cried out, "I declarehere is the tin soldier." The fish had been caught, taken to themarket and sold to the cook, who took him into the kitchen and cut himopen with a large knife. She picked up the soldier and held him by thewaist between her finger and thumb, and carried him into the room.They were all anxious to see this wonderful soldier who hadtravelled about inside a fish; but he was not at all proud. Theyplaced him on the table, and- how many curious things do happen in theworld!- there he was in the very same room from the window of which hehad fallen, there were the same children, the same playthings,standing on the table, and the pretty castle with the elegant littledancer at the door; she still balanced herself on one leg, and held upthe other, so she was as firm as himself. It touched the tin soldierso much to see her that he almost wept tin tears, but he kept themback. He only looked at her and they both remained silent. Presentlyone of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and threw him into thestove. He had no reason for doing so, therefore it must have beenthe fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box. The flameslighted up the tin soldier, as he stood, the heat was very terrible,but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of lovehe could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colors were fadedfrom his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during hisjourney or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. He lookedat the little lady, and she looked at him. He felt himself meltingaway, but he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder.Suddenly the door of the room flew open and the draught of aircaught up the little dancer, she fluttered like a sylph right into thestove by the side of the tin soldier, and was instantly in flamesand was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the nextmorning, when the maid servant took the ashes out of the stove, shefound him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little dancernothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt black as acinder.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BUCKWHEAT

by Hans Christian Andersen

VERY often, after a violent thunder-storm, a field of buckwheatappears blackened and singed, as if a flame of fire had passed overit. The country people say that this appearance is caused bylightning; but I will tell you what the sparrow says, and thesparrow heard it from an old willow-tree which grew near a field ofbuckwheat, and is there still. It is a large venerable tree, thougha little crippled by age. The trunk has been split, and out of thecrevice grass and brambles grow. The tree bends for-ward slightly, andthe branches hang quite down to the ground just like green hair.Corn grows in the surrounding fields, not only rye and barley, butoats,-pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a number of little goldencanary-birds sitting on a bough. The corn has a smiling look and theheaviest and richest ears bend their heads low as if in pioushumility. Once there was also a field of buckwheat, and this field wasexactly opposite to old willow-tree. The buckwheat did not bend likethe other grain, but erected its head proudly and stiffly on the stem."I am as valuable as any other corn," said he, "and I am muchhandsomer; my flowers are as beautiful as the bloom of the appleblossom, and it is a pleasure to look at us. Do you know of anythingprettier than we are, you old willow-tree?"

And the willow-tree nodded his head, as if he would say, "Indeed Ido."

But the buckwheat spread itself out with pride, and said,"Stupid tree; he is so old that grass grows out of his body."

There arose a very terrible storm. All the field-flowers foldedtheir leaves together, or bowed their little heads, while the stormpassed over them, but the buckwheat stood erect in its pride. "Bendyour head as we do," said the flowers.

"I have no occasion to do so," replied the buckwheat.

"Bend your head as we do," cried the ears of corn; "the angel ofthe storm is coming; his wings spread from the sky above to theearth beneath. He will strike you down before you can cry for mercy."

"But I will not bend my head," said the buckwheat.

"Close your flowers and bend your leaves," said the oldwillow-tree. "Do not look at the lightning when the cloud bursts; evenmen cannot do that. In a flash of lightning heaven opens, and we canlook in; but the sight will strike even human beings blind. Whatthen must happen to us, who only grow out of the earth, and are soinferior to them, if we venture to do so?"

"Inferior, indeed!" said the buckwheat. "Now I intend to have apeep into heaven." Proudly and boldly he looked up, while thelightning flashed across the sky as if the whole world were in flames.

When the dreadful storm had passed, the flowers and the cornraised their drooping heads in the pure still air, refreshed by therain, but the buckwheat lay like a weed in the field, burnt toblackness by the lightning. The branches of the old willow-treerustled in the wind, and large water-drops fell from his green leavesas if the old willow were weeping. Then the sparrows asked why he wasweeping, when all around him seemed so cheerful. "See," they said,how the sun shines, and the clouds float in the blue sky. Do you notsmell the sweet perfume from flower and bush? Wherefore do you weep,old willow-tree?" Then the willow told them of the haughty pride ofthe buckwheat, and of the punishment which followed in consequence.

This is the story told me by the sparrows one evening when Ibegged them to relate some tale to me.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE BUTTERFLY

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as maybe supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among theflowers. He glanced, with a very critical eye, at all the flower-beds,and found that the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on theirstalks, just as maidens should sit before they are engaged; butthere was a great number of them, and it appeared as if his searchwould become very wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take toomuch trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The Frenchcall this flower "Marguerite," and they say that the little daisycan prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck eachleaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus: "Does he or shelove me?- Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?"and so on. Every one speaks these words in his own language. Thebutterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck offher leaves; he pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought therewas always more to be done by kindness.

"Darling Marguerite daisy," he said to her, "you are the wisestwoman of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the flowers I shallchoose for my wife. Which will be my bride? When I know, I will flydirectly to her, and propose."

But Marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that he shouldcall her a woman when she was only a girl; and there is a greatdifference. He asked her a second time, and then a third; but sheremained dumb, and answered not a word. Then he would wait nolonger, but flew away, to commence his wooing at once. It was in theearly spring, when the crocus and the snowdrop were in full bloom.

"They are very pretty," thought the butterfly; "charming littlelasses; but they are rather formal."

Then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the eldergirls. He next flew to the anemones; these were rather sour to histaste. The violet, a little too sentimental. The lime-blossoms, toosmall, and besides, there was such a large family of them. Theapple-blossoms, though they looked like roses, bloomed to-day, butmight fall off to-morrow, with the first wind that blew; and hethought that a marriage with one of them might last too short atime. The pea-blossom pleased him most of all; she was white andred, graceful and slender, and belonged to those domestic maidenswho have a pretty appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. Hewas just about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he sawa pod, with a withered flower hanging at the end.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"That is my sister," replied the pea-blossom.

"Oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day," said he; and heflew away directly, for he felt quite shocked.

A honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom; butthere were so many girls like her, with long faces and sallowcomplexions. No; he did not like her. But which one did he like?

Spring went by, and summer drew towards its close; autumn came;but he had not decided. The flowers now appeared in their mostgorgeous robes, but all in vain; they had not the fresh, fragrantair of youth. For the heart asks for fragrance, even when it is nolonger young; and there is very little of that to be found in thedahlias or the dry chrysanthemums; therefore the butterfly turned tothe mint on the ground. You know, this plant has no blossom; but it issweetness all over,- full of fragrance from head to foot, with thescent of a flower in every leaf.

"I will take her," said the butterfly; and he made her an offer.But the mint stood silent and stiff, as she listened to him. At lastshe said,-

"Friendship, if you please; nothing more. I am old, and you areold, but we may live for each other just the same; as to marrying- no;don't let us appear ridiculous at our age."

And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. He hadbeen too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. And thebutterfly became what is called an old bachelor.

It was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather. The coldwind blew over the bowed backs of the willows, so that they creakedagain. It was not the weather for flying about in summer clothes;but fortunately the butterfly was not out in it. He had got ashelter by chance. It was in a room heated by a stove, and as warmas summer. He could exist here, he said, well enough.

"But it is not enough merely to exist," said he, "I needfreedom, sunshine, and a little flower for a companion."

Then he flew against the window-pane, and was seen and admiredby those in the room, who caught him, and stuck him on a pin, in a boxof curiosities. They could not do more for him.

"Now I am perched on a stalk, like the flowers," said thebutterfly. "It is not very pleasant, certainly; I should imagine it issomething like being married; for here I am stuck fast." And with thisthought he consoled himself a little.

"That seems very poor consolation," said one of the plants inthe room, that grew in a pot.

"Ah," thought the butterfly, "one can't very well trust theseplants in pots; they have too much to do with mankind."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE CHILD IN THE GRAVE

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT was a very sad day, and every heart in the house felt thedeepest grief; for the youngest child, a boy of four years old, thejoy and hope of his parents, was dead. Two daughters, the elder ofwhom was going to be confirmed, still remained: they were both good,charming girls; but the lost child always seems the dearest; andwhen it is youngest, and a son, it makes the trial still more heavy.The sisters mourned as young hearts can mourn, and were especiallygrieved at the sight of their parents' sorrow. The father's heartwas bowed down, but the mother sunk completely under the deep grief.Day and night she had attended to the sick child, nursing and carryingit in her bosom, as a part of herself. She could not realize thefact that the child was dead, and must be laid in a coffin to restin the ground. She thought God could not take her darling little onefrom her; and when it did happen notwithstanding her hopes and herbelief, and there could be no more doubt on the subject, she said inher feverish agony, "God does not know it. He has hard-heartedministering spirits on earth, who do according to their own will,and heed not a mother's prayers." Thus in her great grief she fellaway from her faith in God, and dark thoughts arose in her mindrespecting death and a future state. She tried to believe that man wasbut dust, and that with his life all existence ended. But these doubtswere no support to her, nothing on which she could rest, and shesunk into the fathomless depths of despair. In her darkest hours sheceased to weep, and thought not of the young daughters who werestill left to her. The tears of her husband fell on her forehead,but she took no notice of him; her thoughts were with her deadchild; her whole existence seemed wrapped up in the remembrances ofthe little one and of every innocent word it had uttered.

The day of the little child's funeral came. For nightspreviously the mother had not slept, but in the morning twilight ofthis day she sunk from weariness into a deep sleep; in the mean timethe coffin was carried into a distant room, and there nailed down,that she might not hear the blows of the hammer. When she awoke, andwanted to see her child, the husband, with tears, said, "We haveclosed the coffin; it was necessary to do so."

"When God is so hard to me, how can I expect men to be better?"she said with groans and tears.

The coffin was carried to the grave, and the disconsolate mothersat with her young daughters. She looked at them, but she saw themnot; for her thoughts were far away from the domestic hearth. She gaveherself up to her grief, and it tossed her to and fro, as the seatosses a ship without compass or rudder. So the day of the funeralpassed away, and similar days followed, of dark, wearisome pain.With tearful eyes and mournful glances, the sorrowing daughters andthe afflicted husband looked upon her who would not hear their wordsof comfort; and, indeed, what comforting words could they speak,when they were themselves so full of grief? It seemed as if shewould never again know sleep, and yet it would have been her bestfriend, one who would have strengthened her body and poured peace intoher soul. They at last persuaded her to lie down, and then she wouldlie as still as if she slept.

One night, when her husband listened, as he often did, to herbreathing, he quite believed that she had at length found rest andrelief in sleep. He folded his arms and prayed, and soon sunkhimself into healthful sleep; therefore he did not notice that hiswife arose, threw on her clothes, and glided silently from thehouse, to go where her thoughts constantly lingered- to the grave ofher child. She passed through the garden, to a path across a fieldthat led to the churchyard. No one saw her as she walked, nor didshe see any one; for her eyes were fixed upon the one object of herwanderings. It was a lovely starlight night in the beginning ofSeptember, and the air was mild and still. She entered thechurchyard, and stood by the little grave, which looked like a largenosegay of fragrant flowers. She sat down, and bent her head low overthe grave, as if she could see her child through the earth thatcovered him- her little boy, whose smile was so vividly before her,and the gentle expression of whose eyes, even on his sick-bed, shecould not forget. How full of meaning that glance had been, as sheleaned over him, holding in hers the pale hand which he had no longerstrength to raise! As she had sat by his little cot, so now she satby his grave; and here she could weep freely, and her tears fell uponit.

"Thou wouldst gladly go down and be with thy child," said avoice quite close to her,- a voice that sounded so deep and clear,that it went to her heart.

She looked up, and by her side stood a man wrapped in a blackcloak, with a hood closely drawn over his face; but her keen glancecould distinguish the face under the hood. It was stern, yetawakened confidence, and the eyes beamed with youthful radiance.

"Down to my child," she repeated; and tones of despair andentreaty sounded in the words.

"Darest thou to follow me?" asked the form. "I am Death."

She bowed her head in token of assent. Then suddenly it appearedas if all the stars were shining with the radiance of the full moon onthe many-colored flowers that decked the grave. The earth that coveredit was drawn back like a floating drapery. She sunk down, and thespectre covered her with a black cloak; night closed around her, thenight of death. She sank deeper than the spade of the sexton couldpenetrate, till the churchyard became a roof above her. Then the cloakwas removed, and she found herself in a large hall, ofwide-spreading dimensions, in which there was a subdued light, liketwilight, reigning, and in a moment her child appeared before her,smiling, and more beautiful than ever; with a silent cry she pressedhim to her heart. A glorious strain of music sounded- now distant, nownear. Never had she listened to such tones as these; they came frombeyond a large dark curtain which separated the regions of deathfrom the land of eternity.

"My sweet, darling mother," she heard the child say. It was thewell-known, beloved voice; and kiss followed kiss, in boundlessdelight. Then the child pointed to the dark curtain. "There is nothingso beautiful on earth as it is here. Mother, do you not see themall? Oh, it is happiness indeed."

But the mother saw nothing of what the child pointed out, only thedark curtain. She looked with earthly eyes, and could not see as thechild saw,- he whom God has called to be with Himself. She couldhear the sounds of music, but she heard not the words, the Word inwhich she was to trust.

"I can fly now, mother," said the child; "I can fly with otherhappy children into the presence of the Almighty. I would fain flyaway now; but if you weep for me as you are weeping now, you may neversee me again. And yet I would go so gladly. May I not fly away? Andyou will come to me soon, will you not, dear mother?"

"Oh, stay, stay!" implored the mother; "only one moment more; onlyonce more, that I may look upon thee, and kiss thee, and press thee tomy heart."

Then she kissed and fondled her child. Suddenly her name wascalled from above; what could it mean? her name uttered in a plaintivevoice.

"Hearest thou?" said the child. "It is my father who callsthee." And in a few moments deep sighs were heard, as of childrenweeping. "They are my sisters," said the child. "Mother, surely youhave not forgotten them."

And then she remembered those she left behind, and a greatterror came over her. She looked around her at the dark night. Dimforms flitted by. She seemed to recognize some of them, as theyfloated through the regions of death towards the dark curtain, wherethey vanished. Would her husband and her daughters flit past? No;their sighs and lamentations still sounded from above; and she hadnearly forgotten them, for the sake of him who was dead.

"Mother, now the bells of heaven are ringing," said the child;"mother, the sun is going to rise."

An overpowering light streamed in upon her, the child hadvanished, and she was being borne upwards. All around her became cold;she lifted her head, and saw that she was lying in the churchyard,on the grave of her child. The Lord, in a dream, had been a guide toher feet and a light to her spirit. She bowed her knees, and prayedfor forgiveness. She had wished to keep back a soul from itsimmortal flight; she had forgotten her duties towards the living whowere left her. And when she had offered this prayer, her heart feltlighter. The sun burst forth, over her head a little bird carolled hissong, and the church-bells sounded for the early service. Everythingaround her seemed holy, and her heart was chastened. Sheacknowledged the goodness of God, she acknowledged the duties shehad to perform, and eagerly she returned home. She bent over herhusband, who still slept; her warm, devoted kiss awakened him, andwords of heartfelt love fell from the lips of both. Now she was gentleand strong as a wife can be; and from her lips came the words offaith: "Whatever He doeth is right and best."

Then her husband asked, "From whence hast thou all at once derivedsuch strength and comforting faith?"

And as she kissed him and her children, she said, "It came fromGod, through my child in the grave."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE CONCEITED APPLE-BRANCH

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT was the month of May. The wind still blew cold; but from bushand tree, field and flower, came the welcome sound, "Spring iscome." Wild-flowers in profusion covered the hedges. Under thelittle apple-tree, Spring seemed busy, and told his tale from one ofthe branches which hung fresh and blooming, and covered withdelicate pink blossoms that were just ready to open. The branch wellknew how beautiful it was; this knowledge exists as much in the leafas in the blood; I was therefore not surprised when a nobleman'scarriage, in which sat the young countess, stopped in the road justby. She said that an apple-branch was a most lovely object, and anemblem of spring in its most charming aspect. Then the branch wasbroken off for her, and she held it in her delicate hand, andsheltered it with her silk parasol. Then they drove to the castle,in which were lofty halls and splendid drawing-rooms. Pure whitecurtains fluttered before the open windows, and beautiful flowersstood in shining, transparent vases; and in one of them, whichlooked as if it had been cut out of newly fallen snow, theapple-branch was placed, among some fresh, light twigs of beech. Itwas a charming sight. Then the branch became proud, which was verymuch like human nature.

People of every description entered the room, and, according totheir position in society, so dared they to express theiradmiration. Some few said nothing, others expressed too much, andthe apple-branch very soon got to understand that there was as muchdifference in the characters of human beings as in those of plants andflowers. Some are all for pomp and parade, others have a great deal todo to maintain their own importance, while the rest might be sparedwithout much loss to society. So thought the apple-branch, as he stoodbefore the open window, from which he could see out over gardens andfields, where there were flowers and plants enough for him to thinkand reflect upon; some rich and beautiful, some poor and humbleindeed.

"Poor, despised herbs," said the apple-branch; "there is reallya difference between them and such as I am. How unhappy they mustbe, if they can feel as those in my position do! There is a differenceindeed, and so there ought to be, or we should all be equals."

And the apple-branch looked with a sort of pity upon them,especially on a certain little flower that is found in fields and inditches. No one bound these flowers together in a nosegay; they weretoo common; they were even known to grow between the paving-stones,shooting up everywhere, like bad weeds; and they bore the very uglyname of "dog-flowers" or "dandelions."

"Poor, despised plants," said the apple-bough, "it is not yourfault that you are so ugly, and that you have such an ugly name; butit is with plants as with men,- there must be a difference."

"A difference!" cried the sunbeam, as he kissed the bloomingapple-branch, and then kissed the yellow dandelion out in thefields. All were brothers, and the sunbeam kissed them- the poorflowers as well as the rich.

The apple-bough had never thought of the boundless love of God,which extends over all the works of creation, over everything whichlives, and moves, and has its being in Him; he had never thought ofthe good and beautiful which are so often hidden, but can never remainforgotten by Him,- not only among the lower creation, but also amongmen. The sunbeam, the ray of light, knew better.

"You do not see very far, nor very clearly," he said to theapple-branch. "Which is the despised plant you so specially pity?"

"The dandelion," he replied. "No one ever places it in anosegay; it is often trodden under foot, there are so many of them;and when they run to seed, they have flowers like wool, which fly awayin little pieces over the roads, and cling to the dresses of thepeople. They are only weeds; but of course there must be weeds. O, Iam really very thankful that I was not made like one of theseflowers."

There came presently across the fields a whole group ofchildren, the youngest of whom was so small that it had to becarried by the others; and when he was seated on the grass, amongthe yellow flowers, he laughed aloud with joy, kicked out his littlelegs, rolled about, plucked the yellow flowers, and kissed them inchildlike innocence. The elder children broke off the flowers withlong stems, bent the stalks one round the other, to form links, andmade first a chain for the neck, then one to go across theshoulders, and hang down to the waist, and at last a wreath to wearround the head, so that they looked quite splendid in their garlandsof green stems and golden flowers. But the eldest among themgathered carefully the faded flowers, on the stem of which was groupedtogether the seed, in the form of a white feathery coronal. Theseloose, airy wool-flowers are very beautiful, and look like finesnowy feathers or down. The children held them to their mouths, andtried to blow away the whole coronal with one puff of the breath. Theyhad been told by their grandmothers that who ever did so would be sureto have new clothes before the end of the year. The despised flowerwas by this raised to the position of a prophet or foreteller ofevents.

"Do you see," said the sunbeam, "do you see the beauty of theseflowers? do you see their powers of giving pleasure?"

"Yes, to children," said the apple-bough.

By-and-by an old woman came into the field, and, with a bluntknife without a handle, began to dig round the roots of some of thedandelion-plants, and pull them up. With some of these she intended tomake tea for herself; but the rest she was going to sell to thechemist, and obtain some money.

"But beauty is of higher value than all this," said the apple-treebranch; "only the chosen ones can be admitted into the realms of thebeautiful. There is a difference between plants, just as there is adifference between men."

Then the sunbeam spoke of the boundless love of God, as seen increation, and over all that lives, and of the equal distribution ofHis gifts, both in time and in eternity.

"That is your opinion," said the apple-bough.

Then some people came into the room, and, among them, the youngcountess,- the lady who had placed the apple-bough in thetransparent vase, so pleasantly beneath the rays of the sunlight.She carried in her hand something that seemed like a flower. Theobject was hidden by two or three great leaves, which covered itlike a shield, so that no draught or gust of wind could injure it, andit was carried more carefully than the apple-branch had ever been.Very cautiously the large leaves were removed, and there appearedthe feathery seed-crown of the despised dandelion. This was what thelady had so carefully plucked, and carried home so safely covered,so that not one of the delicate feathery arrows of which its mist-likeshape was so lightly formed, should flutter away. She now drew itforth quite uninjured, and wondered at its beautiful form, and airylightness, and singular construction, so soon to be blown away bythe wind.

"See," she exclaimed, "how wonderfully God has made this littleflower. I will paint it with the apple-branch together. Every oneadmires the beauty of the apple-bough; but this humble flower has beenendowed by Heaven with another kind of loveliness; and although theydiffer in appearance, both are the children of the realms of beauty."

Then the sunbeam kissed the lowly flower, and he kissed theblooming apple-branch, upon whose leaves appeared a rosy blush.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE DAISY

by Hans Christian Andersen

Now listen! In the country, close by the high road, stood afarmhouse; perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself. Therewas a little flower garden with painted wooden palings in front of it;close by was a ditch, on its fresh green bank grew a little daisy; thesun shone as warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificentgarden flowers, and therefore it thrived well. One morning it hadquite opened, and its little snow-white petals stood round theyellow centre, like the rays of the sun. It did not mind that nobodysaw it in the grass, and that it was a poor despised flower; on thecontrary, it was quite happy, and turned towards the sun, lookingupward and listening to the song of the lark high up in the air.

The little daisy was as happy as if the day had been a greatholiday, but it was only Monday. All the children were at school,and while they were sitting on the forms and learning their lessons,it sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun and from itssurroundings how kind God is, and it rejoiced that the song of thelittle lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings. Witha sort of reverence the daisy looked up to the bird that could fly andsing, but it did not feel envious. "I can see and hear," it thought;"the sun shines upon me, and the forest kisses me. How rich I am!"

In the garden close by grew many large and magnificent flowers,and, strange to say, the less fragrance they had the haughtier andprouder they were. The peonies puffed themselves up in order to belarger than the roses, but size is not everything! The tulips hadthe finest colours, and they knew it well, too, for they were standingbolt upright like candles, that one might see them the better. Intheir pride they did not see the little daisy, which looked over tothem and thought, "How rich and beautiful they are! I am sure thepretty bird will fly down and call upon them. Thank God, that Istand so near and can at least see all the splendour." And while thedaisy was still thinking, the lark came flying down, crying "Tweet,"but not to the peonies and tulips- no, into the grass to the poordaisy. Its joy was so great that it did not know what to think. Thelittle bird hopped round it and sang, "How beautifully soft thegrass is, and what a lovely little flower with its golden heart andsilver dress is growing here." The yellow centre in the daisy didindeed look like gold, while the little petals shone as brightly assilver.

How happy the daisy was! No one has the least idea. The birdkissed it with its beak, sang to it, and then rose again up to theblue sky. It was certainly more than a quarter of an hour before thedaisy recovered its senses. Half ashamed, yet glad at heart, it lookedover to the other flowers in the garden; surely they had witnessed itspleasure and the honour that had been done to it; they understoodits joy. But the tulips stood more stiffly than ever, their faces werepointed and red, because they were vexed. The peonies were sulky; itwas well that they could not speak, otherwise they would have giventhe daisy a good lecture. The little flower could very well see thatthey were ill at ease, and pitied them sincerely.

Shortly after this a girl came into the garden, with a large sharpknife. She went to the tulips and began cutting them off, one afteranother. "Ugh!" sighed the daisy, "that is terrible; now they are donefor."

The girl carried the tulips away. The daisy was glad that it wasoutside, and only a small flower- it felt very grateful. At sunsetit folded its petals, and fell asleep, and dreamt all night of the sunand the little bird.

On the following morning, when the flower once more stretchedforth its tender petals, like little arms, towards the air andlight, the daisy recognised the bird's voice, but what it sang soundedso sad. Indeed the poor bird had good reason to be sad, for it hadbeen caught and put into a cage close by the open window. It sang ofthe happy days when it could merrily fly about, of fresh green corn inthe fields, and of the time when it could soar almost up to theclouds. The poor lark was most unhappy as a prisoner in a cage. Thelittle daisy would have liked so much to help it, but what could bedone? Indeed, that was very difficult for such a small flower tofind out. It entirely forgot how beautiful everything around it was,how warmly the sun was shining, and how splendidly white its ownpetals were. It could only think of the poor captive bird, for whichit could do nothing. Then two little boys came out of the garden;one of them had a large sharp knife, like that with which the girl hadcut the tulips. They came straight towards the little daisy, whichcould not understand what they wanted.

"Here is a fine piece of turf for the lark," said one of the boys,and began to cut out a square round the daisy, so that it remainedin the centre of the grass.

"Pluck the flower off" said the other boy, and the daisytrembled for fear, for to be pulled off meant death to it; and itwished so much to live, as it was to go with the square of turf intothe poor captive lark's cage.

"No let it stay," said the other boy, "it looks so pretty".

And so it stayed, and was brought into the lark's cage. The poorbird was lamenting its lost liberty, and beating its wings against thewires; and the little daisy could not speak or utter a consoling word,much as it would have liked to do so. So the forenoon passed.

"I have no water," said the captive lark, "they have all gone out,and forgotten to give me anything to drink. My throat is dry andburning. I feel as if I had fire and ice within me, and the air isso oppressive. Alas! I must die, and part with the warm sunshine,the fresh green meadows, and all the beauty that God has created." Andit thrust its beak into the piece of grass, to refresh itself alittle. Then it noticed the little daisy, and nodded to it, and kissedit with its beak and said: "You must also fade in here, poor littleflower. You and the piece of grass are all they have given me inexchange for the whole world, which I enjoyed outside. Each littleblade of grass shall be a green tree for me, each of your white petalsa fragrant flower. Alas! you only remind me of what I have lost."

"I wish I could console the poor lark," thought the daisy. Itcould not move one of its leaves, but the fragrance of its delicatepetals streamed forth, and was much stronger than such flowers usuallyhave: the bird noticed it, although it was dying with thirst, and inits pain tore up the green blades of grass, but did not touch theflower.

The evening came, and nobody appeared to bring the poor bird adrop of water; it opened its beautiful wings, and fluttered about inits anguish; a faint and mournful "Tweet, tweet," was all it couldutter, then it bent its little head towards the flower, and itsheart broke for want and longing. The flower could not, as on theprevious evening, fold up its petals and sleep; it droppedsorrowfully. The boys only came the next morning; when they saw thedead bird, they began to cry bitterly, dug a nice grave for it, andadorned it with flowers. The bird's body was placed in a pretty redbox; they wished to bury it with royal honours. While it was alive andsang they forgot it, and let it suffer want in the cage; now, theycried over it and covered it with flowers. The piece of turf, with thelittle daisy in it, was thrown out on the dusty highway. Nobodythought of the flower which had felt so much for the bird and had sogreatly desired to comfort it.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE DARNING-NEEDLE

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a darning-needle who thought herself so fine thatshe fancied she must be fit for embroidery. "Hold me tight," she wouldsay to the fingers, when they took her up, "don't let me fall; ifyou do I shall never be found again, I am so very fine."

"That is your opinion, is it?" said the fingers, as they seizedher round the body.

"See, I am coming with a train," said the darning-needle,drawing a long thread after her; but there was no knot in the thread.

The fingers then placed the point of the needle against the cook'sslipper. There was a crack in the upper leather, which had to besewn together.

"What coarse work!" said the darning-needle, "I shall never getthrough. I shall break!- I am breaking!" and sure enough she broke."Did I not say so?" said the darning-needle, "I know I am too fine forsuch work as that."

"This needle is quite useless for sewing now," said the fingers;but they still held it fast, and the cook dropped some sealing-waxon the needle, and fastened her handkerchief with it in front.

"So now I am a breast-pin," said the darning-needle; "I knewvery well I should come to honor some day: merit is sure to rise;" andshe laughed, quietly to herself, for of course no one ever saw adarning-needle laugh. And there she sat as proudly as if she were in astate coach, and looked all around her. "May I be allowed to ask ifyou are made of gold?" she inquired of her neighbor, a pin; "youhave a very pretty appearance, and a curious head, although you arerather small. You must take pains to grow, for it is not every one whohas sealing-wax dropped upon him;" and as she spoke, thedarning-needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of thehandkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was cleaning. "NowI am going on a journey," said the needle, as she floated away withthe dirty water, "I do hope I shall not be lost." But she really waslost in a gutter. "I am too fine for this world," said thedarning-needle, as she lay in the gutter; "but I know who I am, andthat is always some comfort." So the darning-needle kept up herproud behavior, and did not lose her good humor. Then there floatedover her all sorts of things,- chips and straws, and pieces of oldnewspaper. "See how they sail," said the darning-needle; "they donot know what is under them. I am here, and here I shall stick. See,there goes a chip, thinking of nothing in the world but himself-only a chip. There's a straw going by now; how he turns and twistsabout! Don't be thinking too much of yourself, or you may chance torun against a stone. There swims a piece of newspaper; what is writtenupon it has been forgotten long ago, and yet it gives itself airs. Isit here patiently and quietly. I know who I am, so I shall not move."

One day something lying close to the darning-needle glittered sosplendidly that she thought it was a diamond; yet it was only apiece of broken bottle. The darning-needle spoke to it, because itsparkled, and represented herself as a breast-pin. "I suppose youare really a diamond?" she said.

"Why yes, something of the kind," he replied; and so each believedthe other to be very valuable, and then they began to talk about theworld, and the conceited people in it.

"I have been in a lady's work-box," said the darning-needle,"and this lady was the cook. She had on each hand five fingers, andanything so conceited as these five fingers I have never seen; and yetthey were only employed to take me out of the box and to put me backagain."

"Were they not high-born?"

"High-born!" said the darning-needle, "no indeed, but sohaughty. They were five brothers, all born fingers; they kept veryproudly together, though they were of different lengths. The one whostood first in the rank was named the thumb, he was short and thick,and had only one joint in his back, and could therefore make but onebow; but he said that if he were cut off from a man's hand, that manwould be unfit for a soldier. Sweet-tooth, his neighbor, dippedhimself into sweet or sour, pointed to the sun and moon, and formedthe letters when the fingers wrote. Longman, the middle finger, lookedover the heads of all the others. Gold-band, the next finger, wore agolden circle round his waist. And little Playman did nothing atall, and seemed proud of it. They were boasters, and boasters theywill remain; and therefore I left them."

"And now we sit here and glitter," said the piece of brokenbottle.

At the same moment more water streamed into the gutter, so that itoverflowed, and the piece of bottle was carried away.

"So he is promoted," said the darning-needle, "while I remainhere; I am too fine, but that is my pride, and what do I care?" And soshe sat there in her pride, and had many such thoughts as these,- "Icould almost fancy that I came from a sunbeam, I am so fine. Itseems as if the sunbeams were always looking for me under the water.Ah! I am so fine that even my mother cannot find me. Had I still myold eye, which was broken off, I believe I should weep; but no, Iwould not do that, it is not genteel to cry."

One day a couple of street boys were paddling in the gutter, forthey sometimes found old nails, farthings, and other treasures. It wasdirty work, but they took great pleasure in it. "Hallo!" cried one, ashe pricked himself with the darning-needle, "here's a fellow for you."

"I am not a fellow, I am a young lady," said the darning-needle;but no one heard her.

The sealing-wax had come off, and she was quite black; but blackmakes a person look slender, so she thought herself even finer thanbefore.

"Here comes an egg-shell sailing along," said one of the boys;so they stuck the darning-needle into the egg-shell.

"White walls, and I am black myself," said the darning-needle,"that looks well; now I can be seen, but I hope I shall not besea-sick, or I shall break again." She was not sea-sick, and she didnot break. "It is a good thing against sea-sickness to have a steelstomach, and not to forget one's own importance. Now my sea-sicknesshas past: delicate people can bear a great deal."

Crack went the egg-shell, as a waggon passed over it. "Goodheavens, how it crushes!" said the darning-needle. "I shall be sicknow. I am breaking!" but she did not break, though the waggon wentover her as she lay at full length; and there let her lie.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE DROP OF WATER

by Hans Christian Andersen

OF course you know what is meant by a magnifying glass- one ofthose round spectacle-glasses that make everything look a hundredtimes bigger than it is? When any one takes one of these and holdsit to his eye, and looks at a drop of water from the pond yonder, hesees above a thousand wonderful creatures that are otherwise neverdiscerned in the water. But there they are, and it is no delusion.It almost looks like a great plateful of spiders jumping about in acrowd. And how fierce they are! They tear off each other's legs. andarms and bodies, before and behind; and yet they are merry andjoyful in their way.

Now, there once was an old man whom all the people calledKribble-Krabble, for that was his name. He always wanted the best ofeverything, and when he could not manage it otherwise, he did it bymagic.

There he sat one day, and held his magnifying-glass to his eye,and looked at a drop of water that had been taken out of a puddle bythe ditch. But what a kribbling and krabbling was there! All thethousands of little creatures hopped and sprang and tugged at oneanother, and ate each other up.

"That is horrible!" said old Kribble-Krabble. "Can one notpersuade them to live in peace and quietness, so that each one maymind his own business?"

And he thought it over and over, but it would not do, and so hehad recourse to magic.

"I must give them color, that they may be seen more plainly," saidhe; and he poured something like a little drop of red wine into thedrop of water, but it was witches' blood from the lobes of the ear,the finest kind, at ninepence a drop. And now the wonderful littlecreatures were pink all over. It looked like a whole town of nakedwild men.

"What have you there?" asked another old magician, who had noname- and that was the best thing about him.

"Yes, if you can guess what it is," said Kribble-Krabble, "I'llmake you a present of it."

But it is not so easy to find out if one does not know.

And the magician who had no name looked through themagnifying-glass.

It looked really like a great town reflected there, in which allthe people were running about without clothes. It was terrible! But itwas still more terrible to see how one beat and pushed the other,and bit and hacked, and tugged and mauled him. Those at the top werebeing pulled down, and those at the bottom were struggling upwards.

"Look! look! his leg is longer than mine! Bah! Away with it! Thereis one who has a little bruise. It hurts him, but it shall hurt himstill more."

And they hacked away at him, and they pulled at him, and ate himup, because of the little bruise. And there was one sitting as stillas any little maiden, and wishing only for peace and quietness. Butnow she had to come out, and they tugged at her, and pulled her about,and ate her up.

"That's funny!" said the magician.

"Yes; but what do you think it is?" said Kribble-Krabble. "Can youfind that out?"

"Why, one can see that easily enough," said the other. "That's Paris,or some other great city, for they're all alike. It's a great city!"

"It's a drop of puddle water!" said Kribble-Krabble.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE DRYAD

by Hans Christian Andersen

WE are travelling to Paris to the Exhibition.

Now we are there. That was a journey, a flight without magic. Weflew on the wings of steam over the sea and across the land.

Yes, our time is the time of fairy tales.

We are in the midst of Paris, in a great hotel. Blooming flowersornament the staircases, and soft carpets the floors.

Our room is a very cosy one, and through the open balcony doorwe have a view of a great square. Spring lives down there; it has cometo Paris, and arrived at the same time with us. It has come in theshape of a glorious young chestnut tree, with delicate leaves newlyopened. How the tree gleams, dressed in its spring garb, before allthe other trees in the place! One of these latter had been struckout of the list of living trees. It lies on the ground with rootsexposed. On the place where it stood, the young chestnut tree is to beplanted, and to flourish.

It still stands towering aloft on the heavy wagon which hasbrought it this morning a distance of several miles to Paris. Foryears it had stood there, in the protection of a mighty oak tree,under which the old venerable clergyman had often sat, with childrenlistening to his stories.

The young chestnut tree had also listened to the stories; forthe Dryad who lived in it was a child also. She remembered the timewhen the tree was so little that it only projected a short way abovethe grass and ferns around. These were as tall as they would everbe; but the tree grew every year, and enjoyed the air and thesunshine, and drank the dew and the rain. Several times it was also,as it must be, well shaken by the wind and the rain; for that is apart of education.

The Dryad rejoiced in her life, and rejoiced in the sunshine,and the singing of the birds; but she was most rejoiced at humanvoices; she understood the language of men as well as she understoodthat of animals.

Butterflies, cockchafers, dragon-flies, everything that couldfly came to pay a visit. They could all talk. They told of thevillage, of the vineyard, of the forest, of the old castle with itsparks and canals and ponds. Down in the water dwelt also livingbeings, which, in their way, could fly under the water from oneplace to another- beings with knowledge and delineation. They saidnothing at all; they were so clever!

And the swallow, who had dived, told about the pretty littlegoldfish, of the thick turbot, the fat brill, and the old carp. Theswallow could describe all that very well, but, "Self is the man," shesaid. "One ought to see these things one's self." But how was theDryad ever to see such beings? She was obliged to be satisfied withbeing able to look over the beautiful country and see the busyindustry of men.

It was glorious; but most glorious of all when the old clergymansat under the oak tree and talked of France, and of the great deeds ofher sons and daughters, whose names will be mentioned withadmiration through all time.

Then the Dryad heard of the shepherd girl, Joan of Arc, and ofCharlotte Corday; she heard about Henry the Fourth, and Napoleon theFirst; she heard names whose echo sounds in the hearts of the people.

The village children listened attentively, and the Dryad no lessattentively; she became a school-child with the rest. In the cloudsthat went sailing by she saw, picture by picture, everything thatshe heard talked about. The cloudy sky was her picture-book.

She felt so happy in beautiful France, the fruitful land ofgenius, with the crater of freedom. But in her heart the stingremained that the bird, that every animal that could fly, was muchbetter off than she. Even the fly could look about more in theworld, far beyond the Dryad's horizon.

France was so great and so glorious, but she could only lookacross a little piece of it. The land stretched out, world-wide,with vineyards, forests and great cities. Of all these Paris was themost splendid and the mightiest. The birds could get there; but she,never!

Among the village children was a little ragged, poor girl, but apretty one to look at. She was always laughing or singing andtwining red flowers in her black hair.

"Don't go to Paris!" the old clergyman warned her. "Poor child! ifyou go there, it will be your ruin."

But she went for all that.

The Dryad often thought of her; for she had the same wish, andfelt the same longing for the great city.

The Dryad's tree was bearing its first chestnut blossoms; thebirds were twittering round them in the most beautiful sunshine.Then a stately carriage came rolling along that way, and in it sat agrand lady driving the spirited, light-footed horses. On the back seata little smart groom balanced himself. The Dryad knew the lady, andthe old clergyman knew her also. He shook his head gravely when he sawher, and said:

"So you went there after all, and it was your ruin, poor Mary!"

"That one poor?" thought the Dryad. "No; she wears a dress fit fora countess" (she had become one in the city of magic changes). "Oh, ifI were only there, amid all the splendor and pomp! They shine upinto the very clouds at night; when I look up, I can tell in whatdirection the town lies."

Towards that direction the Dryad looked every evening. She sawin the dark night the gleaming cloud on the horizon; in the clearmoonlight nights she missed the sailing clouds, which showed herpictures of the city and pictures from history.

The child grasps at the picture-books, the Dryad grasped at thecloud-world, her thought-book. A sudden, cloudless sky was for her ablank leaf; and for several days she had only had such leaves beforeher.

It was in the warm summer-time: not a breeze moved through theglowing hot days. Every leaf, every flower, lay as if it weretorpid, and the people seemed torpid, too.

Then the clouds arose and covered the region round about where thegleaming mist announced "Here lies Paris."

The clouds piled themselves up like a chain of mountains,hurried on through the air, and spread themselves abroad over thewhole landscape, as far as the Dryad's eye could reach.

Like enormous blue-black blocks of rock, the clouds lay piled overone another. Gleams of lightning shot forth from them.

"These also are the servants of the Lord God," the old clergymanhad said. And there came a bluish dazzling flash of lightning, alighting up as if of the sun itself, which could burst blocks ofrock asunder. The lightning struck and split to the roots the oldvenerable oak. The crown fell asunder. It seemed as if the tree werestretching forth its arms to clasp the messengers of the light.

No bronze cannon can sound over the land at the birth of a royalchild as the thunder sounded at the death of the old oak. The rainstreamed down; a refreshing wind was blowing; the storm had gone by,and there was quite a holiday glow on all things. The old clergymanspoke a few words for honorable remembrance, and a painter made adrawing, as a lasting record of the tree.

"Everything passes away," said the Dryad, "passes away like acloud, and never comes back!"

The old clergyman, too, did not come back. The green roof of hisschool was gone, and his teaching-chair had vanished. The children didnot come; but autumn came, and winter came, and then spring also. Inall this change of seasons the Dryad looked toward the region where,at night, Paris gleamed with its bright mist far on the horizon.

Forth from the town rushed engine after engine, train after train,whistling and screaming at all hours in the day. In the evening,towards midnight, at daybreak, and all the day through, came thetrains. Out of each one, and into each one, streamed people from thecountry of every king. A new wonder of the world had summoned themto Paris.

In what form did this wonder exhibit itself?

"A splendid blossom of art and industry," said one, "hasunfolded itself in the Champ de Mars, a gigantic sunflower, from whosepetals one can learn geography and statistics, and can become aswise as a lord mayor, and raise one's self to the level of art andpoetry, and study the greatness and power of the various lands."

"A fairy tale flower," said another, "a many-coloredlotus-plant, which spreads out its green leaves like a velvet carpetover the sand. The opening spring has brought it forth, the summerwill see it in all its splendor, the autumn winds will sweep itaway, so that not a leaf, not a fragment of its root shall remain."

In front of the Military School extends in time of peace the arenaof war- a field without a blade of grass, a piece of sandy steppe,as if cut out of the Desert of Africa, where Fata Morgana displays herwondrous airy castles and hanging gardens. In the Champ de Mars,however, these were to be seen more splendid, more wonderful than inthe East, for human art had converted the airy deceptive scenes intoreality.

"The Aladdin's Palace of the present has been built," it was said."Day by day, hour by hour, it unfolds more of its wonderful splendor."

The endless halls shine in marble and many colors. "MasterBloodless" here moves his limbs of steel and iron in the greatcircular hall of machinery. Works of art in metal, in stone, inGobelins tapestry, announce the vitality of mind that is stirring inevery land. Halls of paintings, splendor of flowers, everything thatmind and skill can create in the workshop of the artisan, has beenplaced here for show. Even the memorials of ancient days, out of oldgraves and turf-moors, have appeared at this general meeting.

The overpowering great variegated whole must be divided into smallportions, and pressed together like a plaything, if it is to beunderstood and described.

Like a great table on Christmas Eve, the Champ de Mars carried awonder-castle of industry and art, and around this knickknacks fromall countries had been ranged, knickknacks on a grand scale, for everynation found some remembrance of home.

Here stood the royal palace of Egypt, there the caravanserai ofthe desert land. The Bedouin had quitted his sunny country, andhastened by on his camel. Here stood the Russian stables, with thefiery glorious horses of the steppe. Here stood the simplestraw-thatched dwelling of the Danish peasant, with the Dannebrogflag, next to Gustavus Vasa's wooden house from Dalarne, with itswonderful carvings. American huts, English cottages, French pavilions,kiosks, theatres, churches, all strewn around, and between them thefresh green turf, the clear springing water, blooming bushes, raretrees, hothouses, in which one might fancy one's self transported intothe tropical forest; whole gardens brought from Damascus, and bloomingunder one roof. What colors, what fragrance!

Artificial grottoes surrounded bodies of fresh or salt water,and gave a glimpse into the empire of the fishes; the visitor seemedto wander at the bottom of the sea, among fishes and polypi.

"All this," they said, "the Champ de Mars offers;" and aroundthe great richly-spread table the crowd of human beings moves like abusy swarm of ants, on foot or in little carriages, for not all feetare equal to such a fatiguing journey.

Hither they swarm from morning till late in the evening. Steamerafter steamer, crowded with people, glides down the Seine. Thenumber of carriages is continually on the increase. The swarm ofpeople on foot and on horseback grows more and more dense. Carriagesand omnibuses are crowded, stuffed and embroidered with people. Allthese tributary streams flow in one direction- towards the Exhibition.On every entrance the flag of France is displayed; around theworld's bazaar wave the flags of all nations. There is a humming and amurmuring from the hall of the machines; from the towers the melody ofthe chimes is heard; with the tones of the organs in the churchesmingle the hoarse nasal songs from the cafes of the East. It is akingdom of Babel, a wonder of the world!

In very truth it was. That's what all the reports said, and whodid not hear them? The Dryad knew everything that is told here ofthe new wonder in the city of cities.

"Fly away, ye birds! fly away to see, and then come back andtell me," said the Dryad.

The wish became an intense desire- became the one thought of alife. Then, in the quiet silent night, while the full moon wasshining, the Dryad saw a spark fly out of the moon's disc, and falllike a shooting star. And before the tree, whose leaves waved to andfro as if they were stirred by a tempest, stood a noble, mighty, andgrand figure. In tones that were at once rich and strong, like thetrumpet of the Last Judgment bidding farewell to life and summoning tothe great account, it said:

"Thou shalt go to the city of magic; thou shalt take root there,and enjoy the mighty rushing breezes, the air and the sunshinethere. But the time of thy life shall then be shortened; the line ofyears that awaited thee here amid the free nature shall shrink tobut a small tale. Poor Dryad! It shall be thy destruction. Thyyearning and longing will increase, thy desire will grow morestormy, the tree itself will be as a prison to thee, thou wilt quitthy cell and give up thy nature to fly out and mingle among men.Then the years that would have belonged to thee will be contractedto half the span of the ephemeral fly, that lives but a day: onenight, and thy life-taper shall be blown out- the leaves of the treewill wither and be blown away, to become green never again!"

Thus the words sounded. And the light vanished away, but not thelonging of the Dryad. She trembled in the wild fever of expectation.

"I shall go there!" she cried, rejoicingly. "Life is beginning andswells like a cloud; nobody knows whither it is hastening."

When the gray dawn arose and the moon turned pale and the cloudswere tinted red, the wished-for hour struck. The words of promise werefulfilled.

People appeared with spades and poles; they dug round the roots ofthe tree, deeper and deeper, and beneath it. A wagon was broughtout, drawn by many horses, and the tree was lifted up, with itsroots and the lumps of earth that adhered to them; matting wasplaced around the roots, as though the tree had its feet in a warmbag. And now the tree was lifted on the wagon and secured with chains.The journey began- the journey to Paris. There the tree was to grow asan ornament to the city of French glory.

The twigs and the leaves of the chestnut tree trembled in thefirst moments of its being moved; and the Dryad trembled in thepleasurable feeling of expectation.

"Away! away!" it sounded in every beat of her pulse. "Away!away" sounded in words that flew trembling along. The Dryad forgotto bid farewell to the regions of home; she thought not of thewaving grass and of the innocent daisies, which had looked up to heras to a great lady, a young Princess playing at being a shepherdessout in the open air.

The chestnut tree stood upon the wagon, and nodded his branches;whether this meant "farewell" or "forward," the Dryad knew not; shedreamed only of the marvellous new things, that seemed yet sofamiliar, and that were to unfold themselves before her. No child'sheart rejoicing in innocence- no heart whose blood danced withpassion- had set out on the journey to Paris more full ofexpectation than she.

Her "farewell" sounded in the words "Away! away!"

The wheels turned; the distant approached; the present vanished.The region was changed, even as the clouds change. New vineyards,forests, villages, villas appeared- came nearer- vanished!

The chestnut tree moved forward, and the Dryad went with it.Steam-engine after steam-engine rushed past, sending up into the airvapory clouds, that formed figures which told of Paris, whence theycame, and whither the Dryad was going.

Everything around knew it, and must know whither she was bound. Itseemed to her as if every tree she passed stretched out its leavestowards her, with the prayer- "Take me with you! take me with you!"for every tree enclosed a longing Dryad.

What changes during this flight! Houses seemed to be rising out ofthe earth- more and more- thicker and thicker. The chimneys roselike flower-pots ranged side by side, or in rows one above theother, on the roofs. Great inscriptions in letters a yard long, andfigures in various colors, covering the walls from cornice tobasement, came brightly out.

"Where does Paris begin, and when shall I be there?" asked theDryad.

The crowd of people grew; the tumult and the bustle increased;carriage followed upon carriage; people on foot and people onhorseback were mingled together; all around were shops on shops, musicand song, crying and talking.

The Dryad, in her tree, was now in the midst of Paris. The greatheavy wagon all at once stopped on a little square planted with trees.The high houses around had all of them balconies to the windows,from which the inhabitants looked down upon the young fresh chestnuttree, which was coming to be planted here as a substitute for the deadtree that lay stretched on the ground.

The passers-by stood still and smiled in admiration of its purevernal freshness. The older trees, whose buds were still closed,whispered with their waving branches, "Welcome! welcome!" Thefountain, throwing its jet of water high up in the air, to let it fallagain in the wide stone basin, told the wind to sprinkle the new-comerwith pearly drops, as if it wished to give him a refreshing draught towelcome him.

The Dryad felt how her tree was being lifted from the wagon tobe placed in the spot where it was to stand. The roots were coveredwith earth, and fresh turf was laid on top. Blooming shrubs andflowers in pots were ranged around; and thus a little garden arosein the square.

The tree that had been killed by the fumes of gas, the steam ofkitchens, and the bad air of the city, was put upon the wagon anddriven away. The passers-by looked on. Children and old men sat uponthe bench, and looked at the green tree. And we who are telling thisstory stood upon a balcony, and looked down upon the green springsight that had been brought in from the fresh country air, and said,what the old clergyman would have said, "Poor Dryad!"

"I am happy! I am happy!" the Dryad cried, rejoicing; "and yet Icannot realize, cannot describe what I feel. Everything is as Ifancied it, and yet as I did not fancy it."

The houses stood there, so lofty, so close! The sunlight shoneon only one of the walls, and that one was stuck over with bills andplacards, before which the people stood still; and this made a crowd.

Carriages rushed past, carriages rolled past; light ones and heavyones mingled together. Omnibuses, those over-crowded moving houses,came rattling by; horsemen galloped among them; even carts andwagons asserted their rights.

The Dryad asked herself if these high-grown houses, which stood soclose around her, would not remove and take other shapes, like theclouds in the sky, and draw aside, so that she might cast a glanceinto Paris, and over it. Notre Dame must show itself, the VendomeColumn, and the wondrous building which had called and was stillcalling so many strangers to the city.

But the houses did not stir from their places. It was yet day whenthe lamps were lit. The gas-jets gleamed from the shops, and shoneeven into the branches of the trees, so that it was like sunlight insummer. The stars above made their appearance, the same to which theDryad had looked up in her home. She thought she felt a clear purestream of air which went forth from them. She felt herself lifted upand strengthened, and felt an increased power of seeing throughevery leaf and through every fibre of the root. Amid all the noise andthe turmoil, the colors and the lights, she knew herself watched bymild eyes.

From the side streets sounded the merry notes of fiddles andwind instruments. Up! to the dance, to the dance! to jollity andpleasure! that was their invitation. Such music it was, that horses,carriages, trees, and houses would have danced, if they had known how.The charm of intoxicating delight filled the bosom of the Dryad.

"How glorious, how splendid it is!" she cried, rejoicingly. "Now Iam in Paris!"

The next day that dawned, the next night that fell, offered thesame spectacle, similar bustle, similar life; changing, indeed, yetalways the same; and thus it went on through the sequence of days.

"Now I know every tree, every flower on the square here! I knowevery house, every balcony, every shop in this narrow cut-offcorner, where I am denied the sight of this great mighty city. Whereare the arches of triumph, the Boulevards, the wondrous building ofthe world? I see nothing of all this. As if shut up in a cage, I standamong the high houses, which I now know by heart, with theirinscriptions, signs, and placards; all the painted confectionery, thatis no longer to my taste. Where are all the things of which I heard,for which I longed, and for whose sake I wanted to come hither? whathave I seized, found, won? I feel the same longing I felt before; Ifeel that there is a life I should wish to grasp and to experience.I must go out into the ranks of living men, and mingle among them. Imust fly about like a bird. I must see and feel, and become humanaltogether. I must enjoy the one half-day, instead of vegetating foryears in every-day sameness and weariness, in which I become ill,and at last sink and disappear like the dew on the meadows. I willgleam like the cloud, gleam in the sunshine of life, look out over thewhole like the cloud, and pass away like it, no one knoweth whither."

Thus sighed the Dryad; and she prayed:

"Take from me the years that were destined for me, and give me buthalf of the life of the ephemeral fly! Deliver me from my prison! Giveme human life, human happiness, only a short span, only the one night,if it cannot be otherwise; and then punish me for my wish to live,my longing for life! Strike me out of thy list. Let my shell, thefresh young tree, wither, or be hewn down, and burnt to ashes, andscattered to all the winds!"

A rustling went through the leaves of the tree; there was atrembling in each of the leaves; it seemed as if fire streamed throughit. A gust of wind shook its green crown, and from the midst of thatcrown a female figure came forth. In the same moment she was sittingbeneath the brightly-illuminated leafy branches, young and beautifulto behold, like poor Mary, to whom the clergyman had said, "Thegreat city will be thy destruction."

The Dryad sat at the foot of the tree- at her house door, whichshe had locked, and whose key had thrown away. So young! so fair!The stars saw her, and blinked at her. The gas-lamps saw her, andgleamed and beckoned to her. How delicate she was, and yet howblooming!- a child, and yet a grown maiden! Her dress was fine assilk, green as the freshly-opened leaves on the crown of the tree;in her nut-brown hair clung a half-opened chestnut blossom. She lookedlike the Goddess of Spring.

For one short minute she sat motionless; then she sprang up,and, light as a gazelle, she hurried away. She ran and sprang like thereflection from the mirror that, carried by the sunshine, is cast, nowhere, now there. Could any one have followed her with his eyes, hewould have seen how marvellously her dress and her form changed,according to the nature of the house or the place whose light happenedto shine upon her.

She reached the Boulevards. Here a sea of light streamed forthfrom the gas-flames of the lamps, the shops and the cafes. Herestood in a row young and slender trees, each of which concealed itsDryad, and gave shade from the artificial sunlight. The whole vastpavement was one great festive hall, where covered tables stoodladen with refreshments of all kinds, from champagne and Chartreusedown to coffee and beer. Here was an exhibition of flowers, statues,books, and colored stuffs.

From the crowd close by the lofty houses she looked forth over theterrific stream beyond the rows of trees. Yonder heaved a stream ofrolling carriages, cabriolets, coaches, omnibuses, cabs, and amongthem riding gentlemen and marching troops. To cross to the oppositeshore was an undertaking fraught with danger to life and limb. Nowlanterns shed their radiance abroad; now the gas had the upper hand;suddenly a rocket rises! Whence? Whither?

Here are sounds of soft Italian melodies; yonder, Spanish songsare sung, accompanied by the rattle of the castanets; but strongest ofall, and predominating over the rest, the street-organ tunes of themoment, the exciting "Can-Can" music, which Orpheus never knew, andwhich was never heard by the "Belle Helene." Even the barrow wastempted to hop upon one of its wheels.

The Dryad danced, floated, flew, changing her color everymoment, like a humming-bird in the sunshine; each house, with theworld belonging to it, gave her its own reflections.

As the glowing lotus-flower, torn from its stem, is carried awayby the stream, so the Dryad drifted along. Whenever she paused, shewas another being, so that none was able to follow her, to recognizeher, or to look more closely at her.

Like cloud-pictures, all things flew by her. She looked into athousand faces, but not one was familiar to her; she saw not asingle form from home. Two bright eyes had remained in her memory. Shethought of Mary, poor Mary, the ragged merry child, who wore the redflowers in her black hair. Mary was now here, in the world-city,rich and magnificent as in that day when she drove past the house ofthe old clergyman, and past the tree of the Dryad, the old oak.

Here she was certainly living, in the deafening tumult. Perhapsshe had just stepped out of one of the gorgeous carriages inwaiting. Handsome equipages, with coachmen in gold braid and footmenin silken hose, drove up. The people who alighted from them were allrichly-dressed ladies. They went through the opened gate, and ascendedthe broad staircase that led to a building resting on marblepillars. Was this building, perhaps, the wonder of the world? ThereMary would certainly be found.

"Sancta Maria!" resounded from the interior. Incense floatedthrough the lofty painted and gilded aisles, where a solemn twilightreigned.

It was the Church of the Madeleine.

Clad in black garments of the most costly stuffs, fashionedaccording to the latest mode, the rich feminine world of Parisglided across the shining pavement. The crests of the proprietors wereengraved on silver shields on the velvet-bound prayer-books, andembroidered in the corners of perfumed handkerchiefs bordered withBrussels lace. A few of the ladies were kneeling in silent prayerbefore the altars; others resorted to the confessionals.

Anxiety and fear took possession of the Dryad; she felt as ifshe had entered a place where she had no right to be. Here was theabode of silence, the hall of secrets. Everything was said inwhispers, every word was a mystery.

The Dryad saw herself enveloped in lace and silk, like the womenof wealth and of high birth around her. Had, perhaps, every one ofthem a longing in her breast, like the Dryad?

A deep, painful sigh was heard. Did it escape from someconfessional in a distant corner, or from the bosom of the Dryad?She drew the veil closer around her; she breathed incense, and not thefresh air. Here was not the abiding-place of her longing.

Away! away- a hastening without rest. The ephemeral fly knowsnot repose, for her existence is flight.

She was out again among the gas candelabra, by a magnificentfountain.

"All its streaming waters are not able to wash out the innocentblood that was spilt here."

Such were the words spoken. Strangers stood around, carrying ona lively conversation, such as no one would have dared to carry onin the gorgeous hall of secrets whence the Dryad came.

A heavy stone slab was turned and then lifted. She did notunderstand why. She saw an opening that led into the depths below. Thestrangers stepped down, leaving the starlit air and the cheerfullife of the upper world behind them.

"I am afraid," said one of the women who stood around, to herhusband, "I cannot venture to go down, nor do I care for the wondersdown yonder. You had better stay here with me."

"Indeed, and travel home," said the man, "and quit Paris withouthaving seen the most wonderful thing of all- the real wonder of thepresent period, created by the power and resolution of one man!"

"I will not go down for all that," was the reply.

"The wonder of the present time," it had been called. The Dryadhad heard and had understood it. The goal of her ardent longing hadthus been reached, and here was the entrance to it. Down into thedepths below Paris? She had not thought of such a thing; but now sheheard it said, and saw the strangers descending, and went after them.

The staircase was of cast iron, spiral, broad and easy. Belowthere burned a lamp, and farther down, another. They stood in alabyrinth of endless halls and arched passages, all communicating witheach other. All the streets and lanes of Paris were to be seen hereagain, as in a dim reflection. The names were painted up; and every,house above had its number down here also, and struck its rootsunder the macadamized quays of a broad canal, in which the muddy waterflowed onward. Over it the fresh streaming water was carried onarches; and quite at the top hung the tangled net of gas-pipes andtelegraph-wires.

In the distance lamps gleamed, like a reflection from theworld-city above. Every now and then a dull rumbling was heard. Thiscame from the heavy wagons rolling over the entrance bridges.

Whither had the Dryad come?

You have, no doubt, heard of the CATACOMBS? Now they are vanishingpoints in that new underground world- that wonder of the presentday- the sewers of Paris. The Dryad was there, and not in theworld's Exhibition in the Champ de Mars.

She heard exclamations of wonder and admiration.

"From here go forth health and life for thousands upon thousandsup yonder! Our time is the time of progress, with its manifoldblessings."

Such was the opinion and the speech of men; but not of thosecreatures who had been born here, and who built and dwelt here- of therats, namely, who were squeaking to one another in the clefts of acrumbling wall, quite plainly, and in a way the Dryad understood well.

A big old Father-Rat, with his tail bitten off, was relievinghis feelings in loud squeaks; and his family gave their tribute ofconcurrence to every word he said:

"I am disgusted with this man-mewing," he cried- "with theseoutbursts of ignorance. A fine magnificence, truly! all made up of gasand petroleum! I can't eat such stuff as that. Everything here is sofine and bright now, that one's ashamed of one's self, without exactlyknowing why. Ah, if we only lived in the days of tallow candles! andit does not lie so very far behind us. That was a romantic time, asone may say."

"What are you talking of there?" asked the Dryad. "I have neverseen you before. What is it you are talking about?"

"Of the glorious days that are gone," said the Rat- "of thehappy time of our great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers. Then itwas a great thing to get down here. That was a rat's nest quitedifferent from Paris. Mother Plague used to live here then; she killedpeople, but never rats. Robbers and smugglers could breathe freelyhere. Here was the meeting-place of the most interesting personages,whom one now only gets to see in the theatres where they actmelodrama, up above. The time of romance is gone even in our rat'snest; and here also fresh air and petroleum have broken in."

Thus squeaked the Rat; he squeaked in honor of the old time,when Mother Plague was still alive.

A carriage stopped, a kind of open omnibus, drawn by swift horses.The company mounted and drove away along the Boulevard deSebastopol, that is to say, the underground boulevard, over whichthe well-known crowded street of that name extended.

The carriage disappeared in the twilight; the Dryad disappeared,lifted to the cheerful freshness above. Here, and not below in thevaulted passages, filled with heavy air, the wonder work must be foundwhich she was to seek in her short lifetime. It must gleam brighterthan all the gas-flames, stronger than the moon that was justgliding past.

Yes, certainly, she saw it yonder in the distance, it gleamedbefore her, and twinkled and glittered like the evening star in thesky.

She saw a glittering portal open, that led to a little garden,where all was brightness and dance music. Colored lamps surroundedlittle lakes, in which were water-plants of colored metal, fromwhose flowers jets of water spurted up. Beautiful weeping willows,real products of spring, hung their fresh branches over these lakeslike a fresh, green, transparent, and yet screening veil. In thebushes burnt an open fire, throwing a red twilight over the quiet hutsof branches, into which the sounds of music penetrated- an eartickling, intoxicating music, that sent the blood coursing through theveins.

Beautiful girls in festive attire, with pleasant smiles on theirlips, and the light spirit of youth in their hearts- "Marys," withroses in their hair, but without carriage and postilion- flitted toand fro in the wild dance.

Where were the heads, where the feet? As if stung by tarantulas,they sprang, laughed, rejoiced, as if in their ecstacies they weregoing to embrace all the world.

The Dryad felt herself torn with them into the whirl of the dance.Round her delicate foot clung the silken boot, chestnut brown incolor, like the ribbon that floated from her hair down upon her bareshoulders. The green silk dress waved in large folds, but did notentirely hide the pretty foot and ankle.

Had she come to the enchanted Garden of Armida? What was thename of the place?

The name glittered in gas-jets over the entrance. It was"Mabille."

The soaring upwards of rockets, the splashing of fountains, andthe popping of champagne corks accompanied the wild bacchanticdance. Over the whole glided the moon through the air, clear, but witha somewhat crooked face.

A wild joviality seemed to rush through the Dryad, as though shewere intoxicated with opium. Her eyes spoke, her lips spoke, but thesound of violins and of flutes drowned the sound of her voice. Herpartner whispered words to her which she did not understand, nor do weunderstand them. He stretched out his arms to draw her to him, buthe embraced only the empty air.

The Dryad had been carried away, like a rose-leaf on the wind.Before her she saw a flame in the air, a flashing light high up on atower. The beacon light shone from the goal of her longing, shone fromthe red lighthouse tower of the Fata Morgana of the Champ de Mars.Thither she was carried by the wind. She circled round the tower;the workmen thought it was a butterfly that had come too early, andthat now sank down dying.

The moon shone bright, gas-lamps spread light around, throughthe halls, over the all-world's buildings scattered about, over therose-hills and the rocks produced by human ingenuity, from whichwaterfalls, driven by the power of "Master Bloodless," fell down.The caverns of the sea, the depths of the lakes, the kingdom of thefishes were opened here. Men walked as in the depths of the deep pond,and held converse with the sea, in the diving-bell of glass. The waterpressed against the strong glass walls above and on every side. Thepolypi, eel-like living creatures, had fastened themselves to thebottom, and stretched out arms, fathoms long, for prey. A big turbotwas making himself broad in front, quietly enough, but not withoutcasting some suspicious glances aside. A crab clambered over him,looking like a gigantic spider, while the shrimps wandered about inrestless haste, like the butterflies and moths of the sea.

In the fresh water grew water-lilies, nymphaea, and reeds; thegold-fishes stood up below in rank and file, all turning their headsone way, that the streaming water might flow into their mouths. Fatcarps stared at the glass wall with stupid eyes. They knew that theywere here to be exhibited, and that they had made the somewhattoilsome journey hither in tubs filled with water; and they thoughtwith dismay of the land-sickness from which they had suffered socruelly on the railway.

They had come to see the Exhibition, and now contemplated itfrom their fresh or salt-water position. They looked attentively atthe crowds of people who passed by them early and late. All thenations in the world, they thought, had made an exhibition of theirinhabitants, for the edification of the soles and haddocks, pike andcarp, that they might give their opinions upon the different kinds.

"Those are scaly animals" said a little slimy Whiting. "They puton different scales two or three times a day, and they emit soundswhich they call speaking. We don't put on scales, and we makeourselves understood in an easier way, simply by twitching the cornersof our mouths and staring with our eyes. We have a great manyadvantages over mankind."

"But they have learned swimming of us," remarked a well-educatedCodling. "You must know I come from the great sea outside. In thehot time of the year the people yonder go into the water; first theytake off their scales, and then they swim. They have learnt from thefrogs to kick out with their hind legs, and row with their forepaws. But they cannot hold out long. They want to be like us, but theycannot come up to us. Poor people!"

And the fishes stared. They thought that the whole swarm of peoplewhom they had seen in the bright daylight were still moving aroundthem; they were certain they still saw the same forms that had firstcaught their attention.

A pretty Barbel, with spotted skin, and an enviably round back,declared that the "human fry" were still there.

"I can see a well set-up human figure quite well," said theBarbel. "She was called 'contumacious lady,' or something of thatkind. She had a mouth and staring eyes, like ours, and a great balloonat the back of her head, and something like a shut-up umbrella infront; there were a lot of dangling bits of seaweed hanging about her.She ought to take all the rubbish off, and go as we do; then she wouldlook something like a respectable barbel, so far as it is possible fora person to look like one!"

"What's become of that one whom they drew away with the hook? Hesat on a wheel-chair, and had paper, and pen, and ink, and wrotedown everything. They called him a 'writer.'"

"They're going about with him still," said a hoary old maid of aCarp, who carried her misfortune about with her, so that she was quitehoarse. In her youth she had once swallowed a hook, and still swampatiently about with it in her gullet. "A writer? That means, as wefishes describe it, a kind of cuttle or ink-fish among men."

Thus the fishes gossipped in their own way; but in theartificial water-grotto the laborers were busy; who were obliged totake advantage of the hours of night to get their work done bydaybreak. They accompanied with blows of their hammers and withsongs the parting words of the vanishing Dryad.

"So, at any rate, I have seen you, you pretty gold-fishes," shesaid. "Yes, I know you;" and she waved her hand to them. "I have knownabout you a long time in my home; the swallow told me about you. Howbeautiful you are! how delicate and shining! I should like to kissevery one of you. You others, also. I know you all; but you do notknow me."

The fishes stared out into the twilight. They did not understand aword of it.

The Dryad was there no longer. She had been a long time in theopen air, where the different countries- the country of black bread,the codfish coast, the kingdom of Russia leather, and the banks ofeau-de-Cologne, and the gardens of rose oil- exhaled their perfumesfrom the world-wonder flower.

When, after a night at a ball, we drive home half asleep andhalf awake, the melodies still sound plainly in our ears; we hearthem, and could sing them all from memory. When the eye of themurdered man closes, the picture of what it saw last clings to itfor a time like a photographic picture.

So it was likewise here. The bustling life of day had not yetdisappeared in the quiet night. The Dryad had seen it; she knew,thus it will be repeated tomorrow.

The Dryad stood among the fragrant roses, and thought she knewthem, and had seen them in her own home. She also saw redpomegranate flowers, like those that little Mary had worn in herdark hair.

Remembrances from the home of her childhood flashed through herthoughts; her eyes eagerly drank in the prospect around, andfeverish restlessness chased her through the wonder-filled halls.

A weariness that increased continually, took possession of her.She felt a longing to rest on the soft Oriental carpets within, orto lean against the weeping willow without by the clear water. But forthe ephemeral fly there was no rest. In a few moments the day hadcompleted its circle.

Her thoughts trembled, her limbs trembled, she sank down on thegrass by the bubbling water.

"Thou wilt ever spring living from the earth," she saidmournfully. "Moisten my tongue- bring me a refreshing draught."

"I am no living water," was the answer. "I only spring upward whenthe machine wills it."

"Give me something of thy freshness, thou green grass," imploredthe Dryad; "give me one of thy fragrant flowers."

"We must die if we are torn from our stalks," replied theFlowers and the Grass.

"Give me a kiss, thou fresh stream of air- only a singlelife-kiss."

"Soon the sun will kiss the clouds red," answered the Wind;"then thou wilt be among the dead- blown away, as all the splendorhere will be blown away before the year shall have ended. Then I canplay again with the light loose sand on the place here, and whirlthe dust over the land and through the air. All is dust!"

The Dryad felt a terror like a woman who has cut asunder herpulse-artery in the bath, but is filled again with the love of life,even while she is bleeding to death. She raised herself, totteredforward a few steps, and sank down again at the entrance to a littlechurch. The gate stood open, lights were burning upon the altar, andthe organ sounded.

What music! Such notes the Dryad had never yet heard; and yet itseemed to her as if she recognized a number of well-known voices amongthem. They came deep from the heart of all creation. She thought sheheard the stories of the old clergyman, of great deeds, and of thecelebrated names, and of the gifts that the creatures of God mustbestow upon posterity, if they would live on in the world.

The tones of the organ swelled, and in their song there soundedthese words:

"Thy wishing and thy longing have torn thee, with thy roots,from the place which God appointed for thee. That was thy destruction,thou poor Dryad!"

The notes became soft and gentle, and seemed to die away in awail.

In the sky the clouds showed themselves with a ruddy gleam. TheWind sighed:

"Pass away, ye dead! now the sun is going to rise!"

The first ray fell on the Dryad. Her form was irradiated inchanging colors, like the soap-bubble when it is bursting andbecomes a drop of water; like a tear that falls and passes away like avapor.

Poor Dryad! Only a dew-drop, only a tear, poured upon the earth,and vanished away!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE DUMB BOOK

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the high-road which led through a wood stood a solitaryfarm-house; the road, in fact, ran right through its yard. The sun wasshining and all the windows were open; within the house people werevery busy. In the yard, in an arbour formed by lilac bushes in fullbloom, stood an open coffin; thither they had carried a dead man,who was to be buried that very afternoon. Nobody shed a tear over him;his face was covered over with a white cloth, under his head theyhad placed a large thick book, the leaves of which consisted of foldedsheets of blotting-paper, and withered flowers lay between them; itwas the herbarium which he had gathered in various places and was tobe buried with him, according to his own wish. Every one of theflowers in it was connected with some chapter of his life.

"Who is the dead man?" we asked.

"The old student," was the reply. "They say that he was once anenergetic young man, that he studied the dead languages, and sangand even composed many songs; then something had happened to him,and in consequence of this he gave himself up to drink, body and mind.When at last he had ruined his health, they brought him into thecountry, where someone paid for his board and residence. He was gentleas a child as long as the sullen mood did not come over him; butwhen it came he was fierce, became as strong as a giant, and ran aboutin the wood like a chased deer. But when we succeeded in bringinghim home, and prevailed upon him to open the book with the dried-upplants in it, he would sometimes sit for a whole day looking at thisor that plant, while frequently the tears rolled over his cheeks.God knows what was in his mind; but he requested us to put the bookinto his coffin, and now he lies there. In a little while the lid willbe placed upon the coffin, and he will have sweet rest in the grave!"

The cloth which covered his face was lifted up; the dead man'sface expressed peace- a sunbeam fell upon it. A swallow flew withthe swiftness of an arrow into the arbour, turning in its flight,and twittered over the dead man's head.

What a strange feeling it is- surely we all know it- to lookthrough old letters of our young days; a different life rises up outof the past, as it were, with all its hopes and sorrows. How many ofthe people with whom in those days we used to be on intimate termsappear to us as if dead, and yet they are still alive- only we havenot thought of them for such a long time, whom we imagined we shouldretain in our memories for ever, and share every joy and sorrow withthem.

The withered oak leaf in the book here recalled the friend, theschoolfellow, who was to be his friend for life. He fixed the leafto the student's cap in the green wood, when they vowed eternalfriendship. Where does he dwell now? The leaf is kept, but thefriendship does no longer exist. Here is a foreign hothouse plant, tootender for the gardens of the North. It is almost as if its leavesstill smelt sweet! She gave it to him out of her own garden- anobleman's daughter.

Here is a water-lily that he had plucked himself, and watered withsalt tears- a lily of sweet water. And here is a nettle: what mayits leaves tell us? What might he have thought when he plucked andkept it? Here is a little snowdrop out of the solitary wood; here isan evergreen from the flower-pot at the tavern; and here is a simpleblade of grass.

The lilac bends its fresh fragrant flowers over the dead man'shead; the swallow passes again- "twit, twit;" now the men come withhammer and nails, the lid is placed over the dead man, while hishead rests on the dumb book- so long cherished, now closed for ever!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE ELF OF THE ROSE

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the midst of a garden grew a rose-tree, in full blossom, and inthe prettiest of all the roses lived an elf. He was such a littlewee thing, that no human eye could see him. Behind each leaf of therose he had a sleeping chamber. He was as well formed and as beautifulas a little child could be, and had wings that reached from hisshoulders to his feet. Oh, what sweet fragrance there was in hischambers! and how clean and beautiful were the walls! for they werethe blushing leaves of the rose.

During the whole day he enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flewfrom flower to flower, and danced on the wings of the flyingbutterflies. Then he took it into his head to measure how many stepshe would have to go through the roads and cross-roads that are onthe leaf of a linden-tree. What we call the veins on a leaf, he tookfor roads; ay, and very long roads they were for him; for before hehad half finished his task, the sun went down: he had commenced hiswork too late. It became very cold, the dew fell, and the wind blew;so he thought the best thing he could do would be to return home. Hehurried himself as much as he could; but he found the roses all closedup, and he could not get in; not a single rose stood open. The poorlittle elf was very much frightened. He had never before been out atnight, but had always slumbered secretly behind the warmrose-leaves. Oh, this would certainly be his death. At the other endof the garden, he knew there was an arbor, overgrown with beautifulhoney-suckles. The blossoms looked like large painted horns; and hethought to himself, he would go and sleep in one of these till themorning. He flew thither; but "hush!" two people were in the arbor,- ahandsome young man and a beautiful lady. They sat side by side, andwished that they might never be obliged to part. They loved each othermuch more than the best child can love its father and mother.

"But we must part," said the young man; "your brother does notlike our engagement, and therefore he sends me so far away onbusiness, over mountains and seas. Farewell, my sweet bride; for soyou are to me."

And then they kissed each other, and the girl wept, and gave him arose; but before she did so, she pressed a kiss upon it so ferventlythat the flower opened. Then the little elf flew in, and leaned hishead on the delicate, fragrant walls. Here he could plainly hearthem say, "Farewell, farewell;" and he felt that the rose had beenplaced on the young man's breast. Oh, how his heart did beat! Thelittle elf could not go to sleep, it thumped so loudly. The youngman took it out as he walked through the dark wood alone, and kissedthe flower so often and so violently, that the little elf was almostcrushed. He could feel through the leaf how hot the lips of theyoung man were, and the rose had opened, as if from the heat of thenoonday sun.

There came another man, who looked gloomy and wicked. He was thewicked brother of the beautiful maiden. He drew out a sharp knife, andwhile the other was kissing the rose, the wicked man stabbed him todeath; then he cut off his head, and buried it with the body in thesoft earth under the linden-tree.

"Now he is gone, and will soon be forgotten," thought the wickedbrother; "he will never come back again. He was going on a longjourney over mountains and seas; it is easy for a man to lose his lifein such a journey. My sister will suppose he is dead; for he cannotcome back, and she will not dare to question me about him."

Then he scattered the dry leaves over the light earth with hisfoot, and went home through the darkness; but he went not alone, as hethought,- the little elf accompanied him. He sat in a dry rolled-uplinden-leaf, which had fallen from the tree on to the wicked man'shead, as he was digging the grave. The hat was on the head now,which made it very dark, and the little elf shuddered with frightand indignation at the wicked deed.

It was the dawn of morning before the wicked man reached home;he took off his hat, and went into his sister's room. There lay thebeautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and whowas now, she supposed, travelling far away over mountain and sea.Her wicked brother stopped over her, and laughed hideously, asfiends only can laugh. The dry leaf fell out of his hair upon thecounterpane; but he did not notice it, and went to get a littlesleep during the early morning hours. But the elf slipped out of thewithered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl, andtold her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder; described the placewhere her brother had slain her lover, and buried his body; and toldher of the linden-tree, in full blossom, that stood close by.

"That you may not think this is only a dream that I have toldyou," he said, "you will find on your bed a withered leaf."

Then she awoke, and found it there. Oh, what bitter tears sheshed! and she could not open her heart to any one for relief.

The window stood open the whole day, and the little elf couldeasily have reached the roses, or any of the flowers; but he could notfind it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. In the window stooda bush bearing monthly roses. He seated himself in one of the flowers,and gazed on the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room,and would be quite cheerful, in spite of his base conduct; so she darenot say a word to him of her heart's grief.

As soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and wentinto the wood, to the spot where the linden-tree stood; and afterremoving the leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and therefound him who had been murdered. Oh, how she wept and prayed thatshe also might die! Gladly would she have taken the body home withher; but that was impossible; so she took up the poor head with theclosed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mould out of thebeautiful hair.

"I will keep this," said she; and as soon as she had covered thebody again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a littlesprig of jasmine that bloomed in the wood, near the spot where hewas buried, and carried them home with her. As soon as she was inher room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and inthis she placed the head of the dead man, covered it up with earth,and planted the twig of jasmine in it.

"Farewell, farewell," whispered the little elf. He could not anylonger endure to witness all this agony of grief, he therefore flewaway to his own rose in the garden. But the rose was faded; only a fewdry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it.

"Alas! how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away,"sighed the elf.

After a while he found another rose, which became his home, foramong its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Everymorning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found herweeping by the flower pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasminetwig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprigappeared to grow greener and fresher. One shoot after another sproutedforth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondlykissed. But her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she wasgoing mad. He could not imagine why she was weeping over thatflower-pot, and it annoyed him. He did not know whose closed eyes werethere, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. And one dayshe sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot, and the little elfof the rose found her asleep. Then he seated himself by her ear,talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume ofthe rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly she dreamed, and whileshe dreamt, her life passed away calmly and gently, and her spirit waswith him whom she loved, in heaven. And the jasmine opened its largewhite bells, and spread forth its sweet fragrance; it had no other wayof showing its grief for the dead. But the wicked brother consideredthe beautiful blooming plant as his own property, left to him by hissister, and he placed it in his sleeping room, close by his bed, forit was very lovely in appearance, and the fragrance sweet anddelightful. The little elf of the rose followed it, and flew fromflower to flower, telling each little spirit that dwelt in them thestory of the murdered young man, whose head now formed part of theearth beneath them, and of the wicked brother and the poor sister. "Weknow it," said each little spirit in the flowers, "we know it, forhave we not sprung from the eyes and lips of the murdered one. We knowit, we know it," and the flowers nodded with their heads in a peculiarmanner. The elf of the rose could not understand how they could restso quietly in the matter, so he flew to the bees, who were gatheringhoney, and told them of the wicked brother. And the bees told it totheir queen, who commanded that the next morning they should go andkill the murderer. But during the night, the first after thesister's death, while the brother was sleeping in his bed, close towhere he had placed the fragrant jasmine, every flower cup opened, andinvisibly the little spirits stole out, armed with poisonous spears.They placed themselves by the ear of the sleeper, told him dreadfuldreams and then flew across his lips, and pricked his tongue withtheir poisoned spears. "Now have we revenged the dead," said they, andflew back into the white bells of the jasmine flowers. When themorning came, and as soon as the window was opened, the rose elf, withthe queen bee, and the whole swarm of bees, rushed in to kill him. Buthe was already dead. People were standing round the bed, and sayingthat the scent of the jasmine had killed him. Then the elf of the roseunderstood the revenge of the flowers, and explained it to the queenbee, and she, with the whole swarm, buzzed about the flower-pot. Thebees could not be driven away. Then a man took it up to remove it, andone of the bees stung him in the hand, so that he let the flower-potfall, and it was broken to pieces. Then every one saw the whitenedskull, and they knew the dead man in the bed was a murderer. And thequeen bee hummed in the air, and sang of the revenge of the flowers,and of the elf of the rose and said that behind the smallest leafdwells One, who can discover evil deeds, and punish them also.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE ELFIN HILL

by Hans Christian Andersen

A FEW large lizards were running nimbly about in the clefts ofan old tree; they could understand one another very well, for theyspoke the lizard language.

"What a buzzing and a rumbling there is in the elfin hill," saidone of the lizards; "I have not been able to close my eyes for twonights on account of the noise; I might just as well have had thetoothache, for that always keeps me awake."

"There is something going on within there," said the other lizard;"they propped up the top of the hill with four red posts, tillcock-crow this morning, so that it is thoroughly aired, and theelfin girls have learnt new dances; there is something."

"I spoke about it to an earth-worm of my acquaintance," said athird lizard; "the earth-worm had just come from the elfin hill, wherehe has been groping about in the earth day and night. He has heard agreat deal; although he cannot see, poor miserable creature, yet heunderstands very well how to wriggle and lurk about. They expectfriends in the elfin hill, grand company, too; but who they are theearth-worm would not say, or, perhaps, he really did not know. All thewill-o'-the-wisps are ordered to be there to hold a torch dance, as itis called. The silver and gold which is plentiful in the hill willbe polished and placed out in the moonlight."

"Who can the strangers be?" asked the lizards; "what can thematter be? Hark, what a buzzing and humming there is!"

Just at this moment the elfin hill opened, and an old elfinmaiden, hollow behind, came tripping out; she was the old elf king'shousekeeper, and a distant relative of the family; therefore shewore an amber heart on the middle of her forehead. Her feet moved veryfast, "trip, trip;" good gracious, how she could trip right down tothe sea to the night-raven.

"You are invited to the elf hill for this evening," said she; "butwill you do me a great favor and undertake the invitations? youought to do something, for you have no housekeeping to attend to asI have. We are going to have some very grand people, conjurors, whohave always something to say; and therefore the old elf king wishes tomake a great display."

"Who is to be invited?" asked the raven.

"All the world may come to the great ball, even human beings, ifthey can only talk in their sleep, or do something after ourfashion. But for the feast the company must be carefully selected;we can only admit persons of high rank; I have had a dispute myselfwith the elf king, as he thought we could not admit ghosts. The mermanand his daughter must be invited first, although it may not beagreeable to them to remain so long on dry land, but they shall have awet stone to sit on, or perhaps something better; so I think they willnot refuse this time. We must have all the old demons of the firstclass, with tails, and the hobgoblins and imps; and then I think weought not to leave out the death-horse, or the grave-pig, or eventhe church dwarf, although they do belong to the clergy, and are notreckoned among our people; but that is merely their office, they arenearly related to us, and visit us very frequently."

"Croak," said the night-raven as he flew away with theinvitations.

The elfin maidens we're already dancing on the elf hill, andthey danced in shawls woven from moonshine and mist, which look verypretty to those who like such things. The large hall within the elfhill was splendidly decorated; the floor had been washed withmoonshine, and the walls had been rubbed with magic ointment, sothat they glowed like tulip-leaves in the light. In the kitchen werefrogs roasting on the spit, and dishes preparing of snail skins,with children's fingers in them, salad of mushroom seed, hemlock,noses and marrow of mice, beer from the marsh woman's brewery, andsparkling salt-petre wine from the grave cellars. These were allsubstantial food. Rusty nails and church-window glass formed thedessert. The old elf king had his gold crown polished up with powderedslate-pencil; it was like that used by the first form, and verydifficult for an elf king to obtain. In the bedrooms, curtains werehung up and fastened with the slime of snails; there was, indeed, abuzzing and humming everywhere.

"Now we must fumigate the place with burnt horse-hair and pig'sbristles, and then I think I shall have done my part," said the elfman-servant.

"Father, dear," said the youngest daughter, "may I now hear whoour high-born visitors are?"

"Well, I suppose I must tell you now," he replied; "two of mydaughters must prepare themselves to be married, for the marriagescertainly will take place. The old goblin from Norway, who lives inthe ancient Dovre mountains, and who possesses many castles built ofrock and freestone, besides a gold mine, which is better than all,so it is thought, is coming with his two sons, who are both seekinga wife. The old goblin is a true-hearted, honest, old Norwegiangraybeard; cheerful and straightforward. I knew him formerly, whenwe used to drink together to our good fellowship: he came here once tofetch his wife, she is dead now. She was the daughter of the king ofthe chalk-hills at Moen. They say he took his wife from chalk; I shallbe delighted to see him again. It is said that the boys areill-bred, forward lads, but perhaps that is not quite correct, andthey will become better as they grow older. Let me see that you knowhow to teach them good manners."

"And when are they coming?" asked the daughter.

"That depends upon wind and weather," said the elf king; "theytravel economically. They will come when there is the chance of aship. I wanted them to come over to Sweden, but the old man was notinclined to take my advice. He does not go forward with the times, andthat I do not like."

Two will-o'-the-wisps came jumping in, one quicker than the other,so of course, one arrived first. "They are coming! they are coming!"he cried.

"Give me my crown," said the elf king, "and let me stand in themoonshine."

The daughters drew on their shawls and bowed down to the ground.There stood the old goblin from the Dovre mountains, with his crown ofhardened ice and polished fir-cones. Besides this, he wore abear-skin, and great, warm boots, while his sons went with theirthroats bare and wore no braces, for they were strong men.

"Is that a hill?" said the youngest of the boys, pointing to theelf hill, "we should call it a hole in Norway."

"Boys," said the old man, "a hole goes in, and a hill standsout; have you no eyes in your heads?"

Another thing they wondered at was, that they were able withouttrouble to understand the language.

"Take care," said the old man, "or people will think you havenot been well brought up."

Then they entered the elfin hill, where the select and grandcompany were assembled, and so quickly had they appeared that theyseemed to have been blown together. But for each guest the neatest andpleasantest arrangement had been made. The sea folks sat at table ingreat water-tubs, and they said it was just like being at home. Allbehaved themselves properly excepting the two young northern goblins;they put their legs on the table and thought they were all right.

"Feet off the table-cloth!" said the old goblin. They obeyed,but not immediately. Then they tickled the ladies who waited at table,with the fir-cones, which they carried in their pockets. They took offtheir boots, that they might be more at ease, and gave them to theladies to hold. But their father, the old goblin, was verydifferent; he talked pleasantly about the stately Norwegian rocks, andtold fine tales of the waterfalls which dashed over them with aclattering noise like thunder or the sound of an organ, spreadingtheir white foam on every side. He told of the salmon that leaps inthe rushing waters, while the water-god plays on his golden harp. Hespoke of the bright winter nights, when the sledge bells areringing, and the boys run with burning torches across the smoothice, which is so transparent that they can see the fishes dart forwardbeneath their feet. He described everything so clearly, that those wholistened could see it all; they could see the saw-mills going, themen-servants and the maidens singing songs, and dancing a rattlingdance,- when all at once the old goblin gave the old elfin maiden akiss, such a tremendous kiss, and yet they were almost strangers toeach other.

Then the elfin girls had to dance, first in the usual way, andthen with stamping feet, which they performed very well; then followedthe artistic and solo dance. Dear me, how they did throw their legsabout! No one could tell where the dance begun, or where it ended, norindeed which were legs and which were arms, for they were all flyingabout together, like the shavings in a saw-pit! And then they spunround so quickly that the death-horse and the grave-pig became sickand giddy, and were obliged to leave the table.

"Stop!" cried the old goblin," is that the only house-keeping theycan perform? Can they do anything more than dance and throw abouttheir legs, and make a whirlwind?"

"You shall soon see what they can do," said the elf king. And thenhe called his youngest daughter to him. She was slender and fair asmoonlight, and the most graceful of all the sisters. She took awhite chip in her mouth, and vanished instantly; this was heraccomplishment. But the old goblin said he should not like his wife tohave such an accomplishment, and thought his boys would have thesame objection. Another daughter could make a figure like herselffollow her, as if she had a shadow, which none of the goblin folk everhad. The third was of quite a different sort; she had learnt in thebrew-house of the moor witch how to lard elfin puddings withglow-worms.

"She will make a good housewife," said the old goblin, and thensaluted her with his eyes instead of drinking her health; for he didnot drink much.

Now came the fourth daughter, with a large harp to play upon;and when she struck the first chord, every one lifted up the leftleg (for the goblins are left-legged), and at the second chord theyfound they must all do just what she wanted.

"That is a dangerous woman," said the old goblin; and the two sonswalked out of the hill; they had had enough of it. "And what can thenext daughter do?" asked the old goblin.

"I have learnt everything that is Norwegian," said she; "and Iwill never marry, unless I can go to Norway."

Then her youngest sister whispered to the old goblin, "That isonly because she has heard, in a Norwegian song, that when the worldshall decay, the cliffs of Norway will remain standing like monuments;and she wants to get there, that she may be safe; for she is so afraidof sinking."

"Ho! ho!" said the old goblin, "is that what she means? Well, whatcan the seventh and last do?"

"The sixth comes before the seventh," said the elf king, for hecould reckon; but the sixth would not come forward.

"I can only tell people the truth," said she. "No one cares forme, nor troubles himself about me; and I have enough to do to sew mygrave clothes."

So the seventh and last came; and what could she do? Why, shecould tell stories, as many as you liked, on any subject.

"Here are my five fingers," said the old goblin; "now tell me astory for each of them."

So she took him by the wrist, and he laughed till he nearlychoked; and when she came to the fourth finger, there was a goldring on it, as if it knew there was to be a betrothal. Then the oldgoblin said, "Hold fast what you have: this hand is yours; for Iwill have you for a wife myself."

Then the elfin girl said that the stories about the ring-fingerand little Peter Playman had not yet been told.

"We will hear them in the winter," said the old goblin, "andalso about the fir and the birch-trees, and the ghost stories, andof the tingling frost. You shall tell your tales, for no one overthere can do it so well; and we will sit in the stone rooms, where thepine logs are burning, and drink mead out of the goldendrinking-horn of the old Norwegian kings. The water-god has given metwo; and when we sit there, Nix comes to pay us a visit, and will singyou all the songs of the mountain shepherdesses. How merry we shallbe! The salmon will be leaping in the waterfalls, and dashingagainst the stone walls, but he will not be able to come in. It isindeed very pleasant to live in old Norway. But where are the lads?"

Where indeed were they? Why, running about the fields, and blowingout the will-o'-the-wisps, who so good-naturedly came and broughttheir torches.

"What tricks have you been playing?" said the old goblin. "Ihave taken a mother for you, and now you may take one of your aunts."

But the youngsters said they would rather make a speech anddrink to their good fellowship; they had no wish to marry. Then theymade speeches and drank toasts, and tipped their glasses, to show thatthey were empty. Then they took off their coats, and lay down on thetable to sleep; for they made themselves quite at home. But the oldgoblin danced about the room with his young bride, and exchanged bootswith her, which is more fashionable than exchanging rings.

"The cock is crowing," said the old elfin maiden who acted ashousekeeper; now we must close the shutters, that the sun may notscorch us."

Then the hill closed up. But the lizards continued to run up anddown the riven tree; and one said to the other, "Oh, how much I waspleased with the old goblin!"

"The boys pleased me better," said the earth-worm. But then thepoor miserable creature could not see.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE EMPEROR'S NEW SUIT

by Hans Christian Andersen

MANY, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much ofnew clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain them; hisonly ambition was to be always well dressed. He did not care for hissoldiers, and the theatre did not amuse him; the only thing, infact, he thought anything of was to drive out and show a new suit ofclothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day; and as one would sayof a king "He is in his cabinet," so one could say of him, "Theemperor is in his dressing-room."

The great city where he resided was very gay; every day manystrangers from all parts of the globe arrived. One day two swindlerscame to this city; they made people believe that they were weavers,and declared they could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined.Their colours and patterns, they said, were not only exceptionallybeautiful, but the clothes made of their material possessed thewonderful quality of being invisible to any man who was unfit forhis office or unpardonably stupid.

"That must be wonderful cloth," thought the emperor. "If I were tobe dressed in a suit made of this cloth I should be able to find outwhich men in my empire were unfit for their places, and I coulddistinguish the clever from the stupid. I must have this cloth wovenfor me without delay." And he gave a large sum of money to theswindlers, in advance, that they should set to work without any lossof time. They set up two looms, and pretended to be very hard at work,but they did nothing whatever on the looms. They asked for thefinest silk and the most precious gold-cloth; all they got they didaway with, and worked at the empty looms till late at night.

"I should very much like to know how they are getting on withthe cloth," thought the emperor. But he felt rather uneasy when heremembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it.Personally, he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet hethought it advisable to send somebody else first to see how mattersstood. Everybody in the town knew what a remarkable quality thestuff possessed, and all were anxious to see how bad or stupid theirneighbours were.

"I shall send my honest old minister to the weavers," thoughtthe emperor. "He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he isintelligent, and nobody understands his office better than he."

The good old minister went into the room where the swindlers satbefore the empty looms. "Heaven preserve us!" he thought, and openedhis eyes wide, "I cannot see anything at all," but he did not sayso. Both swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he didnot admire the exquisite pattern and the beautiful colours, pointingto the empty looms. The poor old minister tried his very best, buthe could see nothing, for there was nothing to be seen. "Oh dear,"he thought, "can I be so stupid? I should never have thought so, andnobody must know it! Is it possible that I am not fit for my office?No, no, I cannot say that I was unable to see the cloth."

"Now, have you got nothing to say?" said one of the swindlers,while he pretended to be busily weaving.

"Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful," replied the oldminister looking through his glasses. "What a beautiful pattern,what brilliant colours! I shall tell the emperor that I like the clothvery much."

"We are pleased to hear that," said the two weavers, and describedto him the colours and explained the curious pattern. The old ministerlistened attentively, that he might relate to the emperor what theysaid; and so he did.

Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and gold-cloth, whichthey required for weaving. They kept everything for themselves, andnot a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as hitherto, towork at the empty looms.

Soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest courtier to theweavers to see how they were getting on, and if the cloth was nearlyfinished. Like the old minister, he looked and looked but could seenothing, as there was nothing to be seen.

"Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?" asked the two swindlers,showing and explaining the magnificent pattern, which, however, didnot exist.

"I am not stupid," said the man. "It is therefore my goodappointment for which I am not fit. It is very strange, but I must notlet any one know it;" and he praised the cloth, which he did notsee, and expressed his joy at the beautiful colours and the finepattern. "It is very excellent," he said to the emperor.

Everybody in the whole town talked about the precious cloth. Atlast the emperor wished to see it himself, while it was still on theloom. With a number of courtiers, including the two who had alreadybeen there, he went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked ashard as they could, but without using any thread.

"Is it not magnificent?" said the two old statesmen who had beenthere before. "Your Majesty must admire the colours and thepattern." And then they pointed to the empty looms, for theyimagined the others could see the cloth.

"What is this?" thought the emperor, "I do not see anything atall. That is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be emperor? Thatwould indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me."

"Really," he said, turning to the weavers, "your cloth has ourmost gracious approval;" and nodding contentedly he looked at theempty loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. All hisattendants, who were with him, looked and looked, and although theycould not see anything more than the others, they said, like theemperor, "It is very beautiful." And all advised him to wear the newmagnificent clothes at a great procession which was soon to takeplace. "It is magnificent, beautiful, excellent," one heard themsay; everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed thetwo swindlers "Imperial Court weavers."

The whole night previous to the day on which the procession was totake place, the swindlers pretended to work, and burned more thansixteen candles. People should see that they were busy to finish theemperor's new suit. They pretended to take the cloth from the loom,and worked about in the air with big scissors, and sewed withneedles without thread, and said at last: "The emperor's new suit isready now."

The emperor and all his barons then came to the hall; theswindlers held their arms up as if they held something in theirhands and said: "These are the trousers!" "This is the coat!" and"Here is the cloak!" and so on. "They are all as light as a cobweb,and one must feel as if one had nothing at all upon the body; but thatis just the beauty of them."

"Indeed!" said all the courtiers; but they could not see anything,for there was nothing to be seen.

"Does it please your Majesty now to graciously undress," saidthe swindlers, "that we may assist your Majesty in putting on thenew suit before the large looking-glass?"

The emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put thenew suit upon him, one piece after another; and the emperor lookedat himself in the glass from every side.

"How well they look! How well they fit!" said all. "What abeautiful pattern! What fine colours! That is a magnificent suit ofclothes!"

The master of the ceremonies announced that the bearers of thecanopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were ready.

"I am ready," said the emperor. "Does not my suit fit memarvellously?" Then he turned once more to the looking-glass, thatpeople should think he admired his garments.

The chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stretched theirhands to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and pretended tohold something in their hands; they did not like people to know thatthey could not see anything.

The emperor marched in the procession under the beautifulcanopy, and all who saw him in the street and out of the windowsexclaimed: "Indeed, the emperor's new suit is incomparable! What along train he has! How well it fits him!" Nobody wished to letothers know he saw nothing, for then he would have been unfit forhis office or too stupid. Never emperor's clothes were more admired.

"But he has nothing on at all," said a little child at last. "Goodheavens! listen to the voice of an innocent child," said the father,and one whispered to the other what the child had said. "But he hasnothing on at all," cried at last the whole people. That made a deepimpression upon the emperor, for it seemed to him that they wereright; but he thought to himself, "Now I must bear up to the end." Andthe chamberlains walked with still greater dignity, as if they carriedthe train which did not exist.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE FARM-YARD COCK AND THE WEATHER-COCK

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE were two cocks- one on the dung-hill, the other on the roof.They were both arrogant, but which of the two rendered most service?Tell us your opinion- we'll keep to ours just the same though.

The poultry yard was divided by some planks from another yard inwhich there was a dung-hill, and on the dung-hill lay and grew a largecucumber which was conscious of being a hot-bed plant.

"One is born to that," said the cucumber to itself. "Not all canbe born cucumbers; there must be other things, too. The hens, theducks, and all the animals in the next yard are creatures too. Now Ihave a great opinion of the yard cock on the plank; he is certainly ofmuch more importance than the weather-cock who is placed so high andcan't even creak, much less crow. The latter has neither hens norchicks, and only thinks of himself and perspires verdigris. No, theyard cock is really a cock! His step is a dance! His crowing is music,and wherever he goes one knows what a trumpeter is like! If he wouldonly come in here! Even if he ate me up stump, stalk, and all, and Ihad to dissolve in his body, it would be a happy death," said thecucumber.

In the night there was a terrible storm. The hens, chicks, andeven the cock sought shelter; the wind tore down the planks betweenthe two yards with a crash; the tiles came tumbling down, but theweather-cock sat firm. He did not even turn round, for he could not;and yet he was young and freshly cast, but prudent and sedate. Hehad been born old, and did not at all resemble the birds flying in theair- the sparrows, and the swallows; no, he despised them, thesemean little piping birds, these common whistlers. He admitted that thepigeons, large and white and shining like mother-o'-pearl, looked likea kind of weather-cock; but they were fat and stupid, and all theirthoughts and endeavours were directed to filling themselves with food,and besides, they were tiresome things to converse with. The birdsof passage had also paid the weather-cock a visit and told him offoreign countries, of airy caravans and robber stories that made one'shair stand on end. All this was new and interesting; that is, forthe first time, but afterwards, as the weather-cock found out, theyrepeated themselves and always told the same stories, and that'svery tedious, and there was no one with whom one could associate,for one and all were stale and small-minded.

"The world is no good!" he said. "Everything in it is so stupid."

The weather-cock was puffed up, and that quality would have madehim interesting in the eyes of the cucumber if it had known it, but ithad eyes only for the yard cock, who was now in the yard with it.

The wind had blown the planks, but the storm was over.

"What do you think of that crowing?" said the yard cock to thehens and chickens. "It was a little rough- it wanted elegance."

And the hens and chickens came up on the dung-hill, and the cockstrutted about like a lord.

"Garden plant!" he said to the cucumber, and in that one wordhis deep learning showed itself, and it forgot that he was peckingat her and eating it up. "A happy death!"

The hens and the chickens came, for where one runs the othersrun too; they clucked, and chirped, and looked at the cock, and wereproud that he was of their kind.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" he crowed, "the chickens will grow up intogreat hens at once, if I cry it out in the poultry-yard of the world!"

And hens and chicks clucked and chirped, and the cock announceda great piece of news.

"A cock can lay an egg! And do you know what's in that egg? Abasilisk. No one can stand the sight of such a thing; people knowthat, and now you know it too- you know what is in me, and what achampion of all cocks I am!"

With that the yard cock flapped his wings, made his comb swell up,and crowed again; and they all shuddered, the hens and the littlechicks- but they were very proud that one of their number was such achampion of all cocks. They clucked and chirped till theweather-cock heard; he heard it; but he did not stir.

"Everything is very stupid," the weather-cock said to himself."The yard cock lays no eggs, and I am too lazy to do so; if I liked, Icould lay a wind-egg. But the world is not worth even a wind-egg.Everything is so stupid! I don't want to sit here any longer."

With that the weather-cock broke off; but he did not kill the yardcock, although the hens said that had been his intention. And whatis the moral? "Better to crow than to be puffed up and break off!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE FIR TREE

by Hans Christian Andersen

FAR down in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh airmade a sweet resting-place, grew a pretty little fir-tree; and yetit was not happy, it wished so much to be tall like its companions-the pines and firs which grew around it. The sun shone, and the softair fluttered its leaves, and the little peasant children passed by,prattling merrily, but the fir-tree heeded them not. Sometimes thechildren would bring a large basket of raspberries or strawberries,wreathed on a straw, and seat themselves near the fir-tree, and say,"Is it not a pretty little tree?" which made it feel more unhappy thanbefore. And yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint tallerevery year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir-tree wecan discover its age. Still, as it grew, it complained, "Oh! how Iwish I were as tall as the other trees, then I would spread out mybranches on every side, and my top would over-look the wide world. Ishould have the birds building their nests on my boughs, and whenthe wind blew, I should bow with stately dignity like my tallcompanions." The tree was so discontented, that it took no pleasure inthe warm sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated overit morning and evening. Sometimes, in winter, when the snow laywhite and glittering on the ground, a hare would come springing along,and jump right over the little tree; and then how mortified it wouldfeel! Two winters passed, and when the third arrived, the tree hadgrown so tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet itremained unsatisfied, and would exclaim, "Oh, if I could but keep ongrowing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for in theworld!" In the autumn, as usual, the wood-cutters came and cut downseveral of the tallest trees, and the young fir-tree, which was nowgrown to its full height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to theearth with a crash. After the branches were lopped off, the trunkslooked so slender and bare, that they could scarcely be recognized.Then they were placed upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of theforest. "Where were they going? What would become of them?" Theyoung fir-tree wished very much to know; so in the spring, when theswallows and the storks came, it asked, "Do you know where those treeswere taken? Did you meet them?"

The swallows knew nothing, but the stork, after a littlereflection, nodded his head, and said, "Yes, I think I do. I metseveral new ships when I flew from Egypt, and they had fine masts thatsmelt like fir. I think these must have been the trees; I assure youthey were stately, very stately."

"Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea," said thefir-tree. "What is the sea, and what does it look like?"

"It would take too much time to explain," said the stork, flyingquickly away.

"Rejoice in thy youth," said the sunbeam; "rejoice in thy freshgrowth, and the young life that is in thee."

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears;but the fir-tree regarded them not.

Christmas-time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, someeven smaller and younger than the fir-tree who enjoyed neither restnor peace with longing to leave its forest home. These young trees,which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches, and were alsolaid on wagons and drawn by horses out of the forest.

"Where are they going?" asked the fir-tree. "They are not tallerthan I am: indeed, one is much less; and why are the branches notcut off? Where are they going?"

"We know, we know," sang the sparrows; "we have looked in at thewindows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them.They are dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have seen themstanding in the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts ofbeautiful things,- honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and manyhundreds of wax tapers."

"And then," asked the fir-tree, trembling through all itsbranches, "and then what happens?"

"We did not see any more," said the sparrows; "but this was enoughfor us."

"I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,"thought the fir-tree. "It would be much better than crossing thesea. I long for it almost with pain. Oh! when will Christmas behere? I am now as tall and well grown as those which were taken awaylast year. Oh! that I were now laid on the wagon, or standing in thewarm room, with all that brightness and splendor around me!Something better and more beautiful is to come after, or the treeswould not be so decked out. Yes, what follows will be grander and moresplendid. What can it be? I am weary with longing. I scarcely know howI feel."

"Rejoice with us," said the air and the sunlight. "Enjoy thine ownbright life in the fresh air."

But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day;and, winter and summer, its dark-green foliage might be seen in theforest, while passers by would say, "What a beautiful tree!"

A short time before Christmas, the discontented fir-tree was thefirst to fall. As the axe cut through the stem, and divided thepith, the tree fell with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain andfaintness, and forgetting all its anticipations of happiness, insorrow at leaving its home in the forest. It knew that it should neveragain see its dear old companions, the trees, nor the little bushesand many-colored flowers that had grown by its side; perhaps noteven the birds. Neither was the journey at all pleasant. The treefirst recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard of ahouse, with several other trees; and it heard a man say, "We only wantone, and this is the prettiest."

Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir-treeinto a large and beautiful apartment. On the walls hung pictures,and near the great stove stood great china vases, with lions on thelids. There were rocking chairs, silken sofas, large tables, coveredwith pictures, books, and playthings, worth a great deal of money,- atleast, the children said so. Then the fir-tree was placed in a largetub, full of sand; but green baize hung all around it, so that noone could see it was a tub, and it stood on a very handsome carpet.How the fir-tree trembled! "What was going to happen to him now?" Someyoung ladies came, and the servants helped them to adorn the tree.On one branch they hung little bags cut out of colored paper, and eachbag was filled with sweetmeats; from other branches hung gilded applesand walnuts, as if they had grown there; and above, and all round,were hundreds of red, blue, and white tapers, which were fastened onthe branches. Dolls, exactly like real babies, were placed under thegreen leaves,- the tree had never seen such things before,- and at thevery top was fastened a glittering star, made of tinsel. Oh, it wasvery beautiful!

"This evening," they all exclaimed, "how bright it will be!""Oh, that the evening were come," thought the tree, "and the taperslighted! then I shall know what else is going to happen. Will thetrees of the forest come to see me? I wonder if the sparrows will peepin at the windows as they fly? shall I grow faster here, and keep onall these ornaments summer and winter?" But guessing was of verylittle use; it made his bark ache, and this pain is as bad for aslender fir-tree, as headache is for us. At last the tapers werelighted, and then what a glistening blaze of light the tree presented!It trembled so with joy in all its branches, that one of the candlesfell among the green leaves and burnt some of them. "Help! help!"exclaimed the young ladies, but there was no danger, for theyquickly extinguished the fire. After this, the tree tried not totremble at all, though the fire frightened him; he was so anxiousnot to hurt any of the beautiful ornaments, even while theirbrilliancy dazzled him. And now the folding doors were thrown open,and a troop of children rushed in as if they intended to upset thetree; they were followed more silently by their elders. For a momentthe little ones stood silent with astonishment, and then theyshouted for joy, till the room rang, and they danced merrily round thetree, while one present after another was taken from it.

"What are they doing? What will happen next?" thought the fir.At last the candles burnt down to the branches and were put out.Then the children received permission to plunder the tree.

Oh, how they rushed upon it, till the branches cracked, and had itnot been fastened with the glistening star to the ceiling, it musthave been thrown down. The children then danced about with theirpretty toys, and no one noticed the tree, except the children's maidwho came and peeped among the branches to see if an apple or a fig hadbeen forgotten.

"A story, a story," cried the children, pulling a little fat mantowards the tree.

"Now we shall be in the green shade," said the man, as he seatedhimself under it, "and the tree will have the pleasure of hearingalso, but I shall only relate one story; what shall it be?Ivede-Avede, or Humpty Dumpty, who fell down stairs, but soon got upagain, and at last married a princess."

"Ivede-Avede," cried some. "Humpty Dumpty," cried others, andthere was a fine shouting and crying out. But the fir-tree remainedquite still, and thought to himself, "Shall I have anything to do withall this?" but he had already amused them as much as they wished. Thenthe old man told them the story of Humpty Dumpty, how he fell downstairs, and was raised up again, and married a princess. And thechildren clapped their hands and cried, "Tell another, tellanother," for they wanted to hear the story of "Ivede-Avede;" but theyonly had "Humpty Dumpty." After this the fir-tree became quitesilent and thoughtful; never had the birds in the forest told suchtales as "Humpty Dumpty," who fell down stairs, and yet married aprincess.

"Ah! yes, so it happens in the world," thought the fir-tree; hebelieved it all, because it was related by such a nice man. "Ah!well," he thought, "who knows? perhaps I may fall down too, andmarry a princess;" and he looked forward joyfully to the next evening,expecting to be again decked out with lights and playthings, goldand fruit. "To-morrow I will not tremble," thought he; "I will enjoyall my splendor, and I shall hear the story of Humpty Dumpty again,and perhaps Ivede-Avede." And the tree remained quiet and thoughtfulall night. In the morning the servants and the housemaid came in."Now," thought the fir, "all my splendor is going to begin again." Butthey dragged him out of the room and up stairs to the garret, andthrew him on the floor, in a dark corner, where no daylight shone, andthere they left him. "What does this mean?" thought the tree, "what amI to do here? I can hear nothing in a place like this," and he hadtime enough to think, for days and nights passed and no one camenear him, and when at last somebody did come, it was only to putaway large boxes in a corner. So the tree was completely hidden fromsight as if it had never existed. "It is winter now," thought thetree, "the ground is hard and covered with snow, so that people cannotplant me. I shall be sheltered here, I dare say, until spring comes.How thoughtful and kind everybody is to me! Still I wish this placewere not so dark, as well as lonely, with not even a little hare tolook at. How pleasant it was out in the forest while the snow lay onthe ground, when the hare would run by, yes, and jump over me too,although I did not like it then. Oh! it is terrible lonely here."

"Squeak, squeak," said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towardsthe tree; then came another; and they both sniffed at the fir-tree andcrept between the branches.

"Oh, it is very cold," said the little mouse, "or else we shouldbe so comfortable here, shouldn't we, you old fir-tree?"

"I am not old," said the fir-tree, "there are many who are olderthan I am."

"Where do you come from? and what do you know?" asked the mice,who were full of curiosity. "Have you seen the most beautiful placesin the world, and can you tell us all about them? and have you been inthe storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf, and hams hang fromthe ceiling? One can run about on tallow candles there, and go in thinand come out fat."

"I know nothing of that place," said the fir-tree, "but I know thewood where the sun shines and the birds sing." And then the treetold the little mice all about its youth. They had never heard such anaccount in their lives; and after they had listened to it attentively,they said, "What a number of things you have seen? you must havebeen very happy."

"Happy!" exclaimed the fir-tree, and then as he reflected uponwhat he had been telling them, he said, "Ah, yes! after all those werehappy days." But when he went on and related all aboutChristmas-eve, and how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights,the mice said, "How happy you must have been, you old fir-tree."

"I am not old at all," replied the tree, "I only came from theforest this winter, I am now checked in my growth."

"What splendid stories you can relate," said the little mice.And the next night four other mice came with them to hear what thetree had to tell. The more he talked the more he remembered, andthen he thought to himself, "Those were happy days, but they maycome again. Humpty Dumpty fell down stairs, and yet he married theprincess; perhaps I may marry a princess too." And the fir-treethought of the pretty little birch-tree that grew in the forest, whichwas to him a real beautiful princess.

"Who is Humpty Dumpty?" asked the little mice. And then the treerelated the whole story; he could remember every single word, andthe little mice was so delighted with it, that they were ready to jumpto the top of the tree. The next night a great many more mice madetheir appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them; but theysaid, it was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice werevery sorry, for it made them also think less of it.

"Do you know only one story?" asked the rats.

"Only one," replied the fir-tree; "I heard it on the happiestevening of my life; but I did not know I was so happy at the time."

"We think it is a very miserable story," said the rats. "Don't youknow any story about bacon, or tallow in the storeroom."

"No," replied the tree.

"Many thanks to you then," replied the rats, and they marched off.

The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed,and said, "It was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat roundme and listened while I talked. Now that is all passed too. However, Ishall consider myself happy when some one comes to take me out of thisplace." But would this ever happen? Yes; one morning people came toclear out the garret, the boxes were packed away, and the tree waspulled out of the corner, and thrown roughly on the garret floor; thenthe servant dragged it out upon the staircase where the daylightshone. "Now life is beginning again," said the tree, rejoicing inthe sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried down stairs andtaken into the courtyard so quickly, that it forgot to think ofitself, and could only look about, there was so much to be seen. Thecourt was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming. Freshand fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden-trees werein blossom; while the swallows flew here and there, crying, "Twit,twit, twit, my mate is coming,"- but it was not the fir-tree theymeant. "Now I shall live," cried the tree, joyfully spreading outits branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and itlay in a corner amongst weeds and nettles. The star of gold paperstill stuck in the top of the tree and glittered in the sunshine. Inthe same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who haddanced round the tree at Christmas, and had been so happy. Theyoungest saw the gilded star, and ran and pulled it off the tree."Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir-tree," said the child,treading on the branches till they crackled under his boots. And thetree saw all the fresh bright flowers in the garden, and then lookedat itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner of thegarret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the merryChristmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to thestory of "Humpty Dumpty." "Past! past!" said the old tree; "Oh, hadI but enjoyed myself while I could have done so! but now it is toolate." Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, tilla large bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces were placedin a fire under the copper, and they quickly blazed up brightly, whilethe tree sighed so deeply that each sigh was like a pistol-shot.Then the children, who were at play, came and seated themselves infront of the fire, and looked at it and cried, "Pop, pop." But at each"pop," which was a deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day inthe forest; and of Christmas evening, and of "Humpty Dumpty," the onlystory it had ever heard or knew how to relate, till at last it wasconsumed. The boys still played in the garden, and the youngest worethe golden star on his breast, with which the tree had been adornedduring the happiest evening of its existence. Now all was past; thetree's life was past, and the story also,- for all stories must cometo an end at last.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE FLAX

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE flax was in full bloom; it had pretty little blue flowers asdelicate as the wings of a moth, or even more so. The sun shone, andthe showers watered it; and this was just as good for the flax as itis for little children to be washed and then kissed by their mother.They look much prettier for it, and so did the flax.

"People say that I look exceedingly well," said the flax, "andthat I am so fine and long that I shall make a beautiful piece oflinen. How fortunate I am; it makes me so happy, it is such a pleasantthing to know that something can be made of me. How the sunshinecheers me, and how sweet and refreshing is the rain; my happinessoverpowers me, no one in the world can feel happier than I am."

"Ah, yes, no doubt," said the fern, "but you do not know the worldyet as well as I do, for my sticks are knotty;" and then it sung quitemournfully-

"Snip, snap, snurre,

Basse lurre:

The song is ended."

"No, it is not ended," said the flax. "To-morrow the sun willshine, or the rain descend. I feel that I am growing. I feel that I amin full blossom. I am the happiest of all creatures."

Well, one day some people came, who took hold of the flax, andpulled it up by the roots; this was painful; then it was laid in wateras if they intended to drown it; and, after that, placed near a fireas if it were to be roasted; all this was very shocking. "We cannotexpect to be happy always," said the flax; "by experiencing evil aswell as good, we become wise." And certainly there was plenty ofevil in store for the flax. It was steeped, and roasted, and broken,and combed; indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it. At last itwas put on the spinning wheel. "Whirr, whirr," went the wheel soquickly that the flax could not collect its thoughts. "Well, I havebeen very happy," he thought in the midst of his pain, "and must becontented with the past;" and contented he remained till he was put onthe loom, and became a beautiful piece of white linen. All the flax,even to the last stalk, was used in making this one piece. "Well, thisis quite wonderful; I could not have believed that I should be sofavored by fortune. The fern was not wrong with its song of

'Snip, snap, snurre,

Basse lurre.'But the song is not ended yet, I am sure; it is only just beginning.How wonderful it is, that after all I have suffered, I am madesomething of at last; I am the luckiest person in the world- so strongand fine; and how white, and what a length! This is somethingdifferent to being a mere plant and bearing flowers. Then I had noattention, nor any water unless it rained; now, I am watched and takencare of. Every morning the maid turns me over, and I have ashower-bath from the watering-pot every evening. Yes, and theclergyman's wife noticed me, and said I was the best piece of linen inthe whole parish. I cannot be happier than I am now."

After some time, the linen was taken into the house, placedunder the scissors, and cut and torn into pieces, and then prickedwith needles. This certainly was not pleasant; but at last it was madeinto twelve garments of that kind which people do not like to name,and yet everybody should wear one. "See, now, then," said the flax; "Ihave become something of importance. This was my destiny; it isquite a blessing. Now I shall be of some use in the world, as everyoneought to be; it is the only way to be happy. I am now divided intotwelve pieces, and yet we are all one and the same in the whole dozen.It is most extraordinary good fortune."

Years passed away, and at last the linen was so worn it couldscarcely hold together. "It must end very soon," said the pieces toeach other; "we would gladly have held together a little longer, butit is useless to expect impossibilities." And at length they fell intorags and tatters, and thought it was all over with them, for they weretorn to shreds, and steeped in water, and made into a pulp, and dried,and they knew not what besides, till all at once they found themselvesbeautiful white paper. "Well, now, this is a surprise; a glorioussurprise too," said the paper. "I am now finer than ever, and Ishall be written upon, and who can tell what fine things I may havewritten upon me. This is wonderful luck!" And sure enough the mostbeautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and only once wasthere a blot, which was very fortunate. Then people heard thestories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and better; for allthat was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a great blessingwas contained in the words on this paper.

"I never imagined anything like this," said the paper, "when I wasonly a little blue flower, growing in the fields. How could I fancythat I should ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy toman? I cannot understand it myself, and yet it is really so. Heavenknows that I have done nothing myself, but what I was obliged to dowith my weak powers for my own preservation; and yet I have beenpromoted from one joy and honor to another. Each time I think that thesong is ended; and then something higher and better begins for me. Isuppose now I shall be sent on my travels about the world, so thatpeople may read me. It cannot be otherwise; indeed, it is more thanprobable; for I have more splendid thoughts written upon me, than Ihad pretty flowers in olden times. I am happier than ever."

But the paper did not go on its travels; it was sent to theprinter, and all the words written upon it were set up in type, tomake a book, or rather, many hundreds of books; for so many morepersons could derive pleasure and profit from a printed book, thanfrom the written paper; and if the paper had been sent around theworld, it would have been worn out before it had got half throughits journey.

"This is certainly the wisest plan," said the written paper; "Ireally did not think of that. I shall remain at home, and be held inhonor, like some old grandfather, as I really am to all these newbooks. They will do some good. I could not have wandered about as theydo. Yet he who wrote all this has looked at me, as every word flowedfrom his pen upon my surface. I am the most honored of all."

Then the paper was tied in a bundle with other papers, andthrown into a tub that stood in the washhouse.

"After work, it is well to rest," said the paper, "and a very goodopportunity to collect one's thoughts. Now I am able, for the firsttime, to think of my real condition; and to know one's self is trueprogress. What will be done with me now, I wonder? No doubt I shallstill go forward. I have always progressed hitherto, as I know quitewell."

Now it happened one day that all the paper in the tub was takenout, and laid on the hearth to be burnt. People said it could not besold at the shop, to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had beenwritten upon. The children in the house stood round the stove; forthey wanted to see the paper burn, because it flamed up so prettily,and afterwards, among the ashes, so many red sparks could be seenrunning one after the other, here and there, as quick as the wind.They called it seeing the children come out of school, and the lastspark was the schoolmaster. They often thought the last spark hadcome; and one would cry, "There goes the schoolmaster;" but the nextmoment another spark would appear, shining so beautifully. How theywould like to know where the sparks all went to! Perhaps we shall findout some day, but we don't know now.

The whole bundle of paper had been placed on the fire, and wassoon alight. "Ugh," cried the paper, as it burst into a brightflame; "ugh." It was certainly not very pleasant to be burning; butwhen the whole was wrapped in flames, the flames mounted up into theair, higher than the flax had ever been able to raise its littleblue flower, and they glistened as the white linen never could haveglistened. All the written letters became quite red in a moment, andall the words and thoughts turned to fire.

"Now I am mounting straight up to the sun," said a voice in theflames; and it was as if a thousand voices echoed the words; and theflames darted up through the chimney, and went out at the top. Thena number of tiny beings, as many in number as the flowers on theflax had been, and invisible to mortal eyes, floated above them.They were even lighter and more delicate than the flowers from whichthey were born; and as the flames were extinguished, and nothingremained of the paper but black ashes, these little beings danced uponit; and whenever they touched it, bright red sparks appeared.

"The children are all out of school, and the schoolmaster wasthe last of all," said the children. It was good fun, and they sangover the dead ashes,-

"Snip, snap, snurre,

Basse lure:

The song is ended."

But the little invisible beings said, "The song is never ended;the most beautiful is yet to come."

But the children could neither hear nor understand this, norshould they; for children must not know everything.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE FLYING TRUNK

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have pavedthe whole street with gold, and would even then have had enough fora small alley. But he did not do so; he knew the value of money betterthan to use it in this way. So clever was he, that every shilling heput out brought him a crown; and so he continued till he died. His soninherited his wealth, and he lived a merry life with it; he went toa masquerade every night, made kites out of five pound notes, andthrew pieces of gold into the sea instead of stones, making ducksand drakes of them. In this manner he soon lost all his money. At lasthe had nothing left but a pair of slippers, an old dressing-gown,and four shillings. And now all his friends deserted him, they couldnot walk with him in the streets; but one of them, who was verygood-natured, sent him an old trunk with this message, "Pack up!""Yes," he said, "it is all very well to say 'pack up,' "but he hadnothing left to pack up, therefore he seated himself in the trunk.It was a very wonderful trunk; no sooner did any one press on the lockthan the trunk could fly. He shut the lid and pressed the lock, whenaway flew the trunk up the chimney with the merchant's son in it,right up into the clouds. Whenever the bottom of the trunk cracked, hewas in a great fright, for if the trunk fell to pieces he would havemade a tremendous somerset over the trees. However, he got safely inhis trunk to the land of Turkey. He hid the trunk in the wood undersome dry leaves, and then went into the town: he could so this verywell, for the Turks always go about dressed in dressing-gowns andslippers, as he was himself. He happened to meet a nurse with a littlechild. "I say, you Turkish nurse," cried he, "what castle is that nearthe town, with the windows placed so high?"

"The king's daughter lives there," she replied; "it has beenprophesied that she will be very unhappy about a lover, andtherefore no one is allowed to visit her, unless the king and queenare present."

"Thank you," said the merchant's son. So he went back to the wood,seated himself in his trunk, flew up to the roof of the castle, andcrept through the window into the princess's room. She lay on the sofaasleep, and she was so beautiful that the merchant's son could nothelp kissing her. Then she awoke, and was very much frightened; but hetold her he was a Turkish angel, who had come down through the airto see her, which pleased her very much. He sat down by her side andtalked to her: he said her eyes were like beautiful dark lakes, inwhich the thoughts swam about like little mermaids, and he told herthat her forehead was a snowy mountain, which contained splendid hallsfull of pictures. And then he related to her about the stork whobrings the beautiful children from the rivers. These were delightfulstories; and when he asked the princess if she would marry him, sheconsented immediately.

"But you must come on Saturday," she said; "for then the kingand queen will take tea with me. They will be very proud when theyfind that I am going to marry a Turkish angel; but you must think ofsome very pretty stories to tell them, for my parents like to hearstories better than anything. My mother prefers one that is deep andmoral; but my father likes something funny, to make him laugh."

"Very well," he replied; "I shall bring you no other marriageportion than a story," and so they parted. But the princess gave him asword which was studded with gold coins, and these he could use.

Then he flew away to the town and bought a new dressing-gown,and afterwards returned to the wood, where he composed a story, soas to be ready for Saturday, which was no easy matter. It was readyhowever by Saturday, when he went to see the princess. The king, andqueen, and the whole court, were at tea with the princess; and hewas received with great politeness.

"Will you tell us a story?" said the queen,- "one that isinstructive and full of deep learning."

"Yes, but with something in it to laugh at," said the king.

"Certainly," he replied, and commenced at once, asking them tolisten attentively. "There was once a bundle of matches that wereexceedingly proud of their high descent. Their genealogical tree, thatis, a large pine-tree from which they had been cut, was at one timea large, old tree in the wood. The matches now lay between atinder-box and an old iron saucepan, and were talking about theiryouthful days. 'Ah! then we grew on the green boughs, and were asgreen as they; every morning and evening we were fed with diamonddrops of dew. Whenever the sun shone, we felt his warm rays, and thelittle birds would relate stories to us as they sung. We knew thatwe were rich, for the other trees only wore their green dress insummer, but our family were able to array themselves in green,summer and winter. But the wood-cutter came, like a greatrevolution, and our family fell under the axe. The head of the houseobtained a situation as mainmast in a very fine ship, and can sailround the world when he will. The other branches of the family weretaken to different places, and our office now is to kindle a light forcommon people. This is how such high-born people as we came to be in akitchen.'

"'Mine has been a very different fate,' said the iron pot, whichstood by the matches; 'from my first entrance into the world I havebeen used to cooking and scouring. I am the first in this house,when anything solid or useful is required. My only pleasure is to bemade clean and shining after dinner, and to sit in my place and have alittle sensible conversation with my neighbors. All of us, exceptingthe water-bucket, which is sometimes taken into the courtyard, livehere together within these four walls. We get our news from themarket-basket, but he sometimes tells us very unpleasant thingsabout the people and the government. Yes, and one day an old pot wasso alarmed, that he fell down and was broken to pieces. He was aliberal, I can tell you.'

"'You are talking too much,' said the tinder-box, and the steelstruck against the flint till some sparks flew out, crying, 'We want amerry evening, don't we?'

"'Yes, of course,' said the matches, 'let us talk about thosewho are the highest born.'

"'No, I don't like to be always talking of what we are,'remarked the saucepan; 'let us think of some other amusement; I willbegin. We will tell something that has happened to ourselves; thatwill be very easy, and interesting as well. On the Baltic Sea, nearthe Danish shore'- "'What a pretty commencement!' said the plates; 'we shall alllike that story, I am sure.'

"'Yes; well in my youth, I lived in a quiet family, where thefurniture was polished, the floors scoured, and clean curtains putup every fortnight,'

"'What an interesting way you have of relating a story,' saidthe carpet-broom; 'it is easy to perceive that you have been a greatdeal in women's society, there is something so pure runs throughwhat you say.'

"'That is quite true,' said the water-bucket; and he made a springwith joy, and splashed some water on the floor.

"Then the saucepan went on with his story, and the end was as goodas the beginning.

"The plates rattled with pleasure, and the carpet-broom broughtsome green parsley out of the dust-hole and crowned the saucepan,for he knew it would vex the others; and he thought, 'If I crown himto-day he will crown me to-morrow.'

"'Now, let us have a dance,' said the fire-tongs; and then howthey danced and stuck up one leg in the air. The chair-cushion inthe corner burst with laughter when she saw it.

"'Shall I be crowned now?' asked the fire-tongs; so the broomfound another wreath for the tongs.

"'They were only common people after all,' thought the matches.The tea-urn was now asked to sing, but she said she had a cold, andcould not sing without boiling heat. They all thought this wasaffectation, and because she did not wish to sing excepting in theparlor, when on the table with the grand people.

"In the window sat an old quill-pen, with which the maid generallywrote. There was nothing remarkable about the pen, excepting that ithad been dipped too deeply in the ink, but it was proud of that.

"'If the tea-urn won't sing,' said the pen, 'she can leave italone; there is a nightingale in a cage who can sing; she has not beentaught much, certainly, but we need not say anything this eveningabout that.'

"'I think it highly improper,' said the tea-kettle, who waskitchen singer, and half-brother to the tea-urn, 'that a richforeign bird should be listened to here. Is it patriotic? Let themarket-basket decide what is right.'

"'I certainly am vexed,' said the basket; 'inwardly vexed, morethan any one can imagine. Are we spending the evening properly?Would it not be more sensible to put the house in order? If eachwere in his own place I would lead a game; this would be quite anotherthing.'

"'Let us act a play,' said they all. At the same moment the dooropened, and the maid came in. Then not one stirred; they allremained quite still; yet, at the same time, there was not a singlepot amongst them who had not a high opinion of himself, and of what hecould do if he chose.

"'Yes, if we had chosen,' they each thought, 'we might havespent a very pleasant evening.'

"The maid took the matches and lighted them; dear me, how theysputtered and blazed up!

"'Now then,' they thought, 'every one will see that we are thefirst. How we shine; what a light we give!' Even while they spoketheir light went out.

"What a capital story," said the queen, "I feel as if I werereally in the kitchen, and could see the matches; yes, you shall marryour daughter."

"Certainly," said the king, "thou shalt have our daughter." Theking said thou to him because he was going to be one of the family.The wedding-day was fixed, and, on the evening before, the wholecity was illuminated. Cakes and sweetmeats were thrown among thepeople. The street boys stood on tiptoe and shouted "hurrah," andwhistled between their fingers; altogether it was a very splendidaffair.

"I will give them another treat," said the merchant's son. So hewent and bought rockets and crackers, and all sorts of fire-works thatcould be thought of, packed them in his trunk, and flew up with itinto the air. What a whizzing and popping they made as they wentoff! The Turks, when they saw such a sight in the air, jumped sohigh that their slippers flew about their ears. It was easy to believeafter this that the princess was really going to marry a Turkishangel.

As soon as the merchant's son had come down in his flying trunk tothe wood after the fireworks, he thought, "I will go back into thetown now, and hear what they think of the entertainment." It wasvery natural that he should wish to know. And what strange thingspeople did say, to be sure! every one whom he questioned had adifferent tale to tell, though they all thought it very beautiful.

"'I saw the Turkish angel myself," said one; "he had eyes likeglittering stars, and a head like foaming water."

"He flew in a mantle of fire," cried another, "and lovely littlecherubs peeped out from the folds."

He heard many more fine things about himself, and that the nextday he was to be married. After this he went back to the forest torest himself in his trunk. It had disappeared! A spark from thefireworks which remained had set it on fire; it was burnt to ashes! Sothe merchant's son could not fly any more, nor go to meet his bride.She stood all day on the roof waiting for him, and most likely sheis waiting there still; while he wanders through the world tellingfairy tales, but none of them so amusing as the one he related aboutthe matches.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE GARDEN OF PARADISE

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a king's son who had a larger and more beautifulcollection of books than any one else in the world, and full ofsplendid copper-plate engravings. He could read and obtain informationrespecting every people of every land; but not a word could he find toexplain the situation of the garden of paradise, and this was justwhat he most wished to know. His grandmother had told him when hewas quite a little boy, just old enough to go to school, that eachflower in the garden of paradise was a sweet cake, that the pistilswere full of rich wine, that on one flower history was written, onanother geography or tables; so those who wished to learn theirlessons had only to eat some of the cakes, and the more they ate,the more history, geography, or tables they knew. He believed it allthen; but as he grew older, and learnt more and more, he became wiseenough to understand that the splendor of the garden of paradisemust be very different to all this. "Oh, why did Eve pluck the fruitfrom the tree of knowledge? why did Adam eat the forbidden fruit?"thought the king's son: "if I had been there it would never havehappened, and there would have been no sin in the world." The gardenof paradise occupied all his thoughts till he reached hisseventeenth year.

One day he was walking alone in the wood, which was his greatestpleasure, when evening came on. The clouds gathered, and the rainpoured down as if the sky had been a waterspout; and it was as dark asthe bottom of a well at midnight; sometimes he slipped over the smoothgrass, or fell over stones that projected out of the rocky ground.Every thing was dripping with moisture, and the poor prince had nota dry thread about him. He was obliged at last to climb over greatblocks of stone, with water spurting from the thick moss. He beganto feel quite faint, when he heard a most singular rushing noise,and saw before him a large cave, from which came a blaze of light.In the middle of the cave an immense fire was burning, and a noblestag, with its branching horns, was placed on a spit between thetrunks of two pine-trees. It was turning slowly before the fire, andan elderly woman, as large and strong as if she had been a man indisguise, sat by, throwing one piece of wood after another into theflames.

"Come in," she said to the prince; "sit down by the fire and dryyourself."

"There is a great draught here," said the prince, as he seatedhimself on the ground.

"It will be worse when my sons come home," replied the woman; "youare now in the cavern of the Winds, and my sons are the four Windsof heaven: can you understand that?"

"Where are your sons?" asked the prince.

"It is difficult to answer stupid questions," said the woman."My sons have plenty of business on hand; they are playing atshuttlecock with the clouds up yonder in the king's hall," and shepointed upwards.

"Oh, indeed," said the prince; "but you speak more roughly andharshly and are not so gentle as the women I am used to."

"Yes, that is because they have nothing else to do; but I amobliged to be harsh, to keep my boys in order, and I can do it,although they are so head-strong. Do you see those four sackshanging on the wall? Well, they are just as much afraid of thosesacks, as you used to be of the rat behind the looking-glass. I canbend the boys together, and put them in the sacks without anyresistance on their parts, I can tell you. There they stay, and darenot attempt to come out until I allow them to do so. And here comesone of them."

It was the North Wind who came in, bringing with him a cold,piercing blast; large hailstones rattled on the floor, andsnowflakes were scattered around in all directions. He wore a bearskindress and cloak. His sealskin cap was drawn over his ears, longicicles hung from his beard, and one hailstone after another rolledfrom the collar of his jacket.

"Don't go too near the fire," said the prince, "or your handsand face will be frost-bitten."

"Frost-bitten!" said the North Wind, with a loud laugh; "why frostis my greatest delight. What sort of a little snip are you, and howdid you find your way to the cavern of the Winds?"

"He is my guest," said the old woman, "and if you are notsatisfied with that explanation you can go into the sack. Do youunderstand me?"

That settled the matter. So the North Wind began to relate hisadventures, whence he came, and where he had been for a whole month."I come from the polar seas," he said; "I have been on the Bear'sIsland with the Russian walrus-hunters. I sat and slept at the helm oftheir ship, as they sailed away from North Cape. Sometimes when Iwoke, the storm-birds would fly about my legs. They are curious birds;they give one flap with their wings, and then on their outstretchedpinions soar far away.

"Don't make such a long story of it," said the mother of thewinds; "what sort of a place is Bear's Island?"

"A very beautiful place, with a floor for dancing as smooth andflat as a plate. Half-melted snow, partly covered with moss, sharpstones, and skeletons of walruses and polar-bears, lie all about,their gigantic limbs in a state of green decay. It would seem as ifthe sun never shone there. I blew gently, to clear away the mist,and then I saw a little hut, which had been built from the wood of awreck, and was covered with the skins of the walrus, the fleshy sideoutwards; it looked green and red, and on the roof sat a growlingbear. Then I went to the sea shore, to look after birds' nests, andsaw the unfledged nestlings opening their mouths and screaming forfood. I blew into the thousand little throats, and quickly stoppedtheir screaming. Farther on were the walruses with pig's heads, andteeth a yard long, rolling about like great worms.

"You relate your adventures very well, my son," said the mother,"it makes my mouth water to hear you.

"After that," continued the North Wind, "the hunting commenced.The harpoon was flung into the breast of the walrus, so that a smokingstream of blood spurted forth like a fountain, and besprinkled theice. Then I thought of my own game; I began to blow, and set my ownships, the great icebergs sailing, so that they might crush the boats.Oh, how the sailors howled and cried out! but I howled louder thanthey. They were obliged to unload their cargo, and throw theirchests and the dead walruses on the ice. Then I sprinkled snow overthem, and left them in their crushed boats to drift southward, andto taste salt water. They will never return to Bear's Island."

"So you have done mischief," said the mother of the Winds.

"I shall leave others to tell the good I have done," he replied."But here comes my brother from the West; I like him best of all,for he has the smell of the sea about him, and brings in a cold, freshair as he enters."

"Is that the little Zephyr?" asked the prince.

"Yes, it is the little Zephyr," said the old woman; "but he is notlittle now. In years gone by he was a beautiful boy; now that is allpast."

He came in, looking like a wild man, and he wore a slouched hat toprotect his head from injury. In his hand he carried a club, cutfrom a mahogany tree in the American forests, not a trifle to carry.

"Whence do you come?" asked the mother.

"I come from the wilds of the forests, where the thorny bramblesform thick hedges between the trees; where the water-snake lies in thewet grass, and mankind seem to be unknown."

"What were you doing there?"

"I looked into the deep river, and saw it rushing down from therocks. The water drops mounted to the clouds and glittered in therainbow. I saw the wild buffalo swimming in the river, but thestrong tide carried him away amidst a flock of wild ducks, whichflew into the air as the waters dashed onwards, leaving the buffalo tobe hurled over the waterfall. This pleased me; so I raised a storm,which rooted up old trees, and sent them floating down the river."

"And what else have you done?" asked the old woman.

"I have rushed wildly across the savannahs; I have stroked thewild horses, and shaken the cocoa-nuts from the trees. Yes, I havemany stories to relate; but I need not tell everything I know. Youknow it all very well, don't you, old lady?" And he kissed hismother so roughly, that she nearly fell backwards. Oh, he was, indeed,a wild fellow.

Now in came the South Wind, with a turban and a flowing Bedouincloak.

"How cold it is here!" said he, throwing more wood on the fire."It is easy to feel that the North Wind has arrived here before me."

"Why it is hot enough here to roast a bear," said the North Wind.

"You are a bear yourself," said the other.

"Do you want to be put in the sack, both of you?" said the oldwoman. "Sit down, now, on that stone, yonder, and tell me where youhave been."

"In Africa, mother. I went out with the Hottentots, who werelion-hunting in the Kaffir land, where the plains are covered withgrass the color of a green olive; and here I ran races with theostrich, but I soon outstripped him in swiftness. At last I came tothe desert, in which lie the golden sands, looking like the bottomof the sea. Here I met a caravan, and the travellers had just killedtheir last camel, to obtain water; there was very little for them, andthey continued their painful journey beneath the burning sun, and overthe hot sands, which stretched before them a vast, boundless desert.Then I rolled myself in the loose sand, and whirled it in burningcolumns over their heads. The dromedarys stood still in terror,while the merchants drew their caftans over their heads, and threwthemselves on the ground before me, as they do before Allah, theirgod. Then I buried them beneath a pyramid of sand, which covers themall. When I blow that away on my next visit, the sun will bleach theirbones, and travellers will see that others have been there beforethem; otherwise, in such a wild desert, they might not believe itpossible."

"So you have done nothing but evil," said the mother. "Into thesack with you;" and, before he was aware, she had seized the SouthWind round the body, and popped him into the bag. He rolled about onthe floor, till she sat herself upon him to keep him still.

"These boys of yours are very lively," said the prince.

"Yes," she replied, "but I know how to correct them, whennecessary; and here comes the fourth." In came the East Wind,dressed like a Chinese.

"Oh, you come from that quarter, do you?" said she; "I thought youhad been to the garden of paradise."

"I am going there to-morrow," he replied; "I have not been therefor a hundred years. I have just come from China, where I danced roundthe porcelain tower till all the bells jingled again. In the streetsan official flogging was taking place, and bamboo canes were beingbroken on the shoulders of men of every high position, from thefirst to the ninth grade. They cried, 'Many thanks, my fatherlybenefactor;' but I am sure the words did not come from their hearts,so I rang the bells till they sounded, 'ding, ding-dong.'"

"You are a wild boy," said the old woman; "it is well for you thatyou are going to-morrow to the garden of paradise; you always getimproved in your education there. Drink deeply from the fountain ofwisdom while you are there, and bring home a bottleful for me."

"That I will," said the East Wind; "but why have you put mybrother South in a bag? Let him out; for I want him to tell me aboutthe phoenix-bird. The princess always wants to hear of this birdwhen I pay her my visit every hundred years. If you will open thesack, sweetest mother, I will give you two pocketfuls of tea, greenand fresh as when I gathered it from the spot where it grew."

"Well, for the sake of the tea, and because you are my own boy,I will open the bag."

She did so, and the South Wind crept out, looking quite cast down,because the prince had seen his disgrace.

"There is a palm-leaf for the princess," he said. "The oldphoenix, the only one in the world, gave it to me himself. He hasscratched on it with his beak the whole of his history during thehundred years he has lived. She can there read how the old phoenix setfire to his own nest, and sat upon it while it was burning, like aHindoo widow. The dry twigs around the nest crackled and smoked tillthe flames burst forth and consumed the phoenix to ashes. Amidst thefire lay an egg, red hot, which presently burst with a loud report,and out flew a young bird. He is the only phoenix in the world, andthe king over all the other birds. He has bitten a hole in the leafwhich I give you, and that is his greeting to the princess."

"Now let us have something to eat," said the mother of theWinds. So they all sat down to feast on the roasted stag; and as theprince sat by the side of the East Wind, they soon became goodfriends.

"Pray tell me," said the prince, "who is that princess of whom youhave been talking! and where lies the garden of paradise?"

"Ho! ho!" said the East Wind, "would you like to go there? Well,you can fly off with me to-morrow; but I must tell you one thing- nohuman being has been there since the time of Adam and Eve. I supposeyou have read of them in your Bible."

"Of course I have," said the prince.

"Well," continued the East Wind, "when they were driven out of thegarden of paradise, it sunk into the earth; but it retained its warmsunshine, its balmy air, and all its splendor. The fairy queen livesthere, in the island of happiness, where death never comes, and all isbeautiful. I can manage to take you there to-morrow, if you will siton my back. But now don't talk any more, for I want to go to sleep;"and then they all slept.

When the prince awoke in the early morning, he was not a littlesurprised at finding himself high up above the clouds. He was seatedon the back of the East Wind, who held him faithfully; and they wereso high in the air that woods and fields, rivers and lakes, as theylay beneath them, looked like a painted map.

"Good morning," said the East Wind. "You might have slept on awhile; for there is very little to see in the flat country overwhich we are passing unless you like to count the churches; theylook like spots of chalk on a green board." The green board was thename he gave to the green fields and meadows.

"It was very rude of me not to say good-bye to your mother andyour brothers," said the prince.

"They will excuse you, as you were asleep," said the East Wind;and then they flew on faster than ever.

The leaves and branches of the trees rustled as they passed.When they flew over seas and lakes, the waves rose higher, and thelarge ships dipped into the water like diving swans. As darknesscame on, towards evening, the great towns looked charming; lights weresparkling, now seen now hidden, just as the sparks go out one afteranother on a piece of burnt paper. The prince clapped his hands withpleasure; but the East Wind advised him not to express hisadmiration in that manner, or he might fall down, and find himselfhanging on a church steeple. The eagle in the dark forests fliesswiftly; but faster than he flew the East Wind. The Cossack, on hissmall horse, rides lightly o'er the plains; but lighter still passedthe prince on the winds of the wind.

"There are the Himalayas, the highest mountains in Asia," said theEast Wind. "We shall soon reach the garden of paradise now."

Then, they turned southward, and the air became fragrant withthe perfume of spices and flowers. Here figs and pomegranates grewwild, and the vines were covered with clusters of blue and purplegrapes. Here they both descended to the earth, and stretchedthemselves on the soft grass, while the flowers bowed to the breath ofthe wind as if to welcome it. "Are we now in the garden ofparadise?" asked the prince.

"No, indeed," replied the East Wind; "but we shall be there verysoon. Do you see that wall of rocks, and the cavern beneath it, overwhich the grape vines hang like a green curtain? Through that cavernwe must pass. Wrap your cloak round you; for while the sun scorchesyou here, a few steps farther it will be icy cold. The bird flyingpast the entrance to the cavern feels as if one wing were in theregion of summer, and the other in the depths of winter."

"So this then is the way to the garden of paradise?" asked theprince, as they entered the cavern. It was indeed cold; but the coldsoon passed, for the East Wind spread his wings, and they gleamed likethe brightest fire. As they passed on through this wonderful cave, theprince could see great blocks of stone, from which water trickled,hanging over their heads in fantastic shapes. Sometimes it was sonarrow that they had to creep on their hands and knees, while at othertimes it was lofty and wide, like the free air. It had theappearance of a chapel for the dead, with petrified organs andsilent pipes. "We seem to be passing through the valley of death tothe garden of paradise," said the prince.

But the East Wind answered not a word, only pointed forwards toa lovely blue light which gleamed in the distance. The blocks of stoneassumed a misty appearance, till at last they looked like white cloudsin moonlight. The air was fresh and balmy, like a breeze from themountains perfumed with flowers from a valley of roses. A river, clearas the air itself, sparkled at their feet, while in its clear depthscould be seen gold and silver fish sporting in the bright water, andpurple eels emitting sparks of fire at every moment, while the broadleaves of the water-lilies, that floated on its surface, flickeredwith all the colors of the rainbow. The flower in its color of flameseemed to receive its nourishment from the water, as a lamp issustained by oil. A marble bridge, of such exquisite workmanshipthat it appeared as if formed of lace and pearls, led to the island ofhappiness, in which bloomed the garden of paradise. The East Wind tookthe prince in his arms, and carried him over, while the flowers andthe leaves sang the sweet songs of his childhood in tones so fulland soft that no human voice could venture to imitate. Within thegarden grew large trees, full of sap; but whether they were palm-treesor gigantic water-plants, the prince knew not. The climbing plantshung in garlands of green and gold, like the illuminations on themargins of old missals or twined among the initial letters. Birds,flowers, and festoons appeared intermingled in seeming confusion.Close by, on the grass, stood a group of peacocks, with radianttails outspread to the sun. The prince touched them, and found, to hissurprise, that they were not really birds, but the leaves of theburdock tree, which shone with the colors of a peacock's tail. Thelion and the tiger, gentle and tame, were springing about like playfulcats among the green bushes, whose perfume was like the fragrantblossom of the olive. The plumage of the wood-pigeon glistened likepearls as it struck the lion's mane with its wings; while theantelope, usually so shy, stood near, nodding its head as if it wishedto join in the frolic. The fairy of paradise next made her appearance.Her raiment shone like the sun, and her serene countenance beamed withhappiness like that of a mother rejoicing over her child. She wasyoung and beautiful, and a train of lovely maidens followed her,each wearing a bright star in her hair. The East Wind gave her thepalm-leaf, on which was written the history of the phoenix; and hereyes sparkled with joy. She then took the prince by the hand, andled him into her palace, the walls of which were richly colored,like a tulip-leaf when it is turned to the sun. The roof had theappearance of an inverted flower, and the colors grew deeper andbrighter to the gazer. The prince walked to a window, and saw whatappeared to be the tree of knowledge of good and evil, with Adam andEve standing by, and the serpent near them. "I thought they werebanished from paradise," he said.

The princess smiled, and told him that time had engraved eachevent on a window-pane in the form of a picture; but, unlike otherpictures, all that it represented lived and moved,- the leavesrustled, and the persons went and came, as in a looking-glass. Helooked through another pane, and saw the ladder in Jacob's dream, onwhich the angels were ascending and descending with outspread wings.All that had ever happened in the world here lived and moved on thepanes of glass, in pictures such as time alone could produce. Thefairy now led the prince into a large, lofty room with transparentwalls, through which the light shone. Here were portraits, each oneappearing more beautiful than the other- millions of happy beings,whose laughter and song mingled in one sweet melody: some of thesewere in such an elevated position that they appeared smaller thanthe smallest rosebud, or like pencil dots on paper. In the centre ofthe hall stood a tree, with drooping branches, from which hunggolden apples, both great and small, looking like oranges amid thegreen leaves. It was the tree of knowledge of good and evil, fromwhich Adam and Eve had plucked and eaten the forbidden fruit, and fromeach leaf trickled a bright red dewdrop, as if the tree were weepingtears of blood for their sin. "Let us now take the boat," said thefairy: "a sail on the cool waters will refresh us. But we shall notmove from the spot, although the boat may rock on the swellingwater; the countries of the world will glide before us, but we shallremain still."

It was indeed wonderful to behold. First came the lofty Alps,snow-clad, and covered with clouds and dark pines. The horn resounded,and the shepherds sang merrily in the valleys. The banana-trees benttheir drooping branches over the boat, black swans floated on thewater, and singular animals and flowers appeared on the distant shore.New Holland, the fifth division of the world, now glided by, withmountains in the background, looking blue in the distance. Theyheard the song of the priests, and saw the wild dance of the savage tothe sound of the drums and trumpets of bone; the pyramids of Egyptrising to the clouds; columns and sphinxes, overthrown and buried inthe sand, followed in their turn; while the northern lights flashedout over the extinguished volcanoes of the north, in fireworks nonecould imitate.

The prince was delighted, and yet he saw hundreds of otherwonderful things more than can be described. "Can I stay hereforever?" asked he.

"That depends upon yourself," replied the fairy. "If you do not,like Adam, long for what is forbidden, you can remain here always."

"I should not touch the fruit on the tree of knowledge," saidthe prince; there is abundance of fruit equally beautiful."

"Examine your own heart," said the princess, "and if you do notfeel sure of its strength, return with the East Wind who broughtyou. He is about to fly back, and will not return here for a hundredyears. The time will not seem to you more than a hundred hours, yeteven that is a long time for temptation and resistance. Every evening,when I leave you, I shall be obliged to say, 'Come with me,' and tobeckon to you with my hand. But you must not listen, nor move fromyour place to follow me; for with every step you will find yourpower to resist weaker. If once you attempted to follow me, youwould soon find yourself in the hall, where grows the tree ofknowledge, for I sleep beneath its perfumed branches. If you stoopedover me, I should be forced to smile. If you then kissed my lips,the garden of paradise would sink into the earth, and to you itwould be lost. A keen wind from the desert would howl around you; coldrain fall on your head, and sorrow and woe be your future lot."

"I will remain," said the prince.

So the East Wind kissed him on the forehead, and said, "Be firm;then shall we meet again when a hundred years have passed. Farewell,farewell." Then the East Wind spread his broad pinions, which shonelike the lightning in harvest, or as the northern lights in a coldwinter.

"Farewell, farewell," echoed the trees and the flowers.

Storks and pelicans flew after him in feathery bands, to accompanyhim to the boundaries of the garden.

"Now we will commence dancing," said the fairy; and when it isnearly over at sunset, while I am dancing with you, I shall make asign, and ask you to follow me: but do not obey. I shall be obliged torepeat the same thing for a hundred years; and each time, when thetrial is past, if you resist, you will gain strength, tillresistance becomes easy, and at last the temptation will be quiteovercome. This evening, as it will be the first time, I have warnedyou."

After this the fairy led him into a large hall, filled withtransparent lilies. The yellow stamina of each flower formed a tinygolden harp, from which came forth strains of music like the mingledtones of flute and lyre. Beautiful maidens, slender and graceful inform, and robed in transparent gauze, floated through the dance, andsang of the happy life in the garden of paradise, where death neverentered, and where all would bloom forever in immortal youth. As thesun went down, the whole heavens became crimson and gold, and tintedthe lilies with the hue of roses. Then the beautiful maidens offeredto the prince sparkling wine; and when he had drank, he felt happinessgreater than he had ever known before. Presently the background of thehall opened and the tree of knowledge appeared, surrounded by a haloof glory that almost blinded him. Voices, soft and lovely as hismother's sounded in his ears, as if she were singing to him, "Mychild, my beloved child." Then the fairy beckoned to him, and saidin sweet accents, "Come with me, come with me." Forgetting hispromise, forgetting it even on the very first evening, he rushedtowards her, while she continued to beckon to him and to smile. Thefragrance around him overpowered his senses, the music from theharps sounded more entrancing, while around the tree appeared millionsof smiling faces, nodding and singing. "Man should know everything;man is the lord of the earth." The tree of knowledge no longer wepttears of blood, for the dewdrops shone like glittering stars.

"Come, come," continued that thrilling voice, and the princefollowed the call. At every step his cheeks glowed, and the bloodrushed wildly through his veins. "I must follow," he cried; "it is nota sin, it cannot be, to follow beauty and joy. I only want to seeher sleep, and nothing will happen unless I kiss her, and that Iwill not do, for I have strength to resist, and a determined will."

The fairy threw off her dazzling attire, bent back the boughs, andin another moment was hidden among them.

"I have not sinned yet," said the prince, "and I will not;" andthen he pushed aside the boughs to follow the princess. She waslying already asleep, beautiful as only a fairy in the garden ofparadise could be. She smiled as he bent over her, and he saw tearstrembling out of her beautiful eyelashes. "Do you weep for me?" hewhispered. "Oh weep not, thou loveliest of women. Now do I begin tounderstand the happiness of paradise; I feel it to my inmost soul,in every thought. A new life is born within me. One moment of suchhappiness is worth an eternity of darkness and woe." He stooped andkissed the tears from her eyes, and touched her lips with his.

A clap of thunder, loud and awful, resounded through the tremblingair. All around him fell into ruin. The lovely fairy, the beautifulgarden, sunk deeper and deeper. The prince saw it sinking down inthe dark night till it shone only like a star in the distancebeneath him. Then he felt a coldness, like death, creeping over him;his eyes closed, and he became insensible.

When he recovered, a chilling rain was beating upon him, and asharp wind blew on his head. "Alas! what have I done?" he sighed; "Ihave sinned like Adam, and the garden of paradise has sunk into theearth." He opened his eyes, and saw the star in the distance, but itwas the morning star in heaven which glittered in the darkness.

Presently he stood up and found himself in the depths of theforest, close to the cavern of the Winds, and the mother of theWinds sat by his side. She looked angry, and raised her arm in the airas she spoke. "The very first evening!" she said. "Well, I expectedit! If you were my son, you should go into the sack."

"And there he will have to go at last," said a strong old man,with large black wings, and a scythe in his hand, whose name wasDeath. "He shall be laid in his coffin, but not yet. I will allowhim to wander about the world for a while, to atone for his sin, andto give him time to become better. But I shall return when he leastexpects me. I shall lay him in a black coffin, place it on my head,and fly away with it beyond the stars. There also blooms a garden ofparadise, and if he is good and pious he will be admitted; but ifhis thoughts are bad, and his heart is full of sin, he will sinkwith his coffin deeper than the garden of paradise has sunk. Once inevery thousand years I shall go and fetch him, when he will eitherbe condemned to sink still deeper, or be raised to a happier life inthe world beyond the stars."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a girl who trod on a loaf to avoid soiling hershoes, and the misfortunes that happened to her in consequence arewell known. Her name was Inge; she was a poor child, but proud andpresuming, and with a bad and cruel disposition. When quite a littlechild she would delight in catching flies, and tearing off theirwings, so as to make creeping things of them. When older, she wouldtake cockchafers and beetles, and stick pins through them. Then shepushed a green leaf, or a little scrap of paper towards their feet,and when the poor creatures would seize it and hold it fast, andturn over and over in their struggles to get free from the pin, shewould say, "The cockchafer is reading; see how he turns over theleaf." She grew worse instead of better with years, and,unfortunately, she was pretty, which caused her to be excused, whenshe should have been sharply reproved.

"Your headstrong will requires severity to conquer it," her motheroften said to her. "As a little child you used to trample on my apron,but one day I fear you will trample on my heart." And, alas! this fearwas realized.

Inge was taken to the house of some rich people, who lived at adistance, and who treated her as their own child, and dressed her sofine that her pride and arrogance increased.

When she had been there about a year, her patroness said to her,"You ought to go, for once, and see your parents, Inge."

So Inge started to go and visit her parents; but she only wantedto show herself in her native place, that the people might see howfine she was. She reached the entrance of the village, and saw theyoung laboring men and maidens standing together chatting, and her ownmother amongst them. Inge's mother was sitting on a stone to rest,with a fagot of sticks lying before her, which she had picked up inthe wood. Then Inge turned back; she who was so finely dressed shefelt ashamed of her mother, a poorly clad woman, who picked up wood inthe forest. She did not turn back out of pity for her mother'spoverty, but from pride.

Another half-year went by, and her mistress said, "you ought to gohome again, and visit your parents, Inge, and I will give you alarge wheaten loaf to take to them, they will be glad to see you, I amsure."

So Inge put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, drew her dressup around her, and set out, stepping very carefully, that she might beclean and neat about the feet, and there was nothing wrong in doingso. But when she came to the place where the footpath led across themoor, she found small pools of water, and a great deal of mud, soshe threw the loaf into the mud, and trod upon it, that she might passwithout wetting her feet. But as she stood with one foot on the loafand the other lifted up to step forward, the loaf began to sinkunder her, lower and lower, till she disappeared altogether, andonly a few bubbles on the surface of the muddy pool remained to showwhere she had sunk. And this is the story.

But where did Inge go? She sank into the ground, and went downto the Marsh Woman, who is always brewing there.

The Marsh Woman is related to the elf maidens, who are well-known,for songs are sung and pictures painted about them. But of the MarshWoman nothing is known, excepting that when a mist arises from themeadows, in summer time, it is because she is brewing beneath them. Tothe Marsh Woman's brewery Inge sunk down to a place which no one canendure for long. A heap of mud is a palace compared with the MarshWoman's brewery; and as Inge fell she shuddered in every limb, andsoon became cold and stiff as marble. Her foot was still fastened tothe loaf, which bowed her down as a golden ear of corn bends the stem.

An evil spirit soon took possession of Inge, and carried her toa still worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy people,waiting in a state of agony for the gates of mercy to be opened tothem, and in every heart was a miserable and eternal feeling ofunrest. It would take too much time to describe the various torturesthese people suffered, but Inge's punishment consisted in standingthere as a statue, with her foot fastened to the loaf. She couldmove her eyes about, and see all the misery around her, but shecould not turn her head; and when she saw the people looking at hershe thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes, forshe was still vain and proud. But she had forgotten how soiled herclothes had become while in the Marsh Woman's brewery, and that theywere covered with mud; a snake had also fastened itself in her hair,and hung down her back, while from each fold in her dress a great toadpeeped out and croaked like an asthmatic poodle. Worse than all wasthe terrible hunger that tormented her, and she could not stoop tobreak off a piece of the loaf on which she stood. No; her back was toostiff, and her whole body like a pillar of stone. And then camecreeping over her face and eyes flies without wings; she winked andblinked, but they could not fly away, for their wings had beenpulled off; this, added to the hunger she felt, was horrible torture.

"If this lasts much longer," she said, "I shall not be able tobear it." But it did last, and she had to bear it, without beingable to help herself.

A tear, followed by many scalding tears, fell upon her head, androlled over her face and neck, down to the loaf on which she stood.Who could be weeping for Inge? She had a mother in the world still,and the tears of sorrow which a mother sheds for her child will alwaysfind their way to the child's heart, but they often increase thetorment instead of being a relief. And Inge could hear all that wassaid about her in the world she had left, and every one seemed cruelto her. The sin she had committed in treading on the loaf was known onearth, for she had been seen by the cowherd from the hill, when shewas crossing the marsh and had disappeared.

When her mother wept and exclaimed, "Ah, Inge! what grief thouhast caused thy mother" she would say, "Oh that I had never been born!My mother's tears are useless now."

And then the words of the kind people who had adopted her cameto her ears, when they said, "Inge was a sinful girl, who did notvalue the gifts of God, but trampled them under her feet."

"Ah," thought Inge, "they should have punished me, and drivenall my naughty tempers out of me."

A song was made about "The girl who trod on a loaf to keep hershoes from being soiled," and this song was sung everywhere. The storyof her sin was also told to the little children, and they called her"wicked Inge," and said she was so naughty that she ought to bepunished. Inge heard all this, and her heart became hardened andfull of bitterness.

But one day, while hunger and grief were gnawing in her hollowframe, she heard a little, innocent child, while listening to the taleof the vain, haughty Inge, burst into tears and exclaim, "But will shenever come up again?"

And she heard the reply, "No, she will never come up again."

"But if she were to say she was sorry, and ask pardon, and promisenever to do so again?" asked the little one.

"Yes, then she might come; but she will not beg pardon," was theanswer.

"Oh, I wish she would!" said the child, who was quite unhappyabout it. "I should be so glad. I would give up my doll and all myplaythings, if she could only come here again. Poor Inge! it is sodreadful for her."

These pitying words penetrated to Inge's inmost heart, andseemed to do her good. It was the first time any one had said, "PoorInge!" without saying something about her faults. A little innocentchild was weeping, and praying for mercy for her. It made her feelquite strange, and she would gladly have wept herself, and it added toher torment to find she could not do so. And while she thus sufferedin a place where nothing changed, years passed away on earth, andshe heard her name less frequently mentioned. But one day a sighreached her ear, and the words, "Inge! Inge! what a grief thou hastbeen to me! I said it would be so." It was the last sigh of herdying mother.

After this, Inge heard her kind mistress say, "Ah, poor Inge!shall I ever see thee again? Perhaps I may, for we know not what mayhappen in the future." But Inge knew right well that her mistresswould never come to that dreadful place.

Time-passed- a long bitter time- then Inge heard her namepronounced once more, and saw what seemed two bright stars shiningabove her. They were two gentle eyes closing on earth. Many yearshad passed since the little girl had lamented and wept about "poorInge." That child was now an old woman, whom God was taking toHimself. In the last hour of existence the events of a whole lifeoften appear before us; and this hour the old woman remembered how,when a child, she had shed tears over the story of Inge, and sheprayed for her now. As the eyes of the old woman closed to earth,the eyes of the soul opened upon the hidden things of eternity, andthen she, in whose last thoughts Inge had been so vividly present, sawhow deeply the poor girl had sunk. She burst into tears at thesight, and in heaven, as she had done when a little child on earth,she wept and prayed for poor Inge. Her tears and her prayers echoedthrough the dark void that surrounded the tormented captive soul,and the unexpected mercy was obtained for it through an angel's tears.As in thought Inge seemed to act over again every sin she hadcommitted on earth, she trembled, and tears she had never yet beenable to weep rushed to her eyes. It seemed impossible that the gatesof mercy could ever be opened to her; but while she acknowledgedthis in deep penitence, a beam of radiant light shot suddenly into thedepths upon her. More powerful than the sunbeam that dissolves the manof snow which the children have raised, more quickly than thesnowflake melts and becomes a drop of water on the warm lips of achild, was the stony form of Inge changed, and as a little bird shesoared, with the speed of lightning, upward to the world of mortals. Abird that felt timid and shy to all things around it, that seemed toshrink with shame from meeting any living creature, and hurriedlysought to conceal itself in a dark corner of an old ruined wall; thereit sat cowering and unable to utter a sound, for it was voiceless. Yethow quickly the little bird discovered the beauty of everything aroundit. The sweet, fresh air; the soft radiance of the moon, as itslight spread over the earth; the fragrance which exhaled from bush andtree, made it feel happy as it sat there clothed in its fresh,bright plumage. All creation seemed to speak of beneficence andlove. The bird wanted to give utterance to thoughts that stirred inhis breast, as the cuckoo and the nightingale in the spring, but itcould not. Yet in heaven can be heard the song of praise, even froma worm; and the notes trembling in the breast of the bird were asaudible to Heaven even as the psalms of David before they hadfashioned themselves into words and song.

Christmas-time drew near, and a peasant who dwelt close by the oldwall stuck up a pole with some ears of corn fastened to the top,that the birds of heaven might have feast, and rejoice in the happy,blessed time. And on Christmas morning the sun arose and shone uponthe ears of corn, which were quickly surrounded by a number oftwittering birds. Then, from a hole in the wall, gushed forth insong the swelling thoughts of the bird as he issued from his hidingplace to perform his first good deed on earth,- and in heaven it waswell known who that bird was.

The winter was very hard; the ponds were covered with ice, andthere was very little food for either the beasts of the field or thebirds of the air. Our little bird flew away into the public roads, andfound here and there, in the ruts of the sledges, a grain of corn, andat the halting places some crumbs. Of these he ate only a few, buthe called around him the other birds and the hungry sparrows, thatthey too might have food. He flew into the towns, and looked about,and wherever a kind hand had strewed bread on the window-sill forthe birds, he only ate a single crumb himself, and gave all the restto the rest of the other birds. In the course of the winter the birdhad in this way collected many crumbs and given them to other birds,till they equalled the weight of the loaf on which Inge had trod tokeep her shoes clean; and when the last bread-crumb had been found andgiven, the gray wings of the bird became white, and spreadthemselves out for flight.

"See, yonder is a sea-gull!" cried the children, when they saw thewhite bird, as it dived into the sea, and rose again into the clearsunlight, white and glittering. But no one could tell whither itwent then although some declared it flew straight to the sun.

THE END.

1872

THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a regular student, who lived in a garret, and hadno possessions. And there was also a regular huckster, to whom thehouse belonged, and who occupied the ground floor. A goblin lived withthe huckster, because at Christmas he always had a large dish fullof jam, with a great piece of butter in the middle. The huckster couldafford this; and therefore the goblin remained with the huckster,which was very cunning of him.

One evening the student came into the shop through the back doorto buy candles and cheese for himself, he had no one to send, andtherefore he came himself; he obtained what he wished, and then thehuckster and his wife nodded good evening to him, and she was awoman who could do more than merely nod, for she had usually plenty tosay for herself. The student nodded in return as he turned to leave,then suddenly stopped, and began reading the piece of paper in whichthe cheese was wrapped. It was a leaf torn out of an old book, abook that ought not to have been torn up, for it was full of poetry.

"Yonder lies some more of the same sort," said the huckster: "Igave an old woman a few coffee berries for it; you shall have the restfor sixpence, if you will."

"Indeed I will," said the student; "give me the book instead ofthe cheese; I can eat my bread and butter without cheese. It wouldbe a sin to tear up a book like this. You are a clever man; and apractical man; but you understand no more about poetry than thatcask yonder."

This was a very rude speech, especially against the cask; butthe huckster and the student both laughed, for it was only said infun. But the goblin felt very angry that any man should venture to saysuch things to a huckster who was a householder and sold the bestbutter. As soon as it was night, and the shop closed, and every one inbed except the student, the goblin stepped softly into the bedroomwhere the huckster's wife slept, and took away her tongue, which ofcourse, she did not then want. Whatever object in the room he placedhis tongue upon immediately received voice and speech, and was able toexpress its thoughts and feelings as readily as the lady herself coulddo. It could only be used by one object at a time, which was a goodthing, as a number speaking at once would have caused great confusion.The goblin laid the tongue upon the cask, in which lay a quantity ofold newspapers.

"Is it really true," he asked, that you do not know what poetryis?"

"Of course I know," replied the cask: "poetry is something thatalways stand in the corner of a newspaper, and is sometimes cut out;and I may venture to affirm that I have more of it in me than thestudent has, and I am only a poor tub of the huckster's."

Then the goblin placed the tongue on the coffee mill; and how itdid go to be sure! Then he put it on the butter tub and the cashbox, and they all expressed the same opinion as the waste-paper tub;and a majority must always be respected.

"Now I shall go and tell the student," said the goblin; and withthese words he went quietly up the back stairs to the garret where thestudent lived. He had a candle burning still, and the goblin peepedthrough the keyhole and saw that he was reading in the torn book,which he had brought out of the shop. But how light the room was! Fromthe book shot forth a ray of light which grew broad and full, like thestem of a tree, from which bright rays spread upward and over thestudent's head. Each leaf was fresh, and each flower was like abeautiful female head; some with dark and sparkling eyes, and otherswith eyes that were wonderfully blue and clear. The fruit gleamed likestars, and the room was filled with sounds of beautiful music. Thelittle goblin had never imagined, much less seen or heard of, anysight so glorious as this. He stood still on tiptoe, peeping in,till the light went out in the garret. The student no doubt hadblown out his candle and gone to bed; but the little goblin remainedstanding there nevertheless, and listening to the music which stillsounded on, soft and beautiful, a sweet cradle-song for the student,who had lain down to rest."

"This is a wonderful place," said the goblin; "I never expectedsuch a thing. I should like to stay here with the student;" and thelittle man thought it over, for he was a sensible little spirit. Atlast he sighed, "but the student has no jam!" So he went down stairsagain into the huckster's shop, and it was a good thing he got backwhen he did, for the cask had almost worn out the lady's tongue; hehad given a description of all that he contained on one side, andwas just about to turn himself over to the other side to describe whatwas there, when the goblin entered and restored the tongue to thelady. But from that time forward, the whole shop, from the cash boxdown to the pinewood logs, formed their opinions from that of thecask; and they all had such confidence in him, and treated him with somuch respect, that when the huckster read the criticisms ontheatricals and art of an evening, they fancied it must all comefrom the cask.

But after what he had seen, the goblin could no longer sit andlisten quietly to the wisdom and understanding down stairs; so, assoon as the evening light glimmered in the garret, he took courage,for it seemed to him as if the rays of light were strong cables,drawing him up, and obliging him to go and peep through the keyhole;and, while there, a feeling of vastness came over him such as weexperience by the ever-moving sea, when the storm breaks forth; and itbrought tears into his eyes. He did not himself know why he wept,yet a kind of pleasant feeling mingled with his tears. "Howwonderfully glorious it would be to sit with the student under sucha tree;" but that was out of the question, he must be content tolook through the keyhole, and be thankful for even that.

There he stood on the old landing, with the autumn wind blowingdown upon him through the trap-door. It was very cold; but thelittle creature did not really feel it, till the light in the garretwent out, and the tones of music died away. Then how he shivered,and crept down stairs again to his warm corner, where it felthome-like and comfortable. And when Christmas came again, andbrought the dish of jam and the great lump of butter, he liked thehuckster best of all.

Soon after, in the middle of the night, the goblin was awoke bya terrible noise and knocking against the window shutters and thehouse doors, and by the sound of the watchman's horn; for a great firehad broken out, and the whole street appeared full of flames. Was itin their house, or a neighbor's? No one could tell, for terror hadseized upon all. The huckster's wife was so bewildered that she tookher gold ear-rings out of her ears and put them in her pocket, thatshe might save something at least. The huckster ran to get hisbusiness papers, and the servant resolved to save her blue silkmantle, which she had managed to buy. Each wished to keep the bestthings they had. The goblin had the same wish; for, with one spring,he was up stairs and in the student's room, whom he found standingby the open window, and looking quite calmly at the fire, which wasraging at the house of a neighbor opposite. The goblin caught up thewonderful book which lay on the table, and popped it into his red cap,which he held tightly with both hands. The greatest treasure in thehouse was saved; and he ran away with it to the roof, and seatedhimself on the chimney. The flames of the burning house oppositeilluminated him as he sat, both hands pressed tightly over his cap, inwhich the treasure lay; and then he found out what feelings reallyreigned in his heart, and knew exactly which way they tended. And yet,when the fire was extinguished, and the goblin again began to reflect,he hesitated, and said at last, "I must divide myself between the two;I cannot quite give up the huckster, because of the jam."

And this is a representation of human nature. We are like thegoblin; we all go to visit the huckster "because of the jam."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE GOLDEN TREASURE

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE drummer's wife went into the church. She saw the new altarwith the painted pictures and the carved angels. Those upon the canvasand in the glory over the altar were just as beautiful as the carvedones; and they were painted and gilt into the bargain. Their hairgleamed golden in the sunshine, lovely to behold; but the realsunshine was more beautiful still. It shone redder, clearer throughthe dark trees, when the sun went down. It was lovely thus to lookat the sunshine of heaven. And she looked at the red sun, and shethought about it so deeply, and thought of the little one whom thestork was to bring, and the wife of the drummer was very cheerful, andlooked and looked, and wished that the child might have a gleam ofsunshine given to it, so that it might at least become like one of theshining angels over the altar.

And when she really had the little child in her arms, and heldit up to its father, then it was like one of the angels in thechurch to behold, with hair like gold- the gleam of the setting sunwas upon it.

"My golden treasure, my riches, my sunshine!" said the mother; andshe kissed the shining locks, and it sounded like music and song inthe room of the drummer; and there was joy, and life, and movement.The drummer beat a roll- a roll of joy. And the Drum said- theFire-drum, that was beaten when there was a fire in the town:

"Red hair! the little fellow has red hair! Believe the drum, andnot what your mother says! Rub-a dub, rub-a dub!"

And the town repeated what the Fire-drum had said.

The boy was taken to church, the boy was christened. There wasnothing much to be said about his name; he was called Peter. The wholetown, and the Drum too, called him Peter the drummer's boy with thered hair; but his mother kissed his red hair, and called him hergolden treasure.

In the hollow way in the clayey bank, many had scratched theirnames as a remembrance.

"Celebrity is always something!" said the drummer; and so hescratched his own name there, and his little son's name likewise.

And the swallows came. They had, on their long journey, seenmore durable characters engraven on rocks, and on the walls of thetemples in Hindostan, mighty deeds of great kings, immortal names,so old that no one now could read or speak them. Remarkable celebrity!

In the clayey bank the martens built their nest. They boredholes in the deep declivity, and the splashing rain and the thinmist came and crumbled and washed the names away, and the drummer'sname also, and that of his little son.

"Peter's name will last a full year and a half longer!" said thefather.

"Fool!" thought the Fire-drum; but it only said, "Dub, dub, dub,rub-a-dub!"

He was a boy full of life and gladness, this drummer's son withthe red hair. He had a lovely voice. He could sing, and he sang like abird in the woodland. There was melody, and yet no melody.

"He must become a chorister boy," said his mother. "He shallsing in the church, and stand among the beautiful gilded angels whoare like him!"

"Fiery cat!" said some of the witty ones of the town.

The Drum heard that from the neighbors' wives.

"Don't go home, Peter," cried the street boys. "If you sleep inthe garret, there'll be a fire in the house, and the fire-drum willhave to be beaten."

"Look out for the drumsticks," replied Peter; and, small as hewas, he ran up boldly, and gave the foremost such a punch in thebody with his fist, that the fellow lost his legs and tumbled over,and the others took their legs off with themselves very rapidly.

The town musician was very genteel and fine. He was the son of theroyal plate-washer. He was very fond of Peter, and would sometimestake him to his home; and he gave him a violin, and taught him to playit. It seemed as if the whole art lay in the boy's fingers; and hewanted to be more than a drummer- he wanted to become musician tothe town.

"I'll be a soldier," said Peter; for he was still quite a littlelad, and it seemed to him the finest thing in the world to carry agun, and to be able to march one, two- one, two, and to wear a uniformand a sword.

"Ah, you learn to long for the drum-skin, drum, dum, dum!" saidthe Drum.

"Yes, if he could only march his way up to be a general!" observedhis father; "but before he can do that, there must be war."

"Heaven forbid!" said his mother.

"We have nothing to lose," remarked the father.

"Yes, we have my boy," she retorted.

"But suppose he came back a general!" said the father.

"Without arms and legs!" cried the mother. "No, I would ratherkeep my golden treasure with me."

"Drum, dum, dum!" The Fire-drum and all the other drums werebeating, for war had come. The soldiers all set out, and the son ofthe drummer followed them. "Red-head. Golden treasure!"

The mother wept; the father in fancy saw him "famous;" the townmusician was of opinion that he ought not to go to war, but shouldstay at home and learn music.

"Red-head," said the soldiers, and little Peter laughed; butwhen one of them sometimes said to another, "Foxey," he would bite histeeth together and look another way- into the wide world. He did notcare for the nickname.

The boy was active, pleasant of speech, and good-humored; thatis the best canteen, said his old comrades.

And many a night he had to sleep under the open sky, wet throughwith the driving rain or the falling mist; but his good humor neverforsook him. The drum-sticks sounded, "Rub-a-dub, all up, all up!"Yes, he was certainly born to be a drummer.

The day of battle dawned. The sun had not yet risen, but themorning was come. The air was cold, the battle was hot; there was mistin the air, but still more gunpowder-smoke. The bullets and shellsflew over the soldiers' heads, and into their heads- into their bodiesand limbs; but still they pressed forward. Here or there one orother of them would sink on his knees, with bleeding temples and aface as white as chalk. The little drummer still kept his healthycolor; he had suffered no damage; he looked cheerfully at the dog ofthe regiment, which was jumping along as merrily as if the whole thinghad been got up for his amusement, and as if the bullets were onlyflying about that he might have a game of play with them.

"March! Forward! March!" This, was the word of command for thedrum. The word had not yet been given to fall back, though theymight have done so, and perhaps there would have been much sense init; and now at last the word "Retire" was given; but our littledrummer beat "Forward! march!" for he had understood the command thus,and the soldiers obeyed the sound of the drum. That was a good roll,and proved the summons to victory for the men, who had already begunto give way.

Life and limb were lost in the battle. Bombshells tore away theflesh in red strips; bombshells lit up into a terrible glow thestrawheaps to which the wounded had dragged themselves, to lieuntended for many hours, perhaps for all the hours they had to live.

It's no use thinking of it; and yet one cannot help thinking ofit, even far away in the peaceful town. The drummer and his wifealso thought of it, for Peter was at the war.

"Now, I'm tired of these complaints," said the Fire-drum.

Again the day of battle dawned; the sun had not yet risen, butit was morning. The drummer and his wife were asleep. They had beentalking about their son, as, indeed, they did almost every night,for he was out yonder in God's hand. And the father dreamt that thewar was over, that the soldiers had returned home, and that Peter worea silver cross on his breast. But the mother dreamt that she hadgone into the church, and had seen the painted pictures and the carvedangels with the gilded hair, and her own dear boy, the golden treasureof her heart, who was standing among the angels in white robes,singing so sweetly, as surely only the angels can sing; and that hehad soared up with them into the sunshine, and nodded so kindly at hismother.

"My golden treasure!" she cried out; and she awoke. "Now thegood God has taken him to Himself!" She folded her hands, and hidher face in the cotton curtains of the bed, and wept. "Where does herest now? among the many in the big grave that they have dug for thedead? Perhaps he's in the water in the marsh! Nobody knows hisgrave; no holy words have been read over it!" And the Lord's Prayerwent inaudibly over her lips; she bowed her head, and was so wearythat she went to sleep.

And the days went by, in life as in dreams!

It was evening. Over the battle-field a rainbow spread, whichtouched the forest and the deep marsh.

It has been said, and is preserved in popular belief, that wherethe rainbow touches the earth a treasure lies buried, a goldentreasure; and here there was one. No one but his mother thought of thelittle drummer, and therefore she dreamt of him.

And the days went by, in life as in dreams!

Not a hair of his head had been hurt, not a golden hair.

"Drum-ma-rum! drum-ma-rum! there he is!" the Drum might have said,and his mother might have sung, if she had seen or dreamt it.

With hurrah and song, adorned with green wreaths of victory,they came home, as the war was at an end, and peace had been signed.The dog of the regiment sprang on in front with large bounds, and madethe way three times as long for himself as it really was.

And days and weeks went by, and Peter came into his parents' room.He was as brown as a wild man, and his eyes were bright, and hisface beamed like sunshine. And his mother held him in her arms; shekissed his lips, his forehead, and his red hair. She had her boyback again; he had not a silver cross on his breast, as his father haddreamt, but he had sound limbs, a thing the mother had not dreamt. Andwhat a rejoicing was there! They laughed and they wept; and Peterembraced the old Fire-drum.

"There stands the old skeleton still!" he said.

And the father beat a roll upon it.

"One would think that a great fire had broken out here," saidthe Fire-drum. "Bright day! fire in the heart! golden treasure! skrat!skr-r-at! skr-r-r-r-at!"

And what then? What then!- Ask the town musician.

"Peter's far outgrowing the drum," he said. "Peter will be greaterthan I."

And yet he was the son of a royal plate-washer; but all that hehad learned in half a lifetime, Peter learned in half a year.

There was something so merry about him, something so trulykind-hearted. His eyes gleamed, and his hair gleamed too- there was nodenying that!

"He ought to have his hair dyed," said the neighbor's wife."That answered capitally with the policeman's daughter, and she gota husband."

"But her hair turned as green as duckweed, and was always havingto be colored up."

"She knows how to manage for herself," said the neighbors, "and socan Peter. He comes to the most genteel houses, even to theburgomaster's where he gives Miss Charlotte piano-forte lessons."

He could play! He could play, fresh out of his heart, the mostcharming pieces, that had never been put upon music-paper. He playedin the bright nights, and in the dark nights, too. The neighborsdeclared it was unbearable, and the Fire-drum was of the same opinion.

He played until his thoughts soared up, and burst forth in greatplans for the future:

"To be famous!"

And burgomaster's Charlotte sat at the piano. Her delicate fingersdanced over the keys, and made them ring into Peter's heart. It seemedtoo much for him to bear; and this happened not once, but manytimes; and at last one day he seized the delicate fingers and thewhite hand, and kissed it, and looked into her great brown eyes.Heaven knows what he said; but we may be allowed to guess at it.Charlotte blushed to guess at it. She reddened from brow to neck,and answered not a single word; and then strangers came into the room,and one of them was the state councillor's son. He had a lofty whiteforehead, and carried it so high that it seemed to go back into hisneck. And Peter sat by her a long time, and she looked at him withgentle eyes.

At home that evening he spoke of travel in the wide world, andof the golden treasure that lay hidden for him in his violin.

"To be famous!"

"Tum-me-lum, tum-me-lum, tum-me-lum!" said the Fire-drum. "Peterhas gone clear out of his wits. I think there must be a fire in thehouse."

Next day the mother went to market.

"Shall I tell you news, Peter?" she asked when she came home. "Acapital piece of news. Burgomaster's Charlotte has engaged herselfto the state councillor's son; the betrothal took place yesterdayevening."

"No!" cried Peter, and he sprang up from his chair. But his motherpersisted in saying "Yes." She had heard it from the baker's wife,whose husband had it from the burgomaster's own mouth

And Peter became as pale as death, and sat down again.

"Good Heaven! what's the matter with you?" asked his mother.

"Nothing, nothing; only leave me to myself," he answered but thetears were running down his cheeks.

"My sweet child, my golden treasure!" cried the mother, and shewept; but the Fire-drum sang, not out loud, but inwardly.

"Charlotte's gone! Charlotte's gone! and now the song is done."

But the song was not done; there were many more verses in it, longverses, the most beautiful verses, the golden treasures of a life.

"She behaves like a mad woman," said the neighbor's wife. "All theworld is to see the letters she gets from her golden treasure, andto read the words that are written in the papers about his violinplaying. And he sends her money too, and that's very useful to hersince she has been a widow."

"He plays before emperors and kings," said the town musician. "Inever had that fortune, but he's my pupil, and he does not forgethis old master."

And his mother said,

"His father dreamt that Peter came home from the war with a silvercross. He did not gain one in the war, but it is still moredifficult to gain one in this way. Now he has the cross of honor. Ifhis father had only lived to see it!"

"He's grown famous!" said the Fire-drum, and all his native townsaid the same thing, for the drummer's son, Peter with the red hair-Peter whom they had known as a little boy, running about in woodenshoes, and then as a drummer, playing for the dancers- was becomefamous!

"He played at our house before he played in the presence ofkings," said the burgomaster's wife. "At that time he was quitesmitten with Charlotte. He was always of an aspiring turn. At thattime he was saucy and an enthusiast. My husband laughed when heheard of the foolish affair, and now our Charlotte is a statecouncillor's wife."

A golden treasure had been hidden in the heart and soul of thepoor child, who had beaten the roll as a drummer- a roll of victoryfor those who had been ready to retreat. There was a golden treasurein his bosom, the power of sound; it burst forth on his violin as ifthe instrument had been a complete organ, and as if all the elves of amidsummer night were dancing across the strings. In its sounds wereheard the piping of the thrush and the full clear note of the humanvoice; therefore the sound brought rapture to every heart, and carriedhis name triumphant through the land. That was a great firebrand-the firebrand of inspiration.

"And then he looks so splendid!" said the young ladies and the oldladies too; and the oldest of all procured an album for famous locksof hair, wholly and solely that she might beg a lock of his richsplendid hair, that treasure, that golden treasure.

And the son came into the poor room of the drummer, elegant as aprince, happier than a king. His eyes were as clear and his face wasas radiant as sunshine; and he held his mother in his arms, and shekissed his mouth, and wept as blissfully as any one can weep forjoy; and he nodded at every old piece of furniture in the room, at thecupboard with the tea-cups, and at the flower-vase. He nodded at thesleeping-bench, where he had slept as a little boy; but the oldFire-drum he brought out, and dragged it into the middle of theroom, and said to it and to his mother:

"My father would have beaten a famous roll this evening. Now Imust do it!"

And he beat a thundering roll-call on the instrument, and the Drumfelt so highly honored that the parchment burst with exultation.

"He has a splendid touch!" said the Drum. "I've a remembrance ofhim now that will last. I expect that the same thing will happen tohis mother, from pure joy over her golden treasure."

And this is the story of the Golden Treasure.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE

by Hans Christian Andersen

A BEGINNING

IN a house in Copenhagen, not far from the king's new market, avery large party had assembled, the host and his family expecting,no doubt, to receive invitations in return. One half of the companywere already seated at the card-tables, the other half seemed to bewaiting the result of their hostess's question, "Well, how shall weamuse ourselves?"

Conversation followed, which, after a while, began to prove veryentertaining. Among other subjects, it turned upon the events of themiddle ages, which some persons maintained were more full ofinterest than our own times. Counsellor Knapp defended this opinion sowarmly that the lady of the house immediately went over to his side,and both exclaimed against Oersted's Essays on Ancient and ModernTimes, in which the preference is given to our own. The counsellorconsidered the times of the Danish king, Hans, as the noblest andhappiest.

The conversation on this topic was only interrupted for a momentby the arrival of a newspaper, which did not, however, contain muchworth reading, and while it is still going on we will pay a visit tothe ante-room, in which cloaks, sticks, and goloshes were carefullyplaced. Here sat two maidens, one young, and the other old, as if theyhad come and were waiting to accompany their mistresses home; but onlooking at them more closely, it could easily be seen that they wereno common servants. Their shapes were too graceful, theircomplexions too delicate, and the cut of their dresses much tooelegant. They were two fairies. The younger was not Fortune herself,but the chambermaid of one of Fortune's attendants, who carriesabout her more trifling gifts. The elder one, who was named Care,looked rather gloomy; she always goes about to perform her ownbusiness in person; for then she knows it is properly done. Theywere telling each other where they had been during the day. Themessenger of Fortune had only transacted a few unimportant matters;for instance, she had preserved a new bonnet from a shower of rain,and obtained for an honest man a bow from a titled nobody, and soon; but she had something extraordinary to relate, after all.

"I must tell you," said she, "that to-day is my birthday; and inhonor of it I have been intrusted with a pair of goloshes, tointroduce amongst mankind. These goloshes have the property ofmaking every one who puts them on imagine himself in any place hewishes, or that he exists at any period. Every wish is fulfilled atthe moment it is expressed, so that for once mankind have the chanceof being happy."

No," replied Care; "you may depend upon it that whoever puts onthose goloshes will be very unhappy, and bless the moment in whichhe can get rid of them."

"What are you thinking of?" replied the other. "Now see; I willplace them by the door; some one will take them instead of his own,and he will be the happy man."

This was the end of their conversation.COUNSELLOR

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE COUNSELLOR

IT was late when Counsellor Knapp, lost in thought about the timesof King Hans, desired to return home; and fate so ordered it that heput on the goloshes of Fortune instead of his own, and walked out intothe East Street. Through the magic power of the goloshes, he was atonce carried back three hundred years, to the times of King Hans,for which he had been longing when he put them on. Therefore heimmediately set his foot into the mud and mire of the street, which inthose days possessed no pavement.

"Why, this is horrible; how dreadfully dirty it is!" said thecounsellor; and the whole pavement has vanished, and the lamps are allout."

The moon had not yet risen high enough to penetrate the thickfoggy air, and all the objects around him were confused together inthe darkness. At the nearest corner, a lamp hung before a picture ofthe Madonna; but the light it gave was almost useless, for he onlyperceived it when he came quite close and his eyes fell on the paintedfigures of the Mother and Child.

"That is most likely a museum of art," thought he, "and theyhave forgotten to take down the sign."

Two men, in the dress of olden times, passed by him.

"What odd figures!" thought he; "they must be returning fromsome masquerade."

Suddenly he heard the sound of a drum and fifes, and then ablazing light from torches shone upon him. The counsellor staredwith astonishment as he beheld a most strange procession pass beforehim. First came a whole troop of drummers, beating their drums verycleverly; they were followed by life-guards, with longbows andcrossbows. The principal person in the procession was aclerical-looking gentleman. The astonished counsellor asked what itall meant, and who the gentleman might be.

"That is the bishop of Zealand."

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed; "what in the world has happenedto the bishop? what can he be thinking about?" Then he shook hishead and said, "It cannot possibly be the bishop himself."

While musing on this strange affair, and without looking to theright or left, he walked on through East Street and over HighbridgePlace. The bridge, which he supposed led to Palace Square, was nowhereto be found; but instead, he saw a bank and some shallow water, andtwo people, who sat in a boat.

"Does the gentleman wish to be ferried over the Holm?" asked one.

"To the Holm!" exclaimed the counsellor, not knowing in what agehe was now existing; "I want to go to Christian's Haven, in LittleTurf Street." The men stared at him. "Pray tell me where the bridgeis!" said he. "It is shameful that the lamps are not lighted here, andit is as muddy as if one were walking in a marsh." But the more hetalked with the boatmen the less they could understand each other.

"I don't understand your outlandish talk," he cried at last,angrily turning his back upon them. He could not, however, find thebridge nor any railings.

"What a scandalous condition this place is in," said he; never,certainly, had he found his own times so miserable as on this evening."I think it will be better for me to take a coach; but where arethey?" There was not one to be seen! "I shall be obliged to go back tothe king's new market," said he, "where there are plenty ofcarriages standing, or I shall never reach Christian's Haven." Then hewent towards East Street, and had nearly passed through it, when themoon burst forth from a cloud.

"Dear me, what have they been erecting here?" he cried, as hecaught sight of the East gate, which in olden times used to stand atthe end of East Street. However, he found an opening through whichhe passed, and came out upon where he expected to find the new market.Nothing was to be seen but an open meadow, surrounded by a few bushes,through which ran a broad canal or stream. A few miserable-lookingwooden booths, for the accommodation of Dutch watermen, stood on theopposite shore.

"Either I behold a fata morgana, or I must be tipsy," groanedthe counsellor. "What can it be? What is the matter with me?" Heturned back in the full conviction that he must be ill. In walkingthrough the street this time, he examined the houses more closely;he found that most of them were built of lath and plaster, and manyhad only a thatched roof.

"I am certainly all wrong," said he, with a sigh; and yet I onlydrank one glass of punch. But I cannot bear even that, and it was veryfoolish to give us punch and hot salmon; I shall speak about it to ourhostess, the agent's lady. Suppose I were to go back now and say howill I feel, I fear it would look so ridiculous, and it is not verylikely that I should find any one up." Then he looked for the house,but it was not in existence.

"This is really frightful; I cannot even recognize East Street.Not a shop to be seen; nothing but old, wretched, tumble-downhouses, just as if I were at Roeskilde or Ringstedt. Oh, I really mustbe ill! It is no use to stand upon ceremony. But where in the world isthe agent's house. There is a house, but it is not his; and peoplestill up in it, I can hear. Oh dear! I certainly am very queer." As hereached the half-open door, he saw a light and went in. It was atavern of the olden times, and seemed a kind of beershop. The room hadthe appearance of a Dutch interior. A number of people, consistingof seamen, Copenhagen citizens, and a few scholars, sat in deepconversation over their mugs, and took very little notice of the newcomer.

"Pardon me," said the counsellor, addressing the landlady, "I donot feel quite well, and I should be much obliged if you will send fora fly to take me to Christian's Haven." The woman stared at him andshook her head. Then she spoke to him in German. The counsellorsupposed from this that she did not understand Danish; he thereforerepeated his request in German. This, as well as his singular dress,convinced the woman that he was a foreigner. She soon understood,however, that he did not find himself quite well, and thereforebrought him a mug of water. It had something of the taste of seawater,certainly, although it had been drawn from the well outside. Thenthe counsellor leaned his head on his hand, drew a deep breath, andpondered over all the strange things that had happened to him.

"Is that to-day's number of the Day?" he asked, quitemechanically, as he saw the woman putting by a large piece of paper.She did not understand what he meant, but she handed him the sheet; itwas a woodcut, representing a meteor, which had appeared in the townof Cologne.

"That is very old," said the counsellor, becoming quite cheerfulat the sight of this antique drawing. "Where did you get this singularsheet? It is very interesting, although the whole affair is a fable.Meteors are easily explained in these days; they are northernlights, which are often seen, and are no doubt caused by electricity."

Those who sat near him, and heard what he said, looked at him ingreat astonishment, and one of them rose, took off his hatrespectfully, and said in a very serious manner, "You must certainlybe a very learned man, monsieur."

"Oh no," replied the counsellor; "I can only discourse on topicswhich every one should understand."

"Modestia is a beautiful virtue," said the man. "Moreover, Imust add to your speech mihi secus videtur; yet in this case I wouldsuspend my judicium."

"May I ask to whom I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"I am a Bachelor of Divinity," said the man. This answer satisfiedthe counsellor. The title agreed with the dress.

"This is surely," thought he, "an old village schoolmaster, aperfect original, such as one meets with sometimes even in Jutland."

"This is not certainly a locus docendi," began the man; "still Imust beg you to continue the conversation. You must be well read inancient lore."

"Oh yes," replied the counsellor; "I am very fond of readinguseful old books, and modern ones as well, with the exception ofevery-day stories, of which we really have more than enough.

"Every-day stories?" asked the bachelor.

"Yes, I mean the new novels that we have at the present day."

"Oh," replied the man, with a smile; "and yet they are very witty,and are much read at Court. The king likes especially the romance ofMesseurs Iffven and Gaudian, which describes King Arthur and hisknights of the round table. He has joked about it with the gentlemenof his Court."

"Well, I have certainly not read that," replied the counsellor. "Isuppose it is quite new, and published by Heiberg."

"No," answered the man, "it is not by Heiberg; Godfred vonGehman brought it out."

"Oh, is he the publisher? That is a very old name," said thecounsellor; "was it not the name of the first publisher in Denmark?"

"Yes; and he is our first printer and publisher now," repliedthe scholar.

So far all had passed off very well; but now one of the citizensbegan to speak of a terrible pestilence which had been raging a fewyears before, meaning the plague of 1484. The counsellor thought hereferred to the cholera, and they could discuss this without findingout the mistake. The war in 1490 was spoken of as quite recent. TheEnglish pirates had taken some ships in the Channel in 1801, and thecounsellor, supposing they referred to these, agreed with them infinding fault with the English. The rest of the talk, however, was notso agreeable; every moment one contradicted the other. The goodbachelor appeared very ignorant, for the simplest remark of thecounsellor seemed to him either too bold or too fantastic. They staredat each other, and when it became worse the bachelor spoke in Latin,in the hope of being better understood; but it was all useless.

"How are you now?" asked the landlady, pulling the counsellor'ssleeve.

Then his recollection returned to him. In the course ofconversation he had forgotten all that had happened previously.

"Goodness me! where am I?" said he. It bewildered him as hethought of it.

"We will have some claret, or mead, or Bremen beer," said one ofthe guests; "will you drink with us?"

Two maids came in. One of them had a cap on her head of twocolors. They poured out the wine, bowed their heads, and withdrew.

The counsellor felt a cold shiver run all over him. "What is this?what does it mean?" said he; but he was obliged to drink with them,for they overpowered the good man with their politeness. He becameat last desperate; and when one of them said he was tipsy, he didnot doubt the man's word in the least- only begged them to get adroschky; and then they thought he was speaking the Muscovitelanguage. Never before had he been in such rough and vulgar company."One might believe that the country was going back to heathenism,"he observed. "This is the most terrible moment of my life."

Just then it came into his mind that he would stoop under thetable, and so creep to the door. He tried it; but before he reachedthe entry, the rest discovered what he was about, and seized him bythe feet, when, luckily for him, off came the goloshes, and withthem vanished the whole enchantment. The counsellor now saw quiteplainly a lamp, and a large building behind it; everything lookedfamiliar and beautiful. He was in East Street, as it now appears; helay with his legs turned towards a porch, and just by him sat thewatchman asleep.

"Is it possible that I have been lying here in the streetdreaming?" said he. "Yes, this is East Street; how beautifullybright and gay it looks! It is quite shocking that one glass ofpunch should have upset me like this."

Two minutes afterwards he sat in a droschky, which was to drivehim to Christian's Haven. He thought of all the terror and anxietywhich he had undergone, and felt thankful from his heart for thereality and comfort of modern times, which, with all their errors,were far better than those in which he so lately found himself.

THE WATCHMAN'S ADVENTURES

"Well, I declare, there lies a pair of goloshes," said thewatchman. "No doubt, they belong to the lieutenant who lives upstairs. They are lying just by his door." Gladly would the honestman have rung, and given them in, for a light was still burning, buthe did not wish to disturb the other people in the house; so he letthem lie. "These things must keep the feet very warm," said he;"they are of such nice soft leather." Then he tried them on, andthey fitted his feet exactly. "Now," said he, "how droll things are inthis world! There's that man can lie down in his warm bed, but he doesnot do so. There he goes pacing up and down the room. He ought to be ahappy man. He has neither wife nor children, and he goes out intocompany every evening. Oh, I wish I were he; then I should be ahappy man."

As he uttered this wish, the goloshes which he had put on tookeffect, and the watchman at once became the lieutenant. There he stoodin his room, holding a little piece of pink paper between his fingers,on which was a poem,- a poem written by the lieutenant himself. Whohas not had, for once in his life, a moment of poetic inspiration? andat such a moment, if the thoughts are written down, they flow inpoetry. The following verses were written on the pink paper:-

"OH WERE I RICH!

"Oh were I rich! How oft, in youth's bright hour,

When youthful pleasures banish every care,

I longed for riches but to gain a power,

The sword and plume and uniform to wear!

The riches and the honor came for me;

Yet still my greatest wealth was poverty:

Ah, help and pity me!

"Once in my youthful hours, when gay and free,

A maiden loved me; and her gentle kiss,

Rich in its tender love and purity,

Taught me, alas! too much of earthly bliss.

Dear child! She only thought of youthful glee;

She loved no wealth, but fairy tales and me.

Thou knowest: ah, pity me!

"Oh were I rich! again is all my prayer:

That child is now a woman, fair and free,

As good and beautiful as angels are.

Oh, were I rich in lovers' poetry,

To tell my fairy tale, love's richest lore!

But no; I must be silent- I am poor.

Ah, wilt thou pity me?

"Oh were I rich in truth and peace below,

I need not then my poverty bewail.

To thee I dedicate these lines of woe;

Wilt thou not understand the mournful tale?

A leaf on which my sorrows I relate-

Dark story of a darker night of fate.

Ah, bless and pity me!"

"Well, yes; people write poems when they are in love, but a wiseman will not print them. A lieutenant in love, and poor. This is atriangle, or more properly speaking, the half of the broken die offortune." The lieutenant felt this very keenly, and therefore leanedhis head against the window-frame, and sighed deeply. "The poorwatchman in the street," said he, "is far happier than I am. Heknows not what I call poverty. He has a home, a wife and children, whoweep at his sorrow and rejoice at his joy. Oh, how much happier Ishould be could I change my being and position with him, and passthrough life with his humble expectations and hopes! Yes, he is indeedhappier than I am."

At this moment the watchman again became a watchman; for having,through the goloshes of Fortune, passed into the existence of thelieutenant, and found himself less contented than he expected, hehad preferred his former condition, and wished himself again awatchman. "That was an ugly dream," said he, "but droll enough. Itseemed to me as if I were the lieutenant up yonder, but there was nohappiness for me. I missed my wife and the little ones, who are alwaysready to smother me with kisses." He sat down again and nodded, but hecould not get the dream out of his thoughts, and he still had thegoloshes on his feet. A falling star gleamed across the sky. "Theregoes one!" cried he. "However, there are quite enough left; I shouldvery much like to examine these a little nearer, especially themoon, for that could not slip away under one's hands. The student, forwhom my wife washes, says that when we die we shall fly from onestar to another. If that were true, it would be very delightful, but Idon't believe it. I wish I could make a little spring up there now;I would willingly let my body lie here on the steps."

There are certain things in the world which should be uttered verycautiously; doubly so when the speaker has on his feet the goloshes ofFortune. Now we shall hear what happened to the watchman.

Nearly every one is acquainted with the great power of steam; wehave proved it by the rapidity with which we can travel, both on arailroad or in a steamship across the sea. But this speed is likethe movements of the sloth, or the crawling march of the snail, whencompared to the swiftness with which light travels; light fliesnineteen million times faster than the fleetest race-horse, andelectricity is more rapid still. Death is an electric shock which wereceive in our hearts, and on the wings of electricity the liberatedsoul flies away swiftly, the light from the sun travels to our earthninety-five millions of miles in eight minutes and a few seconds;but on the wings of electricity, the mind requires only a second toaccomplish the same distance. The space between the heavenly bodiesis, to thought, no farther than the distance which we may have to walkfrom one friend's house to another in the same town; yet this electricshock obliges us to use our bodies here below, unless, like thewatchman, we have on the goloshes of Fortune.

In a very few seconds the watchman had travelled more than twohundred thousand miles to the moon, which is formed of a lightermaterial than our earth, and may be said to be as soft as new fallensnow. He found himself on one of the circular range of mountains whichwe see represented in Dr. Madler's large map of the moon. The interiorhad the appearance of a large hollow, bowl-shaped, with a depthabout half a mile from the brim. Within this hollow stood a largetown; we may form some idea of its appearance by pouring the whiteof an egg into a glass of water. The materials of which it was builtseemed just as soft, and pictured forth cloudy turrets and sail-liketerraces, quite transparent, and floating in the thin air. Our earthhung over his head like a great dark red ball. Presently he discovereda number of beings, which might certainly be called men, but were verydifferent to ourselves. A more fantastical imagination than Herschel'smust have discovered these. Had they been placed in groups, andpainted, it might have been said, "What beautiful foliage!" They hadalso a language of their own. No one could have expected the soul ofthe watchman to understand it, and yet he did understand it, for oursouls have much greater capabilities then we are inclined tobelieve. Do we not, in our dreams, show a wonderful dramatic talent?each of our acquaintance appears to us then in his own character,and with his own voice; no man could thus imitate them in his wakinghours. How clearly, too, we are reminded of persons whom we have notseen for many years; they start up suddenly to the mind's eye with alltheir peculiarities as living realities. In fact, this memory of thesoul is a fearful thing; every sin, every sinful thought it canbring back, and we may well ask how we are to give account of "everyidle word" that may have been whispered in the heart or uttered withthe lips. The spirit of the watchman therefore understood very wellthe language of the inhabitants of the moon. They were disputing aboutour earth, and doubted whether it could be inhabited. Theatmosphere, they asserted, must be too dense for any inhabitants ofthe moon to exist there. They maintained that the moon alone wasinhabited, and was really the heavenly body in which the old worldpeople lived. They likewise talked politics.

But now we will descend to East Street, and see what happened tothe watchman's body. He sat lifeless on the steps. His staff hadfallen out of his hand, and his eyes stared at the moon, about whichhis honest soul was wandering.

"What is it o'clock, watchman?" inquired a passenger. But therewas no answer from the watchman.

The man then pulled his nose gently, which caused him to losehis balance. The body fell forward, and lay at full length on theground as one dead.

All his comrades were very much frightened, for he seemed quitedead; still they allowed him to remain after they had given noticeof what had happened; and at dawn the body was carried to thehospital. We might imagine it to be no jesting matter if the soul ofthe man should chance to return to him, for most probably it wouldseek for the body in East Street without being able to find it. Wemight fancy the soul inquiring of the police, or at the addressoffice, or among the missing parcels, and then at length finding it atthe hospital. But we may comfort ourselves by the certainty that thesoul, when acting upon its own impulses, is wiser than we are; it isthe body that makes it stupid.

As we have said, the watchman's body had been taken to thehospital, and here it was placed in a room to be washed. Naturally,the first thing done here was to take off the goloshes, upon which thesoul was instantly obliged to return, and it took the direct road tothe body at once, and in a few seconds the man's life returned to him.He declared, when he quite recovered himself, that this had been themost dreadful night he had ever passed; not for a hundred pounds wouldhe go through such feelings again. However, it was all over now.

The same day he was allowed to leave, but the goloshes remained atthe hospital.

THE EVENTFUL MOMENT - A MOST UNUSUAL JOURNEY

Every inhabitant of Copenhagen knows what the entrance toFrederick's Hospital is like; but as most probably a few of thosewho read this little tale may not reside in Copenhagen, we will give ashort description of it.

The hospital is separated from the street by an iron railing, inwhich the bars stand so wide apart that, it is said, some very slimpatients have squeezed through, and gone to pay little visits in thetown. The most difficult part of the body to get through was the head;and in this case, as it often happens in the world, the small headswere the most fortunate. This will serve as sufficient introduction toour tale. One of the young volunteers, of whom, physically speaking,it might be said that he had a great head, was on guard that eveningat the hospital. The rain was pouring down, yet, in spite of these twoobstacles, he wanted to go out just for a quarter of an hour; it wasnot worth while, he thought, to make a confidant of the porter, ashe could easily slip through the iron railings. There lay thegoloshes, which the watchman had forgotten. It never occurred to himthat these could be goloshes of Fortune. They would be veryserviceable to him in this rainy weather, so he drew them on. Now camethe question whether he could squeeze through the palings; hecertainly had never tried, so he stood looking at them. "I wish togoodness my head was through," said he, and instantly, though it wasso thick and large, it slipped through quite easily. The goloshesanswered that purpose very well, but his body had to follow, andthis was impossible. "I am too fat," he said; "I thought my head wouldbe the worst, but I cannot get my body through, that is certain." Thenhe tried to pull his head back again, but without success; he couldmove his neck about easily enough, and that was all. His first feelingwas one of anger, and then his spirits sank below zero. The goloshesof Fortune had placed him in this terrible position, and unfortunatelyit never occurred to him to wish himself free. No, instead ofwishing he kept twisting about, yet did not stir from the spot. Therain poured, and not a creature could be seen in the street. Theporter's bell he was unable to reach, and however was he to get loose!He foresaw that he should have to stay there till morning, and thenthey must send for a smith to file away the iron bars, and thatwould be a work of time. All the charity children would just begoing to school: and all the sailors who inhabited that quarter of thetown would be there to see him standing in the pillory. What a crowdthere would be. "Ha," he cried, "the blood is rushing to my head,and I shall go mad. I believe I am crazy already; oh, I wish I werefree, then all these sensations would pass off." This is just whathe ought to have said at first. The moment he had expressed thethought his head was free. He started back, quite bewildered withthe fright which the goloshes of Fortune had caused him. But we mustnot suppose it was all over; no, indeed, there was worse to comeyet. The night passed, and the whole of the following day; but noone sent for the goloshes. In the evening a declamatory performancewas to take place at the amateur theatre in a distant street. Thehouse was crowded; among the audience was the young volunteer from thehospital, who seemed to have quite forgotten his adventures of theprevious evening. He had on the goloshes; they had not been sentfor, and as the streets were still very dirty, they were of greatservice to him. A new poem, entitled "My Aunt's Spectacles," was beingrecited. It described these spectacles as possessing a wonderfulpower; if any one put them on in a large assembly the peopleappeared like cards, and the future events of ensuing years could beeasily foretold by them. The idea struck him that he should verymuch like to have such a pair of spectacles; for, if used rightly,they would perhaps enable him to see into the hearts of people,which he thought would be more interesting than to know what was goingto happen next year; for future events would be sure to showthemselves, but the hearts of people never. "I can fancy what I shouldsee in the whole row of ladies and gentlemen on the first seat, if Icould only look into their hearts; that lady, I imagine, keeps a storefor things of all descriptions; how my eyes would wander about in thatcollection; with many ladies I should no doubt find a largemillinery establishment. There is another that is perhaps empty, andwould be all the better for cleaning out. There may be some wellstored with good articles. Ah, yes," he sighed, "I know one, inwhich everything is solid, but a servant is there already, and that isthe only thing against it. I dare say from many I should hear thewords, 'Please to walk in.' I only wish I could slip into the heartslike a little tiny thought." This was the word of command for thegoloshes. The volunteer shrunk up together, and commenced a mostunusual journey through the hearts of the spectators in the first row.The first heart he entered was that of a lady, but he thought hemust have got into one of the rooms of an orthopedic institution whereplaster casts of deformed limbs were hanging on the walls, with thisdifference, that the casts in the institution are formed when thepatient enters, but here they were formed and preserved after the goodpeople had left. These were casts of the bodily and mental deformitiesof the lady's female friends carefully preserved. Quickly he passedinto another heart, which had the appearance of a spacious, holychurch, with the white dove of innocence fluttering over the altar.Gladly would he have fallen on his knees in such a sacred place; buthe was carried on to another heart, still, however, listening to thetones of the organ, and feeling himself that he had become another anda better man. The next heart was also a sanctuary, which he feltalmost unworthy to enter; it represented a mean garret, in which lay asick mother; but the warm sunshine streamed through the window, lovelyroses bloomed in a little flowerbox on the roof, two blue birds sangof childlike joys, and the sick mother prayed for a blessing on herdaughter. Next he crept on his hands and knees through an overfilledbutcher's shop; there was meat, nothing but meat, wherever he stepped;this was the heart of a rich, respectable man, whose name is doubtlessin the directory. Then he entered the heart of this man's wife; it wasan old, tumble-down pigeon-house; the husband's portrait served as aweather-cock; it was connected with all the doors, which opened andshut just as the husband's decision turned. The next heart was acomplete cabinet of mirrors, such as can be seen in the Castle ofRosenberg. But these mirrors magnified in an astonishing degree; inthe middle of the floor sat, like the Grand Lama, the insignificantI of the owner, astonished at the contemplation of his own features.At his next visit he fancied he must have got into a narrowneedlecase, full of sharp needles: "Oh," thought he, "this must be theheart of an old maid;" but such was not the fact; it belonged to ayoung officer, who wore several orders, and was said to be a man ofintellect and heart.

The poor volunteer came out of the last heart in the row quitebewildered. He could not collect his thoughts, and imagined hisfoolish fancies had carried him away. "Good gracious!" he sighed, "Imust have a tendency to softening of the brain, and here it is soexceedingly hot that the blood is rushing to my head." And thensuddenly recurred to him the strange event of the evening before, whenhis head had been fixed between the iron railings in front of thehospital. "That is the cause of it all!" he exclaimed, "I must dosomething in time. A Russian bath would be a very good thing tobegin with. I wish I were lying on one of the highest shelves." Sureenough, there he lay on an upper shelf of a vapor bath, still in hisevening costume, with his boots and goloshes on, and the hot dropsfrom the ceiling falling on his face. "Ho!" he cried, jumping down andrushing towards the plunging bath. The attendant stopped him with aloud cry, when he saw a man with all his clothes on. The volunteerhad, however, presence of mind enough to whisper, "It is for a wager;"but the first thing he did, when he reached his own room, was to put alarge blister on his neck, and another on his back, that his crazy fitmight be cured. The next morning his back was very sore, which was allhe gained by the goloshes of Fortune.

THE CLERK'S TRANSFORMATION

The watchman, whom we of course have not forgotten, thought, aftera while, of the goloshes which he had found and taken to the hospital;so he went and fetched them. But neither the lieutenant nor any one inthe street could recognize them as their own, so he gave them up tothe police. "They look exactly like my own goloshes," said one ofthe clerks, examining the unknown articles, as they stood by theside of his own. "It would require even more than the eye of ashoemaker to know one pair from the other."

"Master clerk," said a servant who entered with some papers. Theclerk turned and spoke to the man; but when he had done with him, heturned to look at the goloshes again, and now he was in greaterdoubt than ever as to whether the pair on the right or on the leftbelonged to him. "Those that are wet must be mine," thought he; but hethought wrong, it was just the reverse. The goloshes of Fortune werethe wet pair; and, besides, why should not a clerk in a policeoffice be wrong sometimes? So he drew them on, thrust his papersinto his pocket, placed a few manuscripts under his arm, which hehad to take with him, and to make abstracts from at home. Then, asit was Sunday morning and the weather very fine, he said to himself,"A walk to Fredericksburg will do me good:" so away he went.

There could not be a quieter or more steady young man than thisclerk. We will not grudge him this little walk, it was just thething to do him good after sitting so much. He went on at first like amere automaton, without thought or wish; therefore the goloshes had noopportunity to display their magic power. In the avenue he met with anacquaintance, one of our young poets, who told him that he intended tostart on the following day on a summer excursion. "Are you reallygoing away so soon?" asked the clerk. "What a free, happy man you are.You can roam about where you will, while such as we are tied by thefoot."

"But it is fastened to the bread-tree," replied the poet. "Youneed have no anxiety for the morrow; and when you are old there is apension for you."

"Ah, yes; but you have the best of it," said the clerk; "it mustbe so delightful to sit and write poetry. The whole world makes itselfagreeable to you, and then you are your own master. You should try howyou would like to listen to all the trivial things in a court ofjustice." The poet shook his head, so also did the clerk; eachretained his own opinion, and so they parted. "They are strangepeople, these poets," thought the clerk. "I should like to try what itis to have a poetic taste, and to become a poet myself. I am sure Ishould not write such mournful verses as they do. This is a splendidspring day for a poet, the air is so remarkably clear, the cloudsare so beautiful, and the green grass has such a sweet smell. For manyyears I have not felt as I do at this moment."

We perceive, by these remarks, that he had already become apoet. By most poets what he had said would be considered common-place,or as the Germans call it, "insipid." It is a foolish fancy to lookupon poets as different to other men. There are many who are morethe poets of nature than those who are professed poets. The differenceis this, the poet's intellectual memory is better; he seizes upon anidea or a sentiment, until he can embody it, clearly and plainly inwords, which the others cannot do. But the transition from a characterof every-day life to one of a more gifted nature is a greattransition; and so the clerk became aware of the change after atime. "What a delightful perfume," said he; "it reminds me of theviolets at Aunt Lora's. Ah, that was when I was a little boy. Dear me,how long it seems since I thought of those days! She was a good oldmaiden lady! she lived yonder, behind the Exchange. She always had asprig or a few blossoms in water, let the winter be ever so severe.I could smell the violets, even while I was placing warm pennypieces against the frozen panes to make peep-holes, and a prettyview it was on which I peeped. Out in the river lay the ships,icebound, and forsaken by their crews; a screaming crow representedthe only living creature on board. But when the breezes of springcame, everything started into life. Amidst shouting and cheers theships were tarred and rigged, and then they sailed to foreign lands.

"I remain here, and always shall remain, sitting at my post at thepolice office, and letting others take passports to distant lands.Yes, this is my fate," and he sighed deeply. Suddenly he paused. "Goodgracious, what has come over me? I never felt before as I do now; itmust be the air of spring. It is overpowering, and yet it isdelightful."

He felt in his pockets for some of his papers. "These will give mesomething else to think of," said he. Casting his eyes on the firstpage of one, he read, "'Mistress Sigbirth; an original Tragedy, inFive Acts.' What is this?- in my own handwriting, too! Have Iwritten this tragedy?" He read again, "'The Intrigue on the Promenade;or, the Fast-Day. A Vaudeville.' However did I get all this? Someone must have put them into my pocket. And here is a letter!" It wasfrom the manager of a theatre; the pieces were rejected, not at all inpolite terms.

"Hem, hem!" said he, sitting down on a bench; his thoughts werevery elastic, and his heart softened strangely. Involuntarily heseized one of the nearest flowers; it was a little, simple daisy.All that botanists can say in many lectures was explained in amoment by this little flower. It spoke of the glory of its birth; ittold of the strength of the sunlight, which had caused its delicateleaves to expand, and given to it such sweet perfume. The struggles oflife which arouse sensations in the bosom have their type in thetiny flowers. Air and light are the lovers of the flowers, but lightis the favored one; towards light it turns, and only when lightvanishes does it fold its leaves together, and sleep in the embracesof the air."

"It is light that adorns me," said the flower.

"But the air gives you the breath of life," whispered the poet.

Just by him stood a boy, splashing with his stick in a marshyditch. The water-drops spurted up among the green twigs, and the clerkthought of the millions of animalculae which were thrown into theair with every drop of water, at a height which must be the same tothem as it would be to us if we were hurled beyond the clouds. Asthe clerk thought of all these things, and became conscious of thegreat change in his own feelings, he smiled, and said to himself, "Imust be asleep and dreaming; and yet, if so, how wonderful for a dreamto be so natural and real, and to know at the same time too that it isbut a dream. I hope I shall be able to remember it all when I waketomorrow. My sensations seem most unaccountable. I have a clearperception of everything as if I were wide awake. I am quite sure if Irecollect all this tomorrow, it will appear utterly ridiculous andabsurd. I have had this happen to me before. It is with the cleveror wonderful things we say or hear in dreams, as with the gold whichcomes from under the earth, it is rich and beautiful when we possessit, but when seen in a true light it is but as stones and witheredleaves."

"Ah!" he sighed mournfully, as he gazed at the birds singingmerrily, or hopping from branch to branch, "they are much better offthan I. Flying is a glorious power. Happy is he who is born withwings. Yes, if I could change myself into anything I would be a littlelark." At the same moment his coat-tails and sleeves grew together andformed wings, his clothes changed to feathers, and his goloshes toclaws. He felt what was taking place, and laughed to himself. "Well,now it is evident I must be dreaming; but I never had such a wilddream as this." And then he flew up into the green boughs and sang,but there was no poetry in the song, for his poetic nature had lefthim. The goloshes, like all persons who wish to do a thing thoroughly,could only attend to one thing at a time. He wished to be a poet,and he became one. Then he wanted to be a little bird, and in thischange he lost the characteristics of the former one. "Well,"thought he, "this is charming; by day I sit in a police-office,amongst the dryest law papers, and at night I can dream that I am alark, flying about in the gardens of Fredericksburg. Really a completecomedy could be written about it." Then he flew down into the grass,turned his head about in every direction, and tapped his beak on thebending blades of grass, which, in proportion to his size, seemed tohim as long as the palm-leaves in northern Africa.

In another moment all was darkness around him. It seemed as ifsomething immense had been thrown over him. A sailor boy had flung hislarge cap over the bird, and a hand came underneath and caught theclerk by the back and wings so roughly, that he squeaked, and thencried out in his alarm, "You impudent rascal, I am a clerk in thepolice-office!" but it only sounded to the boy like "tweet, tweet;" sohe tapped the bird on the beak, and walked away with him. In theavenue he met two school-boys, who appeared to belong to a betterclass of society, but whose inferior abilities kept them in the lowestclass at school. These boys bought the bird for eightpence, and so theclerk returned to Copenhagen. "It is well for me that I amdreaming," he thought; "otherwise I should become really angry.First I was a poet, and now I am a lark. It must have been thepoetic nature that changed me into this little creature. It is amiserable story indeed, especially now I have fallen into the hands ofboys. I wonder what will be the end of it." The boys carried himinto a very elegant room, where a stout, pleasant-looking ladyreceived them, but she was not at all gratified to find that theyhad brought a lark- a common field-bird as she called it. However, sheallowed them for one day to place the bird in an empty cage thathung near the window. "It will please Polly perhaps," she said,laughing at a large gray parrot, who was swinging himself proudly on aring in a handsome brass cage. "It is Polly's birthday," she addedin a simpering tone, "and the little field-bird has come to offerhis congratulations."

Polly did not answer a single word, he continued to swingproudly to and fro; but a beautiful canary, who had been broughtfrom his own warm, fragrant fatherland, the summer previous, beganto sing as loud as he could.

"You screamer!" said the lady, throwing a white handkerchiefover the cage.

"Tweet, tweet," sighed he, "what a dreadful snowstorm!" and thenhe became silent.

The clerk, or as the lady called him the field-bird, was placed ina little cage close to the canary, and not far from the parrot. Theonly human speech which Polly could utter, and which she sometimeschattered forth most comically, was "Now let us be men." All besideswas a scream, quite as unintelligible as the warbling of thecanary-bird, excepting to the clerk, who being now a bird, couldunderstand his comrades very well.

"I flew beneath green palm-trees, and amidst the bloomingalmond-trees," sang the canary. "I flew with my brothers and sistersover beautiful flowers, and across the clear, bright sea, whichreflected the waving foliage in its glittering depths; and I have seenmany gay parrots, who could relate long and delightful stories.

"They were wild birds," answered the parrot, "and totallyuneducated. Now let us be men. Why do you not laugh? If the lady andher visitors can laugh at this, surely you can. It is a greatfailing not to be able to appreciate what is amusing. Now let us bemen."

"Do you remember," said the canary, "the pretty maidens who usedto dance in the tents that were spread out beneath the sweet blossoms?Do you remember the delicious fruit and the cooling juice from thewild herbs?"

"Oh, yes," said the parrot; "but here I am much better off. I amwell fed, and treated politely. I know that I have a clever head;and what more do I want? Let us be men now. You have a soul forpoetry. I have deep knowledge and wit. You have genius, but nodiscretion. You raise your naturally high notes so much, that youget covered over. They never serve me so. Oh, no; I cost themsomething more than you. I keep them in order with my beak, andfling my wit about me. Now let us be men.

"O my warm, blooming fatherland," sang the canary bird, "I willsing of thy dark-green trees and thy quiet streams, where thebending branches kiss the clear, smooth water. I will sing of thejoy of my brothers and sisters, as their shining plumage flits amongthe dark leaves of the plants which grow wild by the springs."

"Do leave off those dismal strains," said the parrot; "singsomething to make us laugh; laughter is the sign of the highestorder of intellect. Can a dog or a horse laugh? No, they can cry;but to man alone is the power of laughter given. Ha! ha! ha!"laughed Polly, and repeated his witty saying, "Now let us be men."

"You little gray Danish bird," said the canary, "you also havebecome a prisoner. It is certainly cold in your forests, but stillthere is liberty there. Fly out! they have forgotten to close thecage, and the window is open at the top. Fly, fly!"

Instinctively, the clerk obeyed, and left the cage; at the samemoment the half-opened door leading into the next room creaked onits hinges, and, stealthily, with green fiery eyes, the cat crept inand chased the lark round the room. The canary-bird fluttered in hiscage, and the parrot flapped his wings and cried, "Let us be men;" thepoor clerk, in the most deadly terror, flew through the window, overthe houses, and through the streets, till at length he was obligedto seek a resting-place. A house opposite to him had a look of home. Awindow stood open; he flew in, and perched upon the table. It washis own room. "Let us be men now," said he, involuntarily imitatingthe parrot; and at the same moment he became a clerk again, onlythat he was sitting on the table. "Heaven preserve us!" said he;"How did I get up here and fall asleep in this way? It was an uneasydream too that I had. The whole affair appears most absurd.

THE BEST THING THE GOLOSHES DID

Early on the following morning, while the clerk was still inbed, his neighbor, a young divinity student, who lodged on the samestorey, knocked at his door, and then walked in. "Lend me yourgoloshes," said he; "it is so wet in the garden, but the sun isshining brightly. I should like to go out there and smoke my pipe." Heput on the goloshes, and was soon in the garden, which containedonly one plum-tree and one apple-tree; yet, in a town, even a smallgarden like this is a great advantage.

The student wandered up and down the path; it was just sixo'clock, and he could hear the sound of the post-horn in the street."Oh, to travel, to travel!" cried he; "there is no greater happinessin the world: it is the height of my ambition. This restless feelingwould be stilled, if I could take a journey far away from thiscountry. I should like to see beautiful Switzerland, to travel throughItaly, and,"- It was well for him that the goloshes acted immediately,otherwise he might have been carried too far for himself as well asfor us. In a moment he found himself in Switzerland, closely packedwith eight others in the diligence. His head ached, his back wasstiff, and the blood had ceased to circulate, so that his feet wereswelled and pinched by his boots. He wavered in a condition betweensleeping and waking. In his right-hand pocket he had a letter ofcredit; in his left-hand pocket was his passport; and a few louisd'ors were sewn into a little leather bag which he carried in hisbreast-pocket. Whenever he dozed, he dreamed that he had lost one oranother of these possessions; then he would awake with a start, andthe first movements of his hand formed a triangle from hisright-hand pocket to his breast, and from his breast to hisleft-hand pocket, to feel whether they were all safe. Umbrellas,sticks, and hats swung in the net before him, and almost obstructedthe prospect, which was really very imposing; and as he glanced at it,his memory recalled the words of one poet at least, who has sung ofSwitzerland, and whose poems have not yet been printed:-

"How lovely to my wondering eyes

Mont Blanc's fair summits gently rise;

'Tis sweet to breathe the mountain air,-

If you have gold enough to spare."Grand, dark, and gloomy appeared the landscape around him. Thepine-forests looked like little groups of moss on high rocks, whosesummits were lost in clouds of mist. Presently it began to snow, andthe wind blew keen and cold. "Ah," he sighed, "if I were only on theother side of the Alps now, it would be summer, and I should be ableto get money on my letter of credit. The anxiety I feel on this matterprevents me from enjoying myself in Switzerland. Oh, I wish I was onthe other side of the Alps."

And there, in a moment, he found himself, far away in the midst ofItaly, between Florence and Rome, where the lake Thrasymeneglittered in the evening sunlight like a sheet of molten goldbetween the dark blue mountains. There, where Hannibal defeatedFlaminius, the grape vines clung to each other with the friendly graspof their green tendril fingers; while, by the wayside, lovelyhalf-naked children were watching a herd of coal-black swine under theblossoms of fragrant laurel. Could we rightly describe thispicturesque scene, our readers would exclaim, "Delightful Italy!"

But neither the student nor either of his travelling companionsfelt the least inclination to think of it in this way. Poisonous fliesand gnats flew into the coach by thousands. In vain they drove themaway with a myrtle branch, the flies stung them notwithstanding. Therewas not a man in the coach whose face was not swollen and disfiguredwith the stings. The poor horses looked wretched; the flies settled ontheir backs in swarms, and they were only relieved when the coachmengot down and drove the creatures off.

As the sun set, an icy coldness filled all nature, not howeverof long duration. It produced the feeling which we experience whenwe enter a vault at a funeral, on a summer's day; while the hillsand the clouds put on that singular green hue which we often notice inold paintings, and look upon as unnatural until we have ourselves seennature's coloring in the south. It was a glorious spectacle; but thestomachs of the travellers were empty, their bodies exhausted withfatigue, and all the longings of their heart turned towards aresting-place for the night; but where to find one they knew not.All the eyes were too eagerly seeking for this resting-place, tonotice the beauties of nature.

The road passed through a grove of olive-trees; it reminded thestudent of the willow-trees at home. Here stood a lonely inn, andclose by it a number of crippled beggars had placed themselves; thebrightest among them looked, to quote the words of Marryat, "likethe eldest son of Famine who had just come of age." The others wereeither blind, or had withered legs, which obliged them to creepabout on their hands and knees, or they had shrivelled arms andhands without fingers. It was indeed poverty arrayed in rags."Eccellenza, miserabili!" they exclaimed, stretching forth theirdiseased limbs. The hostess received the travellers with bare feet,untidy hair, and a dirty blouse. The doors were fastened together withstring; the floors of the rooms were of brick, broken in manyplaces; bats flew about under the roof; and as to the odor within-

"Let us have supper laid in the stable," said one of thetravellers; "then we shall know what we are breathing."

The windows were opened to let in a little fresh air, butquicker than air came in the withered arms and the continual whiningsounds, "Miserabili, eccellenza. On the walls were inscriptions,half of them against "la bella Italia."

The supper made its appearance at last. It consisted of waterysoup, seasoned with pepper and rancid oil. This last delicacy played aprincipal part in the salad. Musty eggs and roasted cocks'-combswere the best dishes on the table; even the wine had a strangetaste, it was certainly a mixture. At night, all the boxes were placedagainst the doors, and one of the travellers watched while theothers slept. The student's turn came to watch. How close the air feltin that room; the heat overpowered him. The gnats were buzzing aboutand stinging, while the miserabili, outside, moaned in their dreams.

"Travelling would be all very well," said the student ofdivinity to himself, "if we had no bodies, or if the body could restwhile the soul if flying. Wherever I go I feel a want whichoppresses my heart, for something better presents itself at themoment; yes, something better, which shall be the best of all; butwhere is that to be found? In fact, I know in my heart very wellwhat I want. I wish to attain the greatest of all happiness."

No sooner were the words spoken than he was at home. Long whitecurtains shaded the windows of his room, and in the middle of thefloor stood a black coffin, in which he now lay in the still sleepof death; his wish was fulfilled, his body was at rest, and his spirittravelling.

"Esteem no man happy until he is in his grave," were the wordsof Solon. Here was a strong fresh proof of their truth. Every corpseis a sphinx of immortality. The sphinx in this sarcophagus mightunveil its own mystery in the words which the living had himselfwritten two days before-

"Stern death, thy chilling silence waketh dread;

Yet in thy darkest hour there may be light.

Earth's garden reaper! from the grave's cold bed

The soul on Jacob's ladder takes her flight.

Man's greatest sorrows often are a part

Of hidden griefs, concealed from human eyes,

Which press far heavier on the lonely heart

Than now the earth that on his coffin lies."

Two figures were moving about the room; we know them both. One wasthe fairy named Care, the other the messenger of Fortune. They bentover the dead.

"Look!" said Care; "what happiness have your goloshes brought tomankind?"

"They have at least brought lasting happiness to him whoslumbers here," she said.

"Not so," said Care, "he went away of himself, he was notsummoned. His mental powers were not strong enough to discern thetreasures which he had been destined to discover. I will do him afavor now." And she drew the goloshes from his feet.

The sleep of death was ended, and the recovered man raisedhimself. Care vanished, and with her the goloshes; doubtless shelooked upon them as her own property.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE HAPPY FAMILY

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE largest green leaf in this country is certainly theburdock-leaf. If you hold it in front of you, it is large enough foran apron; and if you hold it over your head, it is almost as good asan umbrella, it is so wonderfully large. A burdock never growsalone; where it grows, there are many more, and it is a splendidsight; and all this splendor is good for snails. The great whitesnails, which grand people in olden times used to have made intofricassees; and when they had eaten them, they would say, "O, what adelicious dish!" for these people really thought them good; andthese snails lived on burdock-leaves, and for them the burdock wasplanted.

There was once an old estate where no one now lived to requiresnails; indeed, the owners had all died out, but the burdock stillflourished; it grew over all the beds and walks of the garden- itsgrowth had no check- till it became at last quite a forest ofburdocks. Here and there stood an apple or a plum-tree; but forthis, nobody would have thought the place had ever been a garden. Itwas burdock from one end to the other; and here lived the last twosurviving snails. They knew not themselves how old they were; but theycould remember the time when there were a great many more of them, andthat they were descended from a family which came from foreignlands, and that the whole forest had been planted for them and theirs.They had never been away from the garden; but they knew that anotherplace once existed in the world, called the Duke's Palace Castle, inwhich some of their relations had been boiled till they becameblack, and were then laid on a silver dish; but what was doneafterwards they did not know. Besides, they could not imagineexactly how it felt to be boiled and placed on a silver dish; but nodoubt it was something very fine and highly genteel. Neither thecockchafer, nor the toad, nor the earth-worm, whom they questionedabout it, would give them the least information; for none of theirrelations had ever been cooked or served on a silver dish. The oldwhite snails were the most aristocratic race in the world,- theyknew that. The forest had been planted for them, and the nobleman'scastle had been built entirely that they might be cooked and laid onsilver dishes.

They lived quite retired and very happily; and as they had nochildren of their own, they had adopted a little common snail, whichthey brought up as their own child. The little one would not grow, forhe was only a common snail; but the old people, particularly themother-snail, declared that she could easily see how he grew; and whenthe father said he could not perceive it, she begged him to feel thelittle snail's shell, and he did so, and found that the mother wasright.

One day it rained very fast. "Listen, what a drumming there ison the burdock-leaves; turn, turn, turn; turn, turn, turn," said thefather-snail.

"There come the drops," said the mother; "they are tricklingdown the stalks. We shall have it very wet here presently. I am veryglad we have such good houses, and that the little one has one ofhis own. There has been really more done for us than for any othercreature; it is quite plain that we are the most noble people in theworld. We have houses from our birth, and the burdock forest hasbeen planted for us. I should very much like to know how far itextends, and what lies beyond it."

"There can be nothing better than we have here," said thefather-snail; "I wish for nothing more."

"Yes, but I do," said the mother; "I should like to be taken tothe palace, and boiled, and laid upon a silver dish, as was done toall our ancestors; and you may be sure it must be something veryuncommon."

"The nobleman's castle, perhaps, has fallen to decay," said thesnail-father, or the burdock wood may have grown out. You need notbe in a hurry; you are always so impatient, and the youngster isgetting just the same. He has been three days creeping to the top ofthat stalk. I feel quite giddy when I look at him."

"You must not scold him," said the mother-snail; "he creeps sovery carefully. He will be the joy of our home; and we old folkshave nothing else to live for. But have you ever thought where weare to get a wife for him? Do you think that farther out in the woodthere may be others of our race?"

"There may be black snails, no doubt," said the old snail;"black snails without houses; but they are so vulgar and conceitedtoo. But we can give the ants a commission; they run here and there,as if they all had so much business to get through. They, most likely,will know of a wife for our youngster."

"I certainly know a most beautiful bride," said one of the ants;"but I fear it would not do, for she is a queen."

"That does not matter," said the old snail; "has she a house?"

"She has a palace," replied the ant,- "a most beautiful ant-palacewith seven hundred passages."

"Thank-you," said the mother-snail; "but our boy shall not go tolive in an ant-hill. If you know of nothing better, we will give thecommission to the white gnats; they fly about in rain and sunshine;they know the burdock wood from one end to the other."

"We have a wife for him," said the gnats; "a hundred man-stepsfrom here there is a little snail with a house, sitting on agooseberry-bush; she is quite alone, and old enough to be married.It is only a hundred man-steps from here."

"Then let her come to him," said the old people. "He has the wholeburdock forest; she has only a bush."

So they brought the little lady-snail. She took eight days toperform the journey; but that was just as it ought to be; for itshowed her to be one of the right breeding. And then they had awedding. Six glow-worms gave as much light as they could; but in otherrespects it was all very quiet; for the old snails could not bearfestivities or a crowd. But a beautiful speech was made by themother-snail. The father could not speak; he was too much overcome.Then they gave the whole burdock forest to the young snails as aninheritance, and repeated what they had so often said, that it was thefinest place in the world, and that if they led upright andhonorable lives, and their family increased, they and their childrenmight some day be taken to the nobleman's palace, to be boiledblack, and laid on a silver dish. And when they had finished speaking,the old couple crept into their houses, and came out no more; for theyslept.

The young snail pair now ruled in the forest, and had a numerousprogeny. But as the young ones were never boiled or laid in silverdishes, they concluded that the castle had fallen into decay, and thatall the people in the world were dead; and as nobody contradictedthem, they thought they must be right. And the rain fell upon theburdock-leaves, to play the drum for them, and the sun shone topaint colors on the burdock forest for them, and they were very happy;the whole family were entirely and perfectly happy.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE ICE MAIDEN

by Hans Christian Andersen

I. LITTLE RUDY

WE will pay a visit to Switzerland, and wander through thatcountry of mountains, whose steep and rocky sides are overgrown withforest trees. Let us climb to the dazzling snow-fields at theirsummits, and descend again to the green meadows beneath, through whichrivers and brooks rush along as if they could not quickly enough reachthe sea and vanish. Fiercely shines the sun over those deep valleys,as well as upon the heavy masses of snow which lie on the mountains.

During the year these accumulations thaw or fall in the rollingavalance, or are piled up in shining glaciers. Two of these glacierslie in the broad, rocky cliffs, between the Schreckhorn and theWetterhorn, near the little town of Grindelwald. They are wonderful tobehold, and therefore in the summer time strangers come here fromall parts of the world to see them. They cross snow-covered mountains,and travel through the deep valleys, or ascend for hours, higher andstill higher, the valleys appearing to sink lower and lower as theyproceed, and become as small as if seen from an air balloon. Overthe lofty summits of these mountains the clouds often hang like a darkveil; while beneath in the valley, where many brown, wooden houses arescattered about, the bright rays of the sun may be shining upon alittle brilliant patch of green, making it appear almosttransparent. The waters foam and dash along in the valleys beneath;the streams from above trickle and murmur as they fall down therocky mountain's side, looking like glittering silver bands.

On both sides of the mountain-path stand these little woodenhouses; and, as within, there are many children and many mouths tofeed, each house has its own little potato garden. These children rushout in swarms, and surround travellers, whether on foot or incarriages. They are all clever at making a bargain. They offer forsale the sweetest little toy-houses, models of the mountain cottagesin Switzerland. Whether it be rain or sunshine, these crowds ofchildren are always to be seen with their wares.

About twenty years ago, there might be seen occasionally, standingat a short distance from the other children, a little boy, who wasalso anxious to sell his curious wares. He had an earnest,expressive countenance, and held the box containing his carved toystightly with both hands, as if unwilling to part with it. Hisearnest look, and being also a very little boy, made him noticed bythe strangers; so that he often sold the most, without knowing why. Anhour's walk farther up the ascent lived his grandfather, who cut andcarved the pretty little toy-houses; and in the old man's room stood alarge press, full of all sorts of carved things- nut-crackers,knives and forks, boxes with beautifully carved foliage, leapingchamois. It contained everything that could delight the eyes of achild. But the boy, who was named Rudy, looked with still greaterpleasure and longing at some old fire-arms which hung upon therafters, under the ceiling of the room. His grandfather promised himthat he should have them some day, but that he must first grow big andstrong, and learn how to use them. Small as he was, the goats wereplaced in his care, and a good goat-keeper should also be a goodclimber, and such Rudy was; he sometimes, indeed, climbed higherthan the goats, for he was fond of seeking for birds'-nests at the topof high trees; he was bold and daring, but was seldom seen to smile,excepting when he stood by the roaring cataract, or heard thedescending roll of the avalanche. He never played with the otherchildren, and was not seen with them, unless his grandfather senthim down to sell his curious workmanship. Rudy did not much liketrade; he loved to climb the mountains, or to sit by his grandfatherand listen to his tales of olden times, or of the people in Meyringen,the place of his birth.

"In the early ages of the world," said the old man, "thesepeople could not be found in Switzerland. They are a colony from thenorth, where their ancestors still dwell, and are called Swedes."

This was something for Rudy to know, but he learnt more from othersources, particularly from the domestic animals who belonged to thehouse. One was a large dog, called Ajola, which had belonged to hisfather; and the other was a tom-cat. This cat stood very high inRudy's favor, for he had taught him to climb.

"Come out on the roof with me," said the cat; and Rudy quiteunderstood him, for the language of fowls, ducks, cats, and dogs, isas easily understood by a young child as his own native tongue. But itmust be at the age when grandfather's stick becomes a neighinghorse, with head, legs, and tail. Some children retain these ideaslater than others, and they are considered backwards and childishfor their age. People say so; but is it so?

"Come out on the roof with me, little Rudy," was the first thinghe heard the cat say, and Rudy understood him. "What people sayabout falling down is all nonsense," continued the cat; "you willnot fall, unless you are afraid. Come, now, set one foot here andanother there, and feel your way with your fore-feet. Keep your eyeswide open, and move softly, and if you come to a hole jump over it,and cling fast as I do." And this was just what Rudy did. He was oftenon the sloping roof with the cat, or on the tops of high trees. But,more frequently, higher still on the ridges of the rocks where pussnever came.

"Higher, higher!" cried the trees and the bushes, "see to whatheight we have grown, and how fast we hold, even to the narrow edgesof the rocks."

Rudy often reached the top of the mountain before the sunrise, andthere inhaled his morning draught of the fresh, invigoratingmountain air,- God's own gift, which men call the sweet fragrance ofplant and herb on the mountain-side, and the mint and wild thyme inthe valleys. The overhanging clouds absorb all heaviness from the air,and the winds convey them away over the pine-tree summits. Thespirit of fragrance, light and fresh, remained behind, and this wasRudy's morning draught. The sunbeams- those blessing-bringingdaughters of the sun- kissed his cheeks. Vertigo might be lurking onthe watch, but he dared not approach him. The swallows, who had notless than seven nests in his grandfather's house, flew up to him andhis goats, singing, "We and you, you and we." They brought himgreetings from his grandfather's house, even from two hens, the onlybirds of the household; but Rudy was not intimate with them.

Although so young and such a little fellow, Rudy had travelled agreat deal. He was born in the canton of Valais, and brought to hisgrandfather over the mountains. He had walked to Staubbach- a littletown that seems to flutter in the air like a silver veil- theglittering, snow-clad mountain Jungfrau. He had also been to the greatglaciers; but this is connected with a sad story, for here hismother met her death, and his grandfather used to say that allRudy's childish merriment was lost from that time. His mother hadwritten in a letter, that before he was a year old he had laughed morethan he cried; but after his fall into the snow-covered crevasse,his disposition had completely changed. The grandfather seldom spokeof this, but the fact was generally known. Rudy's father had been apostilion, and the large dog which now lived in his grandfather'scottage had always followed him on his journeys over the Simplon tothe lake of Geneva. Rudy's relations, on his father's side, lived inthe canton of Valais, in the valley of the Rhone. His uncle was achamois hunter, and a well-known guide. Rudy was only a year oldwhen his father died, and his mother was anxious to return with herchild to her own relations, who lived in the Bernese Oberland. Herfather dwelt at a few hours' distance from Grindelwald; he was acarver in wood, and gained so much by it that he had plenty to liveupon. She set out homewards in the month of June, carrying herinfant in her arms, and, accompanied by two chamois hunters, crossedthe Gemmi on her way to Grindelwald. They had already left more thanhalf the journey behind them. They had crossed high ridges, andtraversed snow-fields; they could even see her native valley, with itsfamiliar wooden cottages. They had only one more glacier to climb.Some newly fallen snow concealed a cleft which, though it did notextend to the foaming waters in the depths beneath, was still muchdeeper than the height of a man. The young woman, with the child inher arms, slipped upon it, sank in, and disappeared. Not a shriek, nota groan was heard; nothing but the whining of a little child. Morethan an hour elapsed before her two companions could obtain from thenearest house ropes and poles to assist in raising them; and it waswith much exertion that they at last succeeded in raising from thecrevasse what appeared to be two dead bodies. Every means was usedto restore them to life. With the child they were successful, butnot with the mother; so the old grandfather received his daughter'slittle son into his house an orphan,- a little boy who laughed morethan he cried; but it seemed as if laughter had left him in the coldice-world into which he had fallen, where, as the Swiss peasantssay, the souls of the lost are confined till the judgment-day.

The glaciers appear as if a rushing stream had been frozen inits course, and pressed into blocks of green crystal, which,balanced one upon another, form a wondrous palace of crystal for theIce Maiden- the queen of the glaciers. It is she whose mighty powercan crush the traveller to death, and arrest the flowing river inits course. She is also a child of the air, and with the swiftnessof the chamois she can reach the snow-covered mountain tops, where theboldest mountaineer has to cut footsteps in the ice to ascend. Shewill sail on a frail pine-twig over the raging torrents beneath, andspring lightly from one iceberg to another, with her long,snow-white hair flowing around her, and her dark-green robe glitteringlike the waters of the deep Swiss lakes. "Mine is the power to seizeand crush," she cried. "Once a beautiful boy was stolen from me byman,- a boy whom I had kissed, but had not kissed to death. He isagain among mankind, and tends the goats on the mountains. He isalways climbing higher and higher, far away from all others, but notfrom me. He is mine; I will send for him." And she gave Vertigo thecommission.

It was summer, and the Ice Maiden was melting amidst the greenverdure, when Vertigo swung himself up and down. Vertigo has manybrothers, quite a troop of them, and the Ice Maiden chose thestrongest among them. They exercise their power in different ways, andeverywhere. Some sit on the banisters of steep stairs, others on theouter rails of lofty towers, or spring like squirrels along the ridgesof the mountains. Others tread the air as a swimmer treads thewater, and lure their victims here and there till they fall into thedeep abyss. Vertigo and the Ice Maiden clutch at human beings, asthe polypus seizes upon all that comes within its reach. And nowVertigo was to seize Rudy.

"Seize him, indeed," cried Vertigo; "I cannot do it. Thatmonster of a cat has taught him her tricks. That child of the humanrace has a power within him which keeps me at a distance; I cannotpossibly reach the boy when he hangs from the branches of trees,over the precipice; or I would gladly tickle his feet, and send himheels over head through the air; but I cannot accomplish it."

"We must accomplish it," said the Ice Maiden; "either you or Imust; and I will- I will!"

"No, no!" sounded through the air, like an echo on the mountainchurch bells chime. It was an answer in song, in the melting tonesof a chorus from others of nature's spirits- good and lovingspirits, the daughters of the sunbeam. They who place themselves ina circle every evening on the mountain peaks; there they spread outtheir rose-colored wings, which, as the sun sinks, become more flamingred, until the lofty Alps seem to burn with fire. Men call this theAlpine glow. After the sun has set, they disappear within the whitesnow on the mountain-tops, and slumber there till sunrise, when theyagain come forth. They have great love for flowers, for butterflies,and for mankind; and from among the latter they had chosen littleRudy. "You shall not catch him; you shall not seize him!" they sang.

"Greater and stronger than he have I seized!" said the Ice Maiden.

Then the daughters of the sun sang a song of the traveller,whose cloak had been carried away by the wind. "The wind took thecovering, but not the man; it could even seize upon him, but nothold him fast. The children of strength are more powerful, moreethereal, even than we are. They can rise higher than our parent,the sun. They have the magic words that rule the wind and the waves,and compel them to serve and obey; and they can, at last, cast off theheavy, oppressive weight of mortality, and soar upwards." Thus sweetlysounded the bell-like tones of the chorus.

And each morning the sun's rays shone through the one littlewindow of the grandfather's house upon the quiet child. Thedaughters of the sunbeam kissed him; they wished to thaw, and melt,and obliterate the ice kiss which the queenly maiden of the glaciershad given him as he lay in the lap of his dead mother, in the deepcrevasse of ice from which he had been so wonderfully rescued.

II. THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME

Rudy was just eight years old, when his uncle, who lived on theother side of the mountain, wished to have the boy, as he thought hemight obtain a better education with him, and learn something more.His grandfather thought the same, so he consented to let him go.Rudy had many to say farewell to, as well as his grandfather. First,there was Ajola, the old dog.

"Your father was the postilion, and I was the postilion's dog,"said Ajola. "We have often travelled the same journey together; I knewall the dogs and men on this side of the mountain. It is not myhabit to talk much; but now that we have so little time to conversetogether, I will say something more than usual. I will relate to you astory, which I have reflected upon for a long time. I do notunderstand it, and very likely you will not, but that is of noconsequence. I have, however, learnt from it that in this world thingsare not equally divided, neither for dogs nor for men. All are notborn to lie on the lap and to drink milk: I have never been pettedin this way, but I have seen a little dog seated in the place of agentleman or lady, and travelling inside a post-chaise. The lady,who was his mistress, or of whom he was master, carried a bottle ofmilk,of which the little dog now and then drank; she also offered himpieces of sugar to crunch. He sniffed at them proudly, but would noteat one, so she ate them herself. I was running along the dirty roadby the side of the carriage as hungry as a dog could be, chewing thecud of my own thoughts, which were rather in confusion. But many otherthings seemed in confusion also. Why was not I lying on a lap andtravelling in a coach? I could not tell; yet I knew I could notalter my own condition, either by barking or growling.

This was Ajola's farewell speech, and Rudy threw his arms roundthe dog's neck and kissed his cold nose. Then he took the cat in hisarms, but he struggled to get free.

"You are getting too strong for me," he said; "but I will notuse my claws against you. Clamber away over the mountains; it was Iwho taught you to climb. Do not fancy you are going to fall, and youwill be quite safe." Then the cat jumped down and ran away; he did notwish Rudy to see that there were tears in his eyes.

The hens were hopping about the floor; one of them had no tail;a traveller, who fancied himself a sportsman, had shot off her tail,he had mistaken her for a bird of prey.

"Rudy is going away over the mountains," said one of the hens.

"He is always in such a hurry," said the other; "and I don'tlike taking leave," so they both hopped out.

But the goats said farewell; they bleated and wanted to go withhim, they were so very sorry.

Just at this time two clever guides were going to cross themountains to the other side of the Gemmi, and Rudy was to go with themon foot. It was a long walk for such a little boy, but he had plentyof strength and invincible courage. The swallows flew with him alittle way, singing, "We and you- you and we." The way led acrossthe rushing Lutschine, which falls in numerous streams from the darkclefts of the Grindelwald glaciers. Trunks of fallen trees andblocks of stone form bridges over these streams. After passing aforest of alders, they began to ascend, passing by some blocks ofice that had loosened themselves from the side of the mountain and layacross their path; they had to step over these ice-blocks or walkround them. Rudy crept here and ran there, his eyes sparkling withjoy, and he stepped so firmly with his iron-tipped mountain shoe, thathe left a mark behind him wherever he placed his foot.

The earth was black where the mountain torrents or the meltedice had poured upon it, but the bluish green, glassy ice sparkledand glittered. They had to go round little pools, like lakes, enclosedbetween large masses of ice; and, while thus wandering out of theirpath, they came near an immense stone, which lay balanced on theedge of an icy peak. The stone lost its balance just as they reachedit, and rolled over into the abyss beneath, while the noise of itsfall was echoed back from every hollow cliff of the glaciers.

They were always going upwards. The glaciers seemed to spreadabove them like a continued chain of masses of ice, piled up in wildconfusion between bare and rugged rocks. Rudy thought for a momentof what had been told him, that he and his mother had once lain buriedin one of these cold, heart-chilling fissures; but he soon banishedsuch thoughts, and looked upon the story as fabulous, like manyother stories which had been told him. Once or twice, when the menthought the way was rather difficult for such a little boy, theyheld out their hands to assist him; but he would not accept theirassistance, for he stood on the slippery ice as firmly as if he hadbeen a chamois. They came at length to rocky ground; sometimesstepping upon moss-covered stones, sometimes passing beneath stuntedfir-trees, and again through green meadows. The landscape was alwayschanging, but ever above them towered the lofty snow-clad mountains,whose names not only Rudy but every other child knew- "TheJungfrau," "The Monk and the Eiger."

Rudy had never been so far away before; he had never trodden onthe wide-spreading ocean of snow that lay here with its immovablebillows, from which the wind blows off the snowflake now and then,as it cuts the foam from the waves of the sea. The glaciers stand hereso close together it might almost be said they are hand-in-hand; andeach is a crystal palace for the Ice Maiden, whose power and will itis to seize and imprison the unwary traveller.

The sun shone warmly, and the snow sparkled as if covered withglittering diamonds. Numerous insects, especially butterflies andbees, lay dead in heaps on the snow. They had ventured too high, orthe wind had carried them here and left them to die of cold.

Around the Wetterhorn hung a feathery cloud, like a woolbag, and athreatening cloud too, for as it sunk lower it increased in size,and concealed within was a "fohn," fearful in its violence should itbreak loose. This journey, with its varied incidents,- the wild paths,the night passed on the mountain, the steep rocky precipices, thehollow clefts, in which the rustling waters from time immemorial hadworn away passages for themselves through blocks of stone,- allthese were firmly impressed on Rudy's memory.

In a forsaken stone building, which stood just beyond the seasof snow, they one night took shelter. Here they found some charcoaland pine branches, so that they soon made a fire. They arrangedcouches to lie on as well as they could, and then the men seatedthemselves by the fire, took out their pipes, and began to smoke. Theyalso prepared a warm, spiced drink, of which they partook and Rudy wasnot forgotten- he had his share. Then they began to talk of thosemysterious beings with which the land of the Alps abounds; the hostsof apparitions which come in the night, and carry off the sleepersthrough the air, to the wonderful floating town of Venice; of the wildherds-man, who drives the black sheep across the meadows. These flocksare never seen, yet the tinkle of their little bells has often beenheard, as well as their unearthly bleating. Rudy listened eagerly, butwithout fear, for he knew not what fear meant; and while helistened, he fancied he could hear the roaring of the spectral herd.It seemed to come nearer and roar louder, till the men heard it alsoand listened in silence, till, at length, they told Rudy that hemust not dare to sleep. It was a "fohn," that violent storm-wind whichrushes from the mountain to the valley beneath, and in its furysnaps asunder the trunks of large trees as if they were but slenderreeds, and carries the wooden houses from one side of a river to theother as easily as we could move the pieces on a chess-board. After anhour had passed, they told Rudy that it was all over, and he mightgo to sleep; and, fatigued with his long walk, he readily slept at theword of command.

Very early the following morning they again set out. The sun onthis day lighted up for Rudy new mountains, new glaciers, and newsnow-fields. They had entered the Canton Valais, and foundthemselves on the ridge of the hills which can be seen fromGrindelwald; but he was still far from his new home. They pointedout to him other clefts, other meadows, other woods and rocky paths,and other houses. Strange men made their appearance before him, andwhat men! They were misshapen, wretched-looking creatures, with yellowcomplexions; and on their necks were dark, ugly lumps of flesh,hanging down like bags. They were called cretins. They draggedthemselves along painfully, and stared at the strangers with vacanteyes. The women looked more dreadful than the men. Poor Rudy! werethese the sort of people he should see at his new home?

III. THE UNCLE

Rudy arrived at last at his uncle's house, and was thankful tofind the people like those he had been accustomed to see. There wasonly one cretin amongst them, a poor idiot boy, one of thoseunfortunate beings who, in their neglected conditions, go from houseto house, and are received and taken care of in different families,for a month or two at a time.

Poor Saperli had just arrived at his uncle's house when Rudy came.The uncle was an experienced hunter; he also followed the trade of acooper; his wife was a lively little person, with a face like abird, eyes like those of an eagle, and a long, hairy throat.Everything was new to Rudy- the fashion of the dress, the manners, theemployments, and even the language; but the latter his childish earwould soon learn. He saw also that there was more wealth here, whencompared with his former home at his grandfather's. The rooms werelarger, the walls were adorned with the horns of the chamois, andbrightly polished guns. Over the door hung a painting of the VirginMary, fresh alpine roses and a burning lamp stood near it. Rudy'suncle was, as we have said, one of the most noted chamois hunters inthe whole district, and also one of the best guides. Rudy soonbecame the pet of the house; but there was another pet, an oldhound, blind and lazy, who would never more follow the hunt, well ashe had once done so. But his former good qualities were not forgotten,and therefore the animal was kept in the family and treated with everyindulgence. Rudy stroked the old hound, but he did not like strangers,and Rudy was as yet a stranger; he did not, however, long remain so,he soon endeared himself to every heart, and became like one of thefamily.

"We are not very badly off, here in the canton Valais," said hisuncle one day; "we have the chamois, they do not die so fast as thewild goats, and it is certainly much better here now than in formertimes. How highly the old times have been spoken of, but ours isbetter. The bag has been opened, and a current of air now blowsthrough our once confined valley. Something better always makes itsappearance when old, worn-out things fail."

When his uncle became communicative, he would relate stories ofhis youthful days, and farther back still of the warlike times inwhich his father had lived. Valais was then, as he expressed it,only a closed-up bag, quite full of sick people, miserable cretins;but the French soldiers came, and they were capital doctors, they soonkilled the disease and the sick people, too. The French people knewhow to fight in more ways than one, and the girls knew how toconquer too; and when he said this the uncle nodded at his wife, whowas a French woman by birth, and laughed. The French could also dobattle on the stones. "It was they who cut a road out of the solidrock over the Simplon- such a road, that I need only say to a child ofthree years old, 'Go down to Italy, you have only to keep in thehigh road,' and the child will soon arrive in Italy, if he followed mydirections."

Then the uncle sang a French song, and cried, "Hurrah! long liveNapoleon Buonaparte." This was the first time Rudy had ever heard ofFrance, or of Lyons, that great city on the Rhone where his unclehad once lived. His uncle said that Rudy, in a very few years, wouldbecome a clever hunter, he had quite a talent for it; he taught theboy to hold a gun properly, and to load and fire it. In the huntingseason he took him to the hills, and made him drink the warm bloodof the chamois, which is said to prevent the hunter from becominggiddy; he taught him to know the time when, from the differentmountains, the avalanche is likely to fall, namely, at noontide orin the evening, from the effects of the sun's rays; he made himobserve the movements of the chamois when he gave a leap, so that hemight fall firmly and lightly on his feet. He told him that when onthe fissures of the rocks he could find no place for his feet, he mustsupport himself on his elbows, and cling with his legs, and evenlean firmly with his back, for this could be done when necessary. Hetold him also that the chamois are very cunning, they placelookers-out on the watch; but the hunter must be more cunning thanthey are, and find them out by the scent.

One day, when Rudy went out hunting with his uncle, he hung a coatand hat on an alpine staff, and the chamois mistook it for a man, asthey generally do. The mountain path was narrow here; indeed it wasscarcely a path at all, only a kind of shelf, close to the yawningabyss. The snow that lay upon it was partially thawed, and thestones crumbled beneath the feet. Every fragment of stone broken offstruck the sides of the rock in its fall, till it rolled into thedepths beneath, and sunk to rest. Upon this shelf Rudy's uncle laidhimself down, and crept forward. At about a hundred paces behind himstood Rudy, upon the highest point of the rock, watching a greatvulture hovering in the air; with a single stroke of his wing the birdmight easily cast the creeping hunter into the abyss beneath, and makehim his prey. Rudy's uncle had eyes for nothing but the chamois,who, with its young kid, had just appeared round the edge of the rock.So Rudy kept his eyes fixed on the bird, he knew well what the greatcreature wanted; therefore he stood in readiness to discharge hisgun at the proper moment. Suddenly the chamois made a spring, andhis uncle fired and struck the animal with the deadly bullet; whilethe young kid rushed away, as if for a long life he had beenaccustomed to danger and practised flight. The large bird, alarmedat the report of the gun, wheeled off in another direction, and Rudy'suncle was saved from danger, of which he knew nothing till he was toldof it by the boy.

While they were both in pleasant mood, wending their wayhomewards, and the uncle whistling the tune of a song he had learnt inhis young days, they suddenly heard a peculiar sound which seemed tocome from the top of the mountain. They looked up, and saw above them,on the over-hanging rock, the snow-covering heave and lift itself as apiece of linen stretched on the ground to dry raises itself when thewind creeps under it. Smooth as polished marble slabs, the waves ofsnow cracked and loosened themselves, and then suddenly, with therumbling noise of distant thunder, fell like a foaming cataract intothe abyss. An avalanche had fallen, not upon Rudy and his uncle, butvery near them. Alas, a great deal too near!

"Hold fast, Rudy!" cried his uncle; "hold fast, with all yourmight."

Then Rudy clung with his arms to the trunk of the nearest tree,while his uncle climbed above him, and held fast by the branches.The avalanche rolled past them at some distance; but the gust ofwind that followed, like the storm-wings of the avalanche, snappedasunder the trees and bushes over which it swept, as if they hadbeen but dry rushes, and threw them about in every direction. The treeto which Rudy clung was thus overthrown, and Rudy dashed to theground. The higher branches were snapped off, and carried away to agreat distance; and among these shattered branches lay Rudy's uncle,with his skull fractured. When they found him, his hand was stillwarm; but it would have been impossible to recognize his face. Rudystood by, pale and trembling; it was the first shock of his life,the first time he had ever felt fear. Late in the evening hereturned home with the fatal news,- to that home which was now to beso full of sorrow. His uncle's wife uttered not a word, nor shed atear, till the corpse was brought in; then her agony burst forth.The poor cretin crept away to his bed, and nothing was seen of himduring the whole of the following day. Towards evening, however, hecame to Rudy, and said, "Will you write a letter for me? Saperlicannot write; Saperli can only take the letters to the post."

"A letter for you!" said Rudy; "who do you wish to write to?"

"To the Lord Christ," he replied.

"What do you mean?" asked Rudy.

Then the poor idiot, as the cretin was often called, looked atRudy with a most touching expression in his eyes, clasped his hands,and said, solemnly and devoutly, "Saperli wants to send a letter toJesus Christ, to pray Him to let Saperli die, and not the master ofthe house here."

Rudy pressed his hand, and replied, "A letter would not reachHim up above; it would not give him back whom we have lost."

It was not, however, easy for Rudy to convince Saperli of theimpossibility of doing what he wished.

"Now you must work for us," said his foster-mother; and Rudyvery soon became the entire support of the house.BABETTE

IV. BABETTE

Who was the best marksman in the canton Valais? The chamois knewwell. "Save yourselves from Rudy," they might well say. And who is thehandsomest marksman? "Oh, it is Rudy," said the maidens; but theydid not say, "Save yourselves from Rudy." Neither did anxiousmothers say so; for he bowed to them as pleasantly as to the younggirls. He was so brave and cheerful. His cheeks were brown, histeeth white, and his eyes dark and sparkling. He was now a handsomeyoung man of twenty years. The most icy water could not deter him fromswimming; he could twist and turn like a fish. None could climb likehe, and he clung as firmly to the edges of the rocks as a limpet. Hehad strong muscular power, as could be seen when he leapt from rock torock. He had learnt this first from the cat, and more lately fromthe chamois. Rudy was considered the best guide over the mountains;every one had great confidence in him. He might have made a great dealof money as guide. His uncle had also taught him the trade of acooper; but he had no inclination for either; his delight was inchamois-hunting, which also brought him plenty of money. Rudy would bea very good match, as people said, if he would not look above hisown station. He was also such a famous partner in dancing, that thegirls often dreamt about him, and one and another thought of himeven when awake.

"He kissed me in the dance," said Annette, the schoolmaster'sdaughter, to her dearest friend; but she ought not to have toldthis, even to her dearest friend. It is not easy to keep such secrets;they are like sand in a sieve; they slip out. It was therefore soonknown that Rudy, so brave and so good as he was, had kissed some onewhile dancing, and yet he had never kissed her who was dearest to him.

"Ah, ah," said an old hunter, "he has kissed Annette, has he? hehas begun with A, and I suppose he will kiss through the wholealphabet."

But a kiss in the dance was all the busy tongues could accusehim of. He certainly had kissed Annette, but she was not the flower ofhis heart.

Down in the valley, near Bex, among the great walnut-trees, by theside of a little rushing mountain-stream, lived a rich miller. Hisdwelling-house was a large building, three storeys high, with littleturrets. The roof was covered with chips, bound together with tinplates, that glittered in sunshine and in the moonlight. The largestof the turrets had a weather-cock, representing an apple pierced bya glittering arrow, in memory of William Tell. The mill was a neat andwell-ordered place, that allowed itself to be sketched and writtenabout; but the miller's daughter did not permit any to sketch or writeabout her. So, at least, Rudy would have said, for her image waspictured in his heart; her eyes shone in it so brightly, that quitea flame had been kindled there; and, like all other fires, it hadburst forth so suddenly, that the miller's daughter, the beautifulBabette, was quite unaware of it. Rudy had never spoken a word toher on the subject. The miller was rich, and, on that account, Babettestood very high, and was rather difficult to aspire to. But saidRudy to himself, "Nothing is too high for a man to reach: he mustclimb with confidence in himself, and he will not fail." He had learntthis lesson in his youthful home.

It happened once that Rudy had some business to settle at Bex.It was a long journey at that time, for the railway had not beenopened. From the glaciers of the Rhone, at the foot of the Simplon,between its ever-changing mountain summits, stretches the valley ofthe canton Valais. Through it runs the noble river of the Rhone, whichoften overflows its banks, covering fields and highways, anddestroying everything in its course. Near the towns of Sion and St.Maurice, the valley takes a turn, and bends like an elbow, andbehind St. Maurice becomes so narrow that there is only space enoughfor the bed of the river and a narrow carriage-road. An old towerstands here, as if it were guardian to the canton Valais, which endsat this point; and from it we can look across the stone bridge tothe toll-house on the other side, where the canton Vaud commences. Notfar from this spot stands the town of Bex, and at every step can beseen an increase of fruitfulness and verdure. It is like entering agrove of chestnut and walnut-trees. Here and there the cypress andpomegranate blossoms peep forth; and it is almost as warm as anItalian climate. Rudy arrived at Bex, and soon finished the businesswhich had brought him there, and then walked about the town; but noteven the miller's boy could be seen, nor any one belonging to themill, not to mention Babette. This did not please him at all.Evening came on. The air was filled with the perfume of the wild thymeand the blossoms of the lime-trees, and the green woods on themountains seemed to be covered with a shining veil, blue as the sky.Over everything reigned a stillness, not of sleep or of death, butas if Nature were holding her breath, that her image might bephotographed on the blue vault of heaven. Here and there, amidst thetrees of the silent valley, stood poles which supported the wires ofthe electric telegraph. Against one of these poles leaned an object somotionless that it might have been mistaken for the trunk of a tree;but it was Rudy, standing there as still as at that moment waseverything around him. He was not asleep, neither was he dead; butjust as the various events in the world- matters of momentousimportance to individuals- were flying through the telegraph wires,without the quiver of a wire or the slightest tone, so, through themind of Rudy, thoughts of overwhelming importance were passing,without an outward sign of emotion. The happiness of his future lifedepended upon the decision of his present reflections. His eyes werefixed on one spot in the distance- a light that twinkled through thefoliage from the parlor of the miller's house, where Babette dwelt.Rudy stood so still, that it might have been supposed he waswatching for a chamois; but he was in reality like a chamois, who willstand for a moment, looking as if it were chiselled out of the rock,and then, if only a stone rolled by, would suddenly bound forward witha spring, far away from the hunter. And so with Rudy: a sudden roll ofhis thoughts roused him from his stillness, and made him bound forwardwith determination to act.

"Never despair!" cried he. "A visit to the mill, to say goodevening to the miller, and good evening to little Babette, can do noharm. No one ever fails who has confidence in himself. If I am to beBabette's husband, I must see her some time or other."

Then Rudy laughed joyously, and took courage to go to the mill. Heknew what he wanted; he wanted to marry Babette. The clear water ofthe river rolled over its yellow bed, and willows and lime-treeswere reflected in it, as Rudy stepped along the path to the miller'shouse. But, as the children sing-

"There was no one at home in the house,

Only a kitten at play."

The cat standing on the steps put up its back and cried "mew." ButRudy had no inclination for this sort of conversation; he passed on,and knocked at the door. No one heard him, no one opened the door."Mew," said the cat again; and had Rudy been still a child, he wouldhave understood this language, and known that the cat wished to tellhim there was no one at home. So he was obliged to go to the milland make inquiries, and there he heard that the miller had gone on ajourney to Interlachen, and taken Babette with him, to the greatshooting festival, which began that morning, and would continue foreight days, and that people from all the German settlements would bethere.

Poor Rudy! we may well say. It was not a fortunate day for hisvisit to Bex. He had just to return the way he came, through St.Maurice and Sion, to his home in the valley. But he did not despair.When the sun rose the next morning, his good spirits had returned;indeed he had never really lost them. "Babette is at Interlachen,"said Rudy to himself, "many days' journey from here. It is certainly along way for any one who takes the high-road, but not so far if hetakes a short cut across the mountain, and that just suits achamois-hunter. I have been that way before, for it leads to thehome of my childhood, where, as a little boy, I lived with mygrandfather. And there are shooting matches at Interlachen. I will go,and try to stand first in the match. Babette will be there, and Ishall be able to make her acquaintance."

Carrying his light knapsack, which contained his Sunday clothes,on his back, and with his musket and his game-bag over his shoulder,Rudy started to take the shortest way across the mountain. Still itwas a great distance. The shooting matches were to commence on thatday, and to continue for a whole week. He had been told also thatthe miller and Babette would remain that time with some relatives atInterlachen. So over the Gemmi Rudy climbed bravely, and determined todescend the side of the Grindelwald. Bright and joyous were hisfeelings as he stepped lightly onwards, inhaling the invigoratingmountain air. The valley sunk as he ascended, the circle of thehorizon expanded. One snow-capped peak after another rose beforehim, till the whole of the glittering Alpine range became visible.Rudy knew each ice-clad peak, and he continued his course towardsthe Schreckhorn, with its white powdered stone finger raised high inthe air. At length he had crossed the highest ridges, and before himlay the green pasture lands sloping down towards the valley, which wasonce his home. The buoyancy of the air made his heart light. Hilland valley were blooming in luxuriant beauty, and his thoughts wereyouthful dreams, in which old age or death were out of the question.Life, power, and enjoyment were in the future, and he felt free andlight as a bird. And the swallows flew round him, as in the days ofhis childhood, singing "We and you- you and we." All was overflowingwith joy. Beneath him lay the meadows, covered with velvety green,with the murmuring river flowing through them, and dotted here andthere were small wooden houses. He could see the edges of theglaciers, looking like green glass against the soiled snow, and thedeep chasms beneath the loftiest glacier. The church bells wereringing, as if to welcome him to his home with their sweet tones.His heart beat quickly, and for a moment he seemed to haveforegotten Babette, so full were his thoughts of old recollections. Hewas, in imagination, once more wandering on the road where, when alittle boy, he, with other children, came to sell their curiouslycarved toy houses. Yonder, behind the fir-trees, still stood hisgrandfather's house, his mother's father, but strangers dwelt in itnow. Children came running to him, as he had once done, and wishedto sell their wares. One of them offered him an Alpine rose. Rudy tookthe rose as a good omen, and thought of Babette. He quickly crossedthe bridge where the two rivers flow into each other. Here he founda walk over-shadowed with large walnut-trees, and their thickfoliage formed a pleasant shade. Very soon he perceived in thedistance, waving flags, on which glittered a white cross on a redground- the standard of the Danes as well as of the Swiss- andbefore him lay Interlachen.

"It is really a splendid town, like none other that I have everseen," said Rudy to himself. It was indeed a Swiss town in its holidaydress. Not like the many other towns, crowded with heavy stone houses,stiff and foreign looking. No; here it seemed as if the woodenhouses on the hills had run into the valley, and placed themselvesin rows and ranks by the side of the clear river, which rushes like anarrow in its course. The streets were rather irregular, it is true,but still this added to their picturesque appearance. There was onestreet which Rudy thought the prettiest of them all; it had been builtsince he had visited the town when a little boy. It seemed to him asif all the neatest and most curiously carved toy houses which hisgrandfather once kept in the large cupboard at home, had beenbrought out and placed in this spot, and that they had increased insize since then, as the old chestnut trees had done. The houses werecalled hotels; the woodwork on the windows and balconies was curiouslycarved. The roofs were gayly painted, and before each house was aflower garden, which separated it from the macadamized high-road.These houses all stood on the same side of the road, so that thefresh, green meadows, in which were cows grazing, with bells ontheir necks, were not hidden. The sound of these bells is oftenheard amidst Alpine scenery. These meadows were encircled by loftyhills, which receded a little in the centre, so that the mostbeautifully formed of Swiss mountains- the snow-crowned Jungfrau-could be distinctly seen glittering in the distance. A number ofelegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies from foreign lands, andcrowds of country people from the neighboring cantons, wereassembled in the town. Each marksman wore the number of hits he hadmade twisted in a garland round his hat. Here were music and singingof all descriptions: hand-organs, trumpets, shouting, and noise. Thehouses and bridges were adorned with verses and inscriptions. Flagsand banners were waving. Shot after shot was fired, which was the bestmusic to Rudy's ears. And amidst all this excitement he quite forgotBabette, on whose account only he had come. The shooters werethronging round the target, and Rudy was soon amongst them. But whenhe took his turn to fire, he proved himself the best shot, for healways struck the bull's-eye.

"Who may that young stranger be?" was the inquiry on all sides."He speaks French as it is spoken in the Swiss cantons."

"And makes himself understood very well when he speaks German,"said some.

"He lived here, when a child, with his grandfather, in a houseon the road to Grindelwald," remarked one of the sportsmen.

And full of life was this young stranger; his eyes sparkled, hisglance was steady, and his arm sure, therefore he always hit the mark.Good fortune gives courage, and Rudy was always courageous. He soonhad a circle of friends gathered round him. Every one noticed him, anddid him homage. Babette had quite vanished from his thoughts, whenhe was struck on the shoulder by a heavy hand, and a deep voice saidto him in French, "You are from the canton Valais."

Rudy turned round, and beheld a man with a ruddy, pleasant face,and a stout figure. It was the rich miller from Bex. His broad, portlyperson, hid the slender, lovely Babette; but she came forward andglanced at him with her bright, dark eyes. The rich miller was verymuch flattered at the thought that the young man, who was acknowledgedto be the best shot, and was so praised by every one, should be fromhis own canton. Now was Rudy really fortunate: he had travelled allthis way to this place, and those he had forgotten were now come toseek him. When country people go far from home, they often meet withthose they know, and improve their acquaintance. Rudy, by hisshooting, had gained the first place in the shooting-match, just asthe miller at home at Bex stood first, because of his money and hismill. So the two men shook hands, which they had never done before.Babette, too, held out her hand to Rudy frankly, and he pressed itin his, and looked at her so earnestly, that she blushed deeply. Themiller talked of the long journey they had travelled, and of themany towns they had seen. It was his opinion that he had really madeas great a journey as if he had travelled in a steamship, a railwaycarriage, or a post-chaise.

"I came by a much shorter way," said Rudy; "I came over themountains. There is no road so high that a man may not venture uponit."

"Ah, yes; and break your neck," said the miller; "and you looklike one who will break his neck some day, you are so daring."

"Oh, nothing ever happens to a man if he has confidence inhimself," replied Rudy.

The miller's relations at Interlachen, with whom the miller andBabette were staying, invited Rudy to visit them, when they found hecame from the same canton as the miller. It was a most pleasant visit.Good fortune seemed to follow him, as it does those who think andact for themselves, and who remember the proverb, "Nuts are given tous, but they are not cracked for us." And Rudy was treated by themiller's relations almost like one of the family, and glasses ofwine were poured out to drink to the welfare of the best shooter.Babette clinked glasses with Rudy, and he returned thanks for thetoast. In the evening they all took a delightful walk under thewalnut-trees, in front of the stately hotels; there were so manypeople, and such crowding, that Rudy was obliged to offer his arm toBabette. Then he told her how happy it made him to meet people fromthe canton Vaud,- for Vaud and Valais were neighboring cantons. Hespoke of this pleasure so heartily that Babette could not resistgiving his arm a slight squeeze; and so they walked on together, andtalked and chatted like old acquaintances. Rudy felt inclined to laughsometimes at the absurd dress and walk of the foreign ladies; butBabette did not wish to make fun of them, for she knew there must besome good, excellent people amongst them; she, herself, had agodmother, who was a high-born English lady. Eighteen years before,when Babette was christened, this lady was staying at Bex, and shestood godmother for her, and gave her the valuable brooch she now worein her bosom.

Her godmother had twice written to her, and this year she wasexpected to visit Interlachen with her two daughters; "but they areold-maids," added Babette, who was only eighteen: "they are nearlythirty." Her sweet little mouth was never still a moment, and all thatshe said sounded in Rudy's ears as matters of the greatest importance,and at last he told her what he was longing to tell. How often hehad been at Bex, how well he knew the mill, and how often he hadseen Babette, when most likely she had not noticed him; and lastly,that full of many thoughts which he could not tell her, he had been tothe mill on the evening when she and her father has started on theirlong journey, but not too far for him to find a way to overtakethem. He told her all this, and a great deal more; he told her howmuch he could endure for her; and that it was to see her, and notthe shooting-match, which had brought him to Interlachen. Babettebecame quite silent after hearing all this; it was almost too much,and it troubled her.

And while they thus wandered on, the sun sunk behind the loftymountains. The Jungfrau stood out in brightness and splendor, as aback-ground to the green woods of the surrounding hills. Every onestood still to look at the beautiful sight, Rudy and Babette amongthem.

"Nothing can be more beautiful than this," said Babette.

"Nothing!" replied Rudy, looking at Babette.

"To-morrow I must return home," remarked Rudy a few minutesafterwards.

"Come and visit us at Bex," whispered Babette; "my father willbe pleased to see you."

V. ON THE WAY HOME

Oh, what a number of things Rudy had to carry over themountains, when he set out to return home! He had three silver cups,two handsome pistols, and a silver coffee-pot. This latter would beuseful when he began housekeeping. But all these were not the heaviestweight he had to bear; something mightier and more important hecarried with him in his heart, over the high mountains, as hejourneyed homeward.

The weather was dismally dark, and inclined to rain; the cloudshung low, like a mourning veil on the tops of the mountains, andshrouded their glittering peaks. In the woods could be heard the soundof the axe and the heavy fall of the trunks of the trees, as theyrolled down the slopes of the mountains. When seen from the heights,the trunks of these trees looked like slender stems; but on a nearerinspection they were found to be large and strong enough for the mastsof a ship. The river murmured monotonously, the wind whistled, and theclouds sailed along hurriedly.

Suddenly there appeared, close by Rudy's side, a young maiden;he had not noticed her till she came quite near to him. She was alsogoing to ascend the mountain. The maiden's eyes shone with anunearthly power, which obliged you to look into them; they werestrange eyes,- clear, deep, and unfathomable.

"Hast thou a lover?" asked Rudy; all his thoughts were naturallyon love just then.

"I have none," answered the maiden, with a laugh; it was as if shehad not spoken the truth.

"Do not let us go such a long way round," said she. "We mustkeep to the left; it is much shorter."

"Ah, yes," he replied; "and fall into some crevasse. Do youpretend to be a guide, and not know the road better than that?"

"I know every step of the way," said she; "and my thoughts arecollected, while yours are down in the valley yonder. We shouldthink of the Ice Maiden while we are up here; men say she is notkind to their race."

"I fear her not," said Rudy. "She could not keep me when I was achild; I will not give myself up to her now I am a man."

Darkness came on, the rain fell, and then it began to snow, andthe whiteness dazzled the eyes.

"Give me your hand," said the maiden; "I will help you tomount." And he felt the touch of her icy fingers.

"You help me," cried Rudy; "I do not yet require a woman to helpme to climb." And he stepped quickly forwards away from her.

The drifting snow-shower fell like a veil between them, the windwhistled, and behind him he could hear the maiden laughing andsinging, and the sound was most strange to hear.

"It certainly must be a spectre or a servant of the Ice Maiden,"thought Rudy, who had heard such things talked about when he was alittle boy, and had stayed all night on the mountain with the guides.

The snow fell thicker than ever, the clouds lay beneath him; helooked back, there was no one to be seen, but he heard sounds ofmocking laughter, which were not those of a human voice.

When Rudy at length reached the highest part of the mountain,where the path led down to the valley of the Rhone, the snow hadceased, and in the clear heavens he saw two bright stars twinkling.They reminded him of Babette and of himself, and of his futurehappiness, and his heart glowed at the thought.

VI. THE VISIT TO THE MILL

"What beautiful things you have brought home!" said his oldfoster-mother; and her strange-looking eagle-eyes sparkled, whileshe wriggled and twisted her skinny neck more quickly and strangelythan ever. "You have brought good luck with you, Rudy. I must give youa kiss, my dear boy."

Rudy allowed himself to be kissed; but it could be seen by hiscountenance that he only endured the infliction as a homely duty.

"How handsome you are, Rudy!" said the old woman.

"Don't flatter," said Rudy, with a laugh; but still he waspleased.

"I must say once more," said the old woman, "that you are verylucky."

"Well, in that I believe you are right," said he, as he thought ofBabette. Never had he felt such a longing for that deep valley as henow had. "They must have returned home by this time," said he tohimself, "it is already two days over the time which they fixedupon. I must go to Bex."

So Rudy set out to go to Bex; and when he arrived there, hefound the miller and his daughter at home. They received him kindly,and brought him many greetings from their friends at Interlachen.Babette did not say much. She seemed to have become quite silent;but her eyes spoke, and that was quite enough for Rudy. The miller hadgenerally a great deal to talk about, and seemed to expect thatevery one should listen to his jokes, and laugh at them; for was nothe the rich miller? But now he was more inclined to hear Rudy'sadventures while hunting and travelling, and to listen to hisdescriptions of the difficulties the chamois-hunter has to overcome onthe mountain-tops, or of the dangerous snow-drifts which the windand weather cause to cling to the edges of the rocks, or to lie in theform of a frail bridge over the abyss beneath. The eyes of the braveRudy sparkled as he described the life of a hunter, or spoke of thecunning of the chamois and their wonderful leaps; also of the powerfulfohn and the rolling avalanche. He noticed that the more he described,the more interested the miller became, especially when he spoke of thefierce vulture and of the royal eagle. Not far from Bex, in the cantonValais, was an eagle's nest, more curiously built under a high,over-hanging rock. In this nest was a young eagle; but who wouldventure to take it? A young Englishman had offered Rudy a wholehandful of gold, if he would bring him the young eagle alive.

"There is a limit to everything," was Rudy's reply. "The eaglecould not be taken; it would be folly to attempt it."

The wine was passed round freely, and the conversation kept uppleasantly; but the evening seemed too short for Rudy, although it wasmidnight when he left the miller's house, after this his first visit.

While the lights in the windows of the miller's house stilltwinkled through the green foliage, out through the open skylight camethe parlor-cat on to the roof, and along the water-pipe walked thekitchen-cat to meet her.

"What is the news at the mill?" asked the parlor-cat. "Here in thehouse there is secret love-making going on, which the father knowsnothing about. Rudy and Babette have been treading on each other'spaws, under the table, all the evening. They trod on my tail twice,but I did not mew; that would have attracted notice."

"Well, I should have mewed," said the kitchen-cat.

"What might suit the kitchen would not suit the parlor," saidthe other. "I am quite curious to know what the miller will say whenhe finds out this engagement."

Yes, indeed; what would the miller say? Rudy himself was anxiousto know that; but to wait till the miller heard of it from otherswas out of the question. Therefore, not many days after this visit, hewas riding in the omnibus that runs between the two cantons, Valaisand Vaud. These cantons are separated by the Rhone, over which is abridge that unites them. Rudy, as usual, had plenty of courage, andindulged in pleasant thoughts of the favorable answer he shouldreceive that evening. And when the omnibus returned, Rudy was againseated in it, going homewards; and at the same time the parlor-catat the miller's house ran out quickly, crying,-

"Here, you from the kitchen, what do you think? The miller knowsall now. Everything has come to a delightful end. Rudy came herethis evening, and he and Babette had much whispering and secretconversation together. They stood in the path near the miller'sroom. I lay at their feet; but they had no eyes or thoughts for me.

"'I will go to your father at once,' said he; 'it is the mosthonorable way.'

"'Shall I go with you?' asked Babette; 'it will give you courage.'

"'I have plenty of courage,' said Rudy; 'but if you are with me,he must be friendly, whether he says Yes or No.'

"So they turned to go in, and Rudy trod heavily on my tail; hecertainly is very clumsy. I mewed; but neither he nor Babette hadany ears for me. They opened the door, and entered together. I wasbefore them, and jumped on the back of a chair. I hardly know whatRudy said; but the miller flew into a rage, and threatened to kick himout of the house. He told him he might go to the mountains, and lookafter the chamois, but not after our little Babette."

"And what did they say? Did they speak?" asked the kitchen-cat.

"What did they say! why, all that people generally do say whenthey go a-wooing- 'I love her, and she loves me; and when there ismilk in the can for one, there is milk in the can for two.'

"'But she is so far above you,' said the miller; 'she has heaps ofgold, as you know. You should not attempt to reach her.'

"'There is nothing so high that a man cannot reach, if he will,'answered Rudy; for he is a brave youth.

"'Yet you could not reach the young eagle,' said the miller,laughing. 'Babette is higher than the eagle's nest.'

"'I will have them both,' said Rudy.

"'Very well; I will give her to you when you bring me the youngeaglet alive,' said the miller; and he laughed till the tears stood inhis eyes. 'But now I thank you for this visit, Rudy; and if you cometo-morrow, you will find nobody at home. Good-bye, Rudy.'

"Babette also wished him farewell; but her voice sounded asmournful as the mew of a little kitten that has lost its mother.

"'A promise is a promise between man and man,' said Rudy. 'Donot weep, Babette; I shall bring the young eagle.'

"'You will break your neck, I hope,' said the miller, 'and weshall be relieved from your company.'

"I call that kicking him out of the house," said the parlor-cat."And now Rudy is gone, and Babette sits and weeps, while the millersings German songs that he learnt on his journey; but I do not troublemyself on the matter,- it would be of no use."

"Yet, for all that, it is a very strange affair," said thekitchen-cat.

VII. THE EAGLE'S NEST

From the mountain-path came a joyous sound of some personwhistling, and it betokened good humor and undaunted courage. It wasRudy, going to meet his friend Vesinaud. "You must come and help,"said he. "I want to carry off the young eaglet from the top of therock. We will take young Ragli with us."

"Had you not better first try to take down the moon? That would bequite as easy a task," said Vesinaud. "You seem to be in goodspirits."

"Yes, indeed I am. I am thinking of my wedding. But to be serious,I will tell you all about it, and how I am situated."

Then he explained to Vesinaud and Ragli what he wished to do,and why.

"You are a daring fellow," said they; "but it is no use; youwill break your neck."

"No one falls, unless he is afraid," said Rudy.

So at midnight they set out, carrying with them poles, ladders,and ropes. The road lay amidst brushwood and underwood, over rollingstones, always upwards higher and higher in the dark night. Watersroared beneath them, or fell in cascades from above. Humid clouds weredriving through the air as the hunters reached the precipitous ledgeof the rock. It was even darker here, for the sides of the rocksalmost met, and the light penetrated only through a small opening atthe top. At a little distance from the edge could be heard the soundof the roaring, foaming waters in the yawning abyss beneath them.The three seated themselves on a stone, to await in stillness the dawnof day, when the parent eagle would fly out, as it would benecessary to shoot the old bird before they could think of gainingpossession of the young one. Rudy sat motionless, as if he had beenpart of the stone on which he sat. He held his gun ready to fire, withhis eyes fixed steadily on the highest point of the cliff, where theeagle's nest lay concealed beneath the overhanging rock.

The three hunters had a long time to wait. At last they heard arustling, whirring sound above them, and a large hovering objectdarkened the air. Two guns were ready to aim at the dark body of theeagle as it rose from the nest. Then a shot was fired; for aninstant the bird fluttered its wide-spreading wings, and seemed asif it would fill up the whole of the chasm, and drag down thehunters in its fall. But it was not so; the eagle sunk graduallyinto the abyss beneath, and the branches of trees and bushes werebroken by its weight. Then the hunters roused themselves: three of thelongest ladders were brought and bound together; the topmost ring ofthese ladders would just reach the edge of the rock which hung overthe abyss, but no farther. The point beneath which the eagle's nestlay sheltered was much higher, and the sides of the rock were assmooth as a wall. After consulting together, they determined to bindtogether two more ladders, and to hoist them over the cavity, and soform a communication with the three beneath them, by binding the upperones to the lower. With great difficulty they contrived to drag thetwo ladders over the rock, and there they hung for some moments,swaying over the abyss; but no sooner had they fastened them together,than Rudy placed his foot on the lowest step.

It was a bitterly cold morning; clouds of mist were rising frombeneath, and Rudy stood on the lower step of the ladder as a fly restson a piece of swinging straw, which a bird may have dropped from theedge of the nest it was building on some tall factory chimney; but thefly could fly away if the straw were shaken, Rudy could only break hisneck. The wind whistled around him, and beneath him the waters ofthe abyss, swelled by the thawing of the glaciers, those palaces ofthe Ice Maiden, foamed and roared in their rapid course. When Rudybegan to ascend, the ladder trembled like the web of the spider,when it draws out the long, delicate threads; but as soon as hereached the fourth of the ladders, which had been bound together, hefelt more confidence,- he knew that they had been fastened securely byskilful hands. The fifth ladder, that appeared to reach the nest,was supported by the sides of the rock, yet it swung to and fro, andflapped about like a slender reed, and as if it had been bound byfishing lines. It seemed a most dangerous undertaking to ascend it,but Rudy knew how to climb; he had learnt that from the cat, and hehad no fear. He did not observe Vertigo, who stood in the air behindhim, trying to lay hold of him with his outstretched polypous arms.

When at length he stood on the topmost step of the ladder, hefound that he was still some distance below the nest, and not evenable to see into it. Only by using his hands and climbing could hepossibly reach it. He tried the strength of the stunted trees, and thethick underwood upon which the nest rested, and of which it wasformed, and finding they would support his weight, he grasped themfirmly, and swung himself up from the ladder till his head andbreast were above the nest, and then what an overpowering stenchcame from it, for in it lay the putrid remains of lambs, chamois,and birds. Vertigo, although he could not reach him, blew thepoisonous vapor in his face, to make him giddy and faint; and beneath,in the dark, yawning deep, on the rushing waters, sat the IceMaiden, with her long, pale, green hair falling around her, and herdeath-like eyes fixed upon him, like the two barrels of a gun. "I havethee now," she cried.

In a corner of the eagle's nest sat the young eaglet, a largeand powerful bird, though still unable to fly. Rudy fixed his eyesupon it, held on by one hand with all his strength, and with the otherthrew a noose round the young eagle. The string slipped to its legs.Rudy tightened it, and thus secured the bird alive. Then flingingthe sling over his shoulder, so that the creature hung a good way downbehind him, he prepared to descend with the help of a rope, and hisfoot soon touched safely the highest step of the ladder. Then Rudy,remembering his early lesson in climbing, "Hold fast, and do notfear," descended carefully down the ladders, and at last stoodsafely on the ground with the young living eaglet, where he wasreceived with loud shouts of joy and congratulations.

VIII. WHAT FRESH NEWS THE PARLOR-CAT HAD TO TELL

"There is what you asked for," said Rudy, as he entered themiller's house at Bex, and placed on the floor a large basket. Heremoved the lid as he spoke, and a pair of yellow eyes, encircled by ablack ring, stared forth with a wild, fiery glance, that seemedready to burn and destroy all that came in its way. Its short,strong beak was open, ready to bite, and on its red throat wereshort feathers, like stubble.

"The young eaglet!" cried the miller.

Babette screamed, and started back, while her eyes wandered fromRudy to the bird in astonishment.

"You are not to be discouraged by difficulties, I see," said themiller.

"And you will keep your word," replied Rudy. "Each has his owncharacteristic, whether it is honor or courage."

"But how is it you did not break your neck?" asked the miller.

"Because I held fast," answered Rudy; "and I mean to hold fastto Babette."

"You must get her first," said the miller, laughing; and Babettethought this a very good sign.

"We must take the bird out of the basket," said she. "It isgetting into a rage; how its eyes glare. How did you manage to conquerit?"

Then Rudy had to describe his adventure, and the miller's eyesopened wide as he listened.

"With your courage and your good fortune you might win threewives," said the miller.

"Oh, thank you," cried Rudy.

"But you have not won Babette yet," said the miller, slappingthe young Alpine hunter on the shoulder playfully.

"Have you heard the fresh news at the mill?" asked theparlor-cat of the kitchen-cat. "Rudy has brought us the young eagle,and he is to take Babette in exchange. They kissed each other in thepresence of the old man, which is as good as an engagement. He wasquite civil about it; drew in his claws, and took his afternoon nap,so that the two were left to sit and wag their tails as much as theypleased. They have so much to talk about that it will not befinished till Christmas." Neither was it finished till Christmas.

The wind whirled the faded, fallen leaves; the snow drifted in thevalleys, as well as upon the mountains, and the Ice Maiden sat inthe stately palace which, in winter time, she generally occupied.The perpendicular rocks were covered with slippery ice, and where insummer the stream from the rocks had left a watery veil, icicles largeand heavy hung from the trees, while the snow-powdered fir-treeswere decorated with fantastic garlands of crystal. The Ice Maiden rodeon the howling wind across the deep valleys, the country, as far asBex, was covered with a carpet of snow, so that the Ice Maiden couldfollow Rudy, and see him, when he visited the mill; and while in theroom at the miller's house, where he was accustomed to spend so muchof his time with Babette. The wedding was to take place in thefollowing summer, and they heard enough of it, for so many of theirfriends spoke of the matter.

Then came sunshine to the mill. The beautiful Alpine rosesbloomed, and joyous, laughing Babette, was like the early spring,which makes all the birds sing of summer time and bridal days.

"How those two do sit and chatter together," said theparlor-cat; "I have had enough of their mewing."

IX. THE ICE MAIDEN

The walnut and chestnut trees, which extend from the bridge of St.Maurice, by the river Rhone, to the shores of the lake of Geneva, werealready covered with the delicate green garlands of early spring, justbursting into bloom, while the Rhone rushed wildly from its sourceamong the green glaciers which form the ice palace of the IceMaiden. She sometimes allows herself to be carried by the keen wind tothe lofty snow-fields, where she stretches herself in the sunshineon the soft snowy-cushions. From thence she throws her far-seeingglance into the deep valley beneath, where human beings are busilymoving about like ants on a stone in the sun. "Spirits of strength, asthe children of the sun call you," cried the Ice Maiden, "ye are butworms! Let but a snow-ball roll, and you and your houses and yourtowns are crushed and swept away." And she raised her proud head,and looked around her with eyes that flashed death from theirglance. From the valley came a rumbling sound; men were busily at workblasting the rocks to form tunnels, and laying down roads for therailway. "They are playing at work underground, like moles," said she."They are digging passages beneath the earth, and the noise is likethe reports of cannons. I shall throw down my palaces, for theclamor is louder than the roar of thunder." Then there ascended fromthe valley a thick vapor, which waved itself in the air like afluttering veil. It rose, as a plume of feathers, from a steam engine,to which, on the lately-opened railway, a string of carriages waslinked, carriage to carriage, looking like a winding serpent. Thetrain shot past with the speed of an arrow. "They play at beingmasters down there, those spirits of strength!" exclaimed the IceMaiden; "but the powers of nature are still the rulers." And shelaughed and sang till her voice sounded through the valley, and peoplesaid it was the rolling of an avalanche. But the children of the sunsang in louder strains in praise of the mind of man, which can spanthe sea as with a yoke, can level mountains, and fill up valleys. Itis the power of thought which gives man the mastery over nature.

Just at this moment there came across the snow-field, where theIce Maiden sat, a party of travellers. They had bound themselvesfast to each other, so that they looked like one large body on theslippery plains of ice encircling the deep abyss.

"Worms!" exclaimed the Ice Maiden. "You, the lords of the powersof nature!" And she turned away and looked maliciously at the deepvalley where the railway train was rushing by. "There they sit,these thoughts!" she exclaimed. "There they sit in their power overnature's strength. I see them all. One sits proudly apart, like aking; others sit together in a group; yonder, half of them are asleep;and when the steam dragon stops, they will get out and go their way.The thoughts go forth into the world," and she laughed.

"There goes another avalanche," said those in the valley beneath.

"It will not reach us," said two who sat together behind the steamdragon. "Two hearts and one beat," as people say. They were Rudy andBabette, and the miller was with them. "I am like the luggage," saidhe; "I am here as a necessary appendage."

"There sit those two," said the Ice Maiden. "Many a chamois have Icrushed. Millions of Alpine roses have I snapped and broken off; not aroot have I spared. I know them all, and their thoughts, those spiritsof strength!" and again she laughed.

"There rolls another avalanche," said those in the valley.

X. THE GODMOTHER

At Montreux, one of the towns which encircle the northeast part ofthe lake of Geneva, lived Babette's godmother, the noble English lady,with her daughters and a young relative. They had only lately arrived,yet the miller had paid them a visit, and informed them of Babette'sengagement to Rudy. The whole story of their meeting at Interlachen,and his brave adventure with the eaglet, were related to them, andthey were all very much interested, and as pleased about Rudy andBabette as the miller himself. The three were invited to come toMontreux; it was but right for Babette to become acquainted with hergodmother, who wished to see her very much. A steam-boat startedfrom the town of Villeneuve, at one end of the lake of Geneva, andarrived at Bernex, a little town beyond Montreux, in about half anhour. And in this boat, the miller, with his daughter and Rudy, setout to visit her godmother. They passed the coast which has been socelebrated in song. Here, under the walnut-trees, by the deep bluelake, sat Byron, and wrote his melodious verses about the prisonerconfined in the gloomy castle of Chillon. Here, where Clarens, withits weeping-willows, is reflected in the clear water, wanderedRousseau, dreaming of Heloise. The river Rhone glides gently bybeneath the lofty snow-capped hills of Savoy, and not far from itsmouth lies a little island in the lake, so small that, seen from theshore, it looks like a ship. The surface of the island is rocky; andabout a hundred years ago, a lady caused the ground to be covered withearth, in which three acacia-trees were planted, and the wholeenclosed with stone walls. The acacia-trees now overshadow everypart of the island. Babette was enchanted with the spot; it seemedto her the most beautiful object in the whole voyage, and shethought how much she should like to land there. But the steam-shippassed it by, and did not stop till it reached Bernex. The littleparty walked slowly from this place to Montreux, passing the sun-litwalls with which the vineyards of the little mountain town of Montreuxare surrounded, and peasants' houses, overshadowed by fig-trees,with gardens in which grow the laurel and the cypress.

Halfway up the hill stood the boarding-house in which Babette'sgodmother resided. She was received most cordially; her godmotherwas a very friendly woman, with a round, smiling countenance. When achild, her head must have resembled one of Raphael's cherubs; it wasstill an angelic face, with its white locks of silvery hair. Thedaughters were tall, elegant, slender maidens.

The young cousin, whom they had brought with them, was dressedin white from head to foot; he had golden hair and golden whiskers,large enough to be divided amongst three gentlemen; and he beganimmediately to pay the greatest attention to Babette.

Richly bound books, note-paper, and drawings, lay on the largetable. The balcony window stood open, and from it could be seen thebeautiful wide extended lake, the water so clear and still, that themountains of Savoy, with their villages, woods, and snow-crownedpeaks, were clearly reflected in it.

Rudy, who was usually so lively and brave, did not in the leastfeel himself at home; he acted as if he were walking on peas, over aslippery floor. How long and wearisome the time appeared; it waslike being in a treadmill. And then they went out for a walk, whichwas very slow and tedious. Two steps forward and one backwards hadRudy to take to keep pace with the others. They walked down toChillon, and went over the old castle on the rocky island. They sawthe implements of torture, the deadly dungeons, the rusty fetters inthe rocky walls, the stone benches for those condemned to death, thetrap-doors through which the unhappy creatures were hurled upon ironspikes, and impaled alive. They called looking at all these apleasure. It certainly was the right place to visit. Byron's poetryhad made it celebrated in the world. Rudy could only feel that itwas a place of execution. He leaned against the stone framework of thewindow, and gazed down into the deep, blue water, and over to thelittle island with the three acacias, and wished himself there, awayand free from the whole chattering party. But Babette was mostunusually lively and good-tempered.

"I have been so amused," she said.

The cousin had found her quite perfect.

"He is a perfect fop," said Rudy; and this was the first time Rudyhad said anything that did not please Babette.

The Englishman had made her a present of a little book, inremembrance of their visit to Chillon. It was Byron's poem, "ThePrisoner of Chillon," translated into French, so that Babette couldread it.

"The book may be very good," said Rudy; "but that finely combedfellow who gave it to you is not worth much."

"He looks something like a flour-sack without any flour," said themiller, laughing at his own wit. Rudy laughed, too, for so had heappeared to him.

XI. THE COUSIN

When Rudy went a few days after to pay a visit to the mill, hefound the young Englishman there. Babette was just thinking ofpreparing some trout to set before him. She understood well how togarnish the dish with parsley, and make it look quite tempting. Rudythought all this quite unnecessary. What did the Englishman wantthere? What was he about? Why should he be entertained, and waitedupon by Babette? Rudy was jealous, and that made Babette happy. Itamused her to discover all the feelings of his heart; the strongpoints and weak ones. Love was to her as yet only a pastime, and sheplayed with Rudy's whole heart. At the same time it must beacknowledged that her fortune, her whole life, her inmost thoughts,her best and most noble feelings in this world were all for him. Stillthe more gloomy he looked, the more her eyes laughed. She could almosthave kissed the fair Englishman, with the golden whiskers, if by sodoing she could have put Rudy in a rage, and made him run out of thehouse. That would have proved how much he loved her. All this wasnot right in Babette, but she was only nineteen years of age, andshe did not reflect on what she did, neither did she think that herconduct would appear to the young Englishman as light, and not evenbecoming the modest and much-loved daughter of the miller.

The mill at Bex stood in the highway, which passed under thesnow-clad mountains, and not far from a rapid mountain-stream, whosewaters seemed to have been lashed into a foam like soap-suds. Thisstream, however, did not pass near enough to the mill, and thereforethe mill-wheel was turned by a smaller stream which tumbled down therocks on the opposite side, where it was opposed by a stonemill-dam, and obtained greater strength and speed, till it fell into alarge basin, and from thence through a channel to the mill-wheel. Thischannel sometimes overflowed, and made the path so slippery that anyone passing that way might easily fall in, and be carried towardsthe mill wheel with frightful rapidity. Such a catastrophe nearlyhappened to the young Englishman. He had dressed himself in whiteclothes, like a miller's man, and was climbing the path to themiller's house, but he had never been taught to climb, and thereforeslipped, and nearly went in head-foremost. He managed, however, toscramble out with wet sleeves and bespattered trousers. Still, wet andsplashed with mud, he contrived to reach Babette's window, to which hehad been guided by the light that shone from it. Here he climbed theold linden-tree that stood near it, and began to imitate the voiceof an owl, the only bird he could venture to mimic. Babette heardthe noise, and glanced through the thin window curtain; but when shesaw the man in white, and guessed who he was, her little heart beatwith terror as well as anger. She quickly put out the light, felt ifthe fastening of the window was secure, and then left him to howl aslong as he liked. How dreadful it would be, thought Babette, if Rudywere here in the house. But Rudy was not in the house. No, it was muchworse, he was outside, standing just under the linden-tree. He wasspeaking loud, angry words. He could fight, and there might be murder!Babette opened the window in alarm, and called Rudy's name; she toldhim to go away, she did not wish him to remain there.

"You do not wish me to stay," cried he; "then this is anappointment you expected- this good friend whom you prefer to me.Shame on you, Babette!"

"You are detestable!" exclaimed Babette, bursting into tears."Go away. I hate you."

"I have not deserved this," said Rudy, as he turned away, hischeeks burning, and his heart like fire.

Babette threw herself on the bed, and wept bitterly. "So much as Iloved thee, Rudy, and yet thou canst think ill of me."

Thus her anger broke forth; it relieved her, however: otherwiseshe would have been more deeply grieved; but now she could sleepsoundly, as youth only can sleep.

XII. EVIL POWERS

Rudy left Bex, and took his way home along the mountain path.The air was fresh, but cold; for here amidst the deep snow, the IceMaiden reigned. He was so high up that the large trees beneath him,with their thick foliage, appeared like garden plants, and the pinesand bushes even less. The Alpine roses grew near the snow, which layin detached stripes, and looked like linen laid out to bleach. Ablue gentian grew in his path, and he crushed it with the butt endof his gun. A little higher up, he espied two chamois. Rudy's eyesglistened, and his thoughts flew at once in a different direction; buthe was not near enough to take a sure aim. He ascended still higher,to a spot where a few rough blades of grass grew between the blocks ofstone and the chamois passed quietly on over the snow-fields. Rudywalked hurriedly, while the clouds of mist gathered round him.Suddenly he found himself on the brink of a precipitous rock. The rainwas falling in torrents. He felt a burning thirst, his head was hot,and his limbs trembled with cold. He seized his hunting-flask, butit was empty; he had not thought of filling it before ascending themountain. He had never been ill in his life, nor ever experienced suchsensations as those he now felt. He was so tired that he couldscarcely resist lying down at his full length to sleep, although theground was flooded with the rain. Yet when he tried to rouse himself alittle, every object around him danced and trembled before his eyes.

Suddenly he observed in the doorway of a hut newly built under therock, a young maiden. He did not remember having seen this hut before,yet there it stood; and he thought, at first, that the young maidenwas Annette, the schoolmaster's daughter, whom he had once kissed inthe dance. The maiden was not Annette; yet it seemed as if he had seenher somewhere before, perhaps near Grindelwald, on the evening ofhis return home from Interlachen, after the shooting-match.

"How did you come here?" he asked.

"I am at home," she replied; "I am watching my flocks."

"Your flocks!" he exclaimed; "where do they find pasture? There isnothing here but snow and rocks."

"Much you know of what grows here," she replied, laughing. "notfar beneath us there is beautiful pasture-land. My goats go there. Itend them carefully; I never miss one. What is once mine remainsmine."

"You are bold," said Rudy.

"And so are you," she answered.

"Have you any milk in the house?" he asked; "if so, give me someto drink; my thirst is intolerable."

"I have something better than milk," she replied, "which I willgive you. Some travellers who were here yesterday with their guideleft behind them a half a flask of wine, such as you have nevertasted. They will not come back to fetch it, I know, and I shall notdrink it; so you shall have it."

Then the maiden went to fetch the wine, poured some into awooden cup, and offered it to Rudy.

"How good it is!" said he; "I have never before tasted suchwarm, invigorating wine." And his eyes sparkled with new life; aglow diffused itself over his frame; it seemed as if every sorrow,every oppression were banished from his mind, and a fresh, free naturewere stirring within him. "You are surely Annette, theschoolmaster's daughter," cried he; "will you give me a kiss?"

"Yes, if you will give me that beautiful ring which you wear onyour finger."

"My betrothal ring?" he replied.

"Yes, just so," said the maiden, as she poured out some more wine,and held it to his lips. Again he drank, and a living joy streamedthrough every vein.

"The whole world is mine, why therefore should I grieve?"thought he. "Everything is created for our enjoyment and happiness.The stream of life is a stream of happiness; let us flow on with it tojoy and felicity."

Rudy gazed on the young maiden; it was Annette, and yet it was notAnnette; still less did he suppose it was the spectral phantom, whomhe had met near Grindelwald. The maiden up here on the mountain wasfresh as the new fallen snow, blooming as an Alpine rose, and asnimble-footed as a young kid. Still, she was one of Adam's race,like Rudy. He flung his arms round the beautiful being, and gazed intoher wonderfully clear eyes,- only for a moment; but in that momentwords cannot express the effect of his gaze. Was it the spirit of lifeor of death that overpowered him? Was he rising higher, or sinkinglower and lower into the deep, deadly abyss? He knew not; but thewalls of ice shone like blue-green glass; innumerable clefts yawnedaround him, and the water-drops tinkled like the chiming of churchbells, and shone clearly as pearls in the light of a pale-blueflame. The Ice Maiden, for she it was, kissed him, and her kiss sent achill as of ice through his whole frame. A cry of agony escaped fromhim; he struggled to get free, and tottered from her. For a moment allwas dark before his eyes, but when he opened them again it waslight, and the Alpine maiden had vanished. The powers of evil hadplayed their game; the sheltering hut was no more to be seen. Thewater trickled down the naked sides of the rocks, and snow lay thicklyall around. Rudy shivered with cold; he was wet through to the skin;and his ring was gone,- the betrothal ring that Babette had given him.His gun lay near him in the snow; he took it up and tried to dischargeit, but it missed fire. Heavy clouds lay on the mountain clefts,like firm masses of snow. Upon one of these Vertigo sat, lurking afterhis powerless prey, and from beneath came a sound as if a piece ofrock had fallen from the cleft, and was crushing everything that stoodin its way or opposed its course.

But, at the miller's, Babette sat alone and wept. Rudy had notbeen to see her for six days. He who was in the wrong, and who oughtto ask her forgiveness; for did she not love him with her whole heart?

XIII. AT THE MILL

"What strange creatures human beings are," said the parlor-catto the kitchen-cat; "Babette and Rudy have fallen out with each other.She sits and cries, and he thinks no more about her."

"That does not please me to hear," said the kitchen-cat.

"Nor me either," replied the parlor-cat; "but I do not take itto heart. Babette may fall in love with the red whiskers, if shelikes, but he has not been here since he tried to get on the roof."

The powers of evil carry on their game both around us and withinus. Rudy knew this, and thought a great deal about it. What was itthat had happened to him on the mountain? Was it really a ghostlyapparition, or a fever dream? Rudy knew nothing of fever, or any otherailment. But, while he judged Babette, he began to examine his ownconduct. He had allowed wild thoughts to chase each other in hisheart, and a fierce tornado to break loose. Could he confess toBabette, indeed, every thought which in the hour of temptation mighthave led him to wrong doing? He had lost her ring, and that veryloss had won him back to her. Could she expect him to confess? He feltas if his heart would break while he thought of it, and while somany memories lingered on his mind. He saw her again, as she oncestood before him, a laughing, spirited child; many loving words, whichshe had spoken to him out of the fulness of her love, came like aray of sunshine into his heart, and soon it was all sunshine as hethought of Babette. But she must also confess she was wrong; thatshe should do.

He went to the mill- he went to confession. It began with akiss, and ended with Rudy being considered the offender. It was such agreat fault to doubt Babette's truth- it was most abominable of him.Such mistrust, such violence, would cause them both great unhappiness.This certainly was very true, she knew that; and therefore Babettepreached him a little sermon, with which she was herself muchamused, and during the preaching of which she looked quite lovely. Sheacknowledged, however, that on one point Rudy was right. Hergodmother's nephew was a fop: she intended to burn the book which hehad given her, so that not the slightest thing should remain to remindher of him.

"Well, that quarrel is all over," said the kitchen-cat. "Rudy iscome back, and they are friends again, which they say is thegreatest of all pleasures."

"I heard the rats say one night," said the kitchen-cat, "thatthe greatest pleasure in the world was to eat tallow candles and tofeast on rancid bacon. Which are we to believe, the rats or thelovers?"

"Neither of them," said the parlor-cat; "it is always the safestplan to believe nothing you hear."

The greatest happiness was coming for Rudy and Babette. Thehappy day, as it is called, that is, their wedding-day, was near athand. They were not to be married at the church at Bex, nor at themiller's house; Babette's godmother wished the nuptials to besolemnized at Montreux, in the pretty little church in that town.The miller was very anxious that this arrangement should be agreed to.He alone knew what the newly-married couple would receive fromBabette's godmother, and he knew also that it was a wedding presentwell worth a concession. The day was fixed, and they were to travel asfar as Villeneuve the evening before, to be in time for the steamerwhich sailed in the morning for Montreux, and the godmother'sdaughters were to dress and adorn the bride.

"Here in this house there ought to be a wedding-day kept," saidthe parlor-cat, "or else I would not give a mew for the whole affair."

"There is going to be great feasting," replied the kitchen-cat."Ducks and pigeons have been killed, and a whole roebuck hangs onthe wall. It makes me lick my lips when I think of it."

"To-morrow morning they will begin the journey."

Yes, to-morrow! And this evening, for the last time, Rudy andBabette sat in the miller's house as an engaged couple. Outside, theAlps glowed in the evening sunset, the evening bells chimed, and thechildren of the sunbeam sang, "Whatever happens is best."

XIV. NIGHT VISIONS

The sun had gone down, and the clouds lay low on the valley of theRhone. The wind blew from the south across the mountains; it was anAfrican wind, a wind which scattered the clouds for a moment, and thensuddenly fell. The broken clouds hung in fantastic forms upon thewood-covered hills by the rapid Rhone. They assumed the shapes ofantediluvian animals, of eagles hovering in the air, of frogsleaping over a marsh, and then sunk down upon the rushing stream andappeared to sail upon it, although floating in the air. An uprootedfir-tree was being carried away by the current, and marking out itspath by eddying circles on the water. Vertigo and his sisters weredancing upon it, and raising these circles on the foaming river. Themoon lighted up the snow on the mountain-tops, shone on the darkwoods, and on the drifting clouds those fantastic forms which at nightmight be taken for spirits of the powers of nature. Themountain-dweller saw them through the panes of his little window. Theysailed in hosts before the Ice Maiden as she came out of her palace ofice. Then she seated herself on the trunk of the fir-tree as on abroken skiff, and the water from the glaciers carried her down theriver to the open lake.

"The wedding guests are coming," sounded from air and sea. Thesewere the sights and sounds without; within there were visions, forBabette had a wonderful dream. She dreamt that she had been married toRudy for many years, and that, one day when he was out chamoishunting, and she alone in their dwelling at home, the young Englishmanwith the golden whiskers sat with her. His eyes were quite eloquent,and his words possessed a magic power; he offered her his hand, andshe was obliged to follow him. They went out of the house andstepped downwards, always downwards, and it seemed to Babette as ifshe had a weight on her heart which continually grew heavier. She feltshe was committing a sin against Rudy, a sin against God. Suddenly shefound herself forsaken, her clothes torn by the thorns, and her hairgray; she looked upwards in her agony, and there, on the edge of therock, she espied Rudy. She stretched out her arms to him, but shedid not venture to call him or to pray; and had she called him, itwould have been useless, for it was not Rudy, only his hunting coatand hat hanging on an alpenstock, as the hunters sometimes arrangethem to deceive the chamois. "Oh!" she exclaimed in her agony; "oh,that I had died on the happiest day of my life, my wedding-day. O myGod, it would have been a mercy and a blessing had Rudy travelledfar away from me, and I had never known him. None know what willhappen in the future." And then, in ungodly despair, she castherself down into the deep rocky gulf. The spell was broken; a cryof terror escaped her, and she awoke.

The dream was over; it had vanished. But she knew she had dreamtsomething frightful about the young Englishman, yet months hadpassed since she had seen him or even thought of him. Was he stillat Montreux, and should she meet him there on her wedding day? Aslight shadow passed over her pretty mouth as she thought of this, andshe knit her brows; but the smile soon returned to her lip, and joysparkled in her eyes, for this was the morning of the day on which sheand Rudy were to be married, and the sun was shining brightly. Rudywas already in the parlor when she entered it, and they very soonstarted for Villeneuve. Both of them were overflowing withhappiness, and the miller was in the best of tempers, laughing andmerry; he was a good, honest soul, and a kind father.

"Now we are masters of the house," said the parlor-cat.

XV. THE CONCLUSION

It was early in the afternoon, and just at dinner-time, when thethree joyous travellers reached Villeneuve. After dinner, the millerplaced himself in the arm-chair, smoked his pipe, and had a littlenap. The bridal pair went arm-in-arm out through the town and alongthe high road, at the foot of the wood-covered rocks, and by the deep,blue lake.

The gray walls, and the heavy clumsy-looking towers of thegloomy castle of Chillon, were reflected in the clear flood. Thelittle island, on which grew the three acacias, lay at a shortdistance, looking like a bouquet rising from the lake. "How delightfulit must be to live there," said Babette, who again felt the greatestwish to visit the island; and an opportunity offered to gratify herwish at once, for on the shore lay a boat, and the rope by which itwas moored could be very easily loosened. They saw no one near, sothey took possession of it without asking permission of any one, andRudy could row very well. The oars divided the pliant water like thefins of a fish- that water which, with all its yielding softness, isso strong to bear and to carry, so mild and smiling when at rest,and yet so terrible in its destroying power. A white streak of foamfollowed in the wake of the boat, which, in a few minutes, carriedthem both to the little island, where they went on shore; but therewas only just room enough for two to dance. Rudy swung Babette roundtwo or three times; and then, hand-in-hand, they sat down on alittle bench under the drooping acacia-tree, and looked into eachother's eyes, while everything around them glowed in the rays of thesetting sun.

The fir-tree forests on the mountains were covered with a purplehue like the heather bloom; and where the woods terminated, and therocks became prominent, they looked almost transparent in the richcrimson glow of the evening sky. The surface of the lake was like abed of pink rose-leaves.

As the evening advanced, the shadows fell upon the snow-cappedmountains of Savoy painting them in colors of deep blue, while theirtopmost peaks glowed like red lava; and for a moment this light wasreflected on the cultivated parts of the mountains, making them appearas if newly risen from the lap of earth, and giving to thesnow-crested peak of the Dent du Midi the appearance of the fullmoon as it rises above the horizon.

Rudy and Babette felt that they had never seen the Alpine glowin such perfection before. "How very beautiful it is, and whathappiness to be here!" exclaimed Babette.

"Earth has nothing more to bestow upon me," said Rudy; "an eveninglike this is worth a whole life. Often have I realized my goodfortune, but never more than in this moment. I feel that if myexistence were to end now, I should still have lived a happy life.What a glorious world this is; one day ends, and another begins evenmore beautiful than the last. How infinitely good God is, Babette!"

"I have such complete happiness in my heart," said she.

"Earth has no more to bestow," answered Rudy. And then came thesound of the evening bells, borne upon the breeze over the mountainsof Switzerland and Savoy, while still, in the golden splendor of thewest, stood the dark blue mountains of Jura.

"God grant you all that is brightest and best!" exclaimed Babette.

"He will," said Rudy. "He will to-morrow. To-morrow you will bewholly mine, my own sweet wife."

"The boat!" cried Babette, suddenly. The boat in which they wereto return had broken loose, and was floating away from the island.

"I will fetch it back," said Rudy; throwing off his coat andboots, he sprang into the lake, and swam with strong efforts towardsit.

The dark-blue water, from the glaciers of the mountains, was icycold and very deep. Rudy gave but one glance into the water beneath;but in that one glance he saw a gold ring rolling, glittering, andsparkling before him. His engaged ring came into his mind; but thiswas larger, and spread into a glittering circle, in which appeared aclear glacier. Deep chasms yawned around it, the water-drops glitteredas if lighted with blue flame, and tinkled like the chiming ofchurch bells. In one moment he saw what would require many words todescribe. Young hunters, and young maidens- men and women who had sunkin the deep chasms of the glaciers- stood before him here inlifelike forms, with eyes open and smiles on their lips; and farbeneath them could be heard the chiming of the church bells ofburied villages, where the villagers knelt beneath the vaultedarches of churches in which ice-blocks formed the organ pipes, and themountain stream the music.

On the clear, transparent ground sat the Ice Maiden. She raisedherself towards Rudy, and kissed his feet; and instantly a cold,deathly chill, like an electric shock, passed through his limbs. Iceor fire! It was impossible to tell, the shock was so instantaneous.

"Mine! mine!" sounded around him, and within him; "I kissed theewhen thou wert a little child. I once kissed thee on the mouth, andnow I have kissed thee from heel to toe; thou art wholly mine." Andthen he disappeared in the clear, blue water.

All was still. The church bells were silent; the last tone floatedaway with the last red glimmer on the evening clouds. "Thou art mine,"sounded from the depths below: but from the heights above, from theeternal world, also sounded the words, "Thou art mine!" Happy was hethus to pass from life to life, from earth to heaven. A chord wasloosened, and tones of sorrow burst forth. The icy kiss of death hadovercome the perishable body; it was but the prelude before life'sreal drama could begin, the discord which was quickly lost in harmony.Do you think this a sad story? Poor Babette! for her it wasunspeakable anguish.

The boat drifted farther and farther away. No one on theopposite shore knew that the betrothed pair had gone over to thelittle island. The clouds sunk as the evening drew on, and it becamedark. Alone, in despair, she waited and trembled. The weather becamefearful; flash after flash lighted up the mountains of Jura, Savoy,and Switzerland, while peals of thunder, that lasted for many minutes,rolled over her head. The lightning was so vivid that every singlevine stem could be seen for a moment as distinctly as in thesunlight at noon-day; and then all was veiled in darkness. Itflashed across the lake in winding, zigzag lines, lighting it up onall sides; while the echoes of the thunder grew louder and stronger.On land, the boats were all carefully drawn up on the beach, everyliving thing sought shelter, and at length the rain poured down intorrents.

"Where can Rudy and Babette be in this awful weather?" said themiller.

Poor Babette sat with her hands clasped, and her head boweddown, dumb with grief; she had ceased to weep and cry for help.

"In the deep water!" she said to herself; "far down he lies, as ifbeneath a glacier."

Deep in her heart rested the memory of what Rudy had told her ofthe death of his mother, and of his own recovery, even after he hadbeen taken up as dead from the cleft in the glacier.

"Ah," she thought, "the Ice Maiden has him at last."

Suddenly there came a flash of lightning, as dazzling as therays of the sun on the white snow. The lake rose for a moment like ashining glacier; and before Babette stood the pallid, glittering,majestic form of the Ice Maiden, and at her feet lay Rudy's corpse.

"Mine!" she cried, and again all was darkness around the heavingwater.

"How cruel," murmured Babette; "why should he die just as theday of happiness drew near? Merciful God, enlighten myunderstanding, shed light upon my heart; for I cannot comprehend thearrangements of Thy providence, even while I bow to the decree ofThy almighty wisdom and power." And God did enlighten her heart.

A sudden flash of thought, like a ray of mercy, recalled her dreamof the preceding night; all was vividly represented before her. Sheremembered the words and wishes she had then expressed, that whatwas best for her and for Rudy she might piously submit to.

"Woe is me," she said; "was the germ of sin really in my heart?was my dream a glimpse into the course of my future life, whose threadmust be violently broken to rescue me from sin? Oh, miserable creaturethat I am!"

Thus she sat lamenting in the dark night, while through the deepstillness the last words of Rudy seemed to ring in her ears. "Thisearth has nothing more to bestow." Words, uttered in the fulness ofjoy, were again heard amid the depths of sorrow.

Years have passed since this sad event happened. The shores of thepeaceful lake still smile in beauty. The vines are full of lusciousgrapes. Steamboats, with waving flags, pass swiftly by.Pleasure-boats, with their swelling sails, skim lightly over thewatery mirror, like white butterflies. The railway is opened beyondChillon, and goes far into the deep valley of the Rhone. At everystation strangers alight with red-bound guide-books in their hands, inwhich they read of every place worth seeing. They visit Chillon, andobserve on the lake the little island with the three acacias, and thenread in their guide-book the story of the bridal pair who, in the year1856, rowed over to it. They read that the two were missing till thenext morning, when some people on the shore heard the despairing criesof the bride, and went to her assistance, and by her were told ofthe bridegroom's fate.

But the guide-book does not speak of Babette's quiet lifeafterwards with her father, not at the mill- strangers dwell therenow- but in a pretty house in a row near the station. On many anevening she sits at her window, and looks out over thechestnut-trees to the snow-capped mountains on which Rudy once roamed.She looks at the Alpine glow in the evening sky, which is caused bythe children of the sun retiring to rest on the mountain-tops; andagain they breathe their song of the traveller whom the whirlwindcould deprive of his cloak but not of his life. There is a rosy tinton the mountain snow, and there are rosy gleams in each heart in whichdwells the thought, "God permits nothing to happen, which is not thebest for us." But this is not often revealed to all, as it wasrevealed to Babette in her wonderful dream.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE JEWISH MAIDEN

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN a charity school, among the children, sat a little Jewish girl.She was a good, intelligent child, and very quick at her lessons;but the Scripture-lesson class she was not allowed to join, for thiswas a Christian school. During the hour of this lesson, the Jewishgirl was allowed to learn her geography, or to work her sum for thenext day; and when her geography lesson was perfect, the book remainedopen before her, but she read not another word, for she sat silentlylistening to the words of the Christian teacher. He soon becameaware that the little one was paying more attention to what he saidthan most of the other children. "Read your book, Sarah," he said toher gently.

But again and again he saw her dark, beaming eyes fixed uponhim; and once, when he asked her a question, she could answer him evenbetter than the other children. She had not only heard, but understoodhis words, and pondered them in her heart. Her father, a poor buthonest man, had placed his daughter at the school on the conditionsthat she should not be instructed in the Christian faith. But it mighthave caused confusion, or raised discontent in the minds of theother children if she had been sent out of the room, so sheremained; and now it was evident this could not go on. The teacherwent to her father, and advised him to remove his daughter from theschool, or to allow her to become a Christian. "I cannot any longer bean idle spectator of those beaming eyes, which express such a deep andearnest longing for the words of the gospel," said he.

Then the father burst into tears. "I know very little of the lawof my fathers," said he; "but Sarah's mother was firm in her belief asa daughter of Israel, and I vowed to her on her deathbed that ourchild should never be baptized. I must keep my vow: it is to me evenas a covenant with God Himself." And so the little Jewish girl leftthe Christian school.

Years rolled by. In one of the smallest provincial towns, in ahumble household, lived a poor maiden of the Jewish faith, as aservant. Her hair was black as ebony, her eye dark as night, yetfull of light and brilliancy so peculiar to the daughters of the east.It was Sarah. The expression in the face of the grown-up maiden wasstill the same as when, a child, she sat on the schoolroom formlistening with thoughtful eyes to the words of the Christianteacher. Every Sunday there sounded forth from a church close by thetones of an organ and the singing of the congregation. The Jewish girlheard them in the house where, industrious and faithful in all things,she performed her household duties. "Thou shalt keep the Sabbathholy," said the voice of the law in her heart; but her Sabbath was aworking day among the Christians, which was a great trouble to her.And then as the thought arose in her mind, "Does God reckon by daysand hours?" her conscience felt satisfied on this question, and shefound it a comfort to her, that on the Christian Sabbath she couldhave an hour for her own prayers undisturbed. The music and singing ofthe congregation sounded in her ears while at work in her kitchen,till the place itself became sacred to her. Then she would read in theOld Testament, that treasure and comfort to her people, and it wasindeed the only Scriptures she could read. Faithfully in her inmostthoughts had she kept the words of her father to her teacher whenshe left the school, and the vow he had made to her dying motherthat she should never receive Christian baptism. The New Testamentmust remain to her a sealed book, and yet she knew a great deal of itsteaching, and the sound of the gospel truths still lingered amongthe recollections of her childhood.

One evening she was sitting in a corner of the dining-room,while her master read aloud. It was not the gospel he read, but an oldstory-book; therefore she might stay and listen to him. The storyrelated that a Hungarian knight, who had been taken prisoner by aTurkish pasha, was most cruelly treated by him. He caused him to beyoked with his oxen to the plough, and driven with blows from the whiptill the blood flowed, and he almost sunk with exhaustion and pain.The faithful wife of the knight at home gave up all her jewels,mortgaged her castle and land, and his friends raised large sums tomake up the ransom demanded for his release, which was most enormouslyhigh. It was collected at last, and the knight released from slaveryand misery. Sick and exhausted, he reached home.

Ere long came another summons to a struggle with the foes ofChristianity. The still living knight heard the sound; he could endureno more, he had neither peace nor rest. He caused himself to be liftedon his war-horse; the color came into his cheeks, and his strengthreturned to him again as he went forth to battle and to victory. Thevery same pasha who had yoked him to the plough, became hisprisoner, and was dragged to a dungeon in the castle. But an hourhad scarcely passed, when the knight stood before the captive pasha,and inquired, "What do you suppose awaiteth thee?"

"I know," replied the pasha; "retribution."

"Yes, the retribution of a Christian," replied the knight. "Theteaching of Christ, the Teacher, commands us to forgive our enemies,to love our neighbors; for God is love. Depart in peace: return to thyhome. I give thee back to thy loved ones. But in future be mild andhumane to all who are in trouble."

Then the prisoner burst into tears, and exclaimed, "Oh how could Iimagine such mercy and forgiveness! I expected pain and torment. Itseemed to me so sure that I took poison, which I secretly carriedabout me; and in a few hours its effects will destroy me. I mustdie! Nothing can save me! But before I die, explain to me the teachingwhich is so full of love and mercy, so great and God-like. Oh, thatI may hear his teaching, and die a Christian!" And his prayer wasgranted.

This was the legend which the master read out of the oldstory-book. Every one in the house who was present listened, andshared the pleasure; but Sarah, the Jewish girl, sitting so still in acorner, felt her heart burn with excitement. Great tears came into hershining dark eyes; and with the same gentle piety with which she hadonce listened to the gospel while sitting on the form at school, shefelt its grandeur now, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. Thenthe last words of her dying mother rose before her, "Let not mychild become a Christian;" and with them sounded in her heart thewords of the law, "Honor thy father and thy mother."

"I am not admitted among the Christians," she said; "they mockme as a Jewish girl; the neighbors' boys did so last Sunday when Istood looking in through the open church door at the candles burningon the altar, and listening to the singing. Ever since I sat on theschool-bench I have felt the power of Christianity; a power which,like a sunbeam, streams into my heart, however closely I may closemy eyes against it. But I will not grieve thee, my mother, in thygrave. I will not be unfaithful to my father's vow. I will not readthe Bible of the Christian. I have the God of my fathers, and in Him Iwill trust."

And again years passed by. Sarah's master died, and his widowfound herself in such reduced circumstances that she wished to dismissher servant maid; but Sarah refused to leave the house, and she becamea true support in time of trouble, and kept the household togetherby working till late at night, with her busy hands, to earn theirdaily bread. Not a relative came forward to assist them, and the widowwas confined to a sick bed for months and grew weaker from day to day.Sarah worked hard, but contrived to spare time to amuse her andwatch by the sick bed. She was gentle and pious, an angel ofblessing in that house of poverty.

"My Bible lies on the table yonder," said the sick woman one dayto Sarah. "Read me something from it; the night appears so long, andmy spirit thirsts to hear the word of God."

And Sarah bowed her head. She took the book, and folded her handover the Bible of the Christians, and at last opened it, and read tothe sick woman. Tears stood in her eyes as she read, and they shonewith brightness, for in her heart it was light.

"Mother," she murmured, "thy child may not receive Christianbaptism, nor be admitted into the congregation of Christian people.Thou hast so willed it, and I will respect thy command. We aretherefore still united here on earth; but in the next world there willbe a higher union, even with God Himself, who leads and guides Hispeople till death. He came down from heaven to earth to suffer for us,that we should bring forth the fruits of repentance. I understand itnow. I know not how I learnt this truth, unless it is through the nameof Christ." Yet she trembled as she pronounced the holy name. Shestruggled against these convictions of the truth of Christianity forsome days, till one evening while watching her mistress she wassuddenly taken very ill; her limbs tottered under her, and she sankfainting by the bedside of the sick woman.

"Poor Sarah," said the neighbors; "she is overcome with hardwork and night watching." And then they carried her to the hospitalfor the sick poor. There she died; and they bore her to herresting-place in the earth, but not to the churchyard of theChristians. There was no place for the Jewish girl; but they dug agrave for her outside the wall. And God's sun, which shines upon thegraves of the churchyard of the Christians, also throws its beams onthe grave of the Jewish maiden beyond the wall. And when the psalms ofthe Christians sound across the churchyard, their echo reaches herlonely resting-place; and she who sleeps there will be countedworthy at the resurrection, through the name of Christ the Lord, whosaid to His disciples, "John baptized you with water, but I willbaptize you with the Holy Ghost."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE JUMPER

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE Flea, the Grasshopper, and the Skipjack once wanted to seewhich of them could jump highest; and they invited the whole world,and whoever else would come, to see the grand sight. And there thethree famous jumpers were met together in the room.

"Yes, I'll give my daughter to him who jumps highest," said theKing, "for it would be mean to let these people jump for nothing."

The Flea stepped out first. He had very pretty manners, andbowed in all directions, for he had young ladies' blood in hisveins, and was accustomed to consort only with human beings; andthat was of great consequence.

Then came the Grasshopper: he was certainly much heavier, but hehad a good figure, and wore the green uniform that was born withhim. This person, moreover, maintained that he belonged to a veryold family in the land of Egypt, and that he was highly esteemedthere. He had just come from the field, he said, and had been put intoa card house three stories high, and all made of picture cards withthe figures turned inwards. There were doors and windows in the house,cut in the body of the Queen of Hearts.

"I sing so," he said, "that sixteen native crickets who havechirped from their youth up, and have never yet had a card house oftheir own, would become thinner than they are with envy if they wereto hear me."

Both of them, the Flea and the Grasshopper, took care toannounce who they were, and that they considered themselves entitledto marry a Princess.

The Skipjack said nothing, but it was said of him that hethought all the more; and directly the Yard Dog had smelt at him hewas ready to assert that the Skipjack was of good family, and formedfrom the breastbone of an undoubted goose. The old councillor, who hadreceived three medals for holding his tongue, declared that theSkipjack possessed the gift of prophecy; one could tell by his boneswhether there would be a severe winter or a mild one; and that'smore than one can always tell from the breastbone of the man whowrites the almanac.

"I shall not say anything more," said the old King. "I only goon quietly, and always think the best."

Now they were to take their jump. The Flea sprang so high thatno one could see him; and then they asserted that he had not jumped atall. That was very mean. The Grasshopper only sprang half as high, buthe sprang straight into the King's face, and the King declared thatwas horribly rude. The Skipjack stood a long time considering; at lastpeople thought that he could not jump at all.

"I only hope he's not become unwell," said the Yard Dog, andthen he smelt at him again.

"Tap!" he sprang with a little crooked jump just into the lap ofthe Princess, who sat on a low golden stool.

Then the King said, "The highest leap was taken by him whojumped up to my daughter; for therein lies the point; but itrequires head to achieve that, and the Skipjack has shown that hehas a head."

And so he had the Princess.

"I jumped highest, after all," said the Flea. "But it's all thesame. Let her have the goose-bone with its lump of wax and bit ofstick. I jumped to the highest; but in this world a body is requiredif one wishes to be seen."

And the Flea went into foreign military service, where it issaid he was killed.

The Grasshopper seated himself out in the ditch, and thought andconsidered how things happened in the world. And he too said, "Body isrequired! body is required!" And then he sang his own melancholy song,and from that we have gathered this story, which they say is not true,though it's in print.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the forest, high up on the steep shore, and not far from theopen seacoast, stood a very old oak-tree. It was just three hundredand sixty-five years old, but that long time was to the tree as thesame number of days might be to us; we wake by day and sleep by night,and then we have our dreams. It is different with the tree; it isobliged to keep awake through three seasons of the year, and doesnot get any sleep till winter comes. Winter is its time for rest;its night after the long day of spring, summer, and autumn. On manya warm summer, the Ephemera, the flies that exist for only a day,had fluttered about the old oak, enjoyed life and felt happy and if,for a moment, one of the tiny creatures rested on one of his largefresh leaves, the tree would always say, "Poor little creature! yourwhole life consists only of a single day. How very short. It must bequite melancholy."

"Melancholy! what do you mean?" the little creature would alwaysreply. "Everything around me is so wonderfully bright and warm, andbeautiful, that it makes me joyous."

"But only for one day, and then it is all over."

"Over!" repeated the fly; "what is the meaning of all over? Areyou all over too?"

"No; I shall very likely live for thousands of your days, and myday is whole seasons long; indeed it is so long that you could neverreckon it out."

"No? then I don't understand you. You may have thousands of mydays, but I have thousands of moments in which I can be merry andhappy. Does all the beauty of the world cease when you die?"

"No," replied the tree; "it will certainly last much longer,-infinitely longer than I can even think of. "Well, then," said thelittle fly, "we have the same time to live; only we reckondifferently." And the little creature danced and floated in the air,rejoicing in her delicate wings of gauze and velvet, rejoicing inthe balmy breezes, laden with the fragrance of clover-fields andwild roses, elder-blossoms and honeysuckle, from the garden hedges,wild thyme, primroses, and mint, and the scent of all these was sostrong that the perfume almost intoxicated the little fly. The longand beautiful day had been so full of joy and sweet delights, thatwhen the sun sank low it felt tired of all its happiness andenjoyment. Its wings could sustain it no longer, and gently and slowlyit glided down upon the soft waving blades of grass, nodded its littlehead as well as it could nod, and slept peacefully and sweetly. Thefly was dead.

"Poor little Ephemera!" said the oak; "what a terribly shortlife!" And so, on every summer day the dance was repeated, the samequestions asked, and the same answers given. The same thing wascontinued through many generations of Ephemera; all of them feltequally merry and equally happy.

The oak remained awake through the morning of spring, the noonof summer, and the evening of autumn; its time of rest, its night drewnigh- winter was coming. Already the storms were singing, "Good-night,good-night." Here fell a leaf and there fell a leaf. "We will rock youand lull you. Go to sleep, go to sleep. We will sing you to sleep, andshake you to sleep, and it will do your old twigs good; they will evencrackle with pleasure. Sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly, it is yourthree-hundred-and-sixty-fifth night. Correctly speaking, you are but ayoungster in the world. Sleep sweetly, the clouds will drop snowupon you, which will be quite a cover-lid, warm and sheltering to yourfeet. Sweet sleep to you, and pleasant dreams." And there stood theoak, stripped of all its leaves, left to rest during the whole of along winter, and to dream many dreams of events that had happened inits life, as in the dreams of men. The great tree had once been small;indeed, in its cradle it had been an acorn. According to humancomputation, it was now in the fourth century of its existence. It wasthe largest and best tree in the forest. Its summit towered aboveall the other trees, and could be seen far out at sea, so that itserved as a landmark to the sailors. It had no idea how many eyeslooked eagerly for it. In its topmost branches the wood-pigeon builther nest, and the cuckoo carried out his usual vocal performances, andhis well-known notes echoed amid the boughs; and in autumn, when theleaves looked like beaten copper plates, the birds of passage wouldcome and rest upon the branches before taking their flight acrossthe sea. But now it was winter, the tree stood leafless, so that everyone could see how crooked and bent were the branches that sprang forthfrom the trunk. Crows and rooks came by turns and sat on them, andtalked of the hard times which were beginning, and how difficult itwas in winter to obtain food.

It was just about holy Christmas time that the tree dreamed adream. The tree had, doubtless, a kind of feeling that the festivetime had arrived, and in his dream fancied he heard the bellsringing from all the churches round, and yet it seemed to him to bea beautiful summer's day, mild and warm. His mighty summits wascrowned with spreading fresh green foliage; the sunbeams playedamong the leaves and branches, and the air was full of fragrancefrom herb and blossom; painted butterflies chased each other; thesummer flies danced around him, as if the world had been createdmerely for them to dance and be merry in. All that had happened to thetree during every year of his life seemed to pass before him, as ina festive procession. He saw the knights of olden times and nobleladies ride by through the wood on their gallant steeds, with plumeswaving in their hats, and falcons on their wrists. The hunting hornsounded, and the dogs barked. He saw hostile warriors, in coloreddresses and glittering armor, with spear and halberd, pitching theirtents, and anon striking them. The watchfires again blazed, and mensang and slept under the hospitable shelter of the tree. He saw loversmeet in quiet happiness near him in the moonshine, and carve theinitials of their names in the grayish-green bark on his trunk.Once, but long years had intervened since then, guitars and Eolianharps had been hung on his boughs by merry travellers; now they seemedto hang there again, and he could hear their marvellous tones. Thewood-pigeons cooed as if to explain the feelings of the tree, andthe cuckoo called out to tell him how many summer days he had yet tolive. Then it seemed as if new life was thrilling through everyfibre of root and stem and leaf, rising even to the highestbranches. The tree felt itself stretching and spreading out, whilethrough the root beneath the earth ran the warm vigor of life. As hegrew higher and still higher, with increased strength, his topmostboughs became broader and fuller; and in proportion to his growth,so was his self-satisfaction increased, and with it arose a joyouslonging to grow higher and higher, to reach even to the warm, brightsun itself. Already had his topmost branches pierced the clouds, whichfloated beneath them like troops of birds of passage, or large whiteswans; every leaf seemed gifted with sight, as if it possessed eyes tosee. The stars became visible in broad daylight, large andsparkling, like clear and gentle eyes. They recalled to the memory thewell-known look in the eyes of a child, or in the eyes of lovers whohad once met beneath the branches of the old oak. These were wonderfuland happy moments for the old tree, full of peace and joy; and yet,amidst all this happiness, the tree felt a yearning, longing desirethat all the other trees, bushes, herbs, and flowers beneath him,might be able also to rise higher, as he had done, and to see all thissplendor, and experience the same happiness. The grand, majestic oakcould not be quite happy in the midst of his enjoyment, while allthe rest, both great and small, were not with him. And this feeling ofyearning trembled through every branch, through every leaf, aswarmly and fervently as if they had been the fibres of a humanheart. The summit of the tree waved to and fro, and bent downwardsas if in his silent longing he sought for something. Then there cameto him the fragrance of thyme, followed by the more powerful scentof honeysuckle and violets; and he fancied he heard the note of thecuckoo. At length his longing was satisfied. Up through the cloudscame the green summits of the forest trees, and beneath him, the oaksaw them rising, and growing higher and higher. Bush and herb shotupward, and some even tore themselves up by the roots to rise morequickly. The birch-tree was the quickest of all. Like a lightningflash the slender stem shot upwards in a zigzag line, the branchesspreading around it like green gauze and banners. Every native ofthe wood, even to the brown and feathery rushes, grew with the rest,while the birds ascended with the melody of song. On a blade of grass,that fluttered in the air like a long, green ribbon, sat agrasshopper, cleaning his wings with his legs. May beetles hummed, thebees murmured, the birds sang, each in his own way; the air was filledwith the sounds of song and gladness."

"But where is the little blue flower that grows by the water?"asked the oak, "and the purple bell-flower, and the daisy?" You seethe oak wanted to have them all with him.

"Here we are, we are here," sounded in voice and song.

"But the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that? and thelilies-of-the-valley, which last year covered the earth with theirbloom? and the wild apple-tree with its lovely blossoms, and all theglory of the wood, which has flourished year after year? even what mayhave but now sprouted forth could be with us here."

"We are here, we are here," sounded voices higher in the air, asif they had flown there beforehand.

"Why this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed," said theoak in a joyful tone. "I have them all here, both great and small; notone has been forgotten. Can such happiness be imagined?" It seemedalmost impossible.

"In heaven with the Eternal God, it can be imagined, and it ispossible," sounded the reply through the air.

And the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, feltthat his roots were loosening themselves from the earth.

"It is right so, it is best," said the tree, "no fetters hold menow. I can fly up to the very highest point in light and glory. Andall I love are with me, both small and great. All- all are here."

Such was the dream of the old oak: and while he dreamed, amighty storm came rushing over land and sea, at the holy Christmastime. The sea rolled in great billows towards the shore. There was acracking and crushing heard in the tree. The root was torn from theground just at the moment when in his dream he fancied it was beingloosened from the earth. He fell- his three hundred and sixty-fiveyears were passed as the single day of the Ephemera. On the morning ofChristmas-day, when the sun rose, the storm had ceased. From all thechurches sounded the festive bells, and from every hearth, even of thesmallest hut, rose the smoke into the blue sky, like the smoke fromthe festive thank-offerings on the Druids' altars. The sea graduallybecame calm, and on board a great ship that had withstood thetempest during the night, all the flags were displayed, as a tokenof joy and festivity. "The tree is down! The old oak,- our landmark onthe coast!" exclaimed the sailors. "It must have fallen in the stormof last night. Who can replace it? Alas! no one." This was a funeraloration over the old tree; short, but well-meant. There it laystretched on the snow-covered shore, and over it sounded the notesof a song from the ship- a song of Christmas joy, and of theredemption of the soul of man, and of eternal life through Christ'satoning blood.

"Sing aloud on the happy morn,

All is fulfilled, for Christ is born;

With songs of joy let us loudly sing,

'Hallelujahs to Christ our King.'"Thus sounded the old Christmas carol, and every one on board theship felt his thoughts elevated, through the song and the prayer, evenas the old tree had felt lifted up in its last, its beautiful dream onthat Christmas morn.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE LAST PEARL

by Hans Christian Andersen

WE are in a rich, happy house, where the master, the servants, thefriends of the family are full of joy and felicity. For on this daya son and heir has been born, and mother and child are doing well. Thelamp in the bed-chamber had been partly shaded, and the windows werecovered with heavy curtains of some costly silken material. The carpetwas thick and soft, like a covering of moss. Everything invited toslumber, everything had a charming look of repose; and so the nursehad discovered, for she slept; and well she might sleep, whileeverything around her told of happiness and blessing. The guardianangel of the house leaned against the head of the bed; while overthe child was spread, as it were, a net of shining stars, and eachstar was a pearl of happiness. All the good stars of life hadbrought their gifts to the newly born; here sparkled health, wealth,fortune, and love; in short, there seemed to be everything for whichman could wish on earth.

"Everything has been bestowed here," said the guardian angel.

"No, not everything," said a voice near him- the voice of the goodangel of the child; "one fairy has not yet brought her gift, but shewill, even if years should elapse, she will bring her gift; it isthe last pearl that is wanting."

"Wanting!" cried the guardian angel; "nothing must be wantinghere; and if it is so, let us fetch it; let us seek the powerfulfairy; let us go to her."

"She will come, she will come some day unsought!"

"Her pearl must not be missing; it must be there, that thecrown, when worn, may be complete. Where is she to be found? Wheredoes she dwell?" said the guardian angel. "Tell me, and I will procurethe pearl."

"Will you do that?" replied the good angel of the child. "Then Iwill lead you to her directly, wherever she may be. She has no abidingplace; she rules in the palace of the emperor, sometimes she entersthe peasant's humble cot; she passes no one without leaving a trace ofher presence. She brings her gift with her, whether it is a world or abauble. To this child she must come. You think that to wait for thistime would be long and useless. Well, then, let us go for thispearl- the only one lacking amidst all this wealth."

Then hand-in-hand they floated away to the spot where the fairywas now lingering. It was in a large house with dark windows and emptyrooms, in which a peculiar stillness reigned. A whole row of windowsstood open, so that the rude wind could enter at its pleasure, and thelong white curtains waved to and fro in the current of air. In thecentre of one of the rooms stood an open coffin, in which lay the bodyof a woman, still in the bloom of youth and very beautiful. Freshroses were scattered over her. The delicate folded hands and the nobleface glorified in death by the solemn, earnest look, which spoke of anentrance into a better world, were alone visible. Around the coffinstood the husband and children, a whole troop, the youngest in thefather's arms. They were come to take a last farewell look of theirmother. The husband kissed her hand, which now lay like a witheredleaf, but which a short time before had been diligently employed indeeds of love for them all. Tears of sorrow rolled down theircheeks, and fell in heavy drops on the floor, but not a word wasspoken. The silence which reigned here expressed a world of grief.With silent steps, still sobbing, they left the room. A burninglight remained in the room, and a long, red wick rose far above theflame, which fluttered in the draught of air. Strange men came inand placed the lid of the coffin over the dead, and drove the nailsfirmly in; while the blows of the hammer resounded through thehouse, and echoed in the hearts that were bleeding.

"Whither art thou leading me?" asked the guardian angel. "Heredwells no fairy whose pearl could be counted amongst the best gifts oflife."

"Yes, she is here; here in this sacred hour," replied the angel,pointing to a corner of the room; and there,- where in herlife-time, the mother had taken her seat amidst flowers andpictures: in that spot, where she, like the blessed fairy of thehouse, had welcomed husband, children, and friends, and, like asunbeam, had spread joy and cheerfulness around her, the centre andheart of them all,- there, in that very spot, sat a strange woman,clothed in long, flowing garments, and occupying the place of the deadwife and mother. It was the fairy, and her name was "Sorrow." A hottear rolled into her lap, and formed itself into a pearl, glowing withall the colors of the rainbow. The angel seized it: the, pearlglittered like a star with seven-fold radiance. The pearl of Sorrow,the last, which must not be wanting, increases the lustre, andexplains the meaning of all the other pearls.

"Do you see the shimmer of the rainbow, which unites earth toheaven?" So has there been a bridge built between this world and thenext. Through the night of the grave we gaze upwards beyond thestars to the end of all things. Then we glance at the pearl of Sorrow,in which are concealed the wings which shall carry us away toeternal happiness.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE LITTLE ELDER-TREE MOTHER

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a little boy who had caught cold; he had gone outand got wet feet. Nobody had the least idea how it had happened; theweather was quite dry. His mother undressed him, put him to bed, andordered the teapot to be brought in, that she might make him a goodcup of tea from the elder-tree blossoms, which is so warming. At thesame time, the kind-hearted old man who lived by himself in theupper storey of the house came in; he led a lonely life, for he had nowife and children; but he loved the children of others very much,and he could tell so many fairy tales and stories, that it was apleasure to hear him.

"Now, drink your tea," said the mother; "perhaps you will hear astory."

"Yes, if I only knew a fresh one," said the old man, and noddedsmilingly. "But how did the little fellow get his wet feet?" he thenasked.

"That," replied the mother, "nobody can understand."

"Will you tell me a story?" asked the boy.

"Yes, if you can tell me as nearly as possible how deep is thegutter in the little street where you go to school."

"Just half as high as my top-boots," replied the boy; "but thenI must stand in the deepest holes."

"There, now we know where you got your wet feet," said the oldman. "I ought to tell you a story, but the worst of it is, I do notknow any more."

"You can make one up," said the little boy. "Mother says you cantell a fairy tale about anything you look at or touch."

"That is all very well, but such tales or stories are worthnothing! No, the right ones come by themselves and knock at myforehead saying: 'Here I am.'"

"Will not one knock soon?" asked the boy; and the mother smiledwhile she put elder-tree blossoms into the teapot and poured boilingwater over them. "Pray, tell me a story."

"Yes, if stories came by themselves; they are so proud, theyonly come when they please.- But wait," he said suddenly, "there isone. Look at the teapot; there is a story in it now."

And the little boy looked at the teapot; the lid rose upgradually, the elder-tree blossoms sprang forth one by one, freshand white; long boughs came forth; even out of the spout they grewup in all directions, and formed a bush- nay, a large elder tree,which stretched its branches up to the bed and pushed the curtainsaside; and there were so many blossoms and such a sweet fragrance!In the midst of the tree sat a kindly-looking old woman with a strangedress; it was as green as the leaves, and trimmed with large whiteblossoms, so that it was difficult to say whether it was real cloth,or the leaves and blossoms of the elder-tree.

"What is this woman's name?" asked the little boy.

"Well, the Romans and Greeks used to call her a Dryad," said theold man; "but we do not understand that. Out in the sailors' quarterthey give her a better name; there she is called elder-tree mother.Now, you must attentively listen to her and look at the beautifulelder-tree.

"Just such a large tree, covered with flowers, stands out there;it grew in the corner of an humble little yard; under this tree sattwo old people one afternoon in the beautiful sunshine. He was an old,old sailor, and she his old wife; they had alreadygreat-grandchildren, and were soon to celebrate their goldenwedding, but they could not remember the date, and the elder-treemother was sitting in the tree and looked as pleased as this one here.'I know very well when the golden wedding is to take place,' she said;but they did not hear it- they were talking of bygone days.

"'Well, do you remember?' said the old sailor, 'when we were quitesmall and used to run about and play- it was in the very same yardwhere we now are- we used to put little branches into the ground andmake a garden.'

"'Yes,' said the old woman, 'I remember it very well; we used towater the branches, and one of them, an elder-tree branch, tookroot, and grew and became the large tree under which we are nowsitting as old people.'

"'Certainly, you are right,' he said; 'and in yonder cornerstood a large water-tub; there I used to sail my boat, which I had cutout myself- it sailed so well; but soon I had to sail somewhere else.'

"'But first we went to school to learn something,' she said,'and then we were confirmed; we both wept on that day, but in theafternoon we went out hand in hand, and ascended the high roundtower and looked out into the wide world right over Copenhagen and thesea; then we walked to Fredericksburg, where the king and the queenwere sailing about in their magnificent boat on the canals.'

"'But soon I had to sail about somewhere else, and for manyyears I was travelling about far away from home.'

"'And I often cried about you, for I was afraid lest you weredrowned and lying at the bottom of the sea. Many a time I got up inthe night and looked if the weathercock had turned; it turned often,but you did not return. I remember one day distinctly: the rain waspouring down in torrents; the dust-man had come to the house where Iwas in service; I went down with the dust-bin and stood for a momentin the doorway, and looked at the dreadful weather. Then the postmangave me a letter; it was from you. Heavens! how that letter hadtravelled about. I tore it open and read it; I cried and laughed atthe same time, and was so happy! Therein was written that you werestaying in the hot countries, where the coffee grows. These must bemarvellous countries. You said a great deal about them, and I read allwhile the rain was pouring down and I was standing there with thedust-bin. Then suddenly some one put his arm round my waist-'

"'Yes, and you gave him a hearty smack on the cheek,' said the oldman.

"'I did not know that it was you- you had come as quickly asyour letter; and you looked so handsome, and so you do still. Youhad a large yellow silk handkerchief in your pocket and a shininghat on. You looked so well, and the weather in the street washorrible!'

"'Then we married,' he said. 'Do you remember how we got our firstboy, and then Mary, Niels, Peter, John, and Christian?'

'Oh yes; and now they have all grown up, and have become usefulmembers of society, whom everybody cares for.'

"'And their children have had children again,' said the oldsailor. 'Yes, these are children's children, and they are strong andhealthy. If I am not mistaken, our wedding took place at this seasonof the year.'

"'Yes, to-day is your golden wedding-day,' said the littleelder-tree mother, stretching her head down between the two oldpeople, who thought that she was their neighbour who was nodding tothem; they looked at each other and clasped hands. Soon afterwards thechildren and grandchildren came, for they knew very well that it wasthe golden wedding-day; they had already wished them joy and happinessin the morning, but the old people had forgotten it, although theyremembered things so well that had passed many, many years ago. Theelder-tree smelt strongly, and the setting sun illuminated the facesof the two old people, so that they looked quite rosy; the youngest ofthe grandchildren danced round them, and cried merrily that therewould be a feast in the evening, for they were to have hot potatoes;and the elder mother nodded in the tree and cried 'Hooray' with theothers."

"But that was no fairy tale," said the little boy who had listenedto it.

"You will presently understand it," said the old man who toldthe story. "Let us ask little elder-tree mother about it."

"That was no fairy tale," said the little elder-tree mother;"but now it comes! Real life furnishes us with subjects for the mostwonderful fairy tales; for otherwise my beautiful elder-bush could nothave grown forth out of the teapot."

And then she took the little boy out of bed and placed him onher bosom; the elder branches, full of blossoms, closed over them;it was as if they sat in a thick leafy bower which flew with themthrough the air; it was beautiful beyond all description. The littleelder-tree mother had suddenly become a charming young girl, but herdress was still of the same green material, covered with whiteblossoms, as the elder-tree mother had worn; she had a real elderblossom on her bosom, and a wreath of the same flowers was wound roundher curly golden hair; her eyes were so large and so blue that itwas wonderful to look at them. She and the boy kissed each other,and then they were of the same age and felt the same joys. They walkedhand in hand out of the bower, and now stood at home in a beautifulflower garden. Near the green lawn the father's walking-stick was tiedto a post. There was life in this stick for the little ones, for assoon as they seated themselves upon it the polished knob turned into aneighing horse's head, a long black mane was fluttering in the wind,and four strong slender legs grew out. The animal was fiery andspirited; they galloped round the lawn. "Hooray! now we shall ride faraway, many miles!" said the boy; "we shall ride to the nobleman'sestate where we were last year." And they rode round the lawn again,and the little girl, who, as we know, was no other than the littleelder-tree mother, continually cried, "Now we are in the country! Doyou see the farmhouse there, with the large baking stove, whichprojects like a gigantic egg out of the wall into the road? Theelder-tree spreads its branches over it, and the cock struts about andscratches for the hens. Look how proud he is! Now we are near thechurch; it stands on a high hill, under the spreading oak trees; oneof them is half dead! Now we are at the smithy, where the fire roarsand the half-naked men beat with their hammers so that the sparksfly far and wide. Let's be off to the beautiful farm!" And they passedby everything the little girl, who was sitting behind on the stick,described, and the boy saw it, and yet they only went round thelawn. Then they played in a side-walk, and marked out a littlegarden on the ground; she took elder-blossoms out of her hair andplanted them, and they grew exactly like those the old peopleplanted when they were children, as we have heard before. Theywalked about hand in hand, just as the old couple had done when theywere little, but they did not go to the round tower nor to theFredericksburg garden. No; the little girl seized the boy round thewaist, and then they flew far into the country. It was spring and itbecame summer, it was autumn and it became winter, and thousands ofpictures reflected themselves in the boy's eyes and heart, and thelittle girl always sang again, "You will never forget that!" Andduring their whole flight the elder-tree smelt so sweetly; henoticed the roses and the fresh beeches, but the elder-tree smelt muchstronger, for the flowers were fixed on the little girl's bosom,against which the boy often rested his head during the flight.

"It is beautiful here in spring," said the little girl, and theywere again in the green beechwood, where the thyme breathed forthsweet fragrance at their feet, and the pink anemones looked lovelyin the green moss. "Oh! that it were always spring in the fragrantbeechwood!"

"Here it is splendid in summer!" she said, and they passed byold castles of the age of chivalry. The high walls and indentedbattlements were reflected in the water of the ditches, on which swanswere swimming and peering into the old shady avenues. The corn wavedin the field like a yellow sea. Red and yellow flowers grew in theditches, wild hops and convolvuli in full bloom in the hedges. Inthe evening the moon rose, large and round, and the hayricks in themeadows smelt sweetly. "One can never forget it!"

"Here it is beautiful in autumn!" said the little girl, and theatmosphere seemed twice as high and blue, while the wood shone withcrimson, green, and gold. The hounds were running off, flocks ofwild fowl flew screaming over the barrows, while the bramble bushestwined round the old stones. The dark-blue sea was covered withwhite-sailed ships, and in the barns sat old women, girls, andchildren picking hops into a large tub; the young ones sang songs, andthe old people told fairy tales about goblins and sorcerers. Itcould not be more pleasant anywhere.

"Here it's agreeable in winter!" said the little girl, and all thetrees were covered with hoar-frost, so that they looked like whitecoral. The snow creaked under one's feet, as if one had new bootson. One shooting star after another traversed the sky. In the room theChristmas tree was lit, and there were song and merriment. In thepeasant's cottage the violin sounded, and games were played forapple quarters; even the poorest child said, "It is beautiful inwinter!"

And indeed it was beautiful! And the little girl showed everythingto the boy, and the elder-tree continued to breathe forth sweetperfume, while the red flag with the white cross was streaming inthe wind; it was the flag under which the old sailor had served. Theboy became a youth; he was to go out into the wide world, far awayto the countries where the coffee grows. But at parting the littlegirl took an elder-blossom from her breast and gave it to him as akeepsake. He placed it in his prayer-book, and when he opened it indistant lands it was always at the place where the flower ofremembrance was lying; and the more he looked at it the fresher itbecame, so that he could almost smell the fragrance of the woods athome. He distinctly saw the little girl, with her bright blue eyes,peeping out from behind the petals, and heard her whispering, "Here itis beautiful in spring, in summer, in autumn, and in winter," andhundreds of pictures passed through his mind.

Thus many years rolled by. He had now become an old man, and wassitting, with his old wife, under an elder-tree in full bloom. Theyheld each other by the hand exactly as the great-grandfather and thegreat-grandmother had done outside, and, like them, they talkedabout bygone days and of their golden wedding. The little girl withthe blue eyes and elder-blossoms in her hair was sitting high up inthe tree, and nodded to them, saying, "To-day is the goldenwedding!" And then she took two flowers out of her wreath and kissedthem. They glittered at first like silver, then like gold, and whenshe placed them on the heads of the old people each flower became agolden crown. There they both sat like a king and queen under thesweet-smelling tree, which looked exactly like an elder-tree, and hetold his wife the story of the elder-tree mother as it had been toldhim when he was a little boy. They were both of opinion that the storycontained many points like their own, and these similarities theyliked best.

"Yes, so it is," said the little girl in the tree. "Some call meLittle Elder-tree Mother; others a Dryad; but my real name is'Remembrance.' It is I who sit in the tree which grows and grows. Ican remember things and tell stories! But let's see if you havestill got your flower."

And the old man opened his prayer-book; the elder-blossom wasstill in it, and as fresh as if it had only just been put in.Remembrance nodded, and the two old people, with the golden crownson their heads, sat in the glowing evening sun. They closed their eyesand- and-

Well, now the story is ended! The little boy in bed did not knowwhether he had dreamt it or heard it told; the teapot stood on thetable, but no elder-tree was growing out of it, and the old man whohad told the story was on the point of leaving the room, and he did goout.

"How beautiful it was!" said the little boy. "Mother, I havebeen to warm countries!"

"I believe you," said the mother; "if one takes two cups of hotelder-tea it is quite natural that one gets into warm countries!"And she covered him up well, so that he might not take cold. "You haveslept soundly while I was arguing with the old man whether it was astory or a fairy tale!"

"And what has become of the little elder-tree mother?" asked theboy.

"She is in the teapot," said the mother; "and there she mayremain."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE LITTLE MATCH-SELLER

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of theold year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness,a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed throughthe streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she lefthome, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large,indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor littlecreature had lost them in running across the street to avoid twocarriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of theslippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ranaway with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he hadchildren of his own. So the little girl went on with her littlenaked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an oldapron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in herhands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given here even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she creptalong; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. Thesnowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on hershoulders, but she regarded them not.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savorysmell of roast goose, for it was New-year's eve- yes, she rememberedthat. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyondthe other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawnher little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; andshe dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not takehome even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her;besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had onlythe roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although thelargest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her littlehands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning matchmight be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike itagainst the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew oneout-"scratch!" how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, brightlight, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It wasreally a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she wassitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brassornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that thechild stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flameof the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only theremains of the half-burnt match in her hand.

She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, andwhere its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil,and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowywhite table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and asteaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And whatwas still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish andwaddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, tothe little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothingbut the thick, damp, cold wall before her.

She lighted another match, and then she found herself sittingunder a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifullydecorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door atthe rich merchant's. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the greenbranches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in theshow-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched outher hand towards them, and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked toher like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leavingbehind it a bright streak of fire. "Some one is dying," thought thelittle girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had everloved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a starfalls, a soul was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone roundher; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining,yet mild and loving in her appearance. "Grandmother," cried the littleone, "O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burnsout; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and thelarge, glorious Christmas-tree." And she made haste to light the wholebundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. Andthe matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day,and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. Shetook the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards inbrightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither coldnor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with palecheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had beenfrozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year'ssun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in thestiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle ofwhich was burnt. "She tried to warm herself," said some. No oneimagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory shehad entered with her grandmother, on New-year's day.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE LITTLE MERMAID

by Hans Christian Andersen

FAR out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as theprettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, verydeep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many churchsteeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the groundbeneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea Kingand his subjects. We must not imagine that there is nothing at thebottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. No, indeed; the mostsingular flowers and plants grow there; the leaves and stems ofwhich are so pliant, that the slightest agitation of the watercauses them to stir as if they had life. Fishes, both large and small,glide between the branches, as birds fly among the trees here uponland. In the deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the Sea King.Its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are ofthe clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells, that open andclose as the water flows over them. Their appearance is verybeautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl, which would be fit forthe diadem of a queen.

The Sea King had been a widower for many years, and his agedmother kept house for him. She was a very wise woman, andexceedingly proud of her high birth; on that account she wore twelveoysters on her tail; while others, also of high rank, were onlyallowed to wear six. She was, however, deserving of very great praise,especially for her care of the little sea-princesses, hergrand-daughters. They were six beautiful children; but the youngestwas the prettiest of them all; her skin was as clear and delicate as arose-leaf, and her eyes as blue as the deepest sea; but, like allthe others, she had no feet, and her body ended in a fish's tail.All day long they played in the great halls of the castle, or amongthe living flowers that grew out of the walls. The large amber windowswere open, and the fish swam in, just as the swallows fly into ourhouses when we open the windows, excepting that the fishes swam upto the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves tobe stroked. Outside the castle there was a beautiful garden, inwhich grew bright red and dark blue flowers, and blossoms likeflames of fire; the fruit glittered like gold, and the leaves andstems waved to and fro continually. The earth itself was the finestsand, but blue as the flame of burning sulphur. Over everything laya peculiar blue radiance, as if it were surrounded by the air fromabove, through which the blue sky shone, instead of the dark depths ofthe sea. In calm weather the sun could be seen, looking like apurple flower, with the light streaming from the calyx. Each of theyoung princesses had a little plot of ground in the garden, whereshe might dig and plant as she pleased. One arranged her flower-bedinto the form of a whale; another thought it better to make herslike the figure of a little mermaid; but that of the youngest wasround like the sun, and contained flowers as red as his rays atsunset. She was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful; and while hersisters would be delighted with the wonderful things which theyobtained from the wrecks of vessels, she cared for nothing but herpretty red flowers, like the sun, excepting a beautiful marble statue.It was the representation of a handsome boy, carved out of purewhite stone, which had fallen to the bottom of the sea from a wreck.She planted by the statue a rose-colored weeping willow. It grewsplendidly, and very soon hung its fresh branches over the statue,almost down to the blue sands. The shadow had a violet tint, and wavedto and fro like the branches; it seemed as if the crown of the treeand the root were at play, and trying to kiss each other. Nothing gaveher so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the sea. Shemade her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the ships and of thetowns, the people and the animals. To her it seemed most wonderful andbeautiful to hear that the flowers of the land should havefragrance, and not those below the sea; that the trees of the forestshould be green; and that the fishes among the trees could sing sosweetly, that it was quite a pleasure to hear them. Her grandmothercalled the little birds fishes, or she would not have understoodher; for she had never seen birds.

"When you have reached your fifteenth year," said thegrand-mother, "you will have permission to rise up out of the sea,to sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships aresailing by; and then you will see both forests and towns."

In the following year, one of the sisters would be fifteen: but aseach was a year younger than the other, the youngest would have towait five years before her turn came to rise up from the bottom of theocean, and see the earth as we do. However, each promised to tellthe others what she saw on her first visit, and what she thought themost beautiful; for their grandmother could not tell them enough;there were so many things on which they wanted information. None ofthem longed so much for her turn to come as the youngest, she whohad the longest time to wait, and who was so quiet and thoughtful.Many nights she stood by the open window, looking up through thedark blue water, and watching the fish as they splashed about withtheir fins and tails. She could see the moon and stars shiningfaintly; but through the water they looked larger than they do toour eyes. When something like a black cloud passed between her andthem, she knew that it was either a whale swimming over her head, or aship full of human beings, who never imagined that a pretty littlemermaid was standing beneath them, holding out her white hands towardsthe keel of their ship.

As soon as the eldest was fifteen, she was allowed to rise tothe surface of the ocean. When she came back, she had hundreds ofthings to talk about; but the most beautiful, she said, was to liein the moonlight, on a sandbank, in the quiet sea, near the coast, andto gaze on a large town nearby, where the lights were twinkling likehundreds of stars; to listen to the sounds of the music, the noiseof carriages, and the voices of human beings, and then to hear themerry bells peal out from the church steeples; and because she couldnot go near to all those wonderful things, she longed for them morethan ever. Oh, did not the youngest sister listen eagerly to all thesedescriptions? and afterwards, when she stood at the open windowlooking up through the dark blue water, she thought of the great city,with all its bustle and noise, and even fancied she could hear thesound of the church bells, down in the depths of the sea.

In another year the second sister received permission to rise tothe surface of the water, and to swim about where she pleased. Sherose just as the sun was setting, and this, she said, was the mostbeautiful sight of all. The whole sky looked like gold, while violetand rose-colored clouds, which she could not describe, floated overher; and, still more rapidly than the clouds, flew a large flock ofwild swans towards the setting sun, looking like a long white veilacross the sea. She also swam towards the sun; but it sunk into thewaves, and the rosy tints faded from the clouds and from the sea.

The third sister's turn followed; she was the boldest of them all,and she swam up a broad river that emptied itself into the sea. On thebanks she saw green hills covered with beautiful vines; palaces andcastles peeped out from amid the proud trees of the forest; sheheard the birds singing, and the rays of the sun were so powerful thatshe was obliged often to dive down under the water to cool her burningface. In a narrow creek she found a whole troop of little humanchildren, quite naked, and sporting about in the water; she wantedto play with them, but they fled in a great fright; and then alittle black animal came to the water; it was a dog, but she did notknow that, for she had never before seen one. This animal barked ather so terribly that she became frightened, and rushed back to theopen sea. But she said she should never forget the beautiful forest,the green hills, and the pretty little children who could swim inthe water, although they had not fish's tails.

The fourth sister was more timid; she remained in the midst of thesea, but she said it was quite as beautiful there as nearer theland. She could see for so many miles around her, and the sky abovelooked like a bell of glass. She had seen the ships, but at such agreat distance that they looked like sea-gulls. The dolphins sportedin the waves, and the great whales spouted water from their nostrilstill it seemed as if a hundred fountains were playing in everydirection.

The fifth sister's birthday occurred in the winter; so when herturn came, she saw what the others had not seen the first time theywent up. The sea looked quite green, and large icebergs werefloating about, each like a pearl, she said, but larger and loftierthan the churches built by men. They were of the most singular shapes,and glittered like diamonds. She had seated herself upon one of thelargest, and let the wind play with her long hair, and she remarkedthat all the ships sailed by rapidly, and steered as far away asthey could from the iceberg, as if they were afraid of it. Towardsevening, as the sun went down, dark clouds covered the sky, thethunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the red light glowedon the icebergs as they rocked and tossed on the heaving sea. On allthe ships the sails were reefed with fear and trembling, while she satcalmly on the floating iceberg, watching the blue lightning, as itdarted its forked flashes into the sea.

When first the sisters had permission to rise to the surface, theywere each delighted with the new and beautiful sights they saw; butnow, as grown-up girls, they could go when they pleased, and theyhad become indifferent about it. They wished themselves back againin the water, and after a month had passed they said it was muchmore beautiful down below, and pleasanter to be at home. Yet often, inthe evening hours, the five sisters would twine their arms roundeach other, and rise to the surface, in a row. They had more beautifulvoices than any human being could have; and before the approach of astorm, and when they expected a ship would be lost, they swam beforethe vessel, and sang sweetly of the delights to be found in the depthsof the sea, and begging the sailors not to fear if they sank to thebottom. But the sailors could not understand the song, they took itfor the howling of the storm. And these things were never to bebeautiful for them; for if the ship sank, the men were drowned, andtheir dead bodies alone reached the palace of the Sea King.

When the sisters rose, arm-in-arm, through the water in thisway, their youngest sister would stand quite alone, looking afterthem, ready to cry, only that the mermaids have no tears, andtherefore they suffer more. "Oh, were I but fifteen years old," saidshe: "I know that I shall love the world up there, and all thepeople who live in it."

At last she reached her fifteenth year. "Well, now, you aregrown up," said the old dowager, her grandmother; "so you must letme adorn you like your other sisters;" and she placed a wreath ofwhite lilies in her hair, and every flower leaf was half a pearl. Thenthe old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to thetail of the princess to show her high rank.

"But they hurt me so," said the little mermaid.

"Pride must suffer pain," replied the old lady. Oh, how gladly shewould have shaken off all this grandeur, and laid aside the heavywreath! The red flowers in her own garden would have suited her muchbetter, but she could not help herself: so she said, "Farewell," androse as lightly as a bubble to the surface of the water. The sun hadjust set as she raised her head above the waves; but the clouds weretinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering twilightbeamed the evening star in all its beauty. The sea was calm, and theair mild and fresh. A large ship, with three masts, lay becalmed onthe water, with only one sail set; for not a breeze stiffed, and thesailors sat idle on deck or amongst the rigging. There was music andsong on board; and, as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanternswere lighted, as if the flags of all nations waved in the air. Thelittle mermaid swam close to the cabin windows; and now and then, asthe waves lifted her up, she could look in through clear glasswindow-panes, and see a number of well-dressed people within. Amongthem was a young prince, the most beautiful of all, with large blackeyes; he was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being keptwith much rejoicing. The sailors were dancing on deck, but when theprince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose inthe air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was sostartled that she dived under water; and when she again stretchedout her head, it appeared as if all the stars of heaven were fallingaround her, she had never seen such fireworks before. Great sunsspurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, andeverything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath. The shipitself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even thesmallest rope, could be distinctly and plainly seen. And howhandsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of allpresent and smiled at them, while the music resounded through theclear night air.

It was very late; yet the little mermaid could not take her eyesfrom the ship, or from the beautiful prince. The colored lanternshad been extinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannonhad ceased firing; but the sea became restless, and a moaning,grumbling sound could be heard beneath the waves: still the littlemermaid remained by the cabin window, rocking up and down on thewater, which enabled her to look in. After a while, the sails werequickly unfurled, and the noble ship continued her passage; but soonthe waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and lightningappeared in the distance. A dreadful storm was approaching; oncemore the sails were reefed, and the great ship pursued her flyingcourse over the raging sea. The waves rose mountains high, as ifthey would have overtopped the mast; but the ship dived like a swanbetween them, and then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. Tothe little mermaid this appeared pleasant sport; not so to thesailors. At length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gaveway under the lashing of the sea as it broke over the deck; themainmast snapped asunder like a reed; the ship lay over on her side;and the water rushed in. The little mermaid now perceived that thecrew were in danger; even she herself was obliged to be careful toavoid the beams and planks of the wreck which lay scattered on thewater. At one moment it was so pitch dark that she could not see asingle object, but a flash of lightning revealed the whole scene;she could see every one who had been on board excepting the prince;when the ship parted, she had seen him sink into the deep waves, andshe was glad, for she thought he would now be with her; and then sheremembered that human beings could not live in the water, so that whenhe got down to her father's palace he would be quite dead. But he mustnot die. So she swam about among the beams and planks which strewedthe surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her topieces. Then she dived deeply under the dark waters, rising andfalling with the waves, till at length she managed to reach theyoung prince, who was fast losing the power of swimming in that stormysea. His limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes were closed, andhe would have died had not the little mermaid come to hisassistance. She held his head above the water, and let the waves driftthem where they would.

In the morning the storm had ceased; but of the ship not asingle fragment could be seen. The sun rose up red and glowing fromthe water, and its beams brought back the hue of health to theprince's cheeks; but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissedhis high, smooth forehead, and stroked back his wet hair; he seemed toher like the marble statue in her little garden, and she kissed himagain, and wished that he might live. Presently they came in sightof land; she saw lofty blue mountains, on which the white snowrested as if a flock of swans were lying upon them. Near the coastwere beautiful green forests, and close by stood a large building,whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange and citrontrees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty palms. Thesea here formed a little bay, in which the water was quite still,but very deep; so she swam with the handsome prince to the beach,which was covered with fine, white sand, and there she laid him in thewarm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body.Then bells sounded in the large white building, and a number ofyoung girls came into the garden. The little mermaid swam outfarther from the shore and placed herself between some high rocks thatrose out of the water; then she covered her head and neck with thefoam of the sea so that her little face might not be seen, and watchedto see what would become of the poor prince. She did not wait longbefore she saw a young girl approach the spot where he lay. She seemedfrightened at first, but only for a moment; then she fetched anumber of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to lifeagain, and smiled upon those who stood round him. But to her he sentno smile; he knew not that she had saved him. This made her veryunhappy, and when he was led away into the great building, she diveddown sorrowfully into the water, and returned to her father'scastle. She had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she wasmore so than ever. Her sisters asked her what she had seen duringher first visit to the surface of the water; but she would tell themnothing. Many an evening and morning did she rise to the place whereshe had left the prince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen tillthey were gathered, the snow on the tops of the mountains melt away;but she never saw the prince, and therefore she returned home,always more sorrowful than before. It was her only comfort to sit inher own little garden, and fling her arm round the beautiful marblestatue which was like the prince; but she gave up tending her flowers,and they grew in wild confusion over the paths, twining their longleaves and stems round the branches of the trees, so that the wholeplace became dark and gloomy. At length she could bear it no longer,and told one of her sisters all about it. Then the others heard thesecret, and very soon it became known to two mermaids whose intimatefriend happened to know who the prince was. She had also seen thefestival on board ship, and she told them where the prince camefrom, and where his palace stood.

"Come, little sister," said the other princesses; then theyentwined their arms and rose up in a long row to the surface of thewater, close by the spot where they knew the prince's palace stood. Itwas built of bright yellow shining stone, with long flights ofmarble steps, one of which reached quite down to the sea. Splendidgilded cupolas rose over the roof, and between the pillars thatsurrounded the whole building stood life-like statues of marble.Through the clear crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noblerooms, with costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry; while thewalls were covered with beautiful paintings which were a pleasure tolook at. In the centre of the largest saloon a fountain threw itssparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, throughwhich the sun shone down upon the water and upon the beautifulplants growing round the basin of the fountain. Now that she knewwhere he lived, she spent many an evening and many a night on thewater near the palace. She would swim much nearer the shore than anyof the others ventured to do; indeed once she went quite up the narrowchannel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow on thewater. Here she would sit and watch the young prince, who thoughthimself quite alone in the bright moonlight. She saw him many times ofan evening sailing in a pleasant boat, with music playing and flagswaving. She peeped out from among the green rushes, and if the windcaught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to bea swan, spreading out its wings. On many a night, too, when thefishermen, with their torches, were out at sea, she heard themrelate so many good things about the doings of the young prince,that she was glad she had saved his life when he had been tossed abouthalf-dead on the waves. And she remembered that his head had rested onher bosom, and how heartily she had kissed him; but he knew nothing ofall this, and could not even dream of her. She grew more and more fondof human beings, and wished more and more to be able to wander aboutwith those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own.They could fly over the sea in ships, and mount the high hills whichwere far above the clouds; and the lands they possessed, their woodsand their fields, stretched far away beyond the reach of her sight.There was so much that she wished to know, and her sisters were unableto answer all her questions. Then she applied to her oldgrandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she veryrightly called the lands above the sea.

"If human beings are not drowned," asked the little mermaid,"can they live forever? do they never die as we do here in the sea?"

"Yes," replied the old lady, "they must also die, and their termof life is even shorter than ours. We sometimes live to threehundred years, but when we cease to exist here we only become the foamon the surface of the water, and we have not even a grave down here ofthose we love. We have not immortal souls, we shall never liveagain; but, like the green sea-weed, when once it has been cut off, wecan never flourish more. Human beings, on the contrary, have a soulwhich lives forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust.It rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering stars.As we rise out of the water, and behold all the land of the earth,so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall neversee."

"Why have not we an immortal soul?" asked the little mermaidmournfully; "I would give gladly all the hundreds of years that I haveto live, to be a human being only for one day, and to have the hope ofknowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars."

"You must not think of that," said the old woman; "we feelourselves to be much happier and much better off than human beings."

"So I shall die," said the little mermaid, "and as the foam of thesea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of thewaves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anythingI can do to win an immortal soul?"

"No," said the old woman, "unless a man were to love you so muchthat you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all histhoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placedhis right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here andhereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you wouldobtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give asoul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen.Your fish's tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, isthought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, andthey think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs,in order to be handsome."

Then the little mermaid sighed, and looked sorrowfully at herfish's tail. "Let us be happy," said the old lady, "and dart andspring about during the three hundred years that we have to live,which is really quite long enough; after that we can rest ourselvesall the better. This evening we are going to have a court ball."

It is one of those splendid sights which we can never see onearth. The walls and the ceiling of the large ball-room were of thick,but transparent crystal. May hundreds of colossal shells, some of adeep red, others of a grass green, stood on each side in rows, withblue fire in them, which lighted up the whole saloon, and shonethrough the walls, so that the sea was also illuminated. Innumerablefishes, great and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some ofthem the scales glowed with a purple brilliancy, and on others theyshone like silver and gold. Through the halls flowed a broad stream,and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the music of their ownsweet singing. No one on earth has such a lovely voice as theirs.The little mermaid sang more sweetly than them all. The whole courtapplauded her with hands and tails; and for a moment her heart feltquite gay, for she knew she had the loveliest voice of any on earth orin the sea. But she soon thought again of the world above her, for shecould not forget the charming prince, nor her sorrow that she hadnot an immortal soul like his; therefore she crept away silently outof her father's palace, and while everything within was gladness andsong, she sat in her own little garden sorrowful and alone. Then sheheard the bugle sounding through the water, and thought- "He iscertainly sailing above, he on whom my wishes depend, and in whosehands I should like to place the happiness of my life. I willventure all for him, and to win an immortal soul, while my sisters aredancing in my father's palace, I will go to the sea witch, of whom Ihave always been so much afraid, but she can give me counsel andhelp."

And then the little mermaid went out from her garden, and took theroad to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived.She had never been that way before: neither flowers nor grass grewthere; nothing but bare, gray, sandy ground stretched out to thewhirlpool, where the water, like foaming mill-wheels, whirled roundeverything that it seized, and cast it into the fathomless deep.Through the midst of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaidwas obliged to pass, to reach the dominions of the sea witch; and alsofor a long distance the only road lay right across a quantity of warm,bubbling mire, called by the witch her turfmoor. Beyond this stood herhouse, in the centre of a strange forest, in which all the trees andflowers were polypi, half animals and half plants; they looked likeserpents with a hundred heads growing out of the ground. Thebranches were long slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms,moving limb after limb from the root to the top. All that could bereached in the sea they seized upon, and held fast, so that it neverescaped from their clutches. The little mermaid was so alarmed at whatshe saw, that she stood still, and her heart beat with fear, and shewas very nearly turning back; but she thought of the prince, and ofthe human soul for which she longed, and her courage returned. Shefastened her long flowing hair round her head, so that the polypimight not seize hold of it. She laid her hands together across herbosom, and then she darted forward as a fish shoots through the water,between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which werestretched out on each side of her. She saw that each held in its graspsomething it had seized with its numerous little arms, as if they wereiron bands. The white skeletons of human beings who had perished atsea, and had sunk down into the deep waters, skeletons of landanimals, oars, rudders, and chests of ships were lying tightly graspedby their clinging arms; even a little mermaid, whom they had caughtand strangled; and this seemed the most shocking of all to thelittle princess.

She now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large,fat water-snakes were rolling in the mire, and showing their ugly,drab-colored bodies. In the midst of this spot stood a house, builtwith the bones of shipwrecked human beings. There sat the sea witch,allowing a toad to eat from her mouth, just as people sometimes feed acanary with a piece of sugar. She called the ugly water-snakes herlittle chickens, and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom.

"I know what you want," said the sea witch; "it is very stupidof you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you tosorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your fish's tail,and to have two supports instead of it, like human beings on earth, sothat the young prince may fall in love with you, and that you may havean immortal soul." And then the witch laughed so loud anddisgustingly, that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground, and laythere wriggling about. "You are but just in time," said the witch;"for after sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you till theend of another year. I will prepare a draught for you, with whichyou must swim to land tomorrow before sunrise, and sit down on theshore and drink it. Your tail will then disappear, and shrink upinto what mankind calls legs, and you will feel great pain, as if asword were passing through you. But all who see you will say thatyou are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will stillhave the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer willever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as ifyou were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow.If you will bear all this, I will help you."

"Yes, I will," said the little princess in a trembling voice, asshe thought of the prince and the immortal soul.

"But think again," said the witch; "for when once your shape hasbecome like a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. You willnever return through the water to your sisters, or to your father'spalace again; and if you do not win the love of the prince, so that heis willing to forget his father and mother for your sake, and tolove you with his whole soul, and allow the priest to join yourhands that you may be man and wife, then you will never have animmortal soul. The first morning after he marries another your heartwill break, and you will become foam on the crest of the waves."

"I will do it," said the little mermaid, and she became pale asdeath.

"But I must be paid also," said the witch, "and it is not a triflethat I ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in thedepths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charmthe prince with it also, but this voice you must give to me; thebest thing you possess will I have for the price of my draught. My ownblood must be mixed with it, that it may be as sharp as a two-edgedsword."

"But if you take away my voice," said the little mermaid, "what isleft for me?"

"Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressiveeyes; surely with these you can enchain a man's heart. Well, haveyou lost your courage? Put out your little tongue that I may cut itoff as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draught."

"It shall be," said the little mermaid.

Then the witch placed her cauldron on the fire, to prepare themagic draught.

"Cleanliness is a good thing," said she, scouring the vesselwith snakes, which she had tied together in a large knot; then shepricked herself in the breast, and let the black blood drop into it.The steam that rose formed itself into such horrible shapes that noone could look at them without fear. Every moment the witch threwsomething else into the vessel, and when it began to boil, the soundwas like the weeping of a crocodile. When at last the magic draughtwas ready, it looked like the clearest water. "There it is for you,"said the witch. Then she cut off the mermaid's tongue, so that shebecame dumb, and would never again speak or sing. "If the polypishould seize hold of you as you return through the wood," said thewitch, "throw over them a few drops of the potion, and their fingerswill be torn into a thousand pieces." But the little mermaid had nooccasion to do this, for the polypi sprang back in terror when theycaught sight of the glittering draught, which shone in her hand like atwinkling star.

So she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh, andbetween the rushing whirlpools. She saw that in her father's palacethe torches in the ballroom were extinguished, and all withinasleep; but she did not venture to go in to them, for now she was dumband going to leave them forever, she felt as if her heart would break.She stole into the garden, took a flower from the flower-beds ofeach of her sisters, kissed her hand a thousand times towards thepalace, and then rose up through the dark blue waters. The sun had notrisen when she came in sight of the prince's palace, and approachedthe beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and bright.Then the little mermaid drank the magic draught, and it seemed as if atwo-edged sword went through her delicate body: she fell into a swoon,and lay like one dead. When the sun arose and shone over the sea,she recovered, and felt a sharp pain; but just before her stood thehandsome young prince. He fixed his coal-black eyes upon her soearnestly that she cast down her own, and then became aware that herfish's tail was gone, and that she had as pretty a pair of whitelegs and tiny feet as any little maiden could have; but she had noclothes, so she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair. The princeasked her who she was, and where she came from, and she looked athim mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes; but she couldnot speak. Every step she took was as the witch had said it wouldbe, she felt as if treading upon the points of needles or sharpknives; but she bore it willingly, and stepped as lightly by theprince's side as a soap-bubble, so that he and all who saw herwondered at her graceful-swaying movements. She was very soonarrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin, and was the most beautifulcreature in the palace; but she was dumb, and could neither speaknor sing.

Beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forwardand sang before the prince and his royal parents: one sang better thanall the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her.This was great sorrow to the little mermaid; she knew how much moresweetly she herself could sing once, and she thought, "Oh if hecould only know that! I have given away my voice forever, to be withhim."

The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to thesound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her lovelywhite arms, stood on the tips of her toes, and glided over thefloor, and danced as no one yet had been able to dance. At each momenther beauty became more revealed, and her expressive eyes appealed moredirectly to the heart than the songs of the slaves. Every one wasenchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling;and she danced again quite readily, to please him, though each timeher foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives."

The prince said she should remain with him always, and shereceived permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion. Hehad a page's dress made for her, that she might accompany him onhorseback. They rode together through the sweet-scented woods, wherethe green boughs touched their shoulders, and the little birds sangamong the fresh leaves. She climbed with the prince to the tops ofhigh mountains; and although her tender feet bled so that even hersteps were marked, she only laughed, and followed him till theycould see the clouds beneath them looking like a flock of birdstravelling to distant lands. While at the prince's palace, and whenall the household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broadmarble steps; for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in thecold sea-water; and then she thought of all those below in the deep.

Once during the night her sisters came up arm-in-arm, singingsorrowfully, as they floated on the water. She beckoned to them, andthen they recognized her, and told her how she had grieved them. Afterthat, they came to the same place every night; and once she saw in thedistance her old grandmother, who had not been to the surface of thesea for many years, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crownon his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but theydid not venture so near the land as her sisters did.

As the days passed, she loved the prince more fondly, and he lovedher as he would love a little child, but it never came into his headto make her his wife; yet, unless he married her, she could notreceive an immortal soul; and, on the morning after his marriagewith another, she would dissolve into the foam of the sea.

"Do you not love me the best of them all?" the eyes of thelittle mermaid seemed to say, when he took her in his arms, and kissedher fair forehead.

"Yes, you are dear to me," said the prince; "for you have the bestheart, and you are the most devoted to me; you are like a young maidenwhom I once saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a shipthat was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple,where several young maidens performed the service. The youngest ofthem found me on the shore, and saved my life. I saw her but twice,and she is the only one in the world whom I could love; but you arelike her, and you have almost driven her image out of my mind. Shebelongs to the holy temple, and my good fortune has sent you to meinstead of her; and we will never part."

"Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life," thought thelittle mermaid. "I carried him over the sea to the wood where thetemple stands: I sat beneath the foam, and watched till the humanbeings came to help him. I saw the pretty maiden that he lovesbetter than he loves me;" and the mermaid sighed deeply, but she couldnot shed tears. "He says the maiden belongs to the holy temple,therefore she will never return to the world. They will meet nomore: while I am by his side, and see him every day. I will takecare of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake."

Very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that thebeautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fineship was being fitted out. Although the prince gave out that he merelyintended to pay a visit to the king, it was generally supposed that hereally went to see his daughter. A great company were to go withhim. The little mermaid smiled, and shook her head. She knew theprince's thoughts better than any of the others.

"I must travel," he had said to her; "I must see this beautifulprincess; my parents desire it; but they will not oblige me to bringher home as my bride. I cannot love her; she is not like the beautifulmaiden in the temple, whom you resemble. If I were forced to choosea bride, I would rather choose you, my dumb foundling, with thoseexpressive eyes." And then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with herlong waving hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed ofhuman happiness and an immortal soul. "You are not afraid of thesea, my dumb child," said he, as they stood on the deck of the nobleship which was to carry them to the country of the neighboring king.And then he told her of storm and of calm, of strange fishes in thedeep beneath them, and of what the divers had seen there; and shesmiled at his descriptions, for she knew better than any one whatwonders were at the bottom of the sea.

In the moonlight, when all on board were asleep, excepting the manat the helm, who was steering, she sat on the deck, gazing downthrough the clear water. She thought she could distinguish herfather's castle, and upon it her aged grandmother, with the silvercrown on her head, looking through the rushing tide at the keel of thevessel. Then her sisters came up on the waves, and gazed at hermournfully, wringing their white hands. She beckoned to them, andsmiled, and wanted to tell them how happy and well off she was; butthe cabin-boy approached, and when her sisters dived down he thoughtit was only the foam of the sea which he saw.

The next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a beautifultown belonging to the king whom the prince was going to visit. Thechurch bells were ringing, and from the high towers sounded a flourishof trumpets; and soldiers, with flying colors and glittering bayonets,lined the rocks through which they passed. Every day was a festival;balls and entertainments followed one another.

But the princess had not yet appeared. People said that she wasbeing brought up and educated in a religious house, where she waslearning every royal virtue. At last she came. Then the littlemermaid, who was very anxious to see whether she was really beautiful,was obliged to acknowledge that she had never seen a more perfectvision of beauty. Her skin was delicately fair, and beneath her longdark eye-lashes her laughing blue eyes shone with truth and purity.

"It was you," said the prince, "who saved my life when I laydead on the beach," and he folded his blushing bride in his arms. "Oh,I am too happy," said he to the little mermaid; "my fondest hopesare all fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness; for your devotionto me is great and sincere."

The little mermaid kissed his hand, and felt as if her heartwere already broken. His wedding morning would bring death to her, andshe would change into the foam of the sea. All the church bellsrung, and the heralds rode about the town proclaiming the betrothal.Perfumed oil was burning in costly silver lamps on every altar. Thepriests waved the censers, while the bride and bridegroom joined theirhands and received the blessing of the bishop. The little mermaid,dressed in silk and gold, held up the bride's train; but her earsheard nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw not the holyceremony; she thought of the night of death which was coming to her,and of all she had lost in the world. On the same evening the brideand bridegroom went on board ship; cannons were roaring, flags waving,and in the centre of the ship a costly tent of purple and gold hadbeen erected. It contained elegant couches, for the reception of thebridal pair during the night. The ship, with swelling sails and afavorable wind, glided away smoothly and lightly over the calm sea.When it grew dark a number of colored lamps were lit, and thesailors danced merrily on the deck. The little mermaid could nothelp thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seensimilar festivities and joys; and she joined in the dance, poisedherself in the air as a swallow when he pursues his prey, and allpresent cheered her with wonder. She had never danced so elegantlybefore. Her tender feet felt as if cut with sharp knives, but shecared not for it; a sharper pang had pierced through her heart. Sheknew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince, forwhom she had forsaken her kindred and her home; she had given up herbeautiful voice, and suffered unheard-of pain daily for him, whilehe knew nothing of it. This was the last evening that she wouldbreathe the same air with him, or gaze on the starry sky and thedeep sea; an eternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her:she had no soul and now she could never win one. All was joy andgayety on board ship till long after midnight; she laughed anddanced with the rest, while the thoughts of death were in her heart.The prince kissed his beautiful bride, while she played with his ravenhair, till they went arm-in-arm to rest in the splendid tent. Then allbecame still on board the ship; the helmsman, alone awake, stood atthe helm. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge ofthe vessel, and looked towards the east for the first blush ofmorning, for that first ray of dawn that would bring her death. Shesaw her sisters rising out of the flood: they were as pale as herself;but their long beautiful hair waved no more in the wind, and hadbeen cut off.

"We have given our hair to the witch," said they, "to obtainhelp for you, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife:here it is, see it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plungeit into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon yourfeet they will grow together again, and form into a fish's tail, andyou will be once more a mermaid, and return to us to live out yourthree hundred years before you die and change into the salt seafoam. Haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise. Our oldgrandmother moans so for you, that her white hair is falling offfrom sorrow, as ours fell under the witch's scissors. Kill theprince and come back; hasten: do you not see the first red streaksin the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die." Andthen they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank down beneath thewaves.

The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent,and beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the prince'sbreast. She bent down and kissed his fair brow, then looked at the skyon which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter; then she glanced atthe sharp knife, and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whisperedthe name of his bride in his dreams. She was in his thoughts, andthe knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid: then she flungit far away from her into the waves; the water turned red where itfell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast onemore lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then threwherself from the ship into the sea, and thought her body wasdissolving into foam. The sun rose above the waves, and his warmrays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who did not feelas if she were dying. She saw the bright sun, and all around herfloated hundreds of transparent beautiful beings; she could seethrough them the white sails of the ship, and the red clouds in thesky; their speech was melodious, but too ethereal to be heard bymortal ears, as they were also unseen by mortal eyes. The littlemermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs, and that shecontinued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. "Where am I?"asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, as the voice of those whowere with her; no earthly music could imitate it.

"Among the daughters of the air," answered one of them. "A mermaidhas not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins thelove of a human being. On the power of another hangs her eternaldestiny. But the daughters of the air, although they do not possess animmortal soul, can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves.We fly to warm countries, and cool the sultry air that destroysmankind with the pestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers tospread health and restoration. After we have striven for three hundredyears to all the good in our power, we receive an immortal soul andtake part in the happiness of mankind. You, poor little mermaid,have tried with your whole heart to do as we are doing; you havesuffered and endured and raised yourself to the spirit-world by yourgood deeds; and now, by striving for three hundred years in the sameway, you may obtain an immortal soul."

The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes towards the sun,and felt them, for the first time, filling with tears. On the ship, inwhich she had left the prince, there were life and noise; she sawhim and his beautiful bride searching for her; sorrowfully theygazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herselfinto the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of her bride, andfanned the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the airto a rosy cloud that floated through the aether.

"After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdomof heaven," said she. "And we may even get there sooner," whisperedone of her companions. "Unseen we can enter the houses of men, wherethere are children, and for every day on which we find a good child,who is the joy of his parents and deserves their love, our time ofprobation is shortened. The child does not know, when we fly throughthe room, that we smile with joy at his good conduct, for we can countone year less of our three hundred years. But when we see a naughty ora wicked child, we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day isadded to our time of trial!"

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE lived once a great queen, in whose garden were found atall seasons the most splendid flowers, and from every land in theworld. She specially loved roses, and therefore she possessed the mostbeautiful varieties of this flower, from the wild hedge-rose, with itsapple-scented leaves, to the splendid Provence rose. They grew nearthe shelter of the walls, wound themselves round columns andwindow-frames, crept along passages and over the ceilings of thehalls. They were of every fragrance and color.

But care and sorrow dwelt within these halls; the queen lay upon asick bed, and the doctors declared that she must die. "There isstill one thing that could save her," said one of the wisest amongthem. "Bring her the loveliest rose in the world; one which exhibitsthe purest and brightest love, and if it is brought to her beforeher eyes close, she will not die."

Then from all parts came those who brought roses that bloomed inevery garden, but they were not the right sort. The flower must be onefrom the garden of love; but which of the roses there showed forth thehighest and purest love? The poets sang of this rose, the loveliest inthe world, and each named one which he considered worthy of thattitle; and intelligence of what was required was sent far and wideto every heart that beat with love; to every class, age, andcondition.

"No one has yet named the flower," said the wise man. "No onehas pointed out the spot where it blooms in all its splendor. It isnot a rose from the coffin of Romeo and Juliet, or from the grave ofWalburg, though these roses will live in everlasting song. It is notone of the roses which sprouted forth from the blood-stained fame ofWinkelreid. The blood which flows from the breast of a hero who diesfor his country is sacred, and his memory is sweet, and no rose can beredder than the blood which flows from his veins. Neither is it themagic flower of Science, to obtain which wondrous flower a man devotesmany an hour of his fresh young life in sleepless nights, in alonely chamber."

"I know where it blooms," said a happy mother, who came with herlovely child to the bedside of the queen. "I know where theloveliest rose in the world is. It is seen on the blooming cheeks ofmy sweet child, when it expresses the pure and holy love of infancy;when refreshed by sleep it opens its eyes, and smiles upon me withchildlike affection."

"This is a lovely rose," said the wise man; "but there is onestill more lovely."

"Yes, one far more lovely," said one of the women. "I have seenit, and a loftier and purer rose does not bloom. But it was white,like the leaves of a blush-rose. I saw it on the cheeks of thequeen. She had taken off her golden crown, and through the long,dreary night, she carried her sick child in her arms. She wept overit, kissed it, and prayed for it as only a mother can pray in thathour of her anguish."

"Holy and wonderful in its might is the white rose of grief, butit is not the one we seek."

"No; the loveliest rose in the world I saw at the Lord's table,"said the good old bishop. "I saw it shine as if an angel's face hadappeared. A young maiden knelt at the altar, and renewed the vows madeat her baptism; and there were white roses and red roses on theblushing cheeks of that young girl. She looked up to heaven with allthe purity and love of her young spirit, in all the expression ofthe highest and purest love."

"May she be blessed!" said the wise man: "but no one has yet namedthe loveliest rose in the world."

Then there came into the room a child- the queen's little son.Tears stood in his eyes, and glistened on his cheeks; he carried agreat book and the binding was of velvet, with silver clasps."Mother," cried the little boy; "only hear what I have read." Andthe child seated himself by the bedside, and read from the book of Himwho suffered death on the cross to save all men, even who are yetunborn. He read, "Greater love hath no man than this," and as heread a roseate hue spread over the cheeks of the queen, and her eyesbecame so enlightened and clear, that she saw from the leaves of thebook a lovely rose spring forth, a type of Him who shed His blood onthe cross.

"I see it," she said. "He who beholds this, the loveliest roseon earth, shall never die."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE MAIL-COACH PASSENGERS

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT was bitterly cold, the sky glittered with stars, and not abreeze stirred. "Bump"- an old pot was thrown at a neighbor's door;and "bang, bang," went the guns; for they were greeting the NewYear. It was New Year's Eve, and the church clock was striking twelve."Tan-ta-ra-ra, tan-ta-ra-ra," sounded the horn, and the mail-coachcame lumbering up. The clumsy vehicle stopped at the gate of the town;all the places had been taken, for there were twelve passengers in thecoach.

"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the people in the town; for in every housethe New Year was being welcomed; and as the clock struck, they stoodup, the full glasses in their hands, to drink success to the newcomer. "A happy New Year," was the cry; "a pretty wife, plenty ofmoney, and no sorrow or care."

The wish passed round, and the glasses clashed together tillthey rang again; while before the town-gate the mail coach stoppedwith the twelve strange passengers. And who were these strangers? Eachof them had his passport and his luggage with him; they even broughtpresents for me, and for you, and for all the people in the town. "Whowere they? what did they want? and what did they bring with them?"

"Good-morning," they cried to the sentry at the town-gate.

"Good-morning," replied the sentry; for the clock had strucktwelve. "Your name and profession?" asked the sentry of the one whoalighted first from the carriage.

"See for yourself in the passport," he replied. "I am myself;" anda famous fellow he looked, arrayed in bear-skin and fur boots. "I amthe man on whom many persons fix their hopes. Come to me to-morrow,and I'll give you a New Year's present. I throw shillings and penceamong the people; I give balls, no less than thirty-one; indeed,that is the highest number I can spare for balls. My ships are oftenfrozen in, but in my offices it is warm and comfortable. My name isJANUARY. I'm a merchant, and I generally bring my accounts with me."

Then the second alighted. He seemed a merry fellow. He was adirector of a theatre, a manager of masked balls, and a leader ofall the amusements we can imagine. His luggage consisted of a greatcask.

"We'll dance the bung out of the cask at carnival time," saidhe; "I'll prepare a merry tune for you and for myself too.Unfortunately I have not long to live- the shortest time, in fact,of my whole family- only twenty-eight days. Sometimes they pop me in aday extra; but I trouble myself very little about that. Hurrah!"

"You must not shout so," said the sentry.

"Certainly I may shout," retorted the man; "I'm Prince Carnival,travelling under the name of FEBRUARY."

The third now got out. He looked a personification of fasting; buthe carried his nose very high, for he was related to the "forty(k)nights," and was a weather prophet. But that is not a verylucrative office, and therefore he praised fasting. In his button-holehe carried a little bunch of violets, but they were very small.

"MARCH, March," the fourth called after him, slapping him on theshoulder, "don't you smell something? Make haste into the guardroom; they're drinking punch there; that's your favorite drink. Ican smell it out here already. Forward, Master March." But it wasnot true; the speaker only wanted to remind him of his name, and tomake an APRIL fool of him; for with that fun the fourth generallybegan his career. He looked very jovial, did little work, and hadthe more holidays. "If the world were only a little more settled,"said he: "but sometimes I'm obliged to be in a good humor, andsometimes a bad one, according to circumstances; now rain, nowsunshine. I'm kind of a house agent, also a manager of funerals. I canlaugh or cry, according to circumstances. I have my summer wardrobe inthis box here, but it would be very foolish to put it on now. Here Iam. On Sundays I go out walking in shoes and white silk stockings, anda muff."

After him, a lady stepped out of the coach. She called herselfMiss MAY. She wore a summer dress and overshoes; her dress was a lightgreen, and she wore anemones in her hair. She was so scented withwild-thyme, that it made the sentry sneeze.

"Your health, and God bless you," was her salutation to him.

How pretty she was! and such a singer! not a theatre singer, nor aballad singer; no, but a singer of the woods; for she wandered throughthe gay green forest, and had a concert there for her own amusement.

"Now comes the young lady," said those in the carriage; and outstepped a young dame, delicate, proud, and pretty. It was MistressJUNE, in whose service people become lazy and fond of sleeping forhours. She gives a feast on the longest day of the year, that theremay be time for her guests to partake of the numerous dishes at hertable. Indeed, she keeps her own carriage; but still she travelledby the mail, with the rest, because she wished to show that she wasnot high-minded. But she was not without a protector; her youngerbrother, JULY, was with her. He was a plump young fellow, clad insummer garments and wearing a straw hat. He had but very littleluggage with him, because it was so cumbersome in the great heat; hehad, however, swimming-trousers with him, which are nothing tocarry. Then came the mother herself, in crinoline, Madame AUGUST, awholesale dealer in fruit, proprietress of a large number of fishponds and a land cultivator. She was fat and heated, yet she could useher hands well, and would herself carry out beer to the laborers inthe field. "In the sweat of the face shalt thou eat bread," saidshe; "it is written in the Bible." After work, came the recreations,dancing and playing in the greenwood, and the "harvest homes." She wasa thorough housewife.

After her a man came out of the coach, who is a painter; he is thegreat master of colors, and is named SEPTEMBER. The forest, on hisarrival, had to change its colors when he wished it; and how beautifulare the colors he chooses! The woods glow with hues of red and goldand brown. This great master painter could whistle like a blackbird.He was quick in his work, and soon entwined the tendrils of the hopplant around his beer jug. This was an ornament to the jug, and he hasa great love for ornament. There he stood with his color pot in hishand, and that was the whole of his luggage. A land-owner followed,who in the month for sowing seed attended to the ploughing and wasfond of field sports. Squire OCTOBER brought his dog and his gunwith him, and had nuts in his game bag. "Crack, crack." He had a greatdeal of luggage, even an English plough. He spoke of farming, but whathe said could scarcely be heard for the coughing and gasping of hisneighbor. It was NOVEMBER, who coughed violently as he got out. He hada cold, which caused him to use his pocket-handkerchief continually;and yet he said he was obliged to accompany servant girls to their newplaces, and initiate them into their winter service. He said hethought his cold would never leave him when he went out woodcutting,for he was a master sawyer, and had to supply wood to the wholeparish. He spent his evenings preparing wooden soles for skates, forhe knew, he said, that in a few weeks these shoes would be wantedfor the amusement of skating. At length the last passenger made herappearance,- old Mother DECEMBER, with her fire-stool. The dame wasvery old, but her eyes glistened like two stars. She carried on herarm a flower-pot, in which a little fir-tree was growing. "This tree Ishall guard and cherish," she said, "that it may grow large byChristmas Eve, and reach from the ground to the ceiling, to be coveredand adorned with flaming candles, golden apples, and little figures.The fire-stool will be as warm as a stove, and I shall then bring astory book out of my pocket, and read aloud till all the children inthe room are quite quiet. Then the little figures on the tree willbecome lively, and the little waxen angel at the top spread out hiswings of gold-leaf, and fly down from his green perch. He will kissevery one in the room, great and small; yes, even the poor childrenwho stand in the passage, or out in the street singing a carol aboutthe 'Star of Bethlehem.'"

"Well, now the coach may drive away," said the sentry; "we havethe whole twelve. Let the horses be put up."

"First, let all the twelve come to me," said the captain onduty, "one after another. The passports I will keep here. Each of themis available for one month; when that has passed, I shall write thebehavior of each on his passport. Mr. JANUARY, have the goodness tocome here." And Mr. January stepped forward.

When a year has passed, I think I shall be able to tell you whatthe twelve passengers have brought to you, to me, and to all of us.Now I do not know, and probably even they don't know themselves, forwe live in strange times.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE storks relate to their little ones a great many stories, andthey are all about moors and reed banks, and suited to their age andcapacity. The youngest of them are quite satisfied with "kribble,krabble," or such nonsense, and think it very grand; but the elderones want something with a deeper meaning, or at least something abouttheir own family.

We are only acquainted with one of the two longest and oldeststories which the storks relate- it is about Moses, who was exposed byhis mother on the banks of the Nile, and was found by the king'sdaughter, who gave him a good education, and he afterwards became agreat man; but where he was buried is still unknown.

Every one knows this story, but not the second; very likelybecause it is quite an inland story. It has been repeated from mouthto mouth, from one stork-mamma to another, for thousands of years; andeach has told it better than the last; and now we mean to tell itbetter than all.

The first stork pair who related it lived at the time it happened,and had their summer residence on the rafters of the Viking's house,which stood near the wild moorlands of Wendsyssell; that is, tospeak more correctly, the great moorheath, high up in the north ofJutland, by the Skjagen peak. This wilderness is still an immense wildheath of marshy ground, about which we can read in the "OfficialDirectory." It is said that in olden times the place was a lake, theground of which had heaved up from beneath, and now the moorlandextends for miles in every direction, and is surrounded by dampmeadows, trembling, undulating swamps, and marshy ground coveredwith turf, on which grow bilberry bushes and stunted trees. Mistsare almost always hovering over this region, which, seventy years ago,was overrun with wolves. It may well be called the Wild Moor; andone can easily imagine, with such a wild expanse of marsh and lake,how lonely and dreary it must have been a thousand years ago. Manythings may be noticed now that existed then. The reeds grow to thesame height, and bear the same kind of long, purple-brown leaves, withtheir feathery tips. There still stands the birch, with its white barkand its delicate, loosely hanging leaves; and with regard to theliving beings who frequented this spot, the fly still wears a gauzydress of the same cut, and the favorite colors of the stork are white,with black and red for stockings. The people, certainly, in thosedays, wore very different dresses to those they now wear, but if anyof them, be he huntsman or squire, master or servant, ventured onthe wavering, undulating, marshy ground of the moor, they met with thesame fate a thousand years ago as they would now. The wanderer sank,and went down to the Marsh King, as he is named, who rules in thegreat moorland empire beneath. They also called him "Gunkel King," butwe like the name of "Marsh King" better, and we will give him thatname as the storks do. Very little is known of the Marsh King'srule, but that, perhaps, is a good thing.

In the neighborhood of the moorlands, and not far from the greatarm of the North Sea and the Cattegat which is called theLumfjorden, lay the castle of the Viking, with its water-tight stonecellars, its tower, and its three projecting storeys. On the ridgeof the roof the stork had built his nest, and there the stork-mammasat on her eggs and felt sure her hatching would come to something.

One evening, stork-papa stayed out rather late, and when he camehome he seemed quite busy, bustling, and important. "I havesomething very dreadful to tell you," said he to the stork-mamma.

"Keep it to yourself then," she replied. "Remember that I amhatching eggs; it may agitate me, and will affect them."

"You must know it at once," said he. "The daughter of our hostin Egypt has arrived here. She has ventured to take this journey,and now she is lost."

"She who sprung from the race of the fairies, is it?" cried themother stork. "Oh, tell me all about it; you know I cannot bear tobe kept waiting at a time when I am hatching eggs."

"Well, you see, mother," he replied, "she believed what thedoctors said, and what I have heard you state also, that themoor-flowers which grow about here would heal her sick father; and shehas flown to the north in swan's plumage, in company with some otherswan-princesses, who come to these parts every year to renew theiryouth. She came, and where is she now!"

"You enter into particulars too much," said the mamma stork,"and the eggs may take cold; I cannot bear such suspense as this."

"Well," said he, "I have kept watch; and this evening I went amongthe rushes where I thought the marshy ground would bear me, andwhile I was there three swans came. Something in their manner offlying seemed to say to me, 'Look carefully now; there is one notall swan, only swan's feathers.' You know, mother, you have the sameintuitive feeling that I have; you know whether a thing is right ornot immediately."

"Yes, of course," said she; "but tell me about the princess; Iam tired of hearing about the swan's feathers."

"Well, you know that in the middle of the moor there issomething like a lake," said the stork-papa. "You can see the edgeof it if you raise yourself a little. Just there, by the reeds and thegreen banks, lay the trunk of an elder-tree; upon this the three swansstood flapping their wings, and looking about them; one of themthrew off her plumage, and I immediately recognized her as one ofthe princesses of our home in Egypt. There she sat, without anycovering but her long, black hair. I heard her tell the two othersto take great care of the swan's plumage, while she dipped down intothe water to pluck the flowers which she fancied she saw there. Theothers nodded, and picked up the feather dress, and took possession ofit. I wonder what will become of it? thought I, and she most likelyasked herself the same question. If so, she received an answer, a verypractical one; for the two swans rose up and flew away with her swan'splumage. 'Dive down now!' they cried; 'thou shalt never more fly inthe swan's plumage, thou shalt never again see Egypt; here, on themoor, thou wilt remain.' So saying, they tore the swan's plumageinto a thousand pieces, the feathers drifted about like a snow-shower,and then the two deceitful princesses flew away."

"Why, that is terrible," said the stork-mamma; "I feel as if Icould hardly bear to hear any more, but you must tell me what happenednext."

"The princess wept and lamented aloud; her tears moistened theelder stump, which was really not an elder stump but the Marsh Kinghimself, he who in marshy ground lives and rules. I saw myself how thestump of the tree turned round, and was a tree no more, while long,clammy branches like arms, were extended from it. Then the poorchild was terribly frightened, and started up to run away. Shehastened to cross the green, slimy ground; but it will not bear anyweight, much less hers. She quickly sank, and the elder stump divedimmediately after her; in fact, it was he who drew her down. Greatblack bubbles rose up out of the moor-slime, and with these everytrace of the two vanished. And now the princess is buried in thewild marsh, she will never now carry flowers to Egypt to cure herfather. It would have broken your heart, mother, had you seen it."

"You ought not to have told me," said she, "at such a time asthis; the eggs might suffer. But I think the princess will soon findhelp; some one will rise up to help her. Ah! if it had been you orI, or one of our people, it would have been all over with us."

I mean to go every day," said he, "to see if anything comes topass;" and so he did.

A long time went by, but at last he saw a green stalk shootingup out of the deep, marshy ground. As it reached the surface of themarsh, a leaf spread out, and unfolded itself broader and broader, andclose to it came forth a bud.

One morning, when the stork-papa was flying over the stem, hesaw that the power of the sun's rays had caused the bud to open, andin the cup of the flower lay a charming child- a little maiden,looking as if she had just come out of a bath. The little one was solike the Egyptian princess, that the stork, at the first moment,thought it must be the princess herself, but after a little reflectionhe decided that it was much more likely to be the daughter of theprincess and the Marsh King; and this explained also her beingplaced in the cup of a water-lily. "But she cannot be left to liehere," thought the stork, "and in my nest there are already so many.But stay, I have thought of something: the wife of the Viking has nochildren, and how often she has wished for a little one. People alwayssay the stork brings the little ones; I will do so in earnest thistime. I shall fly with the child to the Viking's wife; whatrejoicing there will be!"

And then the stork lifted the little girl out of the flower-cup,flew to the castle, picked a hole with his beak in thebladder-covered, window, and laid the beautiful child in the bosomof the Viking's wife. Then he flew back quickly to the stork-mamma andtold her what he had seen and done; and the little storks listenedto it all, for they were then quite old enough to do so. "So you see,"he continued, "that the princess is not dead, for she must have senther little one up here; and now I have found a home for her."

"Ah, I said it would be so from the first," replied thestork-mamma; "but now think a little of your own family. Ourtravelling time draws near, and I sometimes feel a little irritationalready under the wings. The cuckoos and the nightingale are alreadygone, and I heard the quails say they should go too as soon as thewind was favorable. Our youngsters will go through all themanoeuvres at the review very well, or I am much mistaken in them."

The Viking's wife was above measure delighted when she awoke thenext morning and found the beautiful little child lying in herbosom. She kissed it and caressed it; but it cried terribly, andstruck out with its arms and legs, and did not seem to be pleased atall. At last it cried itself to sleep; and as it lay there so stilland quiet, it was a most beautiful sight to see. The Viking's wife wasso delighted, that body and soul were full of joy. Her heart felt solight within her, that it seemed as if her husband and his soldiers,who were absent, must come home as suddenly and unexpectedly as thelittle child had done. She and her whole household therefore busiedthemselves in preparing everything for the reception of her lord.The long, colored tapestry, on which she and her maidens had workedpictures of their idols, Odin, Thor, and Friga, was hung up. Theslaves polished the old shields that served as ornaments; cushionswere placed on the seats, and dry wood laid on the fireplaces in thecentre of the hall, so that the flames might be fanned up at amoment's notice. The Viking's wife herself assisted in the work, sothat at night she felt very tired, and quickly fell into a soundsleep. When she awoke, just before morning, she was terribly alarmedto find that the infant had vanished. She sprang from her couch,lighted a pine-chip, and searched all round the room, when, at last,in that part of the bed where her feet had been, lay, not the child,but a great, ugly frog. She was quite disgusted at this sight, andseized a heavy stick to kill the frog; but the creature looked ather with such strange, mournful eyes, that she was unable to strikethe blow. Once more she searched round the room; then she started athearing the frog utter a low, painful croak. She sprang from the couchand opened the window hastily; at the same moment the sun rose, andthrew its beams through the window, till it rested on the couchwhere the great frog lay. Suddenly it appeared as if the frog'sbroad mouth contracted, and became small and red. The limbs movedand stretched out and extended themselves till they took a beautifulshape; and behold there was the pretty child lying before her, and theugly frog was gone. "How is this?" she cried, "have I had a wickeddream? Is it not my own lovely cherub that lies there." Then shekissed it and fondled it; but the child struggled and fought, andbit as if she had been a little wild cat.

The Viking did not return on that day, nor the next; he was,however, on the way home; but the wind, so favorable to the storks,was against him; for it blew towards the south. A wind in favor of oneis often against another.

After two or three days had passed, it became clear to theViking's wife how matters stood with the child; it was under theinfluence of a powerful sorcerer. By day it was charming in appearanceas an angel of light, but with a temper wicked and wild; while atnight, in the form of an ugly frog, it was quiet and mournful, witheyes full of sorrow. Here were two natures, changing inwardly andoutwardly with the absence and return of sunlight. And so ithappened that by day the child, with the actual form of its mother,possessed the fierce disposition of its father; at night, on thecontrary, its outward appearance plainly showed its descent on thefather's side, while inwardly it had the heart and mind of its mother.Who would be able to loosen this wicked charm which the sorcerer hadworked upon it? The wife of the Viking lived in constant pain andsorrow about it. Her heart clung to the little creature, but she couldnot explain to her husband the circumstances in which it was placed.He was expected to return shortly; and were she to tell him, hewould very likely, as was the custom at that time, expose the poorchild in the public highway, and let any one take it away who would.The good wife of the Viking could not let that happen, and shetherefore resolved that the Viking should never see the childexcepting by daylight.

One morning there sounded a rushing of storks' wings over theroof. More than a hundred pair of storks had rested there during thenight, to recover themselves after their excursion; and now theysoared aloft, and prepared for the journey southward.

"All the husbands are here, and ready!" they cried; "wives andchildren also!"

"How light we are!" screamed the young storks in chorus."Something pleasant seems creeping over us, even down to our toes,as if we were full of live frogs. Ah, how delightful it is to travelinto foreign lands!"

"Hold yourselves properly in the line with us," cried papa andmamma. "Do not use your beaks so much; it tries the lungs." And thenthe storks flew away.

About the same time sounded the clang of the warriors' trumpetsacross the heath. The Viking had landed with his men. They werereturning home, richly laden with spoil from the Gallic coast, wherethe people, as did also the inhabitants of Britain, often cried inalarm, "Deliver us from the wild northmen."

Life and noisy pleasure came with them into the castle of theViking on the moorland. A great cask of mead was drawn into thehall, piles of wood blazed, cattle were slain and served up, that theymight feast in reality, The priest who offered the sacrifice sprinkledthe devoted parishioners with the warm blood; the fire crackled, andthe smoke rolled along beneath the roof; the soot fell upon themfrom the beams; but they were used to all these things. Guests wereinvited, and received handsome presents. All wrongs and unfaithfulnesswere forgotten. They drank deeply, and threw in each other's faces thebones that were left, which was looked upon as a sign of goodfeeling amongst them. A bard, who was a kind of musician as well aswarrior, and who had been with the Viking in his expedition, andknew what to sing about, gave them one of his best songs, in whichthey heard all their warlike deeds praised, and every wonderful actionbrought forward with honor. Every verse ended with this refrain,-

"Gold and possessions will flee away,

Friends and foes must die one day;

Every man on earth must die,

But a famous name will never die."And with that they beat upon their shields, and hammered upon thetable with knives and bones, in a most outrageous manner.

The Viking's wife sat upon a raised cross seat in the open hall.She wore a silk dress, golden bracelets, and large amber beads. Shewas in costly attire, and the bard named her in his song, and spoke ofthe rich treasure of gold which she had brought to her husband. Herhusband had already seen the wonderfully beautiful child in thedaytime, and was delighted with her beauty; even her wild ways pleasedhim. He said the little maiden would grow up to be a heroine, with thestrong will and determination of a man. She would never wink her eyes,even if, in joke, an expert hand should attempt to cut off hereye-brows with a sharp sword.

The full cask of mead soon became empty, and a fresh one wasbrought in; for these were people who liked plenty to eat and drink.The old proverb, which every one knows, says that "the cattle knowwhen to leave their pasture, but a foolish man knows not the measureof his own appetite." Yes, they all knew this; but men may know whatis right, and yet often do wrong. They also knew "that even thewelcome guest becomes wearisome when he sits too long in the house."But there they remained; for pork and mead are good things. And soat the Viking's house they stayed, and enjoyed themselves; and atnight the bondmen slept in the ashes, and dipped their fingers inthe fat, and licked them. Oh, it was a delightful time!

Once more in the same year the Viking went forth, though thestorms of autumn had already commenced to roar. He went with hiswarriors to the coast of Britain; he said that it was but an excursionof pleasure across the water, so his wife remained at home with thelittle girl. After a while, it is quite certain the foster-motherbegan to love the poor frog, with its gentle eyes and its deepsighs, even better than the little beauty who bit and fought withall around her.

The heavy, damp mists of autumn, which destroy the leaves of thewood, had already fallen upon forest and heath. Feathers of pluckedbirds, as they call the snow, flew about in thick showers, andwinter was coming. The sparrows took possession of the stork's nest,and conversed about the absent owners in their own fashion; andthey, the stork pair and all their young ones, where were they stayingnow? The storks might have been found in the land of Egypt, wherethe sun's rays shone forth bright and warm, as it does here atmidsummer. Tamarinds and acacias were in full bloom all over thecountry, the crescent of Mahomet glittered brightly from the cupolasof the mosques, and on the slender pinnacles sat many of the storks,resting after their long journey. Swarms of them took dividedpossession of the nests- nests which lay close to each other betweenthe venerable columns, and crowded the arches of temples inforgotten cities. The date and the palm lifted themselves as ascreen or as a sun-shade over them. The gray pyramids looked likebroken shadows in the clear air and the far-off desert, where theostrich wheels his rapid flight, and the lion, with his subtle eyes,gazes at the marble sphinx which lies half buried in sand. Thewaters of the Nile had retreated, and the whole bed of the river wascovered with frogs, which was a most acceptable prospect for the storkfamilies. The young storks thought their eyes deceived them,everything around appeared so beautiful.

"It is always like this here, and this is how we live in ourwarm country," said the stork-mamma; and the thought made the youngones almost beside themselves with pleasure.

"Is there anything more to see?" they asked; "are we going fartherinto the country?"

"There is nothing further for us to see," answered thestork-mamma. "Beyond this delightful region there are immense forests,where the branches of the trees entwine round each other, whileprickly, creeping plants cover the paths, and only an elephant couldforce a passage for himself with his great feet. The snakes are toolarge, and the lizards too lively for us to catch. Then there is thedesert; if you went there, your eyes would soon be full of sand withthe lightest breeze, and if it should blow great guns, you wouldmost likely find yourself in a sand-drift. Here is the best placefor you, where there are frogs and locusts; here I shall remain, andso must you." And so they stayed.

The parents sat in the nest on the slender minaret, and rested,yet still were busily employed in cleaning and smoothing theirfeathers, and in sharpening their beaks against their red stockings;then they would stretch out their necks, salute each other, andgravely raise their heads with the high-polished forehead, and soft,smooth feathers, while their brown eyes shone with intelligence. Thefemale young ones strutted about amid the moist rushes, glancing atthe other young storks and making acquaintances, and swallowing a frogat every third step, or tossing a little snake about with their beaks,in a way they considered very becoming, and besides it tasted verygood. The young male storks soon began to quarrel; they struck at eachother with their wings, and pecked with their beaks till the bloodcame. And in this manner many of the young ladies and gentlemen werebetrothed to each other: it was, of course, what they wanted, andindeed what they lived for. Then they returned to a nest, and therethe quarrelling began afresh; for in hot countries people are almostall violent and passionate. But for all that it was pleasant,especially for the old people, who watched them with great joy: allthat their young ones did suited them. Every day here there wassunshine, plenty to eat, and nothing to think of but pleasure. Butin the rich castle of their Egyptian host, as they called him,pleasure was not to be found. The rich and mighty lord of the castlelay on his couch, in the midst of the great hall, with its manycolored walls looking like the centre of a great tulip; but he wasstiff and powerless in all his limbs, and lay stretched out like amummy. His family and servants stood round him; he was not dead,although he could scarcely be said to live. The healing moor-flowerfrom the north, which was to have been found and brought to him by herwho loved him so well, had not arrived. His young and beautifuldaughter who, in swan's plumage, had flown over land and seas to thedistant north, had never returned. She is dead, so the twoswan-maidens had said when they came home; and they made up quite astory about her, and this is what they told,-

"We three flew away together through the air," said they: "ahunter caught sight of us, and shot at us with an arrow. The arrowstruck our young friend and sister, and slowly singing her farewellsong she sank down, a dying swan, into the forest lake. On theshores of the lake, under a spreading birch-tree, we laid her in thecold earth. We had our revenge; we bound fire under the wings of aswallow, who had a nest on the thatched roof of the huntsman. Thehouse took fire, and burst into flames; the hunter was burnt withthe house, and the light was reflected over the sea as far as thespreading birch, beneath which we laid her sleeping dust. She willnever return to the land of Egypt." And then they both wept. Andstork-papa, who heard the story, snapped with his beak so that itmight be heard a long way off.

'Deceit and lies!" cried he; "I should like to run my beak deepinto their chests."

"And perhaps break it off," said the mamma stork, "then what asight you would be. Think first of yourself, and then of yourfamily; all others are nothing to us."

"Yes, I know," said the stork-papa; "but to-morrow I can easilyplace myself on the edge of the open cupola, when the learned and wisemen assemble to consult on the state of the sick man; perhaps they maycome a little nearer to the truth." And the learned and wise menassembled together, and talked a great deal on every point; but thestork could make no sense out of anything they said; neither werethere any good results from their consultations, either for the sickman, or for his daughter in the marshy heath. When we listen to whatpeople say in this world, we shall hear a great deal; but it is anadvantage to know what has been said and done before, when we listento a conversation. The stork did, and we know at least as much ashe, the stork.

"Love is a life-giver. The highest love produces the highest life.Only through love can the sick man be cured." This had been said bymany, and even the learned men acknowledged that it was a wise saying.

"What a beautiful thought!" exclaimed the papa stork immediately.

"I don't quite understand it," said the mamma stork, when herhusband repeated it; "however, it is not my fault, but the fault ofthe thought; whatever it may be, I have something else to think of."

Now the learned men had spoken also of love between this one andthat one; of the difference of the love which we have for ourneighbor, to the love that exists between parents and children; of thelove of the plant for the light, and how the germ springs forth whenthe sunbeam kisses the ground. All these things were so elaboratelyand learnedly explained, that it was impossible for stork-papa tofollow it, much less to talk about it. His thoughts on the subjectquite weighed him down; he stood the whole of the following day on oneleg, with half-shut eyes, thinking deeply. So much learning wasquite a heavy weight for him to carry. One thing, however, the papastork could understand. Every one, high and low, had from their inmosthearts expressed their opinion that it was a great misfortune for somany thousands of people- the whole country indeed- to have this manso sick, with no hopes of his recovery. And what joy and blessing itwould spread around if he could by any means be cured! But wherebloomed the flower that could bring him health? They had searchedfor it everywhere; in learned writings, in the shining stars, in theweather and wind. Inquiries had been made in every by-way that couldbe thought of, until at last the wise and learned men has asserted, aswe have been already told, that "love, the life-giver, could alonegive new life to a father;" and in saying this, they had overdoneit, and said more than they understood themselves. They repeated it,and wrote it down as a recipe, "Love is a life-giver." But how couldsuch a recipe be prepared- that was a difficulty they could notovercome. At last it was decided that help could only come from theprincess herself, whose whole soul was wrapped up in her father,especially as a plan had been adopted by her to enable her to obtain aremedy.

More than a year had passed since the princess had set out atnight, when the light of the young moon was soon lost beneath thehorizon. She had gone to the marble sphinx in the desert, shakingthe sand from her sandals, and then passed through the long passage,which leads to the centre of one of the great pyramids, where themighty kings of antiquity, surrounded with pomp and splendor, lieveiled in the form of mummies. She had been told by the wise men, thatif she laid her head on the breast of one of them, from the head shewould learn where to find life and recovery for her father. She hadperformed all this, and in a dream had learnt that she must bring hometo her father the lotus flower, which grows in the deep sea, nearthe moors and heath in the Danish land. The very place and situationhad been pointed out to her, and she was told that the flower wouldrestore her father to health and strength. And, therefore, she hadgone forth from the land of Egypt, flying over to the open marsh andthe wild moor in the plumage of a swan.

The papa and mamma storks knew all this, and we also know itnow. We know, too, that the Marsh King has drawn her down tohimself, and that to the loved ones at home she is forever dead. Oneof the wisest of them said, as the stork-mamma also said, "That insome way she would, after all, manage to succeed;" and so at last theycomforted themselves with this hope, and would wait patiently; infact, they could do nothing better.

"I should like to get away the swan's feathers from those twotreacherous princesses," said the papa stork; "then, at least, theywould not be able to fly over again to the wild moor, and do morewickedness. I can hide the two suits of feathers over yonder, tillwe find some use for them."

"But where will you put them?" asked the mamma stork.

"In our nest on the moor. I and the young ones will carry themby turns during our flight across; and as we return, should they provetoo heavy for us, we shall be sure to find plenty of places on the wayin which we can conceal them till our next journey. Certainly one suitof swan's feathers would be enough for the princess, but two arealways better. In those northern countries no one can have too manytravelling wrappers."

"No one will thank you for it," said stork-mamma; "but you aremaster; and, excepting at breeding time, I have nothing to say."

In the Viking's castle on the wild moor, to which the storksdirected their flight in the following spring, the little maiden stillremained. They had named her Helga, which was rather too soft a namefor a child with a temper like hers, although her form was stillbeautiful. Every month this temper showed itself in sharperoutlines; and in the course of years, while the storks still madethe same journeys in autumn to the hill, and in spring to the moors,the child grew to be almost a woman, and before any one seemed awareof it, she was a wonderfully beautiful maiden of sixteen. The casketwas splendid, but the contents were worthless. She was, indeed, wildand savage even in those hard, uncultivated times. It was a pleasureto her to splash about with her white hands in the warm blood of thehorse which had been slain for sacrifice. In one of her wild moods shebit off the head of the black cock, which the priest was about to slayfor the sacrifice. To her foster-father she said one day, "If thineenemy were to pull down thine house about thy ears, and thou shouldestbe sleeping in unconscious security, I would not wake thee; even ifI had the power I would never do it, for my ears still tingle with theblow that thou gavest me years ago. I have never forgotten it." Butthe Viking treated her words as a joke; he was, like every one else,bewitched with her beauty, and knew nothing of the change in theform and temper of Helga at night. Without a saddle, she would siton a horse as if she were a part of it, while it rushed along atfull speed; nor would she spring from its back, even when itquarrelled with other horses and bit them. She would often leap fromthe high shore into the sea with all her clothes on, and swim tomeet the Viking, when his boat was steering home towards the shore.She once cut off a long lock of her beautiful hair, and twisted itinto a string for her bow. "If a thing is to be done well," saidshe, "I must do it myself.

The Viking's wife was, for the time in which she lived, a woman ofstrong character and will; but, compared to her daughter, she was agentle, timid woman, and she knew that a wicked sorcerer had theterrible child in his power. It was sometimes as if Helga acted fromsheer wickedness; for often when her mother stood on the thresholdof the door, or stepped into the yard, she would seat herself on thebrink of the well, wave her arms and legs in the air, and suddenlyfall right in. Here she was able, from her frog nature, to dip anddive about in the water of the deep well, until at last she wouldclimb forth like a cat, and come back into the hall dripping withwater, so that the green leaves that were strewed on the floor werewhirled round, and carried away by the streams that flowed from her.

But there was one time of the day which placed a check upon Helga.It was the evening twilight; when this hour arrived she became quietand thoughtful, and allowed herself to be advised and led; then also asecret feeling seemed to draw her towards her mother. And as usual,when the sun set, and the transformation took place, both in bodyand mind, inwards and outwards, she would remain quiet and mournful,with her form shrunk together in the shape of a frog. Her body wasmuch larger than those animals ever are, and on this account it wasmuch more hideous in appearance; for she looked like a wretched dwarf,with a frog's head, and webbed fingers. Her eyes had a most piteousexpression; she was without a voice, excepting a hollow, croakingsound, like the smothered sobs of a dreaming child.

Then the Viking's wife took her on her lap, and forgot the uglyform, as she looked into the mournful eyes, and often said, "I couldwish that thou wouldst always remain my dumb frog child, for thouart too terrible when thou art clothed in a form of beauty." And theViking woman wrote Runic characters against sorcery and spells ofsickness, and threw them over the wretched child; but they did nogood.

"One can scarcely believe that she was ever small enough to lie inthe cup of the water-lily," said the papa stork; "and now she is grownup, and the image of her Egyptian mother, especially about the eyes.Ah, we shall never see her again; perhaps she has not discovered howto help herself, as you and the wise men said she would. Year afteryear have I flown across and across the moor, but there was no sign ofher being still alive. Yes, and I may as well tell you that you thateach year, when I arrived a few days before you to repair the nest,and put everything in its place, I have spent a whole night flyinghere and there over the marshy lake, as if I had been an owl or a bat,but all to no purpose. The two suit of swan's plumage, which I and theyoung ones dragged over here from the land of the Nile, are of no use;trouble enough it was to us to bring them here in three journeys,and now they are lying at the bottom of the nest; and if a fire shouldhappen to break out, and the wooden house be burnt down, they would bedestroyed."

"And our good nest would be destroyed, too," said the mamma stork;"but you think less of that than of your plumage stuff and yourmoor-princess. Go and stay with her in the marsh if you like. Youare a bad father to your own children, as I have told you already,when I hatched my first brood. I only hope neither we nor our childrenmay have an arrow sent through our wings, owing to that wild girl.Helga does not know in the least what she is about. We have lived inthis house longer than she has, she should think of that, and wehave never forgotten our duty. We have paid every year our toll of afeather, an egg, and a young one, as it is only right we should do.You don't suppose I can wander about the court-yard, or goeverywhere as I used to do in old times. I can do it in Egypt, where Ican be a companion of the people, without forgetting myself. Buthere I cannot go and peep into the pots and kettles as I do there. No,I can only sit up here and feel angry with that girl, the littlewretch; and I am angry with you, too; you should have left her lyingin the water lily, then no one would have known anything about her."

"You are far better than your conversation," said the papastork; "I know you better than you know yourself." And with that hegave a hop, and flapped his wings twice, proudly; then he stretchedhis neck and flew, or rather soared away, without moving his outspreadwings. He went on for some distance, and then he gave a great flapwith his wings and flew on his course at a rapid rate, his head andneck bending proudly before him, while the sun's rays fell on hisglossy plumage.

"He is the handsomest of them all," said the mamma stork, as shewatched him; "but I won't tell him so."

Early in the autumn, the Viking again returned home laden withspoil, and bringing prisoners with him. Among them was a youngChristian priest, one of those who contemned the gods of the north.Often lately there had been, both in hall and chamber, a talk of thenew faith which was spreading far and wide in the south, and which,through the means of the holy Ansgarius, had already reached as far asHedeby on the Schlei. Even Helga had heard of this belief in theteachings of One who was named Christ, and who for the love ofmankind, and for their redemption, had given up His life. But to herall this had, as it were, gone in one ear and out the other. It seemedthat she only understood the meaning of the word "love," when in theform of a miserable frog she crouched together in the corner of thesleeping chamber; but the Viking's wife had listened to thewonderful story, and had felt herself strangely moved by it.

On their return, after this voyage, the men spoke of the beautifultemples built of polished stone, which had been raised for thepublic worship of this holy love. Some vessels, curiously formed ofmassive gold, had been brought home among the booty. There was apeculiar fragrance about them all, for they were incense vessels,which had been swung before the altars in the temples by the Christianpriests. In the deep stony cellars of the castle, the youngChristian priest was immured, and his hands and feet tied togetherwith strips of bark. The Viking's wife considered him as beautifulas Baldur, and his distress raised her pity; but Helga said he oughtto have ropes fastened to his heels, and be tied to the tails ofwild animals.

"I would let the dogs loose after him" she said; "over the moorand across the heath. Hurrah! that would be a spectacle for thegods, and better still to follow in its course."

But the Viking would not allow him to die such a death as that,especially as he was the disowned and despiser of the high gods. Ina few days, he had decided to have him offered as a sacrifice on theblood-stone in the grove. For the first time, a man was to besacrificed here. Helga begged to be allowed to sprinkle theassembled people with the blood of the priest. She sharpened herglittering knife; and when one of the great, savage dogs, who wererunning about the Viking's castle in great numbers, sprang towardsher, she thrust the knife into his side, merely, as she said, to proveits sharpness.

The Viking's wife looked at the wild, badly disposed girl, withgreat sorrow; and when night came on, and her daughter's beautifulform and disposition were changed, she spoke in eloquent words toHelga of the sorrow and deep grief that was in her heart. The uglyfrog, in its monstrous shape, stood before her, and raised its brownmournful eyes to her face, listening to her words, and seeming tounderstand them with the intelligence of a human being.

"Never once to my lord and husband has a word passed my lips ofwhat I have to suffer through you; my heart is full of grief aboutyou," said the Viking's wife. "The love of a mother is greater andmore powerful than I ever imagined. But love never entered thyheart; it is cold and clammy, like the plants on the moor."

Then the miserable form trembled; it was as if these words hadtouched an invisible bond between body and soul, for great tears stoodin the eyes.

"A bitter time will come for thee at last," continued the Viking'swife; "and it will be terrible for me too. It had been better for theeif thou hadst been left on the high-road, with the cold night windto lull thee to sleep." And the Viking's wife shed bitter tears, andwent away in anger and sorrow, passing under the partition of furs,which hung loose over the beam and divided the hall.

The shrivelled frog still sat in the corner alone. Deep silencereigned around. At intervals, a half-stifled sigh was heard from itsinmost soul; it was the soul of Helga. It seemed in pain, as if anew life were arising in her heart. Then she took a step forward andlistened; then stepped again forward, and seized with her clumsy handsthe heavy bar which was laid across the door. Gently, and with muchtrouble, she pushed back the bar, as silently lifted the latch, andthen took up the glimmering lamp which stood in the ante-chamber ofthe hall. It seemed as if a stronger will than her own gave herstrength. She removed the iron bolt from the closed cellar-door, andslipped in to the prisoner. He was slumbering. She touched him withher cold, moist hand, and as he awoke and caught sight of thehideous form, he shuddered as if he beheld a wicked apparition. Shedrew her knife, cut through the bonds which confined his hands andfeet, and beckoned to him to follow her. He uttered some holy namesand made the sign of the cross, while the form remained motionlessby his side.

"Who art thou?" he asked, "whose outward appearance is that ofan animal, while thou willingly performest acts of mercy?"

The frog-figure beckoned to him to follow her, and led him througha long gallery concealed by hanging drapery to the stables, and thenpointed to a horse. He mounted upon it, and she sprang up alsobefore him, and held tightly by the animal's mane. The prisonerunderstood her, and they rode on at a rapid trot, by a road which hewould never have found by himself, across the open heath. He forgother ugly form, and only thought how the mercy and loving-kindness ofthe Almighty was acting through this hideous apparition. As he offeredpious prayers and sang holy songs of praise, she trembled. Was itthe effect of prayer and praise that caused this? or, was sheshuddering in the cold morning air at the thought of approachingtwilight? What were her feelings? She raised herself up, and wanted tostop the horse and spring off, but the Christian priest held herback with all his might, and then sang a pious song, as if thiscould loosen the wicked charm that had changed her into thesemblance of a frog.

And the horse galloped on more wildly than before. The sky painteditself red, the first sunbeam pierced through the clouds, and in theclear flood of sunlight the frog became changed. It was Helga again,young and beautiful, but with a wicked demoniac spirit. He held nowa beautiful young woman in his arms, and he was horrified at thesight. He stopped the horse, and sprang from its back. He imaginedthat some new sorcery was at work. But Helga also leaped from thehorse and stood on the ground. The child's short garment reachedonly to her knee. She snatched the sharp knife from her girdle, andrushed like lightning at the astonished priest. "Let me get atthee!" she cried; "let me get at thee, that I may plunge this knifeinto thy body. Thou art pale as ashes, thou beardless slave." Shepressed in upon him. They struggled with each other in heavy combat,but it was as if an invisible power had been given to the Christian inthe struggle. He held her fast, and the old oak under which they stoodseemed to help him, for the loosened roots on the ground becameentangled in the maiden's feet, and held them fast. Close by rose abubbling spring, and he sprinkled Helga's face and neck with thewater, commanded the unclean spirit to come forth, and pronounced uponher a Christian blessing. But the water of faith has no power unlessthe well-spring of faith flows within. And yet even here its power wasshown; something more than the mere strength of a man opposeditself, through his means, against the evil which struggled withinher. His holy action seemed to overpower her. She dropped her arms,glanced at him with pale cheeks and looks of amazement. He appeared toher a mighty magician skilled in secret arts; his language was thedarkest magic to her, and the movements of his hands in the air wereas the secret signs of a magician's wand. She would not have blinkedhad he waved over her head a sharp knife or a glittering axe; butshe shrunk from him as he signed her with the sign of the cross on herforehead and breast, and sat before him like a tame bird, with herhead bowed down. Then he spoke to her, in gentle words, of the deed oflove she had performed for him during the night, when she had cometo him in the form of an ugly frog, to loosen his bonds, and to leadhim forth to life and light; and he told her that she was bound incloser fetters than he had been, and that she could recover alsolife and light by his means. He would take her to Hedeby to St.Ansgarius, and there, in that Christian town, the spell of thesorcerer would be removed. But he would not let her sit before himon the horse, though of her own free will she wished to do so. "Thoumust sit behind me, not before me," said he. "Thy magic beauty has amagic power which comes from an evil origin, and I fear it; still I amsure to overcome through my faith in Christ." Then he knelt down,and prayed with pious fervor. It was as if the quiet woodland were aholy church consecrated by his worship. The birds sang as if they werealso of this new congregation; and the fragrance of the wild flowerswas as the ambrosial perfume of incense; while, above all, sounded thewords of Scripture, "A light to them that sit in darkness and in theshadow of death, to guide their feet into the way of peace." And hespoke these words with the deep longing of his whole nature.

Meanwhile, the horse that had carried them in wild career stoodquietly by, plucking at the tall bramble-bushes, till the ripe youngberries fell down upon Helga's hands, as if inviting her to eat.Patiently she allowed herself to be lifted on the horse, and sat therelike a somnambulist- as one who walked in his sleep. The Christianbound two branches together with bark, in the form of a cross, andheld it on high as they rode through the forest. The way graduallygrew thicker of brushwood, as they rode along, till at last itbecame a trackless wilderness. Bushes of the wild sloe here andthere blocked up the path, so that they had to ride over them. Thebubbling spring formed not a stream, but a marsh, round which alsothey were obliged to guide the horse; still there were strength andrefreshment in the cool forest breeze, and no trifling power in thegentle words spoken in faith and Christian love by the young priest,whose inmost heart yearned to lead this poor lost one into the wayof light and life. It is said that rain-drops can make a hollow in thehardest stone, and the waves of the sea can smooth and round the roughedges of the rocks; so did the dew of mercy fall upon Helga, softeningwhat was hard, and smoothing what was rough in her character. Theseeffects did not yet appear; she was not herself aware of them; neitherdoes the seed in the lap of earth know, when the refreshing dew andthe warm sunbeams fall upon it, that it contains within itself powerby which it will flourish and bloom. The song of the mother sinks intothe heart of the child, and the little one prattles the words afterher, without understanding their meaning; but after a time thethoughts expand, and what has been heard in childhood seems to themind clear and bright. So now the "Word," which is all-powerful tocreate, was working in the heart of Helga.

They rode forth from the thick forest, crossed the heath, andagain entered a pathless wood. Here, towards evening, they met withrobbers.

"Where hast thou stolen that beauteous maiden?" cried the robbers,seizing the horse by the bridle, and dragging the two riders fromits back.

The priest had nothing to defend himself with, but the knife hehad taken from Helga, and with this he struck out right and left.One of the robbers raised his axe against him; but the young priestsprang on one side, and avoided the blow, which fell with greatforce on the horse's neck, so that the blood gushed forth, and theanimal sunk to the ground. Then Helga seemed suddenly to awake fromher long, deep reverie; she threw herself hastily upon the dyinganimal. The priest placed himself before her, to defend and shelterher; but one of the robbers swung his iron axe against the Christian'shead with such force that it was dashed to pieces, the blood andbrains were scattered about, and he fell dead upon the ground. Thenthe robbers seized beautiful Helga by her white arms and slenderwaist; but at that moment the sun went down, and as its last raydisappeared, she was changed into the form of a frog. A greenish whitemouth spread half over her face; her arms became thin and slimy; whilebroad hands, with webbed fingers, spread themselves out like fans.Then the robbers, in terror, let her go, and she stood among them, ahideous monster; and as is the nature of frogs to do, she hopped up ashigh as her own size, and disappeared in the thicket. Then the robbersknew that this must be the work of an evil spirit or some secretsorcery, and, in a terrible fright, they ran hastily from the spot.

The full moon had already risen, and was shining in all herradiant splendor over the earth, when from the thicket, in the form ofa frog, crept poor Helga. She stood still by the corpse of theChristian priest, and the carcase of the dead horse. She looked atthem with eyes that seemed to weep, and from the frog's head cameforth a croaking sound, as when a child bursts into tears. She threwherself first upon one, and then upon the other; brought water inher hand, which, from being webbed, was large and hollow, and pouredit over them; but they were dead, and dead they would remain. Sheunderstood that at last. Soon wild animals would come and tear theirdead bodies; but no, that must not happen. Then she dug up theearth, as deep as she was able, that she might prepare a grave forthem. She had nothing but a branch of a tree and her two hands,between the fingers of which the webbed skin stretched, and theywere torn by the work, while the blood ran down her hands. She sawat last that her work would be useless, more than she couldaccomplish; so she fetched more water, and washed the face of thedead, and then covered it with fresh green leaves; she also broughtlarge boughs and spread over him, and scattered dried leaves betweenthe branches. Then she brought the heaviest stones that she couldcarry, and laid them over the dead body, filling up the creviceswith moss, till she thought she had fenced in his resting-placestrongly enough. The difficult task had employed her the wholenight; and as the sun broke forth, there stood the beautiful Helgain all her loveliness, with her bleeding hands, and, for the firsttime, with tears on her maiden cheeks. It was, in this transformation,as if two natures were striving together within her; her whole frametrembled, and she looked around her as if she had just awoke from apainful dream. She leaned for support against the trunk of a slendertree, and at last climbed to the topmost branches, like a cat, andseated herself firmly upon them. She remained there the whole day,sitting alone, like a frightened squirrel, in the silent solitude ofthe wood, where the rest and stillness is as the calm of death.

Butterflies fluttered around her, and close by were severalant-hills, each with its hundreds of busy little creatures movingquickly to and fro. In the air, danced myriads of gnats, swarm uponswarm, troops of buzzing flies, ladybirds, dragon-flies with goldenwings, and other little winged creatures. The worm crawled forthfrom the moist ground, and the moles crept out; but, exceptingthese, all around had the stillness of death: but when people saythis, they do not quite understand themselves what they mean. Nonenoticed Helga but a flock of magpies, which flew chattering roundthe top of the tree on which she sat. These birds hopped close toher on the branches with bold curiosity. A glance from her eyes wasa signal to frighten them away, and they were not clever enough tofind out who she was; indeed she hardly knew herself.

When the sun was near setting, and the evening's twilight about tocommence, the approaching transformation aroused her to freshexertion. She let herself down gently from the tree, and, as thelast sunbeam vanished, she stood again in the wrinkled form of a frog,with the torn, webbed skin on her hands, but her eyes now gleamed withmore radiant beauty than they had ever possessed in her most beautifulform of loveliness; they were now pure, mild maidenly eyes thatshone forth in the face of a frog. They showed the existence of deepfeeling and a human heart, and the beauteous eyes overflowed withtears, weeping precious drops that lightened the heart.

On the raised mound which she had made as a grave for the deadpriest, she found the cross made of the branches of a tree, the lastwork of him who now lay dead and cold beneath it. A sudden thoughtcame to Helga, and she lifted up the cross and planted it upon thegrave, between the stones that covered him and the dead horse. The sadrecollection brought the tears to her eyes, and in this gentlespirit she traced the same sign in the sand round the grave; and asshe formed, with both her hands, the sign of the cross, the web skinfell from them like a torn glove. She washed her hands in the water ofthe spring, and gazed with astonishment at their delicate whiteness.Again she made the holy sign in the air, between herself and thedead man; her lips trembled, her tongue moved, and the name whichshe in her ride through the forest had so often heard spoken, roseto her lips, and she uttered the words, "Jesus Christ." Then thefrog skin fell from her; she was once more a lovely maiden. Her headbent wearily, her tired limbs required rest, and then she slept.

Her sleep, however, was short. Towards midnight, she awoke; beforeher stood the dead horse, prancing and full of life, which shone forthfrom his eyes and from his wounded neck. Close by his side appearedthe murdered Christian priest, more beautiful than Baldur, as theViking's wife had said; but now he came as if in a flame of fire. Suchgravity, such stern justice, such a piercing glance shone from hislarge, gentle eyes, that it seemed to penetrate into every corner ofher heart. Beautiful Helga trembled at the look, and her memoryreturned with a power as if it had been the day of judgment. Everygood deed that had been done for her, every loving word that hadbeen said, were vividly before her mind. She understood now thatlove had kept her here during the day of her trial; while the creatureformed of dust and clay, soul and spirit, had wrestled and struggledwith evil. She acknowledged that she had only followed the impulses ofan evil disposition, that she had done nothing to cure herself;everything had been given her, and all had happened as it were bythe ordination of Providence. She bowed herself humbly, confessedher great imperfections in the sight of Him who can read every faultof the heart, and then the priest spoke. "Daughter of the moorland,thou hast come from the swamp and the marshy earth, but from this thoushalt arise. The sunlight shining into thy inmost soul proves theorigin from which thou hast really sprung, and has restored the bodyto its natural form. I am come to thee from the land of the dead,and thou also must pass through the valley to reach the holy mountainswhere mercy and perfection dwell. I cannot lead thee to Hedeby thatthou mayst receive Christian baptism, for first thou must remove thethick veil with which the waters of the moorland are shrouded, andbring forth from its depths the living author of thy being and thylife. Till this is done, thou canst not receive consecration."

Then he lifted her on the horse and gave her a golden censer,similar to those she had already seen at the Viking's house. A sweetperfume arose from it, while the open wound in the forehead of theslain priest, shone with the rays of a diamond. He took the cross fromthe grave, and held it aloft, and now they rode through the air overthe rustling trees, over the hills where warriors lay buried each byhis dead war-horse; and the brazen monumental figures rose up andgalloped forth, and stationed themselves on the summits of thehills. The golden crescent on their foreheads, fastened with goldenknots, glittered in the moonlight, and their mantles floated in thewind. The dragon, that guards buried treasure, lifted his head andgazed after them. The goblins and the satyrs peeped out from beneaththe hills, and flitted to and fro in the fields, waving blue, red, andgreen torches, like the glowing sparks in burning paper. Over woodlandand heath, flood and fen, they flew on, till they reached the wildmoor, over which they hovered in broad circles. The Christian priestheld the cross aloft, and it glittered like gold, while from hislips sounded pious prayers. Beautiful Helga's voice joined with his inthe hymns he sung, as a child joins in her mother's song. She swungthe censer, and a wonderful fragrance of incense arose from it; sopowerful, that the reeds and rushes of the moor burst forth intoblossom. Each germ came forth from the deep ground: all that hadlife raised itself. Blooming water-lilies spread themselves forth likea carpet of wrought flowers, and upon them lay a slumbering woman,young and beautiful. Helga fancied that it was her own image she sawreflected in the still water. But it was her mother she beheld, thewife of the Marsh King, the princess from the land of the Nile.

The dead Christian priest desired that the sleeping woman shouldbe lifted on the horse, but the horse sank beneath the load, as ifhe had been a funeral pall fluttering in the wind. But the sign of thecross made the airy phantom strong, and then the three rode awayfrom the marsh to firm ground.

At the same moment the cock crew in the Viking's castle, and thedream figures dissolved and floated away in the air, but mother anddaughter stood opposite to each other.

"Am I looking at my own image in the deep water?" said the mother.

"Is it myself that I see represented on a white shield?" cried thedaughter.

Then they came nearer to each other in a fond embrace. Themother's heart beat quickly, and she understood the quickenedpulses. "My child!" she exclaimed, "the flower of my heart- my lotusflower of the deep water!" and she embraced her child again andwept, and the tears were as a baptism of new life and love forHelga. "In swan's plumage I came here," said the mother, "and here Ithrew off my feather dress. Then I sank down through the waveringground, deep into the marsh beneath, which closed like a wall aroundme; I found myself after a while in fresher water; still a powerdrew me down deeper and deeper. I felt the weight of sleep upon myeyelids. Then I slept, and dreams hovered round me. It seemed to me asif I were again in the pyramids of Egypt, and yet the waving eldertrunk that had frightened me on the moor stood ever before me. Iobserved the clefts and wrinkles in the stem; they shone forth instrange colors, and took the form of hieroglyphics. It was the mummycase on which I gazed. At last it burst, and forth stepped thethousand years' old king, the mummy form, black as pitch, black as theshining wood-snail, or the slimy mud of the swamp. Whether it wasreally the mummy or the Marsh King I know not. He seized me in hisarms, and I felt as if I must die. When I recovered myself, I found inmy bosom a little bird, flapping its wings, twittering and fluttering.The bird flew away from my bosom, upwards towards the dark, heavycanopy above me, but a long, green band kept it fastened to me. Iheard and understood the tenor of its longings. Freedom! sunlight!to my father! Then I thought of my father, and the sunny land of mybirth, my life, and my love. Then I loosened the band, and let thebird fly away to its home- to a father. Since that hour I haveceased to dream; my sleep has been long and heavy, till in this veryhour, harmony and fragrance awoke me, and set me free."

The green band which fastened the wings of the bird to themother's heart, where did it flutter now? whither had it beenwafted? The stork only had seen it. The band was the green stalk,the cup of the flower the cradle in which lay the child, that now inblooming beauty had been folded to the mother's heart.

And while the two were resting in each other's arms, the old storkflew round and round them in narrowing circles, till at length he flewaway swiftly to his nest, and fetched away the two suits of swan'sfeathers, which he had preserved there for many years. Then hereturned to the mother and daughter, and threw the swan's plumage overthem; the feathers immediately closed around them, and they rose upfrom the earth in the form of two white swans.

"And now we can converse with pleasure," said the stork-papa;"we can understand one another, although the beaks of birds are sodifferent in shape. It is very fortunate that you came to-night.To-morrow we should have been gone. The mother, myself and thelittle ones, we're about to fly to the south. Look at me now: I aman old friend from the Nile, and a mother's heart contains more thanher beak. She always said that the princess would know how to helpherself. I and the young ones carried the swan's feathers over here,and I am glad of it now, and how lucky it is that I am here still.When the day dawns we shall start with a great company of otherstorks. We'll fly first, and you can follow in our track, so thatyou cannot miss your way. I and the young ones will have an eye uponyou."

"And the lotus-flower which I was to take with me," said theEgyptian princess, "is flying here by my side, clothed in swan'sfeathers. The flower of my heart will travel with me; and so theriddle is solved. Now for home! now for home!"

But Helga said she could not leave the Danish land without oncemore seeing her foster-mother, the loving wife of the Viking. Eachpleasing recollection, each kind word, every tear from the heart whichher foster-mother had wept for her, rose in her mind, and at thatmoment she felt as if she loved this mother the best.

"Yes, we must go to the Viking's castle," said the stork;"mother and the young ones are waiting for me there. How they willopen their eyes and flap their wings! My wife, you see, does not saymuch; she is short and abrupt in her manner; but she means well, forall that. I will flap my wings at once, that they may hear us coming."Then stork-papa flapped his wings in first-rate style, and he andthe swans flew away to the Viking's castle.

In the castle, every one was in a deep sleep. It had been latein the evening before the Viking's wife retired to rest. She wasanxious about Helga, who, three days before, had vanished with theChristian priest. Helga must have helped him in his flight, for it washer horse that was missed from the stable; but by what power had allthis been accomplished? The Viking's wife thought of it with wonder,thought on the miracles which they said could be performed by thosewho believed in the Christian faith, and followed its teachings. Thesepassing thoughts formed themselves into a vivid dream, and it seemedto her that she was still lying awake on her couch, while withoutdarkness reigned. A storm arose; she heard the lake dashing androlling from east and west, like the waves of the North Sea or theCattegat. The monstrous snake which, it is said, surrounds the earthin the depths of the ocean, was trembling in spasmodic convulsions.The night of the fall of the gods was come, "Ragnorock," as theheathens call the judgment-day, when everything shall pass away,even the high gods themselves. The war trumpet sounded; riding uponthe rainbow, came the gods, clad in steel, to fight their lastbattle on the last battle-field. Before them flew the winged vampires,and the dead warriors closed up the train. The whole firmament wasablaze with the northern lights, and yet the darkness triumphed. Itwas a terrible hour. And, close to the terrified woman, Helga seemedto be seated on the floor, in the hideous form of a frog, yettrembling, and clinging to her foster-mother, who took her on her lap,and lovingly caressed her, hideous and frog-like as she was. The airwas filled with the clashing of arms and the hissing of arrows, asif a storm of hail was descending upon the earth. It seemed to her thehour when earth and sky would burst asunder, and all things beswallowed up in Saturn's fiery lake; but she knew that a new heavenand a new earth would arise, and that corn-fields would wave where nowthe lake rolled over desolate sands, and the ineffable God reign. Thenshe saw rising from the region of the dead, Baldur the gentle, theloving, and as the Viking's wife gazed upon him, she recognized hiscountenance. It was the captive Christian priest. "White Christian!"she exclaimed aloud, and with the words, she pressed a kiss on theforehead of the hideous frog-child. Then the frog-skin fell off, andHelga stood before her in all her beauty, more lovely andgentle-looking, and with eyes beaming with love. She kissed thehands of her foster-mother, blessed her for all her fostering love andcare during the days of her trial and misery, for the thoughts she hadsuggested and awoke in her heart, and for naming the Name which shenow repeated. Then beautiful Helga rose as a mighty swan, and spreadher wings with the rushing sound of troops of birds of passageflying through the air.

Then the Viking's wife awoke, but she still heard the rushingsound without. She knew it was the time for the storks to depart,and that it must be their wings which she heard. She felt she shouldlike to see them once more, and bid them farewell. She rose from hercouch, stepped out on the threshold, and beheld, on the ridge of theroof, a party of storks ranged side by side. Troops of the birdswere flying in circles over the castle and the highest trees; but justbefore her, as she stood on the threshold and close to the wellwhere Helga had so often sat and alarmed her with her wildness, nowstood two swans, gazing at her with intelligent eyes. Then sheremembered her dream, which still appeared to her as a reality. Shethought of Helga in the form of a swan. She thought of a Christianpriest, and suddenly a wonderful joy arose in her heart. The swansflapped their wings and arched their necks as if to offer her agreeting, and the Viking's wife spread out her arms towards them, asif she accepted it, and smiled through her tears. She was rousedfrom deep thought by a rustling of wings and snapping of beaks; allthe storks arose, and started on their journey towards the south.

"We will not wait for the swans," said the mamma stork; "if theywant to go with us, let them come now; we can't sit here till theplovers start. It is a fine thing after all to travel in families, notlike the finches and the partridges. There the male and the femalebirds fly in separate flocks, which, to speak candidly, I considervery unbecoming."

"What are those swans flapping their wings for?"

"Well, every one flies in his own fashion," said the papa stork."The swans fly in an oblique line; the cranes, in the form of atriangle; and the plovers, in a curved line like a snake."

"Don't talk about snakes while we are flying up here," saidstork-mamma. "It puts ideas into the children's heads that can notbe realized."

"Are those the high mountains I have heard spoken of?" askedHelga, in the swan's plumage.

"They are storm-clouds driving along beneath us," replied hermother.

"What are yonder white clouds that rise so high?" again inquiredHelga.

"Those are mountains covered with perpetual snows, that you seeyonder," said her mother. And then they flew across the Alps towardsthe blue Mediterranean.

"Africa's land! Egyptia's strand!" sang the daughter of theNile, in her swan's plumage, as from the upper air she caught sight ofher native land, a narrow, golden, wavy strip on the shores of theNile; the other birds espied it also and hastened their flight.

"I can smell the Nile mud and the wet frogs," said thestork-mamma, "and I begin to feel quite hungry. Yes, now you shalltaste something nice, and you will see the marabout bird, and theibis, and the crane. They all belong to our family, but they are notnearly so handsome as we are. They give themselves great airs,especially the ibis. The Egyptians have spoilt him. They make amummy of him, and stuff him with spices. I would rather be stuffedwith live frogs, and so would you, and so you shall. Better havesomething in your inside while you are alive, than to be made a paradeof after you are dead. That is my opinion, and I am always right."

"The storks are come," was said in the great house on the banks ofthe Nile, where the lord lay in the hall on his downy cushions,covered with a leopard skin, scarcely alive, yet not dead, waiting andhoping for the lotus-flower from the deep moorland in the far north.Relatives and servants were standing by his couch, when the twobeautiful swans who had come with the storks flew into the hall.They threw off their soft white plumage, and two lovely female formsapproached the pale, sick old man, and threw back their long hair, andwhen Helga bent over her grandfather, redness came back to his cheeks,his eyes brightened, and life returned to his benumbed limbs. Theold man rose up with health and energy renewed; daughter andgrandchild welcomed him as joyfully as if with a morning greetingafter a long and troubled dream.

Joy reigned through the whole house, as well as in the stork'snest; although there the chief cause was really the good food,especially the quantities of frogs, which seemed to spring out ofthe ground in swarms.

Then the learned men hastened to note down, in flyingcharacters, the story of the two princesses, and spoke of thearrival of the health-giving flower as a mighty event, which hadbeen a blessing to the house and the land. Meanwhile, the stork-papatold the story to his family in his own way; but not till they hadeaten and were satisfied; otherwise they would have had something elseto do than to listen to stories.

"Well," said the stork-mamma, when she had heard it, "you willbe made something of at last; I suppose they can do nothing less."

"What could I be made?" said stork-papa; "what have I done?-just nothing."

"You have done more than all the rest," she replied. "But foryou and the youngsters the two young princesses would never haveseen Egypt again, and the recovery of the old man would not havebeen effected. You will become something. They must certainly give youa doctor's hood, and our young ones will inherit it, and theirchildren after them, and so on. You already look like an Egyptiandoctor, at least in my eyes."

"I cannot quite remember the words I heard when I listened onthe roof," said stork-papa, while relating the story to his family;"all I know is, that what the wise men said was so complicated andso learned, that they received not only rank, but presents; even thehead cook at the great house was honored with a mark of distinction,most likely for the soup."

"And what did you receive?" said the stork-mamma. "Theycertainly ought not to forget the most important person in the affair,as you really are. The learned men have done nothing at all but usetheir tongues. Surely they will not overlook you."

Late in the night, while the gentle sleep of peace rested on thenow happy house, there was still one watcher. It was not stork-papa,who, although he stood on guard on one leg, could sleep soundly. Helgaalone was awake. She leaned over the balcony, gazing at thesparkling stars that shone clearer and brighter in the pure air thanthey had done in the north, and yet they were the same stars. Shethought of the Viking's wife in the wild moorland, of the gentleeyes of her foster-mother, and of the tears she had shed over the poorfrog-child that now lived in splendor and starry beauty by thewaters of the Nile, with air balmy and sweet as spring. She thought ofthe love that dwelt in the breast of the heathen woman, love thathad been shown to a wretched creature, hateful as a human being, andhideous when in the form of an animal. She looked at the glitteringstars, and thought of the radiance that had shone forth on theforehead of the dead man, as she had fled with him over the woodlandand moor. Tones were awakened in her memory; words which she had heardhim speak as they rode onward, when she was carried, wondering andtrembling, through the air; words from the great Fountain of love, thehighest love that embraces all the human race. What had not been wonand achieved by this love?

Day and night beautiful Helga was absorbed in the contemplation ofthe great amount of her happiness, and lost herself in thecontemplation, like a child who turns hurriedly from the giver toexamine the beautiful gifts. She was over-powered with her goodfortune, which seemed always increasing, and therefore what might itbecome in the future? Had she not been brought by a wonderfulmiracle to all this joy and happiness? And in these thoughts sheindulged, until at last she thought no more of the Giver. It was theover-abundance of youthful spirits unfolding its wings for a daringflight. Her eyes sparkled with energy, when suddenly arose a loudnoise in the court below, and the daring thought vanished. Shelooked down, and saw two large ostriches running round quickly innarrow circles; she had never seen these creatures before,- great,coarse, clumsy-looking birds with curious wings that looked as if theyhad been clipped, and the birds themselves had the appearance ofhaving been roughly used. She inquired about them, and for the firsttime heard the legend which the Egyptians relate respecting theostrich.

Once, say they, the ostriches were a beautiful and glorious raceof birds, with large, strong wings. One evening the other largebirds of the forest said to the ostrich, "Brother, shall we fly to theriver to-morrow morning to drink, God willing?" and the ostrichanswered, "I will."

With the break of day, therefore, they commenced their flight;first rising high in the air, towards the sun, which is the eye ofGod; still higher and higher the ostrich flew, far above the otherbirds, proudly approaching the light, trusting in its own strength,and thinking not of the Giver, or saying, "if God will." When suddenlythe avenging angel drew back the veil from the flaming ocean ofsunlight, and in a moment the wings of the proud bird were scorchedand shrivelled, and they sunk miserably to the earth. Since thattime the ostrich and his race have never been able to rise in the air;they can only fly terror-stricken along the ground, or run round andround in narrow circles. It is a warning to mankind, that in all ourthoughts and schemes, and in every action we undertake, we should say,"if God will."

Then Helga bowed her head thoughtfully and seriously, and lookedat the circling ostrich, as with timid fear and simple pleasure itglanced at its own great shadow on the sunlit walls. And the storyof the ostrich sunk deeply into the heart and mind of Helga: a life ofhappiness, both in the present and in the future, seemed secure forher, and what was yet to come might be the best of all, God willing.

Early in the spring, when the storks were again about to journeynorthward, beautiful Helga took off her golden bracelets, scratchedher name on them, and beckoned to the stork-father. He came to her,and she placed the golden circlet round his neck, and begged him todeliver it safely to the Viking's wife, so that she might know thather foster-daughter still lived, was happy, and had not forgotten her.

"It is rather heavy to carry," thought stork-papa, when he hadit on his neck; "but gold and honor are not to be flung into thestreet. The stork brings good fortune- they'll be obliged toacknowledge that at last."

"You lay gold, and I lay eggs," said stork-mamma; "with you itis only once in a way, I lay eggs every year But no one appreciateswhat we do; I call it very mortifying."

"But then we have a consciousness of our own worth, mother,"replied stork-papa.

"What good will that do you?" retorted stork-mamma; "it willneither bring you a fair wind, nor a good meal."

"The little nightingale, who is singing yonder in the tamarindgrove, will soon be going north, too." Helga said she had oftenheard her singing on the wild moor, so she determined to send amessage by her. While flying in the swan's plumage she had learntthe bird language; she had often conversed with the stork and theswallow, and she knew that the nightingale would understand. So shebegged the nightingale to fly to the beechwood, on the peninsula ofJutland, where a mound of stone and twigs had been raised to formthe grave, and she begged the nightingale to persuade all the otherlittle birds to build their nests round the place, so that evermoreshould resound over that grave music and song. And the nightingaleflew away, and time flew away also.

In the autumn, an eagle, standing upon a pyramid, saw a statelytrain of richly laden camels, and men attired in armor on foamingArabian steeds, whose glossy skins shone like silver, their nostrilswere pink, and their thick, flowing manes hung almost to their slenderlegs. A royal prince of Arabia, handsome as a prince should be, andaccompanied by distinguished guests, was on his way to the statelyhouse, on the roof of which the storks' empty nests might be seen.They were away now in the far north, but expected to return very soon.And, indeed, they returned on a day that was rich in joy and gladness.

A marriage was being celebrated, in which the beautiful Helga,glittering in silk and jewels, was the bride, and the bridegroom theyoung Arab prince. Bride and bridegroom sat at the upper end of thetable, between the bride's mother and grandfather. But her gaze wasnot on the bridegroom, with his manly, sunburnt face, round whichcurled a black beard, and whose dark fiery eyes were fixed upon her;but away from him, at a twinkling star, that shone down upon herfrom the sky. Then was heard the sound of rushing wings beating theair. The storks were coming home; and the old stork pair, althoughtired with the journey and requiring rest, did not fail to fly down atonce to the balustrades of the verandah, for they knew already whatfeast was being celebrated. They had heard of it on the borders of theland, and also that Helga had caused their figures to be representedon the walls, for they belonged to her history.

"I call that very sensible and pretty," said stork-papa.

"Yes, but it is very little," said mamma stork; "they could notpossibly have done less."

But, when Helga saw them, she rose and went out into theverandah to stroke the backs of the storks. The old stork pair bowedtheir heads, and curved their necks, and even the youngest among theyoung ones felt honored by this reception.

Helga continued to gaze upon the glittering star, which seemedto glow brighter and purer in its light; then between herself andthe star floated a form, purer than the air, and visible through it.It floated quite near to her, and she saw that it was the deadChristian priest, who also was coming to her wedding feast- comingfrom the heavenly kingdom.

"The glory and brightness, yonder, outshines all that is knownon earth," said he.

Then Helga the fair prayed more gently, and more earnestly, thanshe had ever prayed in her life before, that she might be permitted togaze, if only for a single moment, at the glory and brightness ofthe heavenly kingdom. Then she felt herself lifted up, as it were,above the earth, through a sea of sound and thought; not only aroundher, but within her, was there light and song, such as words cannotexpress.

"Now we must return;" he said; "you will be missed."

"Only one more look," she begged; "but one short moment more."

"We must return to earth; the guests will have all departed.Only one more look!- the last!"

Then Helga stood again in the verandah. But the marriage lampsin the festive hall had been all extinguished, and the torches outsidehad vanished. The storks were gone; not a guest could be seen; nobridegroom- all in those few short moments seemed to have died. Then agreat dread fell upon her. She stepped from the verandah through theempty hall into the next chamber, where slept strange warriors. Sheopened a side door, which once led into her own apartment, but now, asshe passed through, she found herself suddenly in a garden which shehad never before seen here, the sky blushed red, it was the dawn ofmorning. Three minutes only in heaven, and a whole night on earthhad passed away! Then she saw the storks, and called to them intheir own language.

Then stork-papa turned his head towards here, listened to herwords, and drew near. "You speak our language," said he, "what doyou wish? Why do you appear,- you- a strange woman?"

"It is I- it is Helga! Dost thou not know me? Three minutes ago wewere speaking together yonder in the verandah."

"That is a mistake," said the stork, "you must have dreamed allthis."

"No, no," she exclaimed. Then she reminded him of the Viking'scastle, of the great lake, and of the journey across the ocean.

Then stork-papa winked his eyes, and said, "Why that's an oldstory which happened in the time of my grandfather. There certainlywas a princess of that kind here in Egypt once, who came from theDanish land, but she vanished on the evening of her wedding day,many hundred years ago, and never came back. You may read about ityourself yonder, on a monument in the garden. There you will findswans and storks sculptured, and on the top is a figure of theprincess Helga, in marble."

And so it was; Helga understood it all now, and sank on her knees.The sun burst forth in all its glory, and, as in olden times, the formof the frog vanished in his beams, and the beautiful form stoodforth in all its loveliness; so now, bathed in light, rose a beautifulform, purer, clearer than air- a ray of brightness- from the Source oflight Himself. The body crumbled into dust, and a faded lotus-flowerlay on the spot on which Helga had stood.

"Now that is a new ending to the story," said stork-papa; "Ireally never expected it would end in this way, but it seems a verygood ending."

"And what will the young ones say to it, I wonder?" saidstork-mamma.

"Ah, that is a very important question," replied the stork.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE METAL PIG

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Granduca,runs a little street called Porta Rosa. In this street, just infront of the market-place where vegetables are sold, stands a pig,made of brass and curiously formed. The bright color has beenchanged by age to dark green; but clear, fresh water pours from thesnout, which shines as if it had been polished, and so indeed ithas, for hundreds of poor people and children seize it in theirhands as they place their mouths close to the mouth of the animal,to drink. It is quite a picture to see a half-naked boy clasping thewell-formed creature by the head, as he presses his rosy lipsagainst its jaws. Every one who visits Florence can very quicklyfind the place; he has only to ask the first beggar he meets for theMetal Pig, and he will be told where it is.

It was late on a winter evening; the mountains were covered withsnow, but the moon shone brightly, and moonlight in Italy is like adull winter's day in the north; indeed it is better, for clear airseems to raise us above the earth, while in the north a cold, gray,leaden sky appears to press us down to earth, even as the cold dampearth shall one day press on us in the grave. In the garden of thegrand duke's palace, under the roof of one of the wings, where athousand roses bloom in winter, a little ragged boy had been sittingthe whole day long; a boy, who might serve as a type of Italy,lovely and smiling, and yet still suffering. He was hungry andthirsty, yet no one gave him anything; and when it became dark, andthey were about to close the gardens, the porter turned him out. Hestood a long time musing on the bridge which crosses the Arno, andlooking at the glittering stars, reflected in the water which flowedbetween him and the elegant marble bridge Della Trinita. He thenwalked away towards the Metal Pig, half knelt down, clasped it withhis arms, and then put his mouth to the shining snout and drank deepdraughts of the fresh water. Close by, lay a few salad-leaves andtwo chestnuts, which were to serve for his supper. No one was in thestreet but himself; it belonged only to him, so he boldly seatedhimself on the pig's back, leaned forward so that his curly head couldrest on the head of the animal, and, before he was aware, he fellasleep.

It was midnight. The Metal Pig raised himself gently, and theboy heard him say quite distinctly, "Hold tight, little boy, for Iam going to run;" and away he started for a most wonderful ride.First, they arrived at the Piazza del Granduca, and the metal horsewhich bears the duke's statue, neighed aloud. The paintedcoats-of-arms on the old council-house shone like transparentpictures, and Michael Angelo's David tossed his sling; it was as ifeverything had life. The metallic groups of figures, among whichwere Perseus and the Rape of the Sabines, looked like livingpersons, and cries of terror sounded from them all across the noblesquare. By the Palazzo degli Uffizi, in the arcade, where the nobilityassemble for the carnival, the Metal Pig stopped. "Hold fast," saidthe animal; "hold fast, for I am going up stairs."

The little boy said not a word; he was half pleased and halfafraid. They entered a long gallery, where the boy had been before.The walls were resplendent with paintings; here stood statues andbusts, all in a clear light as if it were day. But the grandestappeared when the door of a side room opened; the little boy couldremember what beautiful things he had seen there, but to-nighteverything shone in its brightest colors. Here stood the figure of abeautiful woman, as beautifully sculptured as possible by one of thegreat masters. Her graceful limbs appeared to move; dolphins sprang ather feet, and immortality shone from her eyes. The world called herthe Venus de' Medici. By her side were statues, in which the spirit oflife breathed in stone; figures of men, one of whom whetted his sword,and was named the Grinder; wrestling gladiators formed anothergroup, the sword had been sharpened for them, and they strove forthe goddess of beauty. The boy was dazzled by so much glitter; for thewalls were gleaming with bright colors, all appeared living reality.

As they passed from hall to hall, beauty everywhere showed itself;and as the Metal Pig went step by step from one picture to theother, the little boy could see it all plainly. One glory eclipsedanother; yet there was one picture that fixed itself on the littleboy's memory, more especially because of the happy children itrepresented, for these the little boy had seen in daylight. Manypass this picture by with indifference, and yet it contains a treasureof poetic feeling; it represents Christ descending into Hades. Theyare not the lost whom the spectator sees, but the heathen of oldentimes. The Florentine, Angiolo Bronzino, painted this picture; mostbeautiful is the expression on the face of the two children, whoappear to have full confidence that they shall reach heaven at last.They are embracing each other, and one little one stretches out hishand towards another who stands below him, and points to himself, asif he were saying, "I am going to heaven." The older people stand asif uncertain, yet hopeful, and they bow in humble adoration to theLord Jesus. On this picture the boy's eyes rested longer than on anyother: the Metal Pig stood still before it. A low sigh was heard.Did it come from the picture or from the animal? The boy raised hishands towards the smiling children, and then the Pig ran off withhim through the open vestibule.

"Thank you, thank you, you beautiful animal," said the little boy,caressing the Metal Pig as it ran down the steps.

"Thanks to yourself also," replied the Metal Pig; "I have helpedyou and you have helped me, for it is only when I have an innocentchild on my back that I receive the power to run. Yes; as you see, Ican even venture under the rays of the lamp, in front of the pictureof the Madonna, but I may not enter the church; still from without,and while you are upon my back, I may look in through the open door.Do not get down yet, for if you do, then I shall be lifeless, as youhave seen me in the Porta Rosa."

"I will stay with you, my dear creature," said the little boy.So then they went on at a rapid pace through the streets ofFlorence, till they came to the square before the church of SantaCroce. The folding-doors flew open, and light streamed from thealtar through the church into the deserted square. A wonderful blazeof light streamed from one of the monuments in the left-side aisle,and a thousand moving stars seemed to form a glory round it; eventhe coat-of-arms on the tomb-stone shone, and a red ladder on a bluefield gleamed like fire. It was the grave of Galileo. The monumentis unadorned, but the red ladder is an emblem of art, signifyingthat the way to glory leads up a shining ladder, on which the prophetsof mind rise to heaven, like Elias of old. In the right aisle of thechurch every statue on the richly carved sarcophagi seemed endowedwith life. Here stood Michael Angelo; there Dante, with the laurelwreath round his brow; Alfieri and Machiavelli; for here side byside rest the great men- the pride of Italy. The church itself is verybeautiful, even more beautiful than the marble cathedral atFlorence, though not so large. It seemed as if the carved vestmentsstirred, and as if the marble figures they covered raised theirheads higher, to gaze upon the brightly colored glowing altar wherethe white-robed boys swung the golden censers, amid music and song,while the strong fragrance of incense filled the church, andstreamed forth into the square. The boy stretched forth his handstowards the light, and at the same moment the Metal Pig startedagain so rapidly that he was obliged to cling tightly to him. The windwhistled in his ears, he heard the church door creak on its hingesas it closed, and it seemed to him as if he had lost his senses-then a cold shudder passed over him, and he awoke.

It was morning; the Metal Pig stood in its old place on thePorta Rosa, and the boy found he had slipped nearly off its back. Fearand trembling came upon him as he thought of his mother; she hadsent him out the day before to get some money, he had not done so, andnow he was hungry and thirsty. Once more he clasped the neck of hismetal horse, kissed its nose, and nodded farewell to it. Then hewandered away into one of the narrowest streets, where there wasscarcely room for a loaded donkey to pass. A great iron-bound doorstood ajar; he passed through, and climbed up a brick staircase,with dirty walls and a rope for a balustrade, till he came to anopen gallery hung with rags. From here a flight of steps led down to acourt, where from a well water was drawn up by iron rollers to thedifferent stories of the house, and where the water-buckets hungside by side. Sometimes the roller and the bucket danced in the air,splashing the water all over the court. Another broken-downstaircase led from the gallery, and two Russian sailors running downit almost upset the poor boy. They were coming from their nightlycarousal. A woman not very young, with an unpleasant face and aquantity of black hair, followed them. "What have you brought home?"she asked. when she saw the boy.

"Don't be angry," he pleaded; "I received nothing, I havenothing at all;" and he seized his mother's dress and would havekissed it. Then they went into a little room. I need not describeit, but only say that there stood in it an earthen pot with handles,made for holding fire, which in Italy is called a marito. This pot shetook in her lap, warmed her fingers, and pushed the boy with herelbow.

"Certainly you must have some money," she said. The boy began tocry, and then she struck him with her foot till he cried out louder.

"Will you be quiet? or I'll break your screaming head;" and sheswung about the fire-pot which she held in her hand, while the boycrouched to the earth and screamed.

Then a neighbor came in, and she had also a marito under herarm. "Felicita," she said, "what are you doing to the child?"

"The child is mine," she answered; "I can murder him if I like,and you too, Giannina." And then she swung about the fire-pot. Theother woman lifted up hers to defend herself, and the two pots clashedtogether so violently that they were dashed to pieces, and fire andashes flew about the room. The boy rushed out at the sight, spedacross the courtyard, and fled from the house. The poor child ran tillhe was quite out of breath; at last he stopped at the church, thedoors of which were opened to him the night before, and went in.Here everything was bright, and the boy knelt down by the first tombon his right, the grave of Michael Angelo, and sobbed as if hisheart would break. People came and went, mass was performed, but noone noticed the boy, excepting an elderly citizen, who stood still andlooked at him for a moment, and then went away like the rest. Hungerand thirst overpowered the child, and he became quite faint and ill.At last he crept into a corner behind the marble monuments, and wentto sleep. Towards evening he was awakened by a pull at his sleeve;he started up, and the same old citizen stood before him.

"Are you ill? where do you live? have you been here all day?" weresome of the questions asked by the old man. After hearing his answers,the old man took him home to a small house close by, in a back street.They entered a glovemaker's shop, where a woman sat sewing busily. Alittle white poodle, so closely shaven that his pink skin couldplainly be seen, frisked about the room, and gambolled upon the boy.

"Innocent souls are soon intimate," said the woman, as shecaressed both the boy and the dog. These good people gave the childfood and drink, and said he should stay with them all night, andthat the next day the old man, who was called Giuseppe, would go andspeak to his mother. A little homely bed was prepared for him, butto him who had so often slept on the hard stones it was a royal couch,and he slept sweetly and dreamed of the splendid pictures and of theMetal Pig. Giuseppe went out the next morning, and the poor childwas not glad to see him go, for he knew that the old man was gone tohis mother, and that, perhaps, he would have to go back. He wept atthe thought, and then he played with the little, lively dog, andkissed it, while the old woman looked kindly at him to encouragehim. And what news did Giuseppe bring back? At first the boy could nothear, for he talked a great deal to his wife, and she nodded andstroked the boy's cheek.

Then she said, "He is a good lad, he shall stay with us, he maybecome a clever glovemaker, like you. Look what delicate fingers hehas got; Madonna intended him for a glovemaker." So the boy stayedwith them, and the woman herself taught him to sew; and he ate well,and slept well, and became very merry. But at last he began to teaseBellissima, as the little dog was called. This made the woman angry,and she scolded him and threatened him, which made him very unhappy,and he went and sat in his own room full of sad thoughts. This chamberlooked upon the street, in which hung skins to dry, and there werethick iron bars across his window. That night he lay awake, thinkingof the Metal Pig; indeed, it was always in his thoughts. Suddenly hefancied he heard feet outside going pit-a-pat. He sprung out of bedand went to the window. Could it be the Metal Pig? But there wasnothing to be seen; whatever he had heard had passed already. Nextmorning, their neighbor, the artist, passed by, carrying a paint-boxand a large roll of canvas.

"Help the gentleman to carry his box of colors," said the woman tothe boy; and he obeyed instantly, took the box, and followed thepainter. They walked on till they reached the picture gallery, andmounted the same staircase up which he had ridden that night on theMetal Pig. He remembered all the statues and pictures, the beautifulmarble Venus, and again he looked at the Madonna with the Saviourand St. John. They stopped before the picture by Bronzino, in whichChrist is represented as standing in the lower world, with thechildren smiling before Him, in the sweet expectation of enteringheaven; and the poor boy smiled, too, for here was his heaven.

"You may go home now," said the painter, while the boy stoodwatching him, till he had set up his easel.

"May I see you paint?" asked the boy; "may I see you put thepicture on this white canvas?"

"I am not going to paint yet," replied the artist; then he broughtout a piece of chalk. His hand moved quickly, and his eye measured thegreat picture; and though nothing appeared but a faint line, thefigure of the Saviour was as clearly visible as in the coloredpicture.

"Why don't you go?" said the painter. Then the boy wandered homesilently, and seated himself on the table, and learned to sewgloves. But all day long his thoughts were in the picture gallery; andso he pricked his fingers and was awkward. But he did not teaseBellissima. When evening came, and the house door stood open, heslipped out. It was a bright, beautiful, starlight evening, but rathercold. Away he went through the already-deserted streets, and soon cameto the Metal Pig; he stooped down and kissed its shining nose, andthen seated himself on its back.

"You happy creature," he said; "how I have longed for you! we musttake a ride to-night."

But the Metal Pig lay motionless, while the fresh stream gushedforth from its mouth. The little boy still sat astride on its back,when he felt something pulling at his clothes. He looked down, andthere was Bellissima, little smooth-shaven Bellissima, barking as ifshe would have said, "Here I am too; why are you sitting there?"

A fiery dragon could not have frightened the little boy so much asdid the little dog in this place. "Bellissima in the street, and notdressed!" as the old lady called it; "what would be the end of this?"

The dog never went out in winter, unless she was attired in alittle lambskin coat which had been made for her; it was fastenedround the little dog's neck and body with red ribbons, and wasdecorated with rosettes and little bells. The dog looked almost like alittle kid when she was allowed to go out in winter, and trot afterher mistress. And now here she was in the cold, and not dressed. Oh,how would it end? All his fancies were quickly put to flight; yet hekissed the Metal Pig once more, and then took Bellissima in hisarms. The poor little thing trembled so with cold, that the boy ranhomeward as fast as he could.

"What are you running away with there?" asked two of the policewhom he met, and at whom the dog barked. "Where have you stolen thatpretty dog?" they asked; and they took it away from him.

"Oh, I have not stolen it; do give it to me back again," cried theboy, despairingly.

"If you have not stolen it, you may say at home that they can sendto the watch-house for the dog." Then they told him where thewatch-house was, and went away with Bellissima.

Here was a dreadful trouble. The boy did not know whether he hadbetter jump into the Arno, or go home and confess everything. Theywould certainly kill him, he thought.

"Well, I would gladly be killed," he reasoned; "for then I shalldie, and go to heaven:" and so he went home, almost hoping for death.

The door was locked, and he could not reach the knocker. No onewas in the street; so he took up a stone, and with it made atremendous noise at the door.

"Who is there?" asked somebody from within.

"It is I," said he. "Bellissima is gone. Open the door, and thenkill me."

Then indeed there was a great panic. Madame was so very fond ofBellissima. She immediately looked at the wall where the dog's dressusually hung; and there was the little lambskin.

"Bellissima in the watch-house!" she cried. "You bad boy! howdid you entice her out? Poor little delicate thing, with those roughpolicemen! and she'll be frozen with cold."

Giuseppe went off at once, while his wife lamented, and the boywept. Several of the neighbors came in, and amongst them thepainter. He took the boy between his knees, and questioned him; and,in broken sentences, he soon heard the whole story, and also about theMetal Pig, and the wonderful ride to the picture-gallery, which wascertainly rather incomprehensible. The painter, however, consoledthe little fellow, and tried to soften the lady's anger; but she wouldnot be pacified till her husband returned with Bellissima, who hadbeen with the police. Then there was great rejoicing, and thepainter caressed the boy, and gave him a number of pictures. Oh,what beautiful pictures these were!- figures with funny heads; and,above all, the Metal Pig was there too. Oh, nothing could be moredelightful. By means of a few strokes, it was made to appear on thepaper; and even the house that stood behind it had been sketched in.Oh, if he could only draw and paint! He who could do this couldconjure all the world before him. The first leisure moment duringthe next day, the boy got a pencil, and on the back of one of theother drawings he attempted to copy the drawing of the Metal Pig,and he succeeded. Certainly it was rather crooked, rather up and down,one leg thick, and another thin; still it was like the copy, and hewas overjoyed at what he had done. The pencil would not go quite as itought,- he had found that out; but the next day he tried again. Asecond pig was drawn by the side of the first, and this looked ahundred times better; and the third attempt was so good, thateverybody might know what it was meant to represent.

And now the glovemaking went on but slowly. The orders given bythe shops in the town were not finished quickly; for the Metal Pig hadtaught the boy that all objects may be drawn upon paper; andFlorence is a picture-book in itself for any one who chooses to turnover its pages. On the Piazza dell Trinita stands a slender pillar,and upon it is the goddess of Justice, blindfolded, with her scales inher hand. She was soon represented on paper, and it was theglovemaker's boy who placed her there. His collection of picturesincreased; but as yet they were only copies of lifeless objects,when one day Bellissima came gambolling before him: "Stand still,"cried he, "and I will draw you beautifully, to put amongst mycollection."

But Bellissima would not stand still, so she must be bound fast inone position. He tied her head and tail; but she barked and jumped,and so pulled and tightened the string, that she was nearly strangled;and just then her mistress walked in.

"You wicked boy! the poor little creature!" was all she couldutter.

She pushed the boy from her, thrust him away with her foot, calledhim a most ungrateful, good-for-nothing, wicked boy, and forbade himto enter the house again. Then she wept, and kissed her littlehalf-strangled Bellissima. At this moment the painter entered theroom.

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In the year 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of Arts atFlorence. Two pictures, placed side by side, attracted a largenumber of spectators. The smaller of the two represented a littleboy sitting at a table, drawing; before him was a little white poodle,curiously shaven; but as the animal would not stand still, it had beenfastened with a string to its head and tail, to keep it in oneposition. The truthfulness and life in this picture interested everyone. The painter was said to be a young Florentine, who had been foundin the streets, when a child, by an old glovemaker, who had broughthim up. The boy had taught himself to draw: it was also said that ayoung artist, now famous, had discovered talent in the child just ashe was about to be sent away for having tied up madame's favoritelittle dog, and using it as a model. The glovemaker's boy had alsobecome a great painter, as the picture proved; but the largerpicture by its side was a still greater proof of his talent. Itrepresented a handsome boy, clothed in rags, lying asleep, and leaningagainst the Metal Pig in the street of the Porta Rosa. All thespectators knew the spot well. The child's arms were round the neck ofthe Pig, and he was in a deep sleep. The lamp before the picture ofthe Madonna threw a strong, effective light on the pale, delicate faceof the child. It was a beautiful picture. A large gilt framesurrounded it, and on one corner of the frame a laurel wreath had beenhung; but a black band, twined unseen among the green leaves, and astreamer of crape, hung down from it; for within the last few days theyoung artist had- died.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE MONEY-BOX

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN a nursery where a number of toys lay scattered about, amoney-box stood on the top of a very high wardrobe. It was made ofclay in the shape of a pig, and had been bought of the potter. Inthe back of the pig was a slit, and this slit had been enlarged with aknife, so that dollars, or crown pieces, might slip through; and,indeed there were two in the box, besides a number of pence. Themoney-pig was stuffed so full that it could no longer rattle, which isthe highest state of perfection to which a money-pig can attain. Therehe stood upon the cupboard, high and lofty, looking down uponeverything else in the room. He knew very well that he had enoughinside him to buy up all the other toys, and this gave him a very goodopinion of his own value. The rest thought of this fact also, althoughthey did not express it, for there were so many other things to talkabout. A large doll, still handsome, though rather old, for her neckhad been mended, lay inside one of the drawers which was partlyopen. She called out to the others, "Let us have a game at being menand women, that is something worth playing at."

Upon this there was a great uproar; even the engravings, whichhung in frames on the wall, turned round in their excitement, andshowed that they had a wrong side to them, although they had not theleast intention to expose themselves in this way, or to object tothe game. It was late at night, but as the moon shone through thewindows, they had light at a cheap rate. And as the game was now tobegin, all were invited to take part in it, even the children's wagon,which certainly belonged to the coarser playthings. "Each has itsown value," said the wagon; "we cannot all be noblemen; there mustbe some to do the work."

The money-pig was the only one who received a writteninvitation. He stood so high that they were afraid he would not accepta verbal message. But in his reply, he said, if he had to take a part,he must enjoy the sport from his own home; they were to arrange forhim to do so; and so they did. The little toy theatre was thereforeput up in such a way that the money-pig could look directly into it.Some wanted to begin with a comedy, and afterwards to have a tea partyand a discussion for mental improvement, but they commenced with thelatter first. The rocking-horse spoke of training and races; the wagonof railways and steam power, for these subjects belonged to each oftheir professions, and it was right they should talk of them. Theclock talked politics- "tick, tick;" he professed to know what was thetime of day, but there was a whisper that he did not go correctly. Thebamboo cane stood by, looking stiff and proud: he was vain of hisbrass ferrule and silver top, and on the sofa lay two worked cushions,pretty but stupid. When the play at the little theatre began, the restsat and looked on; they were requested to applaud and stamp, or crack,when they felt gratified with what they saw. But the riding-whipsaid he never cracked for old people, only for the young who werenot yet married. "I crack for everybody," said the cracker.

"Yes, and a fine noise you make," thought the audience, as theplay went on.

It was not worth much, but it was very well played, and all thecharacters turned their painted sides to the audience, for they weremade only to be seen on one side. The acting was wonderful,excepting that sometimes they came out beyond the lamps, because thewires were a little too long. The doll, whose neck had been darned,was so excited that the place in her neck burst, and the money-pigdeclared he must do something for one of the players, as they hadall pleased him so much. So he made up his mind to remember one ofthem in his will, as the one to be buried with him in the familyvault, whenever that event should happen. They all enjoyed thecomedy so much, that they gave up all thoughts of the tea party, andonly carried out their idea of intellectual amusement, which theycalled playing at men and women; and there was nothing wrong about it,for it was only play. All the while, each one thought most of himself,or of what the money-pig could be thinking. His thoughts were on, ashe supposed, a very distant time- of making his will, and of hisburial, and of when it might all come to pass. Certainly sooner thanhe expected- for all at once down he came from the top of the press,fell on the ground, and was broken to pieces. Then the pennieshopped and danced about in the most amusing manner. The little onestwirled round like tops, and the large ones rolled away as far as theycould, especially the one great silver crown piece who had often to goout into the world, and now he had his wish as well as all the rest ofthe money. The pieces of the money-pig were thrown into thedust-bin, and the next day there stood a new money-pig on thecupboard, but it had not a farthing in its inside yet, andtherefore, like the old one, it could not rattle. This was thebeginning with him, and we will make it the end of our story.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE NEIGHBOURING FAMILIES

by Hans Christian Andersen

ONE would have thought that something important was going on inthe duck-pond, but it was nothing after all. All the ducks lyingquietly on the water or standing on their heads in it- for theycould do that- at once swarm to the sides; the traces of their feetwere seen in the wet earth, and their cackling was heard far and wide.The water, which a few moments before had been as clear and smoothas a mirror, became very troubled. Before, every tree, everyneighbouring bush, the old farmhouse with the holes in the roof andthe swallows' nest, and especially the great rose-bush full offlowers, had been reflected in it. The rose-bush covered the walland hung out over the water, in which everything was seen as if in apicture, except that it all stood on its head; but when the waterwas troubled everything got mixed up, and the picture was gone. Twofeathers which the fluttering ducks had lost floated up and down;suddenly they took a rush as if the wind were coming, but as it didnot come they had to lie still, and the water once more became quietand smooth. The roses were again reflected; they were verybeautiful, but they did not know it, for no one had told them. The sunshone among the delicate leaves; everything breathed forth theloveliest fragrance, and all felt as we do when we are filled with joyat the thought of our happiness.

"How beautiful existence is!" said each rose. "The only thing thatI wish for is to be able to kiss the sun, because it is so warm andbright. I should also like to kiss those roses down in the water,which are so much like us, and the pretty little birds down in thenest. There are some up above too; they put out their heads and pipesoftly; they have no feathers like their father and mother. We havegood neighbours, both below and above. How beautiful existence is!"

The young ones above and below- those below were really onlyshadows in the water- were sparrows; their parents were sparrowstoo, and had taken possession of the empty swallows' nest of lastyear, and now lived in it as if it were their own property.

"Are those the duck's children swimming here?" asked the youngsparrows when they saw the feathers on the water.

"If you must ask questions, ask sensible ones," said their mother."Don't you see that they are feathers, such as I wear and you willwear too? But ours are finer. Still, I should like to have them upin the nest, for they keep one warm. I am very curious to know whatthe ducks were so startled about; not about us, certainly, althoughI did say 'peep' to you pretty loudly. The thick-headed roses ought toknow why, but they know nothing at all; they only look at themselvesand smell. I am heartily tired of such neighbours."

"Listen to the dear little birds up there," said the roses;"they begin to want to sing too, but are not able to manage it yet.But it will soon come. What a pleasure that must be! It is fine tohave such cheerful neighbours."

Suddenly two horses came galloping up to be watered. A peasant boyrode on one, and he had taken off all his clothes except his largebroad black hat. The boy whistled like a bird, and rode into thepond where it was deepest, and as he passed the rose-bush he plucked arose and stuck it in his hat. Now he looked dressed, and rode on.The other roses looked after their sister, and asked each other,"Where can she be going to?" But none of them knew.

"I should like to go out into the world for once," said one;"but here at home among our green leaves it is beautiful too. Thewhole day long the sun shines bright and warm, and in the night thesky shines more beautifully still; we can see that through all thelittle holes in it."

They meant the stars, but they knew no better.

"We make it lively about the house," said the sparrow-mother; "andpeople say that a swallows' nest brings luck; so they are glad ofus. But such neighbours as ours! A rose-bush on the wall like thatcauses damp. I daresay it will be taken away; then we shall,perhaps, have some corn growing here. The roses are good for nothingbut to be looked at and to be smelt, or at most to be stuck in ahat. Every year, as I have been told by my mother, they fall off.The farmer's wife preserves them and strews salt among them; then theyget a French name which I neither can pronounce nor care to, and areput into the fire to make a nice smell. You see, that's their life;they exist only for the eye and the nose. Now you know."

In the evening, when the gnats were playing about in the warmair and in the red clouds, the nightingale came and sang to theroses that the beautiful was like sunshine to the world, and thatthe beautiful lived for ever. The roses thought that the nightingalewas singing about itself, and that one might easily have believed;they had no idea that the song was about them. But they were verypleased with it, and wondered whether all the little sparrows couldbecome nightingales.

"I understand the song of that bird very well," said the youngsparrows. "There was only one word that was not clear to me. What does'the beautiful' mean?"

"Nothing at all," answered their mother; "that's only somethingexternal. Up at the Hall, where the pigeons have their own house,and corn and peas are strewn before them every day- I have dinedwith them myself, and that you shall do in time, too; for tell me whatcompany you keep and I'll tell you who you are- up at the Hall theyhave two birds with green necks and a crest upon their heads; they canspread out their tails like a great wheel, and these are so brightwith various colours that it makes one's eyes ache. These birds arecalled peacocks, and that is 'the beautiful.' If they were onlyplucked a little they would look no better than the rest of us. Iwould have plucked them already if they had not been so big."

"I'll pluck them," piped the young sparrow, who had no feathersyet.

In the farmhouse lived a young married couple; they loved eachother dearly, were industrious and active, and everything in theirhome looked very nice. On Sundays the young wife came down early,plucked a handful of the most beautiful roses, and put them into aglass of water, which she placed upon the cupboard.

"Now I see that it is Sunday," said the husband, kissing hislittle wife. They sat down, read their hymn-book, and held eachother by the hand, while the sun shone down upon the fresh roses andupon them.

"This sight is really too tedious," said the sparrow-mother, whocould see into the room from her nest; and she flew away.

The same thing happened on the following Sunday, for everySunday fresh roses were put into the glass; but the rose-bushbloomed as beautifully as ever. The young sparrows now had feathers,and wanted very much to fly with their mother; but she would not allowit, and so they had to stay at home. In one of her flights, however itmay have happened, she was caught, before she was aware of it, in ahorse-hair net which some boys had attached to a tree. Thehorse-hair was drawn tightly round her leg- as tightly as if thelatter were to be cut off; she was in great pain and terror. Theboys came running up and seized her, and in no gentle way either.

"It's only a sparrow," they said; they did not, however, let hergo, but took her home with them, and every time she cried they hit heron the beak.

In the farmhouse was an old man who understood making soap intocakes and balls, both for shaving and washing. He was a merry old man,always wandering about. On seeing the sparrow which the boys hadbrought, and which they said they did not want, he asked, "Shall wemake it look very pretty?"

At these words an icy shudder ran through the sparrow-mother.

Out of his box, in which were the most beautiful colours, theold man took a quantity of shining leaf-gold, while the boys had to goand fetch some white of egg, with which the sparrow was to besmeared all over; the gold was stuck on to this, and thesparrow-mother was now gilded all over. But she, trembling in everylimb, did not think of the adornment. Then the soap-man tore off asmall piece from the red lining of his old jacket, and cutting it soas to make it look like a cock's comb, he stuck it to the bird's head.

"Now you will see the gold-jacket fly," said the old man,letting the sparrow go, which flew away in deadly fear, with the sunshining upon her. How she glittered! All the sparrows, and even acrow- and an old boy he was too- were startled at the sight; but stillthey flew after her to learn what kind of strange bird she was.

Driven by fear and horror, she flew homeward; she was almostsinking fainting to the earth, while the flock of pursuing birdsincreased, some even attempting to peck at her.

"Look at her! Look at her!" they all cried.

"Look at her! Look at her" cried her little ones. as sheapproached the nest. "That is certainly a young peacock, for itglitters in all colours; it makes one's eyes ache, as mother toldus. Peep! that's 'the beautiful'." And then they pecked at the birdwith their little beaks so that it was impossible for her to getinto the nest; she was so exhausted that she couldn't even say "Peep!"much less "I am your own mother!" The other birds, too, now fellupon the sparrow and plucked off feather after feather until shefell bleeding into the rose-bush.

"Poor creature!" said all the roses; "only be still, and we willhide you. Lean your little head against us.

The sparrow spread out her wings once more, then drew them closelyto her, and lay dead near the neighbouring family, the beautiful freshroses.

"Peep!" sounded from the nest. "Where can mother be so long?It's more than I can understand. It cannot be a trick of hers, andmean that we are now to take care of ourselves. She has left us thehouse as an inheritance; but to which of us is it to belong when wehave families of our own?"

"Yes, it won't do for you to stay with me when I increase myhousehold with a wife and children,"' said the smallest.

"I daresay I shall have more wives and children than you," saidthe second.

"But I am the eldest!" exclaimed the third. Then they all gotexcited; they hit out with their wings, pecked with their beaks, andflop! one after another was thrown out of the nest. There they laywith their anger, holding their heads on one side and blinking the eyethat was turned upwards. That was their way of looking foolish.

They could fly a little; by practice they learned to improve,and at last they agreed upon a sign by which to recognise each otherif they should meet in the world later on. It was to be one "Peep!"and three scratches on the ground with the left foot.

The young one who had remained behind in the nest made himselfas broad as he could, for he was the proprietor. But this greatnessdid not last long. In the night the red flames burst through thewindow and seized the roof, the dry straw blazed up high, and thewhole house, together with the young sparrow, was burned. The twoothers, who wanted to marry, thus saved their lives by a stroke ofluck.

When the sun rose again and everything looked as refreshed as ifit had had a quiet sleep, there only remained of the farmhouse a fewblack charred beams leaning against the chimney, which was now its ownmaster. Thick smoke still rose from the ruins, but the rose-bush stoodyonder, fresh, blooming, and untouched, every flower and every twigbeing reflected in the clear water.

"How beautifully the roses bloom before the ruined house,"exclaimed a passer-by. "A pleasanter picture cannot be imagined. Imust have that." And the man took out of his portfolio a little bookwith white leaves: he was a painter, and with his pencil he drew thesmoking house, the charred beams and the overhanging chimney, whichbent more and more; in the foreground he put the large, bloomingrose-bush, which presented a charming view. For its sake alone thewhole picture had been drawn.

Later in the day the two sparrows who had been born there came by."Where is the house?" they asked. "Where is the nest? Peep! All isburned and our strong brother too. That's what he has now forkeeping the nest. The roses got off very well; there they stillstand with their red cheeks. They certainly do not mourn at theirneighbours' misfortunes. I don't want to talk to them, and it looksmiserable here- that's my opinion." And away they went.

On a beautiful sunny autumn day- one could almost have believed itwas still the middle of summer- there hopped about in the dryclean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance of the Hall anumber of black, white, and gaily-coloured pigeons, all shining in thesunlight. The pigeon-mothers said to their young ones: "Stand ingroups, stand in groups! for that looks much better."

"What kind of creatures are those little grey ones that runabout behind us?" asked an old pigeon, with red and green in her eyes."Little grey ones! Little grey ones!" she cried.

"They are sparrows, and good creatures. We have always had thereputation of being pious, so we will allow them to pick up the cornwith us; they don't interrupt our talk, and they scrape so prettilywhen they bow."

Indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings withthe left foot and also said "Peep!" By this means they recognised eachother, for they were the sparrows from the nest on the burned house.

"Here is excellent fare!" said the sparrow. The pigeons struttedround one another, puffed out their chests mightily, and had their ownprivate views and opinions.

"Do you see that pouter pigeon?" said one to the other. "Do yousee how she swallows the peas? She eats too many, and the best onestoo. Curoo! Curoo! How she lifts her crest, the ugly, spitefulcreature! Curoo! Curoo!" And the eyes of all sparkled with malice."Stand in groups! Stand in groups! Little grey ones, little grey ones!Curoo, curoo, curoo!"

So their chatter ran on, and so it will run on for thousands ofyears. The sparrows ate lustily; they listened attentively, and evenstood in the ranks with the others, but it did not suit them at all.They were full, and so they left the pigeons, exchanging opinionsabout them, slipped in under the garden palings, and when they foundthe door leading into the house open, one of them, who was more thanfull, and therefore felt brave, hopped on to the threshold. "Peep!"said he; "I may venture that."

"Peep!" said the other; "so may I, and something more too!" and hehopped into the room. No one was there; the third sparrow, seeingthis, flew still farther into the room, exclaiming, "All or nothing!It is a curious man's nest all the same; and what have they put uphere? What is it?"

Close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were reflectedin the water, and the charred beams leaned against the overhangingchimney. "Do tell me what this is. How comes this in a room at theHall?" And all three sparrows wanted to fly over the roses and thechimney, but flew against a flat wall. It was all a picture, a greatsplendid picture, which the artist had painted from a sketch.

"Peep!" said the sparrows, "it's nothing. It only looks likesomething. Peep! that is 'the beautiful.' Do you understand it? Idon't."

And they flew away, for some people came into the room.

Days and years went by. The pigeons had often cooed, not to saygrowled- the spiteful creatures; the sparrows had been frozen inwinter and had lived merrily in summer: they were all betrothed, ormarried, or whatever you like to call it. They had little ones, and ofcourse each one thought his own the handsomest and cleverest; one flewthis way, another that, and when they met they recognised each otherby their "Peep!" and the three scrapes with the left foot. Theeldest had remained an old maid and had no nest nor young ones. It washer pet idea to see a great city, so she flew to Copenhagen.

There was a large house painted in many gay colours standing closeto the castle and the canal, upon which latter were to be seen manyships laden with apples and pottery. The windows of the house werebroader at the bottom than at the top, and when the sparrows lookedthrough them, every room appeared to them like a tulip with thebrightest colours and shades. But in the middle of the tulip stoodwhite men, made of marble; a few were of plaster; still, looked atwith sparrows' eyes, that comes to the same thing. Up on the roofstood a metal chariot drawn by metal horses, and the goddess ofVictory, also of metal, was driving. It was Thorwaldsen's Museum.

"How it shines! how it shines!" said the maiden sparrow. "Isuppose that is 'the beautiful.' Peep! But here it is larger than apeacock." She still remembered what in her childhood's days her motherhad looked upon as the greatest among the beautiful. She flew downinto the courtyard: there everything was extremely fine. Palms andbranches were painted on the walls, and in the middle of the courtstood a great blooming rose-tree spreading out its fresh boughs,covered with roses, over a grave. Thither flew the maiden sparrow, forshe saw several of her own kind there. A "peep" and threefoot-scrapings- in this way she had often greeted throughout the year,and no one here had responded, for those who are once parted do notmeet every day; and so this greeting had become a habit with her.But to-day two old sparrows and a young one answered with a "peep" andthe thrice-repeated scrape with the left foot.

"Ah! Good-day! good-day!" They were two old ones from the nest anda little one of the family. "Do we meet here? It's a grand place,but there's not much to eat. This is 'the beautiful.' Peep!"

Many people came out of the side rooms where the beautifulmarble statues stood and approached the grave where lay the greatmaster who had created these works of art. All stood with enrapturedfaces round Thorwaldsen's grave, and a few picked up the fallenrose-leaves and preserved them. They had come from afar: one frommighty England, others from Germany and France. The fairest of theladies plucked one of the roses and hid it in her bosom. Then thesparrows thought that the roses reigned here, and that the house hadbeen built for their sake. That appeared to them to be really toomuch, but since all the people showed their love for the roses, theydid not wish to be behindhand. "Peep!" they said sweeping the groundwith their tails, and blinking with one eye at the roses, they had notlooked at them long before they were convinced that they were theirold neighbours. And so they really were. The painter who had drawn therose-bush near the ruined house, had afterwards obtained permission todig it up, and had given it to the architect, for finer roses hadnever been seen. The architect had planted it upon Thorwaldsen'sgrave, where it bloomed as an emblem of 'the beautiful' and yieldedfragrant red rose-leaves to be carried as mementoes to distant lands.

"Have you obtained an appointment here in the city?" asked thesparrows. The roses nodded; they recognized their grey neighboursand were pleased to see them again. "How glorious it is to live and tobloom, to see old friends again, and happy faces every day. It is asif every day were a festival." "Peep!" said the sparrows. "Yes, theyare really our old neighbours; we remember their origin near the pond.Peep! how they have got on. Yes, some succeed while they are asleep.Ah! there's a faded leaf; I can see that quite plainly." And theypecked at it till it fell off. But the tree stood there fresher andgreener than ever; the roses bloomed in the sunshine onThorwaldsen's grave and became associated with his immortal name.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE NIGHTINGALE

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all thoseabout him are Chinamen also. The story I am going to tell you happeneda great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it isforgotten. The emperor's palace was the most beautiful in the world.It was built entirely of porcelain, and very costly, but so delicateand brittle that whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. Inthe garden could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silverbells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed couldnot help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the emperor'sgarden was remarkable, and it extended so far that the gardenerhimself did not know where it ended. Those who travelled beyond itslimits knew that there was a noble forest, with lofty trees, slopingdown to the deep blue sea, and the great ships sailed under the shadowof its branches. In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sangso beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many otherthings to do, would stop and listen. Sometimes, when they went atnight to spread their nets, they would hear her sing, and say, "Oh, isnot that beautiful?" But when they returned to their fishing, theyforgot the bird until the next night. Then they would hear it again,and exclaim "Oh, how beautiful is the nightingale's song!"

Travellers from every country in the world came to the city of theemperor, which they admired very much, as well as the palace andgardens; but when they heard the nightingale, they all declared itto be the best of all. And the travellers, on their return home,related what they had seen; and learned men wrote books, containingdescriptions of the town, the palace, and the gardens; but they didnot forget the nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder.And those who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about thenightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea. The bookstravelled all over the world, and some of them came into the handsof the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and, as he read, henodded his approval every moment, for it pleased him to find such abeautiful description of his city, his palace, and his gardens. Butwhen he came to the words, "the nightingale is the most beautiful ofall," he exclaimed, "What is this? I know nothing of anynightingale. Is there such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden?I have never heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learnt frombooks."

Then he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was sohigh-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke tohim, or asked him a question, he would answer, "Pooh," which meansnothing.

"There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called anightingale," said the emperor; "they say it is the best thing in mylarge kingdom. Why have I not been told of it?"

"I have never heard the name," replied the cavalier; "she hasnot been presented at court."

"It is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening." said theemperor; the whole world knows what I possess better than I domyself."

"I have never heard of her," said the cavalier; "yet I willendeavor to find her."

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman went upstairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none of those whom hemet had heard of the bird. So he returned to the emperor, and saidthat it must be a fable, invented by those who had written the book."Your imperial majesty," said he, "cannot believe everything containedin books; sometimes they are only fiction, or what is called the blackart."

"But the book in which I have read this account," said theemperor, "was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of Japan, andtherefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will hear thenightingale, she must be here this evening; she has my highestfavor; and if she does not come, the whole court shall be trampledupon after supper is ended."

"Tsing-pe!" cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up anddown stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half the courtran with him, for they did not like the idea of being trampled upon.There was a great inquiry about this wonderful nightingale, whom allthe world knew, but who was unknown to the court.

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said,"Oh, yes, I know the nightingale quite well; indeed, she can sing.Every evening I have permission to take home to my poor sick motherthe scraps from the table; she lives down by the sea-shore, and as Icome back I feel tired, and I sit down in the wood to rest, and listento the nightingale's song. Then the tears come into my eyes, and it isjust as if my mother kissed me."

"Little maiden," said the lord-in-waiting, "I will obtain foryou constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall havepermission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to thenightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the palace." Soshe went into the wood where the nightingale sang, and half thecourt followed her. As they went along, a cow began lowing.

"Oh," said a young courtier, "now we have found her; whatwonderful power for such a small creature; I have certainly heard itbefore."

"No, that is only a cow lowing," said the little girl; "we are along way from the place yet."

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

"Beautiful," said the young courtier again. "Now I hear it,tinkling like little church bells."

"No, those are frogs," said the little maiden; "but I think weshall soon hear her now:" and presently the nightingale began to sing.

"Hark, hark! there she is," said the girl, "and there she sits,"she added, pointing to a little gray bird who was perched on a bough.

"Is it possible?" said the lord-in-waiting, "I never imagined itwould be a little, plain, simple thing like that. She has certainlychanged color at seeing so many grand people around her."

"Little nightingale," cried the girl, raising her voice, "our mostgracious emperor wishes you to sing before him."

"With the greatest pleasure," said the nightingale, and began tosing most delightfully.

"It sounds like tiny glass bells," said the lord-in-waiting,"and see how her little throat works. It is surprising that we havenever heard this before; she will be a great success at court."

"Shall I sing once more before the emperor?" asked thenightingale, who thought he was present.

"My excellent little nightingale," said the courtier, "I havethe great pleasure of inviting you to a court festival this evening,where you will gain imperial favor by your charming song."

"My song sounds best in the green wood," said the bird; butstill she came willingly when she heard the emperor's wish.

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The walls andfloors of porcelain glittered in the light of a thousand lamps.Beautiful flowers, round which little bells were tied, stood in thecorridors: what with the running to and fro and the draught, thesebells tinkled so loudly that no one could speak to be heard. In thecentre of the great hall, a golden perch had been fixed for thenightingale to sit on. The whole court was present, and the littlekitchen-maid had received permission to stand by the door. She was notinstalled as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and everyeye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor nodded toher to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that the tears came intothe emperor's eyes, and then rolled down his cheeks, as her songbecame still more touching and went to every one's heart. Theemperor was so delighted that he declared the nightingale shouldhave his gold slipper to wear round her neck, but she declined thehonor with thanks: she had been sufficiently rewarded already. "I haveseen tears in an emperor's eyes," she said, "that is my richestreward. An emperor's tears have wonderful power, and are quitesufficient honor for me;" and then she sang again more enchantinglythan ever.

"That singing is a lovely gift;" said the ladies of the court toeach other; and then they took water in their mouths to make themutter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when they spoke to anyone, so thay they might fancy themselves nightingales. And the footmenand chambermaids also expressed their satisfaction, which is sayinga great deal, for they are very difficult to please. In fact thenightingale's visit was most successful. She was now to remain atcourt, to have her own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, andonce during the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her onthese occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened toher leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind of flying.

The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two peoplemet, one said "nightin," and the other said "gale," and theyunderstood what was meant, for nothing else was talked of. Elevenpeddlers' children were named after her, but not of them could singa note.

One day the emperor received a large packet on which was written"The Nightingale." "Here is no doubt a new book about our celebratedbird," said the emperor. But instead of a book, it was a work of artcontained in a casket, an artificial nightingale made to look like aliving one, and covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires.As soon as the artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like thereal one, and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled withsilver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on which waswritten "The Emperor of China's nightingale is poor compared with thatof the Emperor of Japan's."

"This is very beautiful," exclaimed all who saw it, and he who hadbrought the artificial bird received the title of "Imperialnightingale-bringer-in-chief."

"Now they must sing together," said the court, "and what a duet itwill be." But they did not get on well, for the real nightingalesang in its own natural way, but the artificial bird sang onlywaltzes.

"That is not a fault," said the music-master, "it is quite perfectto my taste," so then it had to sing alone, and was as successful asthe real bird; besides, it was so much prettier to look at, for itsparkled like bracelets and breast-pins. Three and thirty times did itsing the same tunes without being tired; the people would gladlyhave heard it again, but the emperor said the living nightingale oughtto sing something. But where was she? No one had noticed her whenshe flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.

"What strange conduct," said the emperor, when her flight had beendiscovered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and said she was avery ungrateful creature.

"But we have the best bird after all," said one, and then theywould have the bird sing again, although it was the thirty-fourth timethey had listened to the same piece, and even then they had not learntit, for it was rather difficult. But the music-master praised the birdin the highest degree, and even asserted that it was better than areal nightingale, not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds,but also in its musical power. "For you must perceive, my chief lordand emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what isgoing to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled. It canbe opened and explained, so that people may understand how the waltzesare formed, and why one note follows upon another."

"This is exactly what we think," they all replied, and then themusic-master received permission to exhibit the bird to the peopleon the following Sunday, and the emperor commanded that they should bepresent to hear it sing. When they heard it they were like peopleintoxicated; however it must have been with drinking tea, which isquite a Chinese custom. They all said "Oh!" and held up theirforefingers and nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the realnightingale, said, "it sounds prettily enough, and the melodies areall alike; yet there seems something wanting, I cannot exactly tellwhat."

And after this the real nightingale was banished from theempire, and the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close tothe emperor's bed. The presents of gold and precious stones whichhad been received with it were round the bird, and it was now advancedto the title of "Little Imperial Toilet Singer," and to the rank ofNo. 1 on the left hand; for the emperor considered the left side, onwhich the heart lies, as the most noble, and the heart of an emperoris in the same place as that of other people.

The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes, about theartificial bird, which was very learned and very long, and full of themost difficult Chinese words; yet all the people said they had readit, and understood it, for fear of being thought stupid and havingtheir bodies trampled upon.

So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the otherChinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird's song; andfor that same reason it pleased them better. They could sing withthe bird, which they often did. The street-boys sang, "Zi-zi-zi,cluck, cluck, cluck," and the emperor himself could sing it also. Itwas really most amusing.

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, andthe emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the birdsounded "whizz." Then a spring cracked. "Whir-r-r-r" went all thewheels, running round, and then the music stopped. The emperorimmediately sprang out of bed, and called for his physician; butwhat could he do? Then they sent for a watchmaker; and, after agreat deal of talking and examination, the bird was put into somethinglike order; but he said that it must be used very carefully, as thebarrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new oneswithout injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the birdcould only be allowed to play once a year; and even that was dangerousfor the works inside it. Then the music-master made a little speech,full of hard words, and declared that the bird was as good as ever;and, of course no one contradicted him.

Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the land. TheChinese really were fond of their emperor, and he now lay so illthat he was not expected to live. Already a new emperor had beenchosen and the people who stood in the street asked thelord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he only said, "Pooh!" andshook his head.

Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole courtthought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay homage to hissuccessor. The chamberlains went out to have a talk on the matter, andthe ladies'-maids invited company to take coffee. Cloth had beenlaid down on the halls and passages, so that not a footstep shouldbe heard, and all was silent and still. But the emperor was not yetdead, although he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with thelong velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open,and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial bird. Thepoor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strangeweight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there.He had put on the emperor's golden crown, and held in one hand hissword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner. All aroundthe bed and peeping through the long velvet curtains, were a number ofstrange heads, some very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking.These were the emperor's good and bad deeds, which stared him in theface now Death sat at his heart.

"Do you remember this?" "Do you recollect that?" they asked oneafter another, thus bringing to his remembrance circumstances thatmade the perspiration stand on his brow.

"I know nothing about it," said the emperor. "Music! music!" hecried; "the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear what they say."But they still went on, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all theysaid. "Music! music!" shouted the emperor. "You little precious goldenbird, sing, pray sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; Ihave even hung my golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!" But thebird remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore itcould not sing a note.

Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold, holloweyes, and the room was fearfully still. Suddenly there came throughthe open window the sound of sweet music. Outside, on the bough of atree, sat the living nightingale. She had heard of the emperor'sillness, and was therefore come to sing to him of hope and trust.And as she sung, the shadows grew paler and paler; the blood in theemperor's veins flowed more rapidly, and gave life to his weaklimbs; and even Death himself listened, and said, "Go on, littlenightingale, go on."

"Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that richbanner? and will you give me the emperor's crown?" said the bird.

So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and thenightingale continued her singing. She sung of the quiet churchyard,where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree wafts its perfumeon the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is moistened by themourners' tears. Then Death longed to go and see his garden, andfloated out through the window in the form of a cold, white mist.

"Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you well. Ibanished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have charmed away theevil faces from my bed, and banished Death from my heart, with yoursweet song. How can I reward you?"

"You have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "I shallnever forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first time I sang toyou. These are the jewels that rejoice a singer's heart. But nowsleep, and grow strong and well again. I will sing to you again."

And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and how mildand refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke, strengthened andrestored, the sun shone brightly through the window; but not one ofhis servants had returned- they all believed he was dead; only thenightingale still sat beside him, and sang.

"You must always remain with me," said the emperor. "You shallsing only when it pleases you; and I will break the artificial birdinto a thousand pieces."

"No; do not do that," replied the nightingale; "the bird didvery well as long as it could. Keep it here still. I cannot live inthe palace, and build my nest; but let me come when I like. I will siton a bough outside your window, in the evening, and sing to you, sothat you may be happy, and have thoughts full of joy. I will sing toyou of those who are happy, and those who suffer; of the good andthe evil, who are hidden around you. The little singing bird flies farfrom you and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant'scot. I love your heart better than your crown; and yet somethingholy lingers round that also. I will come, I will sing to you; but youmust promise me one thing."

"Everything," said the emperor, who, having dressed himself in hisimperial robes, stood with the hand that held the heavy golden swordpressed to his heart.

"I only ask one thing," she replied; "let no one know that youhave a little bird who tells you everything. It will be best toconceal it." So saying, the nightingale flew away.

The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor; when, lo!there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said, "Good morning."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It iscalled "Hysken" street. Where the name came from, and what it means isvery uncertain. It is said to be German, but that is unjust to theGermans, for it would then be called "Hauschen," not "Hysken.""Hauschen," means a little house; and for many years it consisted onlyof a few small houses, which were scarcely larger than the woodenbooths we see in the market-places at fair time. They were perhaps alittle higher, and had windows; but the panes consisted of horn orbladder-skins, for glass was then too dear to have glazed windows inevery house. This was a long time ago, so long indeed that ourgrandfathers, and even great-grandfathers, would speak of those daysas "olden times;" indeed, many centuries have passed since then.

The rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck, who carried on trade inCopenhagen, did not reside in the town themselves, but sent theirclerks, who dwelt in the wooden booths in the Hauschen street, andsold beer and spices. The German beer was very good, and there weremany sorts- from Bremen, Prussia, and Brunswick- and quantities of allsorts of spices, saffron, aniseed, ginger, and especially pepper;indeed, pepper was almost the chief article sold here; so ithappened at last that the German clerks in Denmark got theirnickname of "pepper gentry." It had been made a condition with theseclerks that they should not marry; so that those who lived to be oldhad to take care of themselves, to attend to their own comforts, andeven to light their own fires, when they had any to light. Many ofthem were very aged; lonely old boys, with strange thoughts andeccentric habits. From this, all unmarried men, who have attained acertain age, are called, in Denmark, "pepper gentry;" and this must beremembered by all those who wish to understand the story. These"pepper gentlemen," or, as they are called in England, "oldbachelors," are often made a butt of ridicule; they are told to put ontheir nightcaps, draw them over their eyes, and go to sleep. Theboys in Denmark make a song of it, thus:-

"Poor old bachelor, cut your wood,

Such a nightcap was never seen;

Who would think it was ever clean?

Go to sleep, it will do you good."

So they sing about the "pepper gentleman;" so do they make sportof the poor old bachelor and his nightcap, and all because they reallyknow nothing of either. It is a cap that no one need wish for, orlaugh at. And why not? Well, we shall hear in the story.

In olden times, Hauschen Street was not paved, and passengerswould stumble out of one hole into another, as they generally do inunfrequented highways; and the street was so narrow, and the boothsleaning against each other were so close together, that in thesummer time a sail would be stretched across the street from one boothto another opposite. At these times the odor of the pepper, saffron,and ginger became more powerful than ever. Behind the counter, as arule, there were no young men. The clerks were almost all old boys;but they did not dress as we are accustomed to see old menrepresented, wearing wigs, nightcaps, and knee-breeches, and with coatand waistcoat buttoned up to the chin. We have seen the portraits ofour great-grandfathers dressed in this way; but the "pepper gentlemen"had no money to spare to have their portraits taken, though one ofthem would have made a very interesting picture for us now, if takenas he appeared standing behind his counter, or going to church, oron holidays. On these occasions, they wore high-crowned, broad-brimmedhats, and sometimes a younger clerk would stick a feather in his.The woollen shirt was concealed by a broad, linen collar; the closejacket was buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak hung loosely overit; the trousers were tucked into the broad, tipped shoes, for theclerks wore no stockings. They generally stuck a table-knife and spoonin their girdles, as well as a larger knife, as a protection tothemselves; and such a weapon was often very necessary.

After this fashion was Anthony dressed on holidays andfestivals, excepting that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore akind of bonnet, and under it a knitted cap, a regular nightcap, towhich he was so accustomed that it was always on his head; he had two,nightcaps I mean, not heads. Anthony was one of the oldest of theclerks, and just the subject for a painter. He was as thin as alath, wrinkled round the mouth and eyes, had long, bony fingers,bushy, gray eyebrows, and over his left eye hung a thick tuft of hair,which did not look handsome, but made his appearance veryremarkable. People knew that he came from Bremen; it was not exactlyhis home, although his master resided there. His ancestors were fromThuringia, and had lived in the town of Eisenach, close by Wartburg.Old Anthony seldom spoke of this place, but he thought of it all themore.

The old clerks of Hauschen Street very seldom met together; eachone remained in his own booth, which was closed early enough in theevening, and then it looked dark and dismal out in the street. Onlya faint glimmer of light struggled through the horn panes in thelittle window on the roof, while within sat the old clerk, generallyon his bed, singing his evening hymn in a low voice; or he would bemoving about in his booth till late in the night, busily employed inmany things. It certainly was not a very lively existence. To be astranger in a strange land is a bitter lot; no one notices youunless you happen to stand in their way. Often, when it was dark nightoutside, with rain or snow falling, the place looked quite desertedand gloomy. There were no lamps in the street, excepting a verysmall one, which hung at one end of the street, before a picture ofthe Virgin, which had been painted on the wall. The dashing of thewater against the bulwarks of a neighboring castle could plainly beheard. Such evenings are long and dreary, unless people can findsomething to do; and so Anthony found it. There were not always thingsto be packed or unpacked, nor paper bags to be made, nor the scales tobe polished. So Anthony invented employment; he mended his clothes andpatched his boots, and when he at last went to bed,- his nightcap,which he had worn from habit, still remained on his head; he hadonly to pull it down a little farther over his forehead. Very soon,however, it would be pushed up again to see if the light wasproperly put out; he would touch it, press the wick together, and atlast pull his nightcap over his eyes and lie down again on the otherside. But often there would arise in his mind a doubt as to whetherevery coal had been quite put out in the little fire-pan in the shopbelow. If even a tiny spark had remained it might set fire tosomething, and cause great damage. Then he would rise from his bed,creep down the ladder- for it could scarcely be called a flight ofstairs- and when he reached the fire-pan not a spark could be seen; sohe had just to go back again to bed. But often, when he had got halfway back, he would fancy the iron shutters of the door were notproperly fastened, and his thin legs would carry him down again. Andwhen at last he crept into bed, he would be so cold that his teethchattered in his head. He would draw the coverlet closer round him,pull his nightcap over his eyes, and try to turn his thoughts fromtrade, and from the labors of the day, to olden times. But this wasscarcely an agreeable entertainment; for thoughts of olden memoriesraise the curtains from the past, and sometimes pierce the heartwith painful recollections till the agony brings tears to the wakingeyes. And so it was with Anthony; often the scalding tears, likepearly drops, would fall from his eyes to the coverlet and roll on thefloor with a sound as if one of his heartstrings had broken.Sometimes, with a lurid flame, memory would light up a picture of lifewhich had never faded from his heart. If he dried his eyes with hisnightcap, then the tear and the picture would be crushed; but thesource of the tears remained and welled up again in his heart. Thepictures did not follow one another in order, as the circumstancesthey represented had occurred; very often the most painful wouldcome together, and when those came which were most full of joy, theyhad always the deepest shadow thrown upon them.

The beech woods of Denmark are acknowledged by every one to bevery beautiful, but more beautiful still in the eyes of old Anthonywere the beech woods in the neighborhood of Wartburg. More grand andvenerable to him seemed the old oaks around the proud baronial castle,where the creeping plants hung over the stony summits of the rocks;sweeter was the perfume there of the apple-blossom than in all theland of Denmark. How vividly were represented to him, in aglittering tear that rolled down his cheek, two children at play- aboy and a girl. The boy had rosy cheeks, golden ringlets, and clear,blue eyes; he was the son of Anthony, a rich merchant; it was himself.The little girl had brown eyes and black hair, and was clever andcourageous; she was the mayor's daughter, Molly. The children wereplaying with an apple; they shook the apple, and heard the pipsrattling in it. Then they cut it in two, and each of them took half.They also divided the pips and ate all but one, which the littlegirl proposed should be placed in the ground.

"You will see what will come out," she said; "something youdon't expect. A whole apple-tree will come out, but not directly."Then they got a flower-pot, filled it with earth, and were soon bothvery busy and eager about it. The boy made a hole in the earth withhis finger, and the little girl placed the pip in the hole, and thenthey both covered it over with earth.

"Now you must not take it out to-morrow to see if it has takenroot," said Molly; "no one ever should do that. I did so with myflowers, but only twice; I wanted to see if they were growing. Ididn't know any better then, and the flowers all died."

Little Anthony kept the flower-pot, and every morning during thewhole winter he looked at it, but there was nothing to be seen butblack earth. At last, however, the spring came, and the sun shone warmagain, and then two little green leaves sprouted forth in the pot.

"They are Molly and me," said the boy. "How wonderful they are,and so beautiful!"

Very soon a third leaf made its appearance.

"Who does that stand for?" thought he, and then came another andanother. Day after day, and week after week, till the plant becamequite a tree. And all this about the two children was mirrored toold Anthony in a single tear, which could soon be wiped away anddisappear, but might come again from its source in the heart of theold man.

In the neighborhood of Eisenach stretches a ridge of stonymountains, one of which has a rounded outline, and shows itselfabove the rest without tree, bush, or grass on its barren summits.It is called the "Venus Mountain," and the story goes that the "LadyVenus," one of the heathen goddesses, keeps house there. She is alsocalled "Lady Halle," as every child round Eisenach well knows. Sheit was who enticed the noble knight, Tannhauser, the minstrel, fromthe circle of singers at Wartburg into her mountain.

Little Molly and Anthony often stood by this mountain, and one dayMolly said, "Do you dare to knock and say, 'Lady Halle, Lady Halle,open the door: Tannhauser is here!'" But Anthony did not dare.Molly, however, did, though she only said the words, "Lady Halle, LadyHalle," loudly and distinctly; the rest she muttered so much under herbreath that Anthony felt certain she had really said nothing; andyet she looked quite bold and saucy, just as she did sometimes whenshe was in the garden with a number of other little girls; theywould all stand round him together, and want to kiss him, because hedid not like to be kissed, and pushed them away. Then Molly was theonly one who dared to resist him. "I may kiss him," she would sayproudly, as she threw her arms round his neck; she was vain of herpower over Anthony, for he would submit quietly and think nothing ofit. Molly was very charming, but rather bold; and how she did tease!

They said Lady Halle was beautiful, but her beauty was that of atempting fiend. Saint Elizabeth, the tutelar saint of the land, thepious princess of Thuringia, whose good deeds have been immortalizedin so many places through stories and legends, had greater beautyand more real grace. Her picture hung in the chapel, surrounded bysilver lamps; but it did not in the least resemble Molly.

The apple-tree, which the two children had planted, grew yearafter year, till it became so large that it had to be transplantedinto the garden, where the dew fell and the sun shone warmly. Andthere it increased in strength so much as to be able to withstandthe cold of winter; and after passing through the severe weather, itseemed to put forth its blossoms in spring for very joy that thecold season had gone. In autumn it produced two apples, one forMolly and one for Anthony; it could not well do less. The tree afterthis grew very rapidly, and Molly grew with the tree. She was as freshas an apple-blossom, but Anthony was not to behold this flower forlong. All things change; Molly's father left his old home, and Mollywent with him far away. In our time, it would be only a journey of afew hours, but then it took more than a day and a night to travel sofar eastward from Eisenbach to a town still called Weimar, on theborders of Thuringia. And Molly and Anthony both wept, but these tearsall flowed together into one tear which had the rosy shimmer of joy.Molly had told him that she loved him- loved him more than all thesplendors of Weimar.

One, two, three years went by, and during the whole time hereceived only two letters. One came by the carrier, and the other atraveller brought. The way was very long and difficult, with manyturnings and windings through towns and villages. How often hadAnthony and Molly heard the story of Tristan and Isolda, and Anthonyhad thought the story applied to him, although Tristan means born insorrow, which Anthony certainly was not; nor was it likely he wouldever say of Molly as Tristan said of Isolda, "She has forgotten me."But in truth, Isolda had not forgotten him, her faithful friend; andwhen both were laid in their graves, one, on each side of thechurch, the linden-trees that grew by each grave spread over the roof,and, bending towards each other, mingled their blossoms together.Anthony thought it a very beautiful but mournful story; yet he neverfeared anything so sad would happen to him and Molly, as he passed thespot, whistling the air of a song, composed by the minstrel Walter,called the "Willow bird," beginning-

"Under the linden-trees,

Out on the heath."

One stanza pleased him exceedingly-

"Through the forest, and in the vale,

Sweetly warbles the nightingale.

This song was often in his mouth, and he sung or whistled it ona moonlight night, when he rode on horseback along the deep, hollowway, on his road to Weimar, to visit Molly. He wished to arriveunexpectedly, and so indeed he did. He was received with a heartywelcome, and introduced to plenty of grand and pleasant company, whereoverflowing winecups were passed about. A pretty room and a good bedwere provided for him, and yet his reception was not what he hadexpected and dreamed it would be. He could not comprehend his ownfeelings nor the feelings of others; but it is easily understood how aperson can be admitted into a house or a family without becoming oneof them. We converse in company with those we meet, as we conversewith our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, on a journey; we knownothing of them, and perhaps all the while we are incommoding oneanother, and each is wishing himself or his neighbor away. Somethingof this kind Anthony felt when Molly talked to him of old times.

"I am a straightforward girl," she said, "and I will tell youmyself how it is. There have been great changes since we were childrentogether; everything is different, both inwardly and outwardly. Wecannot control our wills, nor the feelings of our hearts, by the forceof custom. Anthony, I would not, for the world, make an enemy of youwhen I am far away. Believe me, I entertain for you the kindest wishesin my heart; but to feel for you what I now know can be felt foranother man, can never be. You must try and reconcile yourself tothis. Farewell, Anthony."

Anthony also said, "Farewell." Not a tear came into his eye; hefelt he was no longer Molly's friend. Hot iron and cold iron aliketake the skin from our lips, and we feel the same sensation if we kisseither; and Anthony's kiss was now the kiss of hatred, as it hadonce been the kiss of love. Within four-and-twenty hours Anthony wasback again to Eisenach, though the horse that he rode was entirelyruined.

"What matters it?" said he; "I am ruined also. I will destroyeverything that can remind me of her, or of Lady Halle, or Lady Venus,the heathen woman. I will break down the apple-tree, and tear it up bythe roots; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit."

The apple-tree was not broken down; for Anthony himself was struckwith a fever, which caused him to break down, and confined him tohis bed. But something occurred to raise him up again. What was it?A medicine was offered to him, which he was obliged to take: abitter remedy, at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alikeshuddered. Anthony's father lost all his property, and, from beingknown as one of the richest merchants, he became very poor. Dark days,heavy trials, with poverty at the door, came rolling into the houseupon them like the waves of the sea. Sorrow and suffering deprivedAnthony's father of his strength, so that he had something else tothink of besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against Molly.He had to take his father's place, to give orders, to act with energy,to help, and, at last, to go out into the world and earn his bread.Anthony went to Bremen, and there he learnt what poverty and hardliving really were. These things often harden the character, butsometimes soften the heart, even too much.

How different the world, and the people in it, appeared to Anthonynow, to what he had thought in his childhood! What to him were theminstrel's songs? An echo of the past, sounds long vanished. Attimes he would think in this way; yet again and again the songswould sound in his soul, and his heart become gentle and pious.

"God's will is the best," he would then say. "It was well that Iwas not allowed to keep my power over Molly's heart, and that shedid not remain true to me. How I should have felt it now, when fortunehas deserted me! She left me before she knew of the change in mycircumstances, or had a thought of what was before me. That is amerciful providence for me. All has happened for the best. She couldnot help it, and yet I have been so bitter, and in such enmity againsther."

Years passed by: Anthony's father died, and strangers lived in theold house. He had seen it once again since then. His rich mastersent him journeys on business, and on one occasion his way led himto his native town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg castle stoodunchanged on the rock where the monk and the nun were hewn out ofthe stone. The great oaks formed an outline to the scene which he sowell remembered in his childhood. The Venus mountain stood out grayand bare, overshadowing the valley beneath. He would have been glad tocall out "Lady Halle, Lady Halle, unlock the mountain. I would fainremain here always in my native soil." That was a sinful thought,and he offered a prayer to drive it away. Then a little bird in thethicket sang out clearly, and old Anthony thought of the minstrel'ssong. How much came back to his remembrance as he looked through thetears once more on his native town! The old house was still standingas in olden times, but the garden had been greatly altered; apathway led through a portion of the ground, and outside the garden,and beyond the path, stood the old apple-tree, which he had not brokendown, although he talked of doing so in his trouble. The sun stillthrew its rays upon the tree, and the refreshing dew fell upon it asof old; and it was so overloaded with fruit that the branches benttowards the earth with the weight. "That flourishes still," said he,as he gazed. One of the branches of the tree had, however, beenbroken: mischievous hands must have done this in passing, for the treenow stood in a public thoroughfare. "The blossoms are oftenplucked," said Anthony; "the fruit is stolen and the branches brokenwithout a thankful thought of their profusion and beauty. It mightbe said of a tree, as it has been said of some men- it was notpredicted at his cradle that he should come to this. How brightlybegan the history of this tree, and what is it now? Forsaken andforgotten, in a garden by a hedge in a field, and close to a publicroad. There it stands, unsheltered, plundered, and broken. Itcertainly has not yet withered; but in the course of years thenumber of blossoms from time to time will grow less, and at last itwas cease altogether to bear fruit; and then its history will beover."

Such were Anthony's thoughts as he stood under the tree, andduring many a long night as he lay in his lonely chamber in the woodenhouse in Hauschen Street, Copenhagen, in the foreign land to which therich merchant of Bremen, his employer, had sent him on conditionthat he should never marry. "Marry! ha, ha!" and he laughed bitterlyto himself at the thought.

Winter one year set in early, and it was freezing hard. Without, asnowstorm made every one remain at home who could do so. Thus ithappened that Anthony's neighbors, who lived opposite to him, didnot notice that his house remained unopened for two days, and thathe had not showed himself during that time, for who would go out insuch weather unless he were obliged to do so. They were gray, gloomydays, and in the house whose windows were not glass, twilight and darknights reigned in turns. During these two days old Anthony had notleft his bed, he had not the strength to do so. The bitter weather hadfor some time affected his limbs. There lay the old bachelor, forsakenby all, and unable to help himself. He could scarcely reach thewater jug that he had placed by his bed, and the last drop was gone.It was not fever, nor sickness, but old age, that had laid him low. Inthe little corner, where his bed lay, he was over-shadowed as itwere by perpetual night. A little spider, which he could however notsee, busily and cheerfully spun its web above him, so that thereshould be a kind of little banner waving over the old man, when hiseyes closed. The time passed slowly and painfully. He had no tearsto shed, and he felt no pain; no thought of Molly came into hismind. He felt as if the world was now nothing to him, as if he werelying beyond it, with no one to think of him. Now and then he feltslight sensations of hunger and thirst; but no one came to him, no onetended him. He thought of all those who had once suffered fromstarvation, of Saint Elizabeth, who once wandered on the earth, thesaint of his home and his childhood, the noble Duchess of Thuringia,that highly esteemed lady who visited the poorest villages, bringinghope and relief to the sick inmates. The recollection of her piousdeeds was as light to the soul of poor Anthony. He thought of her asshe went about speaking words of comfort, binding up the wounds of theafflicted and feeding the hungry, although often blamed for it byher stern husband. He remembered a story told of her, that on oneoccasion, when she was carrying a basket full of wine andprovisions, her husband, who had watched her footsteps, steppedforward and asked her angrily what she carried in her basket,whereupon, with fear and trembling, she answered, "Roses, which I haveplucked from the garden." Then he tore away the cloth which coveredthe basket, and what could equal the surprise of the pious woman, tofind that by a miracle, everything in her basket- the wine, the bread-had all been changed into roses.

In this way the memory of the kind lady dwelt in the calm mindof Anthony. She was as a living reality in his little dwelling inthe Danish land. He uncovered his face that he might look into hergentle eyes, while everything around him changed from its look ofpoverty and want, to a bright rose tint. The fragrance of roses spreadthrough the room, mingled with the sweet smell of apples. He saw thebranches of an apple-tree spreading above him. It was the tree whichhe and Molly had planted together. The fragrant leaves of the treefell upon him and cooled his burning brow; upon his parched lipsthey seemed like refreshing bread and wine; and as they rested onhis breast, a peaceful calm stole over him, and he felt inclined tosleep. "I shall sleep now," he whispered to himself. "Sleep will do megood. In the morning I shall be upon my feet again, strong and well.Glorious! wonderful! That apple-tree, planted in love, now appearsbefore me in heavenly beauty." And he slept.

The following day, the third day during which his house had beenclosed, the snow-storm ceased. Then his opposite neighbor stepped overto the house in which old Anthony lived, for he had not yet showedhimself. There he lay stretched on his bed, dead, with his oldnightcap tightly clasped in his two hands. The nightcap, however,was not placed on his head in his coffin; he had a clean white oneon then. Where now were the tears he had shed? What had become ofthose wonderful pearls? They were in the nightcap still. Such tears asthese cannot be washed out, even when the nightcap is forgotten. Theold thoughts and dreams of a bachelor's nightcap still remain. Neverwish for such a nightcap. It would make your forehead hot, causeyour pulse to beat with agitation, and conjure up dreams which wouldappear realities.

The first who wore old Anthony's cap felt the truth of this,though it was half a century afterwards. That man was the mayorhimself, who had already made a comfortable home for his wife andeleven children, by his industry. The moment he put the cap on hedreamed of unfortunate love, of bankruptcy, and of dark days."Hallo! how the nightcap burns!" he exclaimed, as he tore it fromhis bead. Then a pearl rolled out, and then another, and another,and they glittered and sounded as they fell. "What can this be? Isit paralysis, or something dazzling my eyes?" They were the tearswhich old Anthony had shed half a century before.

To every one who afterwards put this cap on his head, came visionsand dreams which agitated him not a little. His own history waschanged into that of Anthony till it became quite a story, and manystories might be made by others, so we will leave them to relate theirown. We have told the first; and our last word is, don't wish for a"bachelor's nightcap."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE OLD CHURCH BELL

(WRITTEN FOR THE SCHILLER ALBUM)

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the country of Wurtemburg, in Germany, where the acacias growby the public road, where the apple-trees and the pear-trees in autumnbend to the earth with the weight of the precious fruit, lies thelittle town of Marbach. As is often the case with many of these towns,it is charmingly situated on the banks of the river Neckar, whichrushes rapidly by, passing villages, old knights' castles, and greenvineyards, till its waters mingle with those of the stately Rhine.It was late in the autumn; the vine-leaves still hung upon thebranches of the vines, but they were already tinted with red and gold;heavy showers fell on the surrounding country, and the cold autumnwind blew sharp and strong. It was not at all pleasant weather for thepoor. The days grew shorter and more gloomy, and, dark as it was outof doors in the open air, it was still darker within the small,old-fashioned houses of the village. The gable end of one of thesehouses faced the street, and with its small, narrow windows, presenteda very mean appearance. The family who dwelt in it were also very poorand humble, but they treasured the fear of God in their innermosthearts. And now He was about to send them a child. It was the hourof the mother's sorrow, when there pealed forth from the churchtower the sound of festive bells. In that solemn hour the sweet andjoyous chiming filled the hearts of those in the humble dwellingwith thankfulness and trust; and when, amidst these joyous sounds, alittle son was born to them, the words of prayer and praise arose fromtheir overflowing hearts, and their happiness seemed to ring outover town and country in the liquid tones of the church bells'chime. The little one, with its bright eyes and golden hair, hadbeen welcomed joyously on that dark November day. Its parents kissedit lovingly, and the father wrote these words in the Bible, "On thetenth of November, 1759, God sent us a son." And a short time after,when the child had been baptized, the names he had received wereadded, "John Christopher Frederick."

And what became of the little lad?- the poor boy of the humbletown of Marbach? Ah, indeed, there was no one who thought or supposed,not even the old church bell which had been the first to sound andchime for him, that he would be the first to sing the beautiful songof "The Bell." The boy grew apace, and the world advanced with him.

While he was yet a child, his parents removed from Marbach, andwent to reside in another town; but their dearest friends remainedbehind at Marbach, and therefore sometimes the mother and her sonwould start on a fine day to pay a visit to the little town. The boywas at this time about six years old, and already knew a great manystories out of the Bible, and several religious psalms. While seatedin the evening on his little cane-chair, he had often heard his fatherread from Gellert's fables, and sometimes from Klopstock's grand poem,"The Messiah." He and his sister, two years older than himself, hadoften wept scalding tears over the story of Him who suffered deathon the cross for us all.

On his first visit to Marbach, the town appeared to have changedbut very little, and it was not far enough away to be forgotten. Thehouse, with its pointed gable, narrow windows, overhanging walls andstories, projecting one beyond another, looked just the same as informer times. But in the churchyard there were several new graves; andthere also, in the grass, close by the wall, stood the old churchbell! It had been taken down from its high position, in consequence ofa crack in the metal which prevented it from ever chiming again, and anew bell now occupied its place. The mother and son were walking inthe churchyard when they discovered the old bell, and they stood stillto look at it. Then the mother reminded her little boy of what auseful bell this had been for many hundred years. It had chimed forweddings and for christenings; it had tolled for funerals, and to givethe alarm in case of fire. With every event in the life of man thebell had made its voice heard. His mother also told him how thechiming of that old bell had once filled her heart with joy andconfidence, and that in the midst of the sweet tones her child hadbeen given to her. And the boy gazed on the large, old bell with thedeepest interest. He bowed his head over it and kissed it, old, thrownaway, and cracked as it was, and standing there amidst the grass andnettles. The boy never forgot what his mother told him, and thetones of the old bell reverberated in his heart till he reachedmanhood. In such sweet remembrance was the old bell cherished by theboy, who grew up in poverty to be tall and slender, with a freckledcomplexion and hair almost red; but his eyes were clear and blue asthe deep sea, and what was his career to be? His career was to begood, and his future life enviable. We find him taking high honorsat the military school in the division commanded by the member of afamily high in position, and this was an honor, that is to say, goodluck. He wore gaiters, stiff collars, and powdered hair, and by thishe was recognized; and, indeed, he might be known by the word ofcommand- "March! halt! front!"

The old church bell had long been quite forgotten, and no oneimagined it would ever again be sent to the melting furnace to make itas it was before. No one could possibly have foretold this. Equallyimpossible would it have been to believe that the tones of the oldbell still echoed in the heart of the boy from Marbach; or that oneday they would ring out loud enough and strong enough to be heardall over the world. They had already been heard in the narrow spacebehind the school-wall, even above the deafening sounds of "March!halt! front!" They had chimed so loudly in the heart of the youngster,that he had sung them to his companions, and their tones resoundedto the very borders of the country. He was not a free scholar in themilitary school, neither was he provided with clothes or food. Buthe had his number, and his own peg; for everything here was orderedlike clockwork, which we all know is of the greatest utility- peopleget on so much better together when their position and duties areunderstood. It is by pressure that a jewel is stamped. The pressure ofregularity and discipline here stamped the jewel, which in thefuture the world so well knew.

In the chief town of the province a great festival was beingcelebrated. The light streamed forth from thousands of lamps, andthe rockets shot upwards towards the sky, filling the air with showersof colored fiery sparks. A record of this bright display will livein the memory of man, for through it the pupil in the militaryschool was in tears and sorrow. He had dared to attempt to reachforeign territories unnoticed, and must therefore give upfatherland, mother, his dearest friends, all, or sink down into thestream of common life. The old church bell had still some comfort;it stood in the shelter of the church wall in Marbach, once soelevated, now quite forgotten. The wind roared around it, and couldhave readily related the story of its origin and of its sweetchimes, and the wind could also tell of him to whom he had broughtfresh air when, in the woods of a neighboring country, he had sunkdown exhausted with fatigue, with no other worldly possessions thanhope for the future, and a written leaf from "Fiesco." The windcould have told that his only protector was an artist, who, by readingeach leaf to him, made it plain; and that they amused themselves byplaying at nine-pins together. The wind could also describe the palefugitive, who, for weeks and months, lay in a wretched littleroad-side inn, where the landlord got drunk and raved, and where themerry-makers had it all their own way. And he, the pale fugitive, sangof the ideal.

For many heavy days and dark nights the heart must suffer toenable it to endure trial and temptation; yet, amidst it all, wouldthe minstrel sing. Dark days and cold nights also passed over theold bell, and it noticed them not; but the bell in the man's heartfelt it to be a gloomy time. What would become of this young man,and what would become of the old bell?

The old bell was, after a time, carried away to a greater distancethan any one, even the warder in the bell tower, ever imagined; andthe bell in the breast of the young man was heard in countries wherehis feet had never wandered. The tones went forth over the wideocean to every part of the round world.

We will now follow the career of the old bell. It was, as wehave said, carried far away from Marbach and sold as old copper;then sent to Bavaria to be melted down in a furnace. And then whathappened?

In the royal city of Bavaria, many years after the bell had beenremoved from the tower and melted down, some metal was required fora monument in honor of one of the most celebrated characters which aGerman people or a German land could produce. And now we see howwonderfully things are ordered. Strange things sometimes happen inthis world.

In Denmark, in one of those green islands where the foliage of thebeech-woods rustles in the wind, and where many Huns' graves may beseen, was another poor boy born. He wore wooden shoes, and when hisfather worked in a ship-yard, the boy, wrapped up in an old worn-outshawl, carried his dinner to him every day. This poor child was nowthe pride of his country; for the sculptured marble, the work of hishands, had astonished the world.* To him was offered the honor offorming from the clay, a model of the figure of him whose name,"John Christopher Frederick," had been written by his father in theBible. The bust was cast in bronze, and part of the metal used forthis purpose was the old church bell, whose tones had died away fromthe memory of those at home and elsewhere. The metal, glowing withheat, flowed into the mould, and formed the head and bust of thestatue which was unveiled in the square in front of the old castle.The statue represented in living, breathing reality, the form of himwho was born in poverty, the boy from Marbach, the pupil of themilitary school, the fugitive who struggled against poverty andoppression, from the outer world; Germany's great and immortal poet,who sung of Switzerland's deliverer, William Tell, and of theheaven-inspired Maid of Orleans.

* The Danish sculptor Thorwaldsen.

It was a beautiful sunny day; flags were waving from tower androof in royal Stuttgart, and the church bells were ringing a joyouspeal. One bell was silent; but it was illuminated by the brightsunshine which streamed from the head and bust of the renowned figure,of which it formed a part. On this day, just one hundred years hadpassed since the day on which the chiming of the old church bell atMarbach had filled the mother's heart with trust and joy- the day onwhich her child was born in poverty, and in a humble home; the samewho, in after-years, became rich, became the noble woman-hearted poet,a blessing to the world- the glorious, the sublime, the immortal bard,John Christoper Frederick Schiller!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE OLD GRAVE-STONE

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN a house, with a large courtyard, in a provincial town, atthat time of the year in which people say the evenings are growinglonger, a family circle were gathered together at their old home. Alamp burned on the table, although the weather was mild and warm,and the long curtains hung down before the open windows, and withoutthe moon shone brightly in the dark-blue sky.

But they were not talking of the moon, but of a large, old stonethat lay below in the courtyard not very far from the kitchen door.The maids often laid the clean copper saucepans and kitchen vessels onthis stone, that they might dry in the sun, and the children were fondof playing on it. It was, in fact, an old grave-stone.

"Yes," said the master of the house, "I believe the stone camefrom the graveyard of the old church of the convent which was pulleddown, and the pulpit, the monuments, and the grave-stones sold. Myfather bought the latter; most of them were cut in two and used forpaving-stones, but that one stone was preserved whole, and laid in thecourtyard."

"Any one can see that it is a grave-stone," said the eldest of thechildren; "the representation of an hour-glass and part of thefigure of an angel can still be traced, but the inscription beneath isquite worn out, excepting the name 'Preben,' and a large 'S' closeby it, and a little farther down the name of 'Martha' can be easilyread. But nothing more, and even that cannot be seen unless it hasbeen raining, or when we have washed the stone."

"Dear me! how singular. Why that must be the grave-stone of PrebenSchwane and his wife."

The old man who said this looked old enough to be thegrandfather of all present in the room.

"Yes," he continued, "these people were among the last who wereburied in the churchyard of the old convent. They were a very worthyold couple, I can remember them well in the days of my boyhood.Every one knew them, and they were esteemed by all. They were theoldest residents in the town, and people said they possessed a tonof gold, yet they were always very plainly dressed, in the coarseststuff, but with linen of the purest whiteness. Preben and Marthawere a fine old couple, and when they both sat on the bench, at thetop of the steep stone steps, in front of their house, with thebranches of the linden-tree waving above them, and nodded in a gentle,friendly way to passers by, it really made one feel quite happy.They were very good to the poor; they fed them and clothed them, andin their benevolence there was judgment as well as trueChristianity. The old woman died first; that day is still quitevividly before my eyes. I was a little boy, and had accompanied myfather to the old man's house. Martha had fallen into the sleep ofdeath just as we arrived there. The corpse lay in a bedroom, near tothe one in which we sat, and the old man was in great distress andweeping like a child. He spoke to my father, and to a few neighborswho were there, of how lonely he should feel now she was gone, and howgood and true she, his dead wife, had been during the number ofyears that they had passed through life together, and how they hadbecome acquainted, and learnt to love each other. I was, as I havesaid, a boy, and only stood by and listened to what the others said;but it filled me with a strange emotion to listen to the old man,and to watch how the color rose in his cheeks as he spoke of thedays of their courtship, of how beautiful she was, and how many littletricks he had been guilty of, that he might meet her. And then hetalked of his wedding-day; and his eyes brightened, and he seemed tobe carried back, by his words, to that joyful time. And yet thereshe was, lying in the next room, dead- an old woman, and he was an oldman, speaking of the days of hope, long passed away. Ah, well, so itis; then I was but a child, and now I am old, as old as Preben Schwanethen was. Time passes away, and all things changed. I can rememberquite well the day on which she was buried, and how Old Prebenwalked close behind the coffin.

"A few years before this time the old couple had had theirgrave-stone prepared, with an inscription and their names, but not thedate. In the evening the stone was taken to the churchyard, and laidon the grave. A year later it was taken up, that Old Preben might belaid by the side of his wife. They did not leave behind them wealth,they left behind them far less than people had believed theypossessed; what there was went to families distantly related tothem, of whom, till then, no one had ever heard. The old house, withits balcony of wickerwork, and the bench at the top of the high steps,under the lime-tree, was considered, by the road-inspectors, too oldand rotten to be left standing. Afterwards, when the same fatebefell the convent church, and the graveyard was destroyed, thegrave-stone of Preben and Martha, like everything else, was sold towhoever would buy it. And so it happened that this stone was not cutin two as many others had been, but now lies in the courtyard below, ascouring block for the maids, and a playground for the children. Thepaved street now passes over the resting place of Old Preben and hiswife; no one thinks of them any more now."

And the old man who had spoken of all this shook his headmournfully, and said, "Forgotten! Ah, yes, everything will beforgotten!" And then the conversation turned on other matters.

But the youngest child in the room, a boy, with large, earnesteyes, mounted upon a chair behind the window curtains, and lookedout into the yard, where the moon was pouring a flood of light onthe old gravestone,- the stone that had always appeared to him so dulland flat, but which lay there now like a great leaf out of a book ofhistory. All that the boy had heard of Old Preben and his wifeseemed clearly defined on the stone, and as he gazed on it, andglanced at the clear, bright moon shining in the pure air, it was asif the light of God's countenance beamed over His beautiful world.

"Forgotten! Everything will be forgotten!" still echoed throughthe room, and in the same moment an invisible spirit whispered tothe heart of the boy, "Preserve carefully the seed that has beenentrusted to thee, that it may grow and thrive. Guard it well. Throughthee, my child, shall the obliterated inscription on the old,weather-beaten grave-stone go forth to future generations in clear,golden characters. The old pair shall again wander through the streetsarm-in-arm, or sit with their fresh, healthy cheeks on the bench underthe lime-tree, and smile and nod at rich and poor. The seed of thishour shall ripen in the course of years into a beautiful poem. Thebeautiful and the good are never forgotten, they live always instory or in song."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE OLD HOUSE

by Hans Christian Andersen

A VERY old house stood once in a street with several that werequite new and clean. The date of its erection had been carved on oneof the beams, and surrounded by scrolls formed of tulips andhop-tendrils; by this date it could be seen that the old house wasnearly three hundred years old. Verses too were written over thewindows in old-fashioned letters, and grotesque faces, curiouslycarved, grinned at you from under the cornices. One story projecteda long way over the other, and under the roof ran a leaden gutter,with a dragon's head at the end. The rain was intended to pour outat the dragon's mouth, but it ran out of his body instead, for therewas a hole in the gutter. The other houses in the street were newand well built, with large window panes and smooth walls. Any onecould see they had nothing to do with the old house. Perhaps theythought, "How long will that heap of rubbish remain here to be adisgrace to the whole street. The parapet projects so far forward thatno one can see out of our windows what is going on in thatdirection. The stairs are as broad as the staircase of a castle, andas steep as if they led to a church-tower. The iron railing looks likethe gate of a cemetery, and there are brass knobs upon it. It isreally too ridiculous."

Opposite to the old house were more nice new houses, which hadjust the same opinion as their neighbors.

At the window of one of them sat a little boy with fresh rosycheeks, and clear sparkling eyes, who was very fond of the oldhouse, in sunshine or in moonlight. He would sit and look at thewall from which the plaster had in some places fallen off, and fancyall sorts of scenes which had been in former times. How the streetmust have looked when the houses had all gable roofs, open staircases,and gutters with dragons at the spout. He could even see soldierswalking about with halberds. Certainly it was a very good house tolook at for amusement.

An old man lived in it, who wore knee-breeches, a coat withlarge brass buttons, and a wig, which any one could see was a realwig. Every morning an old man came to clean the rooms, and to waitupon him, otherwise the old man in the knee-breeches would have beenquite alone in the house. Sometimes he came to one of the windowsand looked out; then the little boy nodded to him, and the old mannodded back again, till they became acquainted, and were friends,although they had never spoken to each other; but that was of noconsequence.

The little boy one day heard his parents say, "The old manopposite is very well off, but is terribly lonely." The next Sundaymorning the little boy wrapped something in a piece of paper andtook it to the door of the old house, and said to the attendant whowaited upon the old man, "Will you please give this from me to thegentleman who lives here; I have two tin soldiers, and this is oneof them, and he shall have it, because I know he is terribly lonely."

And the old attendant nodded and looked very pleased, and thenhe carried the tin soldier into the house.

Afterwards he was sent over to ask the little boy if he wouldnot like to pay a visit himself. His parents gave him permission,and so it was that he gained admission to the old house.

The brassy knobs on the railings shone more brightly than ever, asif they had been polished on account of his visit; and on the doorwere carved trumpeters standing in tulips, and it seemed as if theywere blowing with all their might, their cheeks were so puffed out."Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is coming; Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy iscoming."

Then the door opened. All round the hall hung old portraits ofknights in armor, and ladies in silk gowns; and the armor rattled, andthe silk dresses rustled. Then came a staircase which went up a longway, and then came down a little way and led to a balcony, which wasin a very ruinous state. There were large holes and long cracks, outof which grew grass and leaves, indeed the whole balcony, thecourtyard, and the walls were so overgrown with green that they lookedlike a garden. In the balcony stood flower-pots, on which were headshaving asses' ears, but the flowers in them grew just as they pleased.In one pot pinks were growing all over the sides, at least the greenleaves were shooting forth stalk and stem, and saying as plainly asthey could speak, "The air has fanned me, the sun has kissed me, and Iam promised a little flower for next Sunday- really for next Sunday."

Then they entered a room in which the walls were covered withleather, and the leather had golden flowers stamped upon it.

"Gilding will fade in damp weather,

To endure, there is nothing like leather,"said the walls. Chairs handsomely carved, with elbows on each side,and with very high backs, stood in the room, and as they creakedthey seemed to say, "Sit down. Oh dear, how I am creaking. I shallcertainly have the gout like the old cupboard. Gout in my back, ugh."

And then the little boy entered the room where the old man sat.

"Thank you for the tin soldier my little friend," said the oldman, "and thank you also for coming to see me."

"Thanks, thanks," or "Creak, creak," said all the furniture.

There was so much that the pieces of furniture stood in eachother's way to get a sight of the little boy.

On the wall near the centre of the room hung the picture of abeautiful lady, young and gay, dressed in the fashion of the oldentimes, with powdered hair, and a full, stiff skirt. She said neither"thanks" nor "creak," but she looked down upon the little boy with hermild eyes; and then he said to the old man,

"Where did you get that picture?"

"From the shop opposite," he replied. "Many portraits hang therethat none seem to trouble themselves about. The persons they representhave been dead and buried long since. But I knew this lady manyyears ago, and she has been dead nearly half a century."

Under a glass beneath the picture hung a nosegay of witheredflowers, which were no doubt half a century old too, at least theyappeared so.

And the pendulum of the old clock went to and fro, and the handsturned round; and as time passed on, everything in the room grewolder, but no one seemed to notice it.

"They say at home," said the little boy, "that you are verylonely."

"Oh," replied the old man, "I have pleasant thoughts of all thathas passed, recalled by memory; and now you are come to visit me,and that is very pleasant."

Then he took from the book-case, a book full of picturesrepresenting long processions of wonderful coaches, such as arenever seen at the present time. Soldiers like the knave of clubs,and citizens with waving banners. The tailors had a flag with a pairof scissors supported by two lions, and on the shoemakers' flagthere were not boots, but an eagle with two heads, for theshoemakers must have everything arranged so that they can say, "Thisis a pair." What a picture-book it was; and then the old man went intoanother room to fetch apples and nuts. It was very pleasant,certainly, to be in that old house.

"I cannot endure it," said the tin soldier, who stood on ashelf, "it is so lonely and dull here. I have been accustomed tolive in a family, and I cannot get used to this life. I cannot bearit. The whole day is long enough, but the evening is longer. It is nothere like it was in your house opposite, when your father and mothertalked so cheerfully together, while you and all the dear childrenmade such a delightful noise. No, it is all lonely in the old man'shouse. Do you think he gets any kisses? Do you think he ever hasfriendly looks, or a Christmas tree? He will have nothing now butthe grave. Oh, I cannot bear it."

"You must not look only on the sorrowful side," said the littleboy; "I think everything in this house is beautiful, and all the oldpleasant thoughts come back here to pay visits."

"Ah, but I never see any, and I don't know them," said the tinsoldier, "and I cannot bear it."

"You must bear it," said the little boy. Then the old man cameback with a pleasant face; and brought with him beautiful preservedfruits, as well as apples and nuts; and the little boy thought no moreof the tin soldier. How happy and delighted the little boy was; andafter he returned home, and while days and weeks passed, a greatdeal of nodding took place from one house to the other, and then thelittle boy went to pay another visit. The carved trumpeters blew"Tanta-ra-ra. There is the little boy. Tanta-ra-ra." The swords andarmor on the old knight's pictures rattled. The silk dressesrustled, the leather repeated its rhyme, and the old chairs had thegout in their backs, and cried, "Creak;" it was all exactly like thefirst time; for in that house, one day and one hour were just likeanother. "I cannot bear it any longer," said the tin soldier; "Ihave wept tears of tin, it is so melancholy here. Let me go to thewars, and lose an arm or a leg, that would be some change; I cannotbear it. Now I know what it is to have visits from one's oldrecollections, and all they bring with them. I have had visits frommine, and you may believe me it is not altogether pleasant. I was verynearly jumping from the shelf. I saw you all in your house opposite,as if you were really present. It was Sunday morning, and you childrenstood round the table, singing the hymn that you sing every morning.You were standing quietly, with your hands folded, and your father andmother. You were standing quietly, with your hands folded, and yourfather and mother were looking just as serious, when the dooropened, and your little sister Maria, who is not two years old, wasbrought into the room. You know she always dances when she hears musicand singing of any sort; so she began to dance immediately, althoughshe ought not to have done so, but she could not get into the righttime because the tune was so slow; so she stood first on one leg andthen on the other, and bent her head very low, but it would not suitthe music. You all stood looking very grave, although it was verydifficult to do so, but I laughed so to myself that I fell down fromthe table, and got a bruise, which is there still; I know it was notright to laugh. So all this, and everything else that I have seen,keeps running in my head, and these must be the old recollections thatbring so many thoughts with them. Tell me whether you still sing onSundays, and tell me about your little sister Maria, and how my oldcomrade is, the other tin soldier. Ah, really he must be very happy; Icannot endure this life."

"You are given away," said the little boy; "you must stay. Don'tyou see that?" Then the old man came in, with a box containing manycurious things to show him. Rouge-pots, scent-boxes, and old cards, solarge and so richly gilded, that none are ever seen like them in thesedays. And there were smaller boxes to look at, and the piano wasopened, and inside the lid were painted landscapes. But when the oldman played, the piano sounded quite out of tune. Then he looked at thepicture he had bought at the broker's, and his eyes sparkledbrightly as he nodded at it, and said, "Ah, she could sing that tune."

"I will go to the wars! I will go to the wars!" cried the tinsoldier as loud as he could, and threw himself down on the floor.Where could he have fallen? The old man searched, and the little boysearched, but he was gone, and could not be found. "I shall find himagain," said the old man, but he did not find him. The boards of thefloor were open and full of holes. The tin soldier had fallenthrough a crack between the boards, and lay there now in an opengrave. The day went by, and the little boy returned home; the weekpassed, and many more weeks. It was winter, and the windows were quitefrozen, so the little boy was obliged to breathe on the panes, and ruba hole to peep through at the old house. Snow drifts were lying in allthe scrolls and on the inscriptions, and the steps were covered withsnow as if no one were at home. And indeed nobody was home, for theold man was dead. In the evening, a hearse stopped at the door, andthe old man in his coffin was placed in it. He was to be taken tothe country to be buried there in his own grave; so they carried himaway; no one followed him, for all his friends were dead; and thelittle boy kissed his hand to the coffin as the hearse moved away withit. A few days after, there was an auction at the old house, andfrom his window the little boy saw the people carrying away thepictures of old knights and ladies, the flower-pots with the longears, the old chairs, and the cup-boards. Some were taken one way,some another. Her portrait, which had been bought at the picturedealer's, went back again to his shop, and there it remained, for noone seemed to know her, or to care for the old picture. In the spring;they began to pull the house itself down; people called it completerubbish. From the street could be seen the room in which the wallswere covered with leather, ragged and torn, and the green in thebalcony hung straggling over the beams; they pulled it down quickly,for it looked ready to fall, and at last it was cleared awayaltogether. "What a good riddance," said the neighbors' houses. Veryshortly, a fine new house was built farther back from the road; it hadlofty windows and smooth walls, but in front, on the spot where theold house really stood, a little garden was planted, and wild vinesgrew up over the neighboring walls; in front of the garden werelarge iron railings and a great gate, which looked very stately.People used to stop and peep through the railings. The sparrowsassembled in dozens upon the wild vines, and chattered all together asloud as they could, but not about the old house; none of them couldremember it, for many years had passed by, so many indeed, that thelittle boy was now a man, and a really good man too, and his parentswere very proud of him. He was just married, and had come, with hisyoung wife, to reside in the new house with the garden in front of it,and now he stood there by her side while she planted a field flowerthat she thought very pretty. She was planting it herself with herlittle hands, and pressing down the earth with her fingers. "Ohdear, what was that?" she exclaimed, as something pricked her. Outof the soft earth something was sticking up. It was- only think!- itwas really the tin soldier, the very same which had been lost up inthe old man's room, and had been hidden among old wood and rubbish fora long time, till it sunk into the earth, where it must have beenfor many years. And the young wife wiped the soldier, first with agreen leaf, and then with her fine pocket-handkerchief, that smeltof such beautiful perfume. And the tin soldier felt as if he wasrecovering from a fainting fit. "Let me see him," said the youngman, and then he smiled and shook his head, and said, "It can scarcelybe the same, but it reminds me of something that happened to one of mytin soldiers when I was a little boy." And then he told his wife aboutthe old house and the old man, and of the tin soldier which he hadsent across, because he thought the old man was lonely; and he relatedthe story so clearly that tears came into the eyes of the young wifefor the old house and the old man. "It is very likely that this isreally the same soldier," said she, and I will take care of him, andalways remember what you have told me; but some day you must show methe old man's grave."

"I don't know where it is," he replied; "no one knows. All hisfriends are dead; no one took care of him, and I was only a littleboy."

"Oh, how dreadfully lonely he must have been," said she.

"Yes, terribly lonely," cried the tin soldier; "still it isdelightful not to be forgotten."

"Delightful indeed," cried a voice quite near to them; no onebut the tin soldier saw that it came from a rag of the leather whichhung in tatters; it had lost all its gilding, and looked like wetearth, but it had an opinion, and it spoke it thus:-

"Gilding will fade in damp weather,

To endure, there is nothing like leather."

But the tin soldier did not believe any such thing.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE OLD STREET LAMP

by Hans Christian Andersen

DID you ever hear the story of the old street lamp? It is notremarkably interesting, but for once in a way you may as well listento it. It was a most respectable old lamp, which had seen many, manyyears of service, and now was to retire with a pension. It was thisevening at its post for the last time, giving light to the street. Hisfeelings were something like those of an old dancer at the theatre,who is dancing for the last time, and knows that on the morrow shewill be in her garret, alone and forgotten. The lamp had very greatanxiety about the next day, for he knew that he had to appear forthe first time at the town hall, to be inspected by the mayor andthe council, who were to decide if he were fit for further serviceor not;- whether the lamp was good enough to be used to light theinhabitants of one of the suburbs, or in the country, at some factory;and if not, it would be sent at once to an iron foundry, to bemelted down. In this latter case it might be turned into anything, andhe wondered very much whether he would then be able to remember thathe had once been a street lamp, and it troubled him exceedingly.Whatever might happen, one thing seemed certain, that he would beseparated from the watchman and his wife, whose family he lookedupon as his own. The lamp had first been hung up on that veryevening that the watchman, then a robust young man, had entered uponthe duties of his office. Ah, well, it was a very long time sinceone became a lamp and the other a watchman. His wife had a littlepride in those days; she seldom condescended to glance at the lamp,excepting when she passed by in the evening, never in the daytime. Butin later years, when all these,- the watchman, the wife, and the lamp-had grown old, she had attended to it, cleaned it, and supplied itwith oil. The old people were thoroughly honest, they had nevercheated the lamp of a single drop of the oil provided for it.

This was the lamp's last night in the street, and to-morrow hemust go to the town-hall,- two very dark things to think of. No wonderhe did not burn brightly. Many other thoughts also passed throughhis mind. How many persons he had lighted on their way, and how muchhe had seen; as much, very likely, as the mayor and corporationthemselves! None of these thoughts were uttered aloud, however; for hewas a good, honorable old lamp, who would not willingly do harm to anyone, especially to those in authority. As many things were recalled tohis mind, the light would flash up with sudden brightness; he had,at such moments, a conviction that he would be remembered. "Therewas a handsome young man once," thought he; "it is certainly a longwhile ago, but I remember he had a little note, written on pinkpaper with a gold edge; the writing was elegant, evidently a lady'shand: twice he read it through, and kissed it, and then looked up atme, with eyes that said quite plainly, 'I am the happiest of men!'Only he and I know what was written on this his first letter fromhis lady-love. Ah, yes, and there was another pair of eyes that Iremember,- it is really wonderful how the thoughts jump from one thingto another! A funeral passed through the street; a young and beautifulwoman lay on a bier, decked with garlands of flowers, and attendedby torches, which quite overpowered my light. All along the streetstood the people from the houses, in crowds, ready to join theprocession. But when the torches had passed from before me, and Icould look round, I saw one person alone, standing, leaning against mypost, and weeping. Never shall I forget the sorrowful eyes that lookedup at me." These and similar reflections occupied the old street lamp,on this the last time that his light would shine. The sentry, whenhe is relieved from his post, knows at least who will succeed him, andmay whisper a few words to him, but the lamp did not know hissuccessor, or he could have given him a few hints respecting rain,or mist, and could have informed him how far the moon's rays wouldrest on the pavement, and from which side the wind generally blew, andso on.

On the bridge over the canal stood three persons, who wished torecommend themselves to the lamp, for they thought he could give theoffice to whomsoever he chose. The first was a herring's head, whichcould emit light in the darkness. He remarked that it would be a greatsaving of oil if they placed him on the lamp-post. Number two was apiece of rotten wood, which also shines in the dark. He consideredhimself descended from an old stem, once the pride of the forest.The third was a glow-worm, and how he found his way there the lampcould not imagine, yet there he was, and could really give light aswell as the others. But the rotten wood and the herring's headdeclared most solemnly, by all they held sacred, that the glow-wormonly gave light at certain times, and must not be allowed to competewith themselves. The old lamp assured them that not one of themcould give sufficient light to fill the position of a street lamp; butthey would believe nothing he said. And when they discovered that hehad not the power of naming his successor, they said they were veryglad to hear it, for the lamp was too old and worn-out to make aproper choice.

At this moment the wind came rushing round the corner of thestreet, and through the air-holes of the old lamp. "What is this Ihear?" said he; "that you are going away to-morrow? Is this eveningthe last time we shall meet? Then I must present you with a farewellgift. I will blow into your brain, so that in future you shall notonly be able to remember all that you have seen or heard in thepast, but your light within shall be so bright, that you shall be ableto understand all that is said or done in your presence."

"Oh, that is really a very, very great gift," said the old lamp;"I thank you most heartily. I only hope I shall not be melted down."

"That is not likely to happen yet," said the wind; "and I willalso blow a memory into you, so that should you receive othersimilar presents your old age will pass very pleasantly."

"That is if I am not melted down," said the lamp. "But should I inthat case still retain my memory?"

"Do be reasonable, old lamp," said the wind, puffing away.

At this moment the moon burst forth from the clouds. "What willyou give the old lamp?" asked the wind.

"I can give nothing," she replied; "I am on the wane, and no lampshave ever given me light while I have frequently shone upon them." Andwith these words the moon hid herself again behind the clouds, thatshe might be saved from further importunities. Just then a drop fellupon the lamp, from the roof of the house, but the drop explained thathe was a gift from those gray clouds, and perhaps the best of allgifts. "I shall penetrate you so thoroughly," he said, "that youwill have the power of becoming rusty, and, if you wish it, to crumbleinto dust in one night."

But this seemed to the lamp a very shabby present, and the windthought so too. "Does no one give any more? Will no one give anymore?" shouted the breath of the wind, as loud as it could. Then abright falling star came down, leaving a broad, luminous streak behindit.

"What was that?" cried the herring's head. "Did not a star fall? Ireally believe it went into the lamp. Certainly, when such high-bornpersonages try for the office, we may as well say 'Good-night,' and gohome."

And so they did, all three, while the old lamp threw a wonderfullystrong light all around him.

"This is a glorious gift," said he; "the bright stars havealways been a joy to me, and have always shone more brilliantly than Iever could shine, though I have tried with my whole might; and nowthey have noticed me, a poor old lamp, and have sent me a gift thatwill enable me to see clearly everything that I remember, as if itstill stood before me, and to be seen by all those who love me. Andherein lies the truest pleasure, for joy which we cannot share withothers is only half enjoyed."

"That sentiment does you honor," said the wind; "but for thispurpose wax lights will be necessary. If these are not lighted in you,your particular faculties will not benefit others in the least. Thestars have not thought of this; they suppose that you and everyother light must be a wax taper: but I must go down now." So he laidhimself to rest.

"Wax tapers, indeed!" said the lamp, "I have never yet hadthese, nor is it likely I ever shall. If I could only be sure of notbeing melted down!"

The next day. Well, perhaps we had better pass over the nextday. The evening had come, and the lamp was resting in a grandfather'schair, and guess where! Why, at the old watchman's house. He hadbegged, as a favor, that the mayor and corporation would allow himto keep the street lamp, in consideration of his long and faithfulservice, as he had himself hung it up and lit it on the day he firstcommenced his duties, four-and-twenty years ago. He looked upon italmost as his own child; he had no children, so the lamp was givento him. There it lay in the great arm-chair near to the warm stove. Itseemed almost as if it had grown larger, for it appeared quite to fillthe chair. The old people sat at their supper, casting friendlyglances at the old lamp, whom they would willingly have admitted toa place at the table. It is quite true that they dwelt in a cellar,two yards deep in the earth, and they had to cross a stone passageto get to their room, but within it was warm and comfortable andstrips of list had been nailed round the door. The bed and thelittle window had curtains, and everything looked clean and neat. Onthe window seat stood two curious flower-pots which a sailor, namedChristian, had brought over from the East or West Indies. They were ofclay, and in the form of two elephants, with open backs; they werehollow and filled with earth, and through the open space flowersbloomed. In one grew some very fine chives or leeks; this was thekitchen garden. The other elephant, which contained a beautifulgeranium, they called their flower garden. On the wall hung a largecolored print, representing the congress of Vienna, and all thekings and emperors at once. A clock, with heavy weights, hung on thewall and went "tick, tick," steadily enough; yet it was alwaysrather too fast, which, however, the old people said was better thanbeing too slow. They were now eating their supper, while the oldstreet lamp, as we have heard, lay in the grandfather's arm-chair nearthe stove. It seemed to the lamp as if the whole world had turnedround; but after a while the old watchman looked at the lamp, andspoke of what they had both gone through together,- in rain and infog; during the short bright nights of summer, or in the long winternights, through the drifting snow-storms, when he longed to be at homein the cellar. Then the lamp felt it was all right again. He saweverything that had happened quite clearly, as if it were passingbefore him. Surely the wind had given him an excellent gift. The oldpeople were very active and industrious, they were never idle for evena single hour. On Sunday afternoons they would bring out some books,generally a book of travels which they were very fond of. The oldman would read aloud about Africa, with its great forests and the wildelephants, while his wife would listen attentively, stealing aglance now and then at the clay elephants, which served asflower-pots.

"I can almost imagine I am seeing it all," she said; and thenhow the lamp wished for a wax taper to be lighted in him, for then theold woman would have seen the smallest detail as clearly as he didhimself. The lofty trees, with their thickly entwined branches, thenaked negroes on horseback, and whole herds of elephants treading downbamboo thickets with their broad, heavy feet.

"What is the use of all my capabilities," sighed the old lamp,"when I cannot obtain any wax lights; they have only oil and tallowhere, and these will not do." One day a great heap of wax-candleends found their way into the cellar. The larger pieces were burnt,and the smaller ones the old woman kept for waxing her thread. Sothere were now candles enough, but it never occurred to any one to puta little piece in the lamp.

"Here I am now with my rare powers," thought the lamp, "I havefaculties within me, but I cannot share them; they do not know thatI could cover these white walls with beautiful tapestry, or changethem into noble forests, or, indeed, to anything else they mightwish for." The lamp, however, was always kept clean and shining in acorner where it attracted all eyes. Strangers looked upon it aslumber, but the old people did not care for that; they loved the lamp.One day- it was the watchman's birthday- the old woman approachedthe lamp, smiling to herself, and said, "I will have an illuminationto-day in honor of my old man." And the lamp rattled in his metalframe, for he thought, "Now at last I shall have a light within me,"but after all no wax light was placed in the lamp, but oil as usual.The lamp burned through the whole evening, and began to perceive tooclearly that the gift of the stars would remain a hidden treasureall his life. Then he had a dream; for, to one with his faculties,dreaming was no difficulty. It appeared to him that the old peoplewere dead, and that he had been taken to the iron foundry to be melteddown. It caused him quite as much anxiety as on the day when he hadbeen called upon to appear before the mayor and the council at thetown-hall. But though he had been endowed with the power of fallinginto decay from rust when he pleased, he did not make use of it. Hewas therefore put into the melting-furnace and changed into as elegantan iron candlestick as you could wish to see, one intended to hold awax taper. The candlestick was in the form of an angel holding anosegay, in the centre of which the wax taper was to be placed. It wasto stand on a green writing table, in a very pleasant room; many bookswere scattered about, and splendid paintings hung on the walls. Theowner of the room was a poet, and a man of intellect; everything hethought or wrote was pictured around him. Nature showed herself to himsometimes in the dark forests, at others in cheerful meadows where thestorks were strutting about, or on the deck of a ship sailing acrossthe foaming sea with the clear, blue sky above, or at night theglittering stars. "What powers I possess!" said the lamp, awaking fromhis dream; "I could almost wish to be melted down; but no, that mustnot be while the old people live. They love me for myself alone,they keep me bright, and supply me with oil. I am as well off as thepicture of the congress, in which they take so much pleasure." Andfrom that time he felt at rest in himself, and not more so than suchan honorable old lamp really deserved to be.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PEA BLOSSOM

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE were once five peas in one shell, they were green, the shellwas green, and so they believed that the whole world must be greenalso, which was a very natural conclusion. The shell grew, and thepeas grew, they accommodated themselves to their position, and sat allin a row. The sun shone without and warmed the shell, and the rainmade it clear and transparent; it was mild and agreeable in broaddaylight, and dark at night, as it generally is; and the peas asthey sat there grew bigger and bigger, and more thoughtful as theymused, for they felt there must be something else for them to do.

"Are we to sit here forever?" asked one; "shall we not become hardby sitting so long? It seems to me there must be something outside,and I feel sure of it."

And as weeks passed by, the peas became yellow, and the shellbecame yellow.

"All the world is turning yellow, I suppose," said they,- andperhaps they were right.

Suddenly they felt a pull at the shell; it was torn off, andheld in human hands, then slipped into the pocket of a jacket incompany with other full pods.

"Now we shall soon be opened," said one,- just what they allwanted.

"I should like to know which of us will travel furthest," said thesmallest of the five; "we shall soon see now."

"What is to happen will happen," said the largest pea.

"Crack" went the shell as it burst, and the five peas rolled outinto the bright sunshine. There they lay in a child's hand. A littleboy was holding them tightly, and said they were fine peas for hispea-shooter. And immediately he put one in and shot it out.

"Now I am flying out into the wide world," said he; "catch me ifyou can;" and he was gone in a moment.

"I," said the second, "intend to fly straight to the sun, thatis a shell that lets itself be seen, and it will suit me exactly;" andaway he went.

"We will go to sleep wherever we find ourselves," said the twonext, "we shall still be rolling onwards;" and they did certainly fallon the floor, and roll about before they got into the pea-shooter; butthey were put in for all that. "We shall go farther than theothers," said they.

"What is to happen will happen," exclaimed the last, as he wasshot out of the pea-shooter; and as he spoke he flew up against an oldboard under a garret-window, and fell into a little crevice, which wasalmost filled up with moss and soft earth. The moss closed itselfround him, and there he lay, a captive indeed, but not unnoticed byGod.

"What is to happen will happen," said he to himself.

Within the little garret lived a poor woman, who went out to cleanstoves, chop wood into small pieces and perform such-like hard work,for she was strong and industrious. Yet she remained always poor,and at home in the garret lay her only daughter, not quite grown up,and very delicate and weak. For a whole year she had kept her bed, andit seemed as if she could neither live nor die.

"She is going to her little sister," said the woman; "I had butthe two children, and it was not an easy thing to support both ofthem; but the good God helped me in my work, and took one of them toHimself and provided for her. Now I would gladly keep the other thatwas left to me, but I suppose they are not to be separated, and mysick girl will very soon go to her sister above." But the sick girlstill remained where she was, quietly and patiently she lay all theday long, while her mother was away from home at her work.

Spring came, and one morning early the sun shone brightlythrough the little window, and threw its rays over the floor of theroom. just as the mother was going to her work, the sick girl fixedher gaze on the lowest pane of the window- "Mother," she exclaimed,"what can that little green thing be that peeps in at the window? Itis moving in the wind."

The mother stepped to the window and half opened it. "Oh!" shesaid, there is actually a little pea which has taken root and isputting out its green leaves. How could it have got into this crack?Well now, here is a little garden for you to amuse yourself with."So the bed of the sick girl was drawn nearer to the window, that shemight see the budding plant; and the mother went out to her work.

"Mother, I believe I shall get well," said the sick child in theevening, "the sun has shone in here so brightly and warmly to-day, andthe little pea is thriving so well: I shall get on better, too, and goout into the warm sunshine again."

"God grant it!" said the mother, but she did not believe itwould be so. But she propped up with the little stick the greenplant which had given her child such pleasant hopes of life, so thatit might not be broken by the winds; she tied the piece of string tothe window-sill and to the upper part of the frame, so that thepea-tendrils might twine round it when it shot up. And it did shootup, indeed it might almost be seen to grow from day to day.

"Now really here is a flower coming," said the old woman onemorning, and now at last she began to encourage the hope that her sickdaughter might really recover. She remembered that for some time thechild had spoken more cheerfully, and during the last few days hadraised herself in bed in the morning to look with sparkling eyes ather little garden which contained only a single pea-plant. A weekafter, the invalid sat up for the first time a whole hour, feelingquite happy by the open window in the warm sunshine, while outsidegrew the little plant, and on it a pink pea-blossom in full bloom. Thelittle maiden bent down and gently kissed the delicate leaves. Thisday was to her like a festival.

"Our heavenly Father Himself has planted that pea, and made itgrow and flourish, to bring joy to you and hope to me, my blessedchild," said the happy mother, and she smiled at the flower, as ifit had been an angel from God.

But what became of the other peas? Why the one who flew out intothe wide world, and said, "Catch me if you can," fell into a gutteron the roof of a house, and ended his travels in the crop of apigeon. The two lazy ones were carried quite as far, for they alsowere eaten by pigeons, so they were at least of some use; but thefourth, who wanted to reach the sun, fell into a sink and lay therein the dirty water for days and weeks, till he had swelled to a greatsize.

"I am getting beautifully fat," said the pea, "I expect I shallburst at last; no pea could do more that that, I think; I am themost remarkable of all the five which were in the shell." And the sinkconfirmed the opinion.

But the young maiden stood at the open garret window, withsparkling eyes and the rosy hue of health on her cheeks, she foldedher thin hands over the pea-blossom, and thanked God for what He haddone.

"I," said the sink, "shall stand up for my pea."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN a poet's room, where his inkstand stood on the table, theremark was once made, "It is wonderful what can be brought out of aninkstand. What will come next? It is indeed wonderful."

"Yes, certainly," said the inkstand to the pen, and to the otherarticles that stood on the table; "that's what I always say. It iswonderful and extraordinary what a number of things come out of me.It's quite incredible, and I really don't know what is coming nextwhen that man dips his pen into me. One drop out of me is enough forhalf a page of paper, and what cannot half a page contain? From me,all the works of a poet are produced; all those imaginary characterswhom people fancy they have known or met. All the deep feeling, thehumor, and the vivid pictures of nature. I myself don't understand howit is, for I am not acquainted with nature, but it is certainly in me.From me have gone forth to the world those wonderful descriptions oftroops of charming maidens, and of brave knights on prancing steeds;of the halt and the blind, and I know not what more, for I assureyou I never think of these things."

"There you are right," said the pen, "for you don't think atall; if you did, you would see that you can only provide the means.You give the fluid that I may place upon the paper what dwells inme, and what I wish to bring to light. It is the pen that writes: noman doubts that; and, indeed, most people understand as much aboutpoetry as an old inkstand."

"You have had very little experience," replied the inkstand."You have hardly been in service a week, and are already half wornout. Do you imagine you are a poet? You are only a servant, and beforeyou came I had many like you, some of the goose family, and othersof English manufacture. I know a quill pen as well as I know a steelone. I have had both sorts in my service, and I shall have many morewhen he comes- the man who performs the mechanical part- and writesdown what he obtains from me. I should like to know what will be thenext thing he gets out of me."

"Inkpot!" exclaimed the pen contemptuously.

Late in the evening the poet came home. He had been to aconcert, and had been quite enchanted with the admirable performanceof a famous violin player whom he had heard there. The performer hadproduced from his instrument a richness of tone that sometimes soundedlike tinkling waterdrops or rolling pearls; sometimes like the birdstwittering in chorus, and then rising and swelling in sound like thewind through the fir-trees. The poet felt as if his own heart wereweeping, but in tones of melody like the sound of a woman's voice.It seemed not only the strings, but every part of the instrumentfrom which these sounds were produced. It was a wonderfulperformance and a difficult piece, and yet the bow seemed to glideacross the strings so easily that it was as if any one could do it whotried. Even the violin and the bow appeared to perform independentlyof their master who guided them; it was as if soul and spirit had beenbreathed into the instrument, so the audience forgot the performerin the beautiful sounds he produced. Not so the poet; he rememberedhim, and named him, and wrote down his thoughts on the subject. "Howfoolish it would be for the violin and the bow to boast of theirperformance, and yet we men often commit that folly. The poet, theartist, the man of science in his laboratory, the general,- we alldo it; and yet we are only the instruments which the Almighty uses; toHim alone the honor is due. We have nothing of ourselves of which weshould be proud." Yes, this is what the poet wrote down. He wrote itin the form of a parable, and called it "The Master and theInstruments."

"That is what you have got, madam," said the pen to theinkstand, when the two were alone again. "Did you hear him readaloud what I had written down?"

"Yes, what I gave you to write," retorted the inkstand. "Thatwas a cut at you because of your conceit. To think that you couldnot understand that you were being quizzed. I gave you a cut fromwithin me. Surely I must know my own satire."

"Ink-pitcher!" cried the pen.

"Writing-stick!" retorted the inkstand. And each of them feltsatisfied that he had given a good answer. It is pleasing to beconvinced that you have settled a matter by your reply; it issomething to make you sleep well, and they both slept well upon it.But the poet did not sleep. Thoughts rose up within him like thetones of the violin, falling like pearls, or rushing like the strongwind through the forest. He understood his own heart in thesethoughts; they were as a ray from the mind of the Great Master of allminds.

"To Him be all the honor."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE

by Hans Christian Andersen

FAR away towards the east, in India, which seemed in those daysthe world's end, stood the Tree of the Sun; a noble tree, such as wehave never seen, and perhaps never may see.

The summit of this tree spread itself for miles like an entireforest, each of its smaller branches forming a complete tree. Palms,beech-trees, pines, plane-trees, and various other kinds, which arefound in all parts of the world, were here like small branches,shooting forth from the great tree; while the larger boughs, withtheir knots and curves, formed valleys and hills, clothed with velvetygreen and covered with flowers. Everywhere it was like a bloomingmeadow or a lovely garden. Here were birds from all quarters of theworld assembled together; birds from the primeval forests ofAmerica, from the rose gardens of Damascus, and from the deserts ofAfrica, in which the elephant and the lion may boast of being the onlyrulers. Birds from the Polar regions came flying here, and of coursethe stork and the swallow were not absent. But the birds were notthe only living creatures. There were stags, squirrels, antelopes, andhundreds of other beautiful and light-footed animals here found ahome.

The summit of the tree was a wide-spreading garden, and in themidst of it, where the green boughs formed a kind of hill, stood acastle of crystal, with a view from it towards every quarter ofheaven. Each tower was erected in the form of a lily, and within thestern was a winding staircase, through which one could ascend to thetop and step out upon the leaves as upon balconies. The calyx of theflower itself formed a most beautiful, glittering, circular hall,above which no other roof arose than the blue firmament and the sunand stars.

Just as much splendor, but of another kind, appeared below, in thewide halls of the castle. Here, on the walls, were reflectedpictures of the world, which represented numerous and varied scenes ofeverything that took place daily, so that it was useless to read thenewspapers, and indeed there were none to be obtained in this spot.All was to be seen in living pictures by those who wished it, butall would have been too much for even the wisest man, and this mandwelt here. His name is very difficult; you would not be able topronounce it, so it may be omitted. He knew everything that a man onearth can know or imagine. Every invention already in existence or yetto be, was known to him, and much more; still everything on earthhas a limit. The wise king Solomon was not half so wise as this man.He could govern the powers of nature and held sway over potentspirits; even Death itself was obliged to give him every morning alist of those who were to die during the day. And King Solomon himselfhad to die at last, and this fact it was which so often occupied thethoughts of this great man in the castle on the Tree of the Sun. Heknew that he also, however high he might tower above other men inwisdom, must one day die. He knew that his children would fade awaylike the leaves of the forest and become dust. He saw the human racewither and fall like leaves from the tree; he saw new men come to filltheir places, but the leaves that fell off never sprouted forth again;they crumbled to dust or were absorbed into other plants.

"What happens to man," asked the wise man of himself, "whentouched by the angel of death? What can death be? The body decays, andthe soul. Yes; what is the soul, and whither does it go?"

"To eternal life," says the comforting voice of religion.

"But what is this change? Where and how shall we exist?"

"Above; in heaven," answers the pious man; "it is there we hope togo."

"Above!" repeated the wise man, fixing his eyes upon the moonand stars above him. He saw that to this earthly sphere above andbelow were constantly changing places, and that the position variedaccording to the spot on which a man found himself. He knew, also,that even if he ascended to the top of the highest mountain whichrears its lofty summit on this earth, the air, which to us seems clearand transparent, would there be dark and cloudy; the sun would havea coppery glow and send forth no rays, and our earth would lie beneathhim wrapped in an orange-colored mist. How narrow are the limits whichconfine the bodily sight, and how little can be seen by the eye of thesoul. How little do the wisest among us know of that which is soimportant to us all.

In the most secret chamber of the castle lay the greatest treasureon earth- the Book of Truth. The wise man had read it through pageafter page. Every man may read in this book, but only in fragments. Tomany eyes the characters seem so mixed in confusion that the wordscannot be distinguished. On certain pages the writing often appears sopale or so blurred that the page becomes a blank. The wiser a manbecomes, the more he will read, and those who are wisest read most.

The wise man knew how to unite the sunlight and the moonlight withthe light of reason and the hidden powers of nature; and throughthis stronger light, many things in the pages were made clear tohim. But in the portion of the book entitled "Life after Death" nota single point could he see distinctly. This pained him. Should henever be able here on earth to obtain a light by which everythingwritten in the Book of Truth should become clear to him? Like the wiseKing Solomon, he understood the language of animals, and couldinterpret their talk into song; but that made him none the wiser. Hefound out the nature of plants and metals, and their power in curingdiseases and arresting death, but none to destroy death itself. In allcreated things within his reach he sought the light that shouldshine upon the certainty of an eternal life, but he found it not.The Book of Truth lay open before him, but, its pages were to him asblank paper. Christianity placed before him in the Bible a promiseof eternal life, but he wanted to read it in his book, in whichnothing on the subject appeared to be written.

He had five children; four sons, educated as the children ofsuch a wise father should be, and a daughter, fair, gentle, andintelligent, but she was blind; yet this deprivation appeared asnothing to her; her father and brothers were outward eyes to her,and a vivid imagination made everything clear to her mental sight. Thesons had never gone farther from the castle than the branches of thetrees extended, and the sister had scarcely ever left home. Theywere happy children in that home of their childhood, the beautiful andfragrant Tree of the Sun. Like all children, they loved to hearstories related to them, and their father told them many thingswhich other children would not have understood; but these were asclever as most grownup people are among us. He explained to themwhat they saw in the pictures of life on the castle walls- thedoings of man, and the progress of events in all the lands of theearth; and the sons often expressed a wish that they could be present,and take a part in these great deeds. Then their father told them thatin the world there was nothing but toil and difficulty: that it wasnot quite what it appeared to them, as they looked upon it in theirbeautiful home. He spoke to them of the true, the beautiful, and thegood, and told them that these three held together in the world, andby that union they became crystallized into a precious jewel,clearer than a diamond of the first water- a jewel, whose splendor hada value even in the sight of God, in whose brightness all things aredim. This jewel was called the philosopher's stone. He told them that,by searching, man could attain to a knowledge of the existence of God,and that it was in the power of every man to discover the certaintythat such a jewel as the philosopher's stone really existed. Thisinformation would have been beyond the perception of other children;but these children understood, and others will learn to comprehend itsmeaning after a time. They questioned their father about the true, thebeautiful, and the good, and he explained it to them in many ways.He told them that God, when He made man out of the dust of theearth, touched His work five times, leaving five intense feelings,which we call the five senses. Through these, the true, the beautiful,and the good are seen, understood, and perceived, and through thesethey are valued, protected, and encouraged. Five senses have beengiven mentally and corporeally, inwardly and outwardly, to body andsoul.

The children thought deeply on all these things, and meditatedupon them day and night. Then the eldest of the brothers dreamt asplendid dream. Strange to say, not only the second brother but alsothe third and fourth brothers all dreamt exactly the same thing;namely, that each went out into the world to find the philosopher'sstone. Each dreamt that he found it, and that, as he rode back onhis swift horse, in the morning dawn, over the velvety greenmeadows, to his home in the castle of his father, that the stonegleamed from his forehead like a beaming light; and threw such abright radiance upon the pages of the Book of Truth that every wordwas illuminated which spoke of the life beyond the grave. But thesister had no dream of going out into the wide world; it never enteredher mind. Her world was her father's house.

"I shall ride forth into the wide world," said the eldest brother."I must try what life is like there, as I mix with men. I willpractise only the good and true; with these I will protect thebeautiful. Much shall be changed for the better while I am there."

Now these thoughts were great and daring, as our thoughtsgenerally are at home, before we have gone out into the world, andencountered its storms and tempests, its thorns and its thistles. Inhim, and in all his brothers, the five senses were highlycultivated, inwardly and outwardly; but each of them had one sensewhich in keenness and development surpassed the other four. In thecase of the eldest, this pre-eminent sense was sight, which he hopedwould be of special service. He had eyes for all times and all people;eyes that could discover in the depths of the earth hiddentreasures, and look into the hearts of men, as through a pane ofglass; he could read more than is often seen on the cheek that blushesor grows pale, in the eye that droops or smiles. Stags and antelopesaccompanied him to the western boundary of his home, and there hefound the wild swans. These he followed, and found himself far away inthe north, far from the land of his father, which extended eastward tothe ends of the earth. How he opened his eyes with astonishment! Howmany things were to be seen here! and so different to the mererepresentation of pictures such as those in his father's house. Atfirst he nearly lost his eyes in astonishment at the rubbish andmockery brought forward to represent the beautiful; but he kept hiseyes, and soon found full employment for them. He wished to gothoroughly and honestly to work in his endeavor to understand thetrue, the beautiful, and the good. But how were they represented inthe world? He observed that the wreath which rightly belonged to thebeautiful was often given the hideous; that the good was oftenpassed by unnoticed, while mediocrity was applauded, when it shouldhave been hissed. People look at the dress, not at the wearer; thoughtmore of a name than of doing their duty; and trusted more toreputation than to real service. It was everywhere the same.

"I see I must make a regular attack on these things," said he; andhe accordingly did not spare them. But while looking for the truth,came the evil one, the father of lies, to intercept him. Gladlywould the fiend have plucked out the eyes of this Seer, but that wouldhave been a too straightforward path for him; he works more cunningly.He allowed the young man to seek for, and discover, the beautifuland the good; but while he was contemplating them, the evil spiritblew one mote after another into each of his eyes; and such aproceeding would injure the strongest sight. Then he blew upon themotes, and they became beams, so that the clearness of his sight wasgone, and the Seer was like a blind man in the world, and had nolonger any faith in it. He had lost his good opinion of the world,as well as of himself; and when a man gives up the world, andhimself too, it is all over with him.

"All over," said the wild swan, who flew across the sea to theeast.

"All over," twittered the swallows, who were also flyingeastward towards the Tree of the Sun. It was no good news which theycarried home.

"I think the Seer has been badly served," said the second brother,"but the Hearer may be more successful."

This one possessed the sense of hearing to a very high degree:so acute was this sense, that it was said he could hear the grassgrow. He took a fond leave of all at home, and rode away, providedwith good abilities and good intentions. The swallows escorted him,and he followed the swans till he found himself out in the world,and far away from home. But he soon discovered that one may have toomuch of a good thing. His hearing was too fine. He not only heardthe grass grow, but could hear every man's heart beat, whether insorrow or in joy. The whole world was to him like a clockmaker's greatworkshop, in which all the clocks were going "tick, tick," and all theturret clocks striking "ding, dong." It was unbearable. For a longtime his ears endured it, but at last all the noise and tumultbecame too much for one man to bear.

There were rascally boys of sixty years old- for years do notalone make a man- who raised a tumult, which might have made theHearer laugh, but for the applause which followed, echoing throughevery street and house, and was even heard in country roads. Falsehoodthrust itself forward and played the hypocrite; the bells on thefool's cap jingled, and declared they were church-bells, and the noisebecame so bad for the Hearer that he thrust his fingers into his ears.Still, he could hear false notes and bad singing, gossip and idlewords, scandal and slander, groaning and moaning, without andwithin. "Heaven help us!" He thrust his fingers farther and fartherinto his ears, till at last the drums burst. And now he could hearnothing more of the true, the beautiful, and the good; for his hearingwas to have been the means by which he hoped to acquire his knowledge.He became silent and suspicious, and at last trusted no one, noteven himself, and no longer hoping to find and bring home the costlyjewel, he gave it up, and gave himself up too, which was worse thanall.

The birds in their flight towards the east, carried the tidings,and the news reached the castle in the Tree of the Sun.

"I will try now," said the third brother; "I have a keen nose."Now that was not a very elegant expression, but it was his way, and wemust take him as he was. He had a cheerful temper, and was, besides, areal poet; he could make many things appear poetical, by the way inwhich he spoke of them, and ideas struck him long before they occurredto the minds of others. "I can smell," he would say; and he attributedto the sense of smelling, which he possessed in a high degree, a greatpower in the region of the beautiful. "I can smell," he would say,"and many places are fragrant or beautiful according to the taste ofthe frequenters. One man feels at home in the atmosphere of thetavern, among the flaring tallow candles, and when the smell ofspirits mingles with the fumes of bad tobacco. Another prefers sittingamidst the overpowering scent of jasmine, or perfuming himself withscented olive oil. This man seeks the fresh sea breeze, while that oneclimbs the lofty mountain-top, to look down upon the busy life inminiature beneath him."

As he spoke in this way, it seemed as if he had already been outin the world, as if he had already known and associated with man.But this experience was intuitive- it was the poetry within him, agift from Heaven bestowed on him in his cradle. He bade farewell tohis parental roof in the Tree of the Sun, and departed on foot, fromthe pleasant scenes that surrounded his home. Arrived at its confines,he mounted on the back of an ostrich, which runs faster than ahorse, and afterwards, when he fell in with the wild swans, he swunghimself on the strongest of them, for he loved change, and away heflew over the sea to distant lands, where there were great forests,deep lakes, lofty mountains, and proud cities. Wherever he came itseemed as if sunshine travelled with him across the fields, forevery flower, every bush, exhaled a renewed fragrance, as if consciousthat a friend and protector was near; one who understood them, andknew their value. The stunted rose-bush shot forth twigs, unfolded itsleaves, and bore the most beautiful roses; every one could see it, andeven the black, slimy wood-snail noticed its beauty. "I will give myseal to the flower," said the snail, "I have trailed my slime upon it,I can do no more.

"Thus it always fares with the beautiful in this world," saidthe poet. And he made a song upon it, and sung it after his ownfashion, but nobody listened. Then he gave a drummer twopence and apeacock's feather, and composed a song for the drum, and the drummerbeat it through the streets of the town, and when the people heardit they said, "That is a capital tune." The poet wrote many songsabout the true, the beautiful, and the good. His songs were listenedto in the tavern, where the tallow candles flared, in the fresh cloverfield, in the forest, and on the high-seas; and it appeared as if thisbrother was to be more fortunate than the other two.

But the evil spirit was angry at this, so he set to work with sootand incense, which he can mix so artfully as to confuse an angel,and how much more easily a poor poet. The evil one knew how tomanage such people. He so completely surrounded the poet withincense that the man lost his head, forgot his mission and his home,and at last lost himself and vanished in smoke.

But when the little birds heard of it, they mourned, and for threedays they sang not one song. The black wood-snail became blackerstill; not for grief, but for envy. "They should have offered meincense," he said, "for it was I who gave him the idea of the mostfamous of his songs- the drum song of 'The Way of the World;' and itwas I who spat at the rose; I can bring a witness to that fact."

But no tidings of all this reached the poet's home in India. Thebirds had all been silent for three days, and when the time ofmourning was over, so deep had been their grief, that they hadforgotten for whom they wept. Such is the way of the world.

"Now I must go out into the world, and disappear like the rest,"said the fourth brother. He was as good-tempered as the third, butno poet, though he could be witty.

The two eldest had filled the castle with joyfulness, and nowthe last brightness was going away. Sight and hearing have always beenconsidered two of the chief senses among men, and those which theywish to keep bright; the other senses are looked upon as of lessimportance.

But the younger son had a different opinion; he had cultivated histaste in every way, and taste is very powerful. It rules over whatgoes into the mouth, as well as over all which is presented to themind; and, consequently, this brother took upon himself to tasteeverything stored up in bottles or jars; this he called the rough partof his work. Every man's mind was to him as a vessel in whichsomething was concocting; every land a kind of mental kitchen."There are no delicacies here," he said; so he wished to go out intothe world to find something delicate to suit his taste. "Perhapsfortune may be more favorable to me than it was to my brothers. Ishall start on my travels, but what conveyance shall I choose? Are airballoons invented yet?" he asked of his father, who knew of allinventions that had been made, or would be made.

Air balloons had not then been invented, nor steam-ships, norrailways.

"Good," said he; "then I shall choose an air balloon; my fatherknows how they are to be made and guided. Nobody has invented one yet,and the people will believe that it is an aerial phantom. When Ihave done with the balloon I shall burn it, and for this purpose,you must give me a few pieces of another invention, which will comenext; I mean a few chemical matches."

He obtained what he wanted, and flew away. The birds accompaniedhim farther than they had the other brothers. They were curious toknow how this flight would end. Many more of them came swoopingdown; they thought it must be some new bird, and he soon had agoodly company of followers. They came in clouds till the air becamedarkened with birds as it was with the cloud of locusts over theland of Egypt.

And now he was out in the wide world. The balloon descended overone of the greatest cities, and the aeronaut took up his station atthe highest point, on the church steeple. The balloon rose againinto the air, which it ought not to have done; what became of it isnot known, neither is it of any consequence, for balloons had not thenbeen invented.

There he sat on the church steeple. The birds no longer hoveredover him; they had got tired of him, and he was tired of them. All thechimneys in the town were smoking.

"There are altars erected to my honor," said the wind, whowished to say something agreeable to him as he sat there boldlylooking down upon the people in the street. There was one steppingalong, proud of his purse; another, of the key he carried behindhim, though he had nothing to lock up; another took a pride in hismoth-eaten coat; and another, in his mortified body. "Vanity, allvanity!" he exclaimed. "I must go down there by-and-by, and touchand taste; but I shall sit here a little while longer, for the windblows pleasantly at my back. I shall remain here as long as the windblows, and enjoy a little rest. It is comfortable to sleep late in themorning when one had a great deal to do," said the sluggard; "so Ishall stop here as long as the wind blows, for it pleases me."

And there he stayed. But as he was sitting on the weather-cockof the steeple, which kept turning round and round with him, he wasunder the false impression that the same wind still blew, and thathe could stay where he was without expense.

But in India, in the castle on the Tree of the Sun, all wassolitary and still, since the brothers had gone away one after theother.

"Nothing goes well with them," said the father; "they will neverbring the glittering jewel home, it is not made for me; they are alldead and gone." Then he bent down over the Book of Truth, and gazed onthe page on which he should have read of the life after death, but forhim there was nothing to be read or learned upon it.

His blind daughter was his consolation and joy; she clung to himwith sincere affection, and for the sake of his happiness and peaceshe wished the costly jewel could be found and brought home.

With longing tenderness she thought of her brothers. Where werethey? Where did they live? How she wished she might dream of them; butit was strange that not even in dreams could she be brought near tothem. But at last one night she dreamt that she heard the voices ofher brothers calling to her from the distant world, and she couldnot refrain herself, but went out to them, and yet it seemed in herdream that she still remained in her father's house. She did not seeher brothers, but she felt as it were a fire burning in her hand,which, however, did not hurt her, for it was the jewel she wasbringing to her father. When she awoke she thought for a moment thatshe still held the stone, but she only grasped the knob of herdistaff.

During the long evenings she had spun constantly, and round thedistaff were woven threads finer than the web of a spider; humaneyes could never have distinguished these threads when separatedfrom each other. But she had wetted them with her tears, and the twistwas as strong as a cable. She rose with the impression that herdream must be a reality, and her resolution was taken.

It was still night, and her father slept; she pressed a kissupon his hand, and then took her distaff and fastened the end of thethread to her father's house. But for this, blind as she was, shewould never have found her way home again; to this thread she musthold fast, and trust not to others or even to herself. From the Treeof the Sun she broke four leaves; which she gave up to the wind andthe weather, that they might be carried to her brothers as letters anda greeting, in case she did not meet them in the wide world. Poorblind child, what would become of her in those distant regions? Butshe had the invisible thread, to which she could hold fast; and shepossessed a gift which all the others lacked. This was a determinationto throw herself entirely into whatever she undertook, and it made herfeel as if she had eyes even at the tips of her fingers, and couldhear down into her very heart. Quietly she went forth into thenoisy, bustling, wonderful world, and wherever she went the skies grewbright, and she felt the warm sunbeam, and a rainbow above in the blueheavens seemed to span the dark world. She heard the song of thebirds, and smelt the scent of the orange groves and apple orchardsso strongly that she seemed to taste it. Soft tones and charming songsreached her ear, as well as harsh sounds and rough words- thoughts andopinions in strange contradiction to each other. Into the deepestrecesses of her heart penetrated the echoes of human thoughts andfeelings. Now she heard the following words sadly sung,-

"Life is a shadow that flits away

In a night of darkness and woe."But then would follow brighter thoughts:

"Life has the rose's sweet perfume

With sunshine, light, and joy."And if one stanza sounded painfully-

"Each mortal thinks of himself alone,

Is a truth, alas, too clearly known;"Then, on the other hand, came the answer-

"Love, like a mighty flowing stream,

Fills every heart with its radiant gleam."She heard, indeed, such words as these-

"In the pretty turmoil here below,

All is a vain and paltry show.Then came also words of comfort-

"Great and good are the actions done

By many whose worth is never known."And if sometimes the mocking strain reached her-

"Why not join in the jesting cry

That contemns all gifts from the throne on high?"In the blind girl's heart a stronger voice repeated-

"To trust in thyself and God is best,

In His holy will forever to rest."

But the evil spirit could not see this and remain contented. Hehas more cleverness than ten thousand men, and he found means tocompass his end. He betook himself to the marsh, and collected a fewlittle bubbles of stagnant water. Then he uttered over them the echoesof lying words that they might become strong. He mixed up togethersongs of praise with lying epitaphs, as many as he could find,boiled them in tears shed by envy; put upon them rouge, which he hadscraped from faded cheeks, and from these he produced a maiden, inform and appearance like the blind girl, the angel of completeness, asmen called her. The evil one's plot was successful. The world knew notwhich was the true, and indeed how should the world know?

"To trust in thyself and God is best,

In his Holy will forever to rest."So sung the blind girl in full faith. She had entrusted the four greenleaves from the Tree of the Sun to the winds, as letters of greetingto her brothers, and she had full confidence that the leaves wouldreach them. She fully believed that the jewel which outshines allthe glories of the world would yet be found, and that upon theforehead of humanity it would glitter even in the castle of herfather. "Even in my father's house," she repeated. "Yes, the placein which this jewel is to be found is earth, and I shall bring morethan the promise of it with me. I feel it glow and swell more and morein my closed hand. Every grain of truth which the keen wind carried upand whirled towards me I caught and treasured. I allowed it to bepenetrated with the fragrance of the beautiful, of which there is somuch in the world, even for the blind. I took the beatings of aheart engaged in a good action, and added them to my treasure. Allthat I can bring is but dust; still, it is a part of the jewel weseek, and there is plenty, my hand is quite full of it."

She soon found herself again at home; carried thither in aflight of thought, never having loosened her hold of the invisiblethread fastened to her father's house. As she stretched out her handto her father, the powers of evil dashed with the fury of ahurricane over the Tree of the Sun; a blast of wind rushed through theopen doors, and into the sanctuary, where lay the Book of Truth.

"It will be blown to dust by the wind," said the father, as heseized the open hand she held towards him.

"No," she replied, with quiet confidence, "it is indestructible. Ifeel its beam warming my very soul."

Then her father observed that a dazzling flame gleamed from thewhite page on which the shining dust had passed from her hand. Itwas there to prove the certainty of eternal life, and on the bookglowed one shining word, and only one, the word BELIEVE. And soonthe four brothers were again with the father and daughter. When thegreen leaf from home fell on the bosom of each, a longing had seizedthem to return. They had arrived, accompanied by the birds of passage,the stag, the antelope, and all the creatures of the forest who wishedto take part in their joy.

We have often seen, when a sunbeam burst through a crack in thedoor into a dusty room, how a whirling column of dust seems tocircle round. But this was not poor, insignificant, common dust, whichthe blind girl had brought; even the rainbow's colors are dim whencompared with the beauty which shone from the page on which it hadfallen. The beaming word BELIEVE, from every grain of truth, had thebrightness of the beautiful and the good, more bright than themighty pillar of flame that led Moses and the children of Israel tothe land of Canaan, and from the word BELIEVE arose the bridge ofhope, reaching even to the unmeasurable Love in the realms of theinfinite.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PHOENIX BIRD

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the Garden of Paradise, beneath the Tree of Knowledge,bloomed a rose bush. Here, in the first rose, a bird was born. Hisflight was like the flashing of light, his plumage was beauteous,and his song ravishing. But when Eve plucked the fruit of the treeof knowledge of good and evil, when she and Adam were driven fromParadise, there fell from the flaming sword of the cherub a spark intothe nest of the bird, which blazed up forthwith. The bird perishedin the flames; but from the red egg in the nest there flutteredaloft a new one- the one solitary Phoenix bird. The fable tells thathe dwells in Arabia, and that every hundred years, he burns himself todeath in his nest; but each time a new Phoenix, the only one in theworld, rises up from the red egg.

The bird flutters round us, swift as light, beauteous in color,charming in song. When a mother sits by her infant's cradle, he standson the pillow, and, with his wings, forms a glory around theinfant's head. He flies through the chamber of content, and bringssunshine into it, and the violets on the humble table smell doublysweet.

But the Phoenix is not the bird of Arabia alone. He wings hisway in the glimmer of the Northern Lights over the plains ofLapland, and hops among the yellow flowers in the short Greenlandsummer. Beneath the copper mountains of Fablun, and England's coalmines, he flies, in the shape of a dusty moth, over the hymnbookthat rests on the knees of the pious miner. On a lotus leaf hefloats down the sacred waters of the Ganges, and the eye of the Hindoomaid gleams bright when she beholds him.

The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? The Bird of Paradise,the holy swan of song! On the car of Thespis he sat in the guise ofa chattering raven, and flapped his black wings, smeared with the leesof wine; over the sounding harp of Iceland swept the swan's redbeak; on Shakspeare's shoulder he sat in the guise of Odin's raven,and whispered in the poet's ear "Immortality!" and at the minstrels'feast he fluttered through the halls of the Wartburg.

The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? He sang to thee theMarseillaise, and thou kissedst the pen that fell from his wing; hecame in the radiance of Paradise, and perchance thou didst turn awayfrom him towards the sparrow who sat with tinsel on his wings.

The Bird of Paradise- renewed each century- born in flame,ending in flame! Thy picture, in a golden frame, hangs in the halls ofthe rich, but thou thyself often fliest around, lonely anddisregarded, a myth- "The Phoenix of Arabia."

In Paradise, when thou wert born in the first rose, beneath theTree of Knowledge, thou receivedst a kiss, and thy right name wasgiven thee- thy name, Poetry.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PORTER'S SON

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE General lived in the grand first floor, and the porter livedin the cellar. There was a great distance between the two families-the whole of the ground floor, and the difference in rank; but theylived in the same house, and both had a view of the street, and of thecourtyard. In the courtyard was a grass-plot, on which grew a bloomingacacia tree (when it was in bloom), and under this tree satoccasionally the finely-dressed nurse, with the still morefinely-dressed child of the General- little Emily. Before themdanced about barefoot the little son of the porter, with his greatbrown eyes and dark hair; and the little girl smiled at him, andstretched out her hands towards him; and when the General saw thatfrom the window, he would nod his head and cry, "Charming!" TheGeneral's lady (who was so young that she might very well have beenher husband's daughter from an early marriage) never came to thewindow that looked upon the courtyard. She had given orders, though,that the boy might play his antics to amuse her child, but mustnever touch it. The nurse punctually obeyed the gracious lady'sorders.

The sun shone in upon the people in the grand first floor, andupon the people in the cellar; the acacia tree was covered withblossoms, and they fell off, and next year new ones came. The treebloomed, and the porter's little son bloomed too, and looked like afresh tulip.

The General's little daughter became delicate and pale, like theleaf of the acacia blossom. She seldom came down to the tree now,for she took the air in a carriage. She drove out with her mamma,and then she would always nod at the porter's George; yes, she usedeven to kiss her hand to him, till her mamma said she was too old todo that now.

One morning George was sent up to carry the General the lettersand newspapers that had been delivered at the porter's room in themorning. As he was running up stairs, just as he passed the door ofthe sand-box, he heard a faint piping. He thought it was some youngchicken that had strayed there, and was raising cries of distress; butit was the General's little daughter, decked out in lace and finery.

"Don't tell papa and mamma," she whimpered; "they would be angry."

"What's the matter, little missie?" asked George.

"It's all on fire!" she answered. "It's burning with a brightflame!" George hurried up stairs to the General's apartments; heopened the door of the nursery. The window curtain was almost entirelyburnt, and the wooden curtain-pole was one mass of flame. Georgesprang upon a chair he brought in haste, and pulled down the burningarticles; he then alarmed the people. But for him, the house wouldhave been burned down.

The General and his lady cross-questioned little Emily.

"I only took just one lucifer-match," she said, "and it wasburning directly, and the curtain was burning too. I spat at it, toput it out; I spat at it as much as ever I could, but I could notput it out; so I ran away and hid myself, for papa and mamma wouldbe angry."

"I spat!" cried the General's lady; "what an expression! Did youever hear your papa and mamma talk about spitting? You must have gotthat from down stairs!"

And George had a penny given him. But this penny did not go to thebaker's shop, but into the savings-box; and soon there were so manypennies in the savings-box that he could buy a paint-box and color thedrawings he made, and he had a great number of drawings. They seemedto shoot out of his pencil and out of his fingers' ends. His firstcolored pictures he presented to Emily.

"Charming!" said the General, and even the General's ladyacknowledged that it was easy to see what the boy had meant to draw."He has genius." Those were the words that were carried down intothe cellar.

The General and his gracious lady were grand people. They hadtwo coats of arms on their carriage, a coat of arms for each ofthem, and the gracious lady had had this coat of arms embroidered onboth sides of every bit of linen she had, and even on her nightcap andher dressing-bag. One of the coats of arms, the one that belonged toher, was a very dear one; it had been bought for hard cash by herfather, for he had not been born with it, nor had she; she had comeinto the world too early, seven years before the coat of arms, andmost people remembered this circumstance, but the family did notremember it. A man might well have a bee in his bonnet, when he hadsuch a coat of arms to carry as that, let alone having to carry two;and the General's wife had a bee in hers when she drove to the courtball, as stiff and as proud as you please.

The General was old and gray, but he had a good seat on horseback,and he knew it, and he rode out every day, with a groom behind himat a proper distance. When he came to a party, he looked somehow as ifhe were riding into the room upon his high horse; and he had orders,too, such a number that no one would have believed it; but that wasnot his fault. As a young man he had taken part in the great autumnreviews which were held in those days. He had an anecdote that he toldabout those days, the only one he knew. A subaltern under his ordershad cut off one of the princes, and taken him prisoner, and the Princehad been obliged to ride through the town with a little band ofcaptured soldiers, himself a prisoner behind the General. This wasan ever-memorable event, and was always told over and over again everyyear by the General, who, moreover, always repeated the remarkablewords he had used when he returned his sword to the Prince; thosewords were, "Only my subaltern could have taken your Highnessprisoner; I could never have done it!" And the Prince had replied,"You are incomparable." In a real war the General had never takenpart. When war came into the country, he had gone on a diplomaticcareer to foreign courts. He spoke the French language so fluentlythat he had almost forgotten his own; he could dance well, he couldride well, and orders grew on his coat in an astounding way. Thesentries presented arms to him, one of the most beautiful girlspresented arms to him, and became the General's lady, and in time theyhad a pretty, charming child, that seemed as if it had dropped fromheaven, it was so pretty; and the porter's son danced before it in thecourtyard, as soon as it could understand it, and gave her all hiscolored pictures, and little Emily looked at them, and was pleased,and tore them to pieces. She was pretty and delicate indeed.

"My little Roseleaf!" cried the General's lady, "thou art bornto wed a prince."

The prince was already at the door, but they knew nothing of it;people don't see far beyond the threshold.

"The day before yesterday our boy divided his bread and butterwith her!" said the porter's wife. "There was neither cheese normeat upon it, but she liked it as well as if it had been roast beef.There would have been a fine noise if the General and his wife hadseen the feast, but they did not see it.

George had divided his bread and butter with little Emily, andhe would have divided his heart with her, if it would have pleasedher. He was a good boy, brisk and clever, and he went to the nightschool in the Academy now, to learn to draw properly. Little Emily wasgetting on with her education too, for she spoke French with her"bonne," and had a dancing master.

"George will be confirmed at Easter," said the porter's wife;for George had got so far as this.

"It would be the best thing, now, to make an apprentice of him,"said his father. "It must be to some good calling- and then he wouldbe out of the house."

"He would have to sleep out of the house," said George's mother."It is not easy to find a master who has room for him at night, and weshall have to provide him with clothes too. The little bit of eatingthat he wants can be managed for him, for he's quite happy with afew boiled potatoes; and he gets taught for nothing. Let the boy gohis own way. You will say that he will be our joy some day, and theProfessor says so too."

The confirmation suit was ready. The mother had worked it herself;but the tailor who did repairs had cut them out, and a capitalcutter-out he was.

"If he had had a better position, and been able to keep a workshopand journeymen," the porter's wife said, "he might have been a courttailor."

The clothes were ready, and the candidate for confirmation wasready. On his confirmation day, George received a great pinchbeckwatch from his godfather, the old iron monger's shopman, the richestof his godfathers. The watch was an old and tried servant. It alwayswent too fast, but that is better than to be lagging behind. Thatwas a costly present. And from the General's apartment there arrived ahymn-book bound in morocco, sent by the little lady to whom George hadgiven pictures. At the beginning of the book his name was written, andher name, as "his gracious patroness." These words had been written atthe dictation of the General's lady, and the General had read theinscription, and pronounced it "Charming!"

"That is really a great attention from a family of such position,"said the porter's wife; and George was sent up stairs to showhimself in his confirmation clothes, with the hymn-book in his hand.

The General's lady was sitting very much wrapped up, and had thebad headache she always had when time hung heavy upon her hands. Shelooked at George very pleasantly, and wished him all prosperity, andthat he might never have her headache. The General was walking aboutin his dressing-gown. He had a cap with a long tassel on his head, andRussian boots with red tops on his feet. He walked three times upand down the room, absorbed in his own thoughts and recollections, andthen stopped and said:

"So little George is a confirmed Christian now. Be a good man, andhonor those in authority over you. Some day, when you are an oldman, you can say that the General gave you this precept."

That was a longer speech than the General was accustomed tomake, and then he went back to his ruminations, and looked veryaristocratic. But of all that George heard and saw up there, littleMiss Emily remained most clear in his thoughts. How graceful shewas, how gentle, and fluttering, and pretty she looked. If she were tobe drawn, it ought to be on a soap-bubble. About her dress, abouther yellow curled hair, there was a fragrance as of a fresh-blownrose; and to think that he had once divided his bread and butterwith her, and that she had eaten it with enormous appetite, and noddedto him at every second mouthful! Did she remember anything about it?Yes, certainly, for she had given him the beautiful hymn-book inremembrance of this; and when the first new moon in the first new yearafter this event came round, he took a piece of bread, a penny, andhis hymn-book, and went out into the open air, and opened the bookto see what psalm he should turn up. It was a psalm of praise andthanksgiving. Then he opened the book again to see what would turnup for little Emily. He took great pains not to open the book in theplace where the funeral hymns were, and yet he got one that referredto the grave and death. But then he thought this was not a thing inwhich one must believe; for all that he was startled when soonafterwards the pretty little girl had to lie in bed, and thedoctor's carriage stopped at the gate every day.

"They will not keep her with them," said the porter's wife. "Thegood God knows whom He will summon to Himself."

But they kept her after all; and George drew pictures and sentthem to her. He drew the Czar's palace; the old Kremlin at Moscow,just as it stood, with towers and cupolas; and these cupolas lookedlike gigantic green and gold cucumbers, at least in George'sdrawing. Little Emily was highly pleased, and consequently, when aweek had elapsed, George sent her a few more pictures, all withbuildings in them; for, you see, she could imagine all sorts of thingsinside the windows and doors.

He drew a Chinese house, with bells hanging from every one ofsixteen stories. He drew two Grecian temples with slender marblepillars, and with steps all round them. He drew a Norwegian church. Itwas easy to see that this church had been built entirely of wood, hewnout and wonderfully put together; every story looked as if it hadrockers, like a cradle. But the most beautiful of all was thecastle, drawn on one of the leaves, and which he called "Emily'sCastle." This was the kind of place in which she must live. That iswhat George had thought, and consequently he had put into thisbuilding whatever he thought most beautiful in all the others. Ithad carved wood-work, like the Norwegian church; marble pillars,like the Grecian temple; bells in every story; and was crowned withcupolas, green and gilded, like those of the Kremlin of the Czar. Itwas a real child's castle, and under every window was written what thehall or the room inside was intended to be; for instance: "HereEmily sleeps;" "Here Emily dances;" "Here Emily plays at receivingvisitors." It was a real pleasure to look at the castle, and rightwell was the castle looked at accordingly.

"Charming!" said the General.

But the old Count- for there was an old Count there, who was stillgrander than the General, and had a castle of his own- said nothing atall; he heard that it had been designed and drawn by the porter'slittle son. Not that he was so very little, either, for he had alreadybeen confirmed. The old Count looked at the pictures, and had hisown thoughts as he did so.

One day, when it was very gloomy, gray, wet weather, the brightestof days dawned for George; for the Professor at the Academy called himinto his room.

"Listen to me, my friend," said the Professor; "I want to speak toyou. The Lord has been good to you in giving you abilities, and He hasalso been good in placing you among kind people. The old Count atthe corner yonder has been speaking to me about you. I have alsoseen your sketches; but we will not say any more about those, forthere is a good deal to correct in them. But from this time forwardyou may come twice a-week to my drawing-class, and then you willsoon learn how to do them better. I think there's more of thearchitect than of the painter in you. You will have time to think thatover; but go across to the old Count this very day, and thank Godfor having sent you such a friend."

It was a great house- the house of the old Count at the corner.Round the windows elephants and dromedaries were carved, all fromthe old times; but the old Count loved the new time best, and whatit brought, whether it came from the first floor, or from thecellar, or from the attic.

"I think," said, the porter's wife, "the grander people are, thefewer airs do they give themselves. How kind and straightforward theold count is! and he talks exactly like you and me. Now, the Generaland his lady can't do that. And George was fairly wild with delightyesterday at the good reception he met with at the Count's, and soam I to-day, after speaking to the great man. Wasn't it a good thingthat we didn't bind George apprentice to a handicraftsman? for hehas abilities of his own."

"But they must be helped on by others," said the father.

"That help he has got now," rejoined the mother; "for the Countspoke out quite clearly and distinctly."

"But I fancy it began with the General," said the father, "andwe must thank them too."

"Let us do so with all my heart," cried the mother, "though Ifancy we have not much to thank them for. I will thank the good God;and I will thank Him, too, for letting little Emily get well."

Emily was getting on bravely, and George got on bravely too. Inthe course of the year he won the little silver prize medal of theAcademy, and afterwards he gained the great one too.

"It would have been better, after all, if he had beenapprenticed to a handicraftsman," said the porter's wife, weeping;"for then we could have kept him with us. What is he to do in Rome?I shall never get a sight of him again, not even if he comes back; butthat he won't do, the dear boy."

"It is fortune and fame for him," said the father.

"Yes, thank you, my friend," said the mother; "you are saying whatyou do not mean. You are just as sorrowful as I am."

And it was all true about the sorrow and the journey. Buteverybody said it was a great piece of good fortune for the youngfellow. And he had to take leave, and of the General too. TheGeneral's lady did not show herself, for she had her bad headache.On this occasion the General told his only anecdote, about what he hadsaid to the Prince, and how the Prince had said to him, "You areincomparable." And he held out a languid hand to George.

Emily gave George her hand too, and looked almost sorry; andGeorge was the most sorry of all.

Time goes by when one has something to do; and it goes by, too,when one has nothing to do. The time is equally long, but notequally useful. It was useful to George, and did not seem long at all,except when he happened to be thinking of his home. How might the goodfolks be getting on, up stairs and down stairs? Yes, there was writingabout that, and many things can be put into a letter- brightsunshine and dark, heavy days. Both of these were in the letterwhich brought the news that his father was dead, and that his motherwas alone now. She wrote that Emily had come down to see her, andhad been to her like an angel of comfort; and concerning herself,she added that she had been allowed to keep her situation asporteress.

The General's lady kept a diary, and in this diary was recordedevery ball she attended and every visit she received. The diary wasillustrated by the insertion of the visiting cards of the diplomaticcircle and of the most noble families; and the General's lady wasproud of it. The diary kept growing through a long time, and amid manysevere headaches, and through a long course of half-nights, that is tosay, of court balls. Emily had now been to a court ball for thefirst time. Her mother had worn a bright red dress, with black lace,in the Spanish style; the daughter had been attired in white, fair anddelicate; green silk ribbons fluttered like flag-leaves among heryellow locks, and on her head she wore a wreath of water-lillies.Her eyes were so blue and clear, her mouth was so delicate and red,she looked like a little water spirit, as beautiful as such a spiritcan be imagined. The Princes danced with her, one after another ofcourse; and the General's lady had not a headache for a weekafterwards.

But the first ball was not the last, and Emily could not stand it;it was a good thing, therefore, that summer brought with it rest,and exercise in the open air. The family had been invited by the oldCount to visit him at him castle. That was a castle with a gardenwhich was worth seeing. Part of this garden was laid out quite inthe style of the old days, with stiff green hedges; you walked as ifbetween green walls with peep-holes in them. Box trees and yew treesstood there trimmed into the form of stars and pyramids, and watersprang from fountains in large grottoes lined with shells. Allaround stood figures of the most beautiful stone- that could be seenin their clothes as well as in their faces; every flower-bed had adifferent shape, and represented a fish, or a coat of arms, or amonogram. That was the French part of the garden; and from this partthe visitor came into what appeared like the green, fresh forest,where the trees might grow as they chose, and accordingly they weregreat and glorious. The grass was green, and beautiful to walk on, andit was regularly cut, and rolled, and swept, and tended. That wasthe English part of the garden.

"Old time and new time," said the Count, "here they run wellinto one another. In two years the building itself will put on aproper appearance, there will be a complete metamorphosis in beautyand improvement. I shall show you the drawings, and I shall show youthe architect, for he is to dine here to-day."

"Charming!" said the General.

"'Tis like Paradise here," said the General's lady, "and yonderyou have a knight's castle!"

"That's my poultry-house," observed the Count. "The pigeons livein the tower, the turkeys in the first floor, but old Elsie rules inthe ground floor. She has apartments on all sides of her. Thesitting hens have their own room, and the hens with chickens havetheirs; and the ducks have their own particular door leading to thewater."

"Charming!" repeated the General.

And all sailed forth to see these wonderful things. Old Elsiestood in the room on the ground floor, and by her side stood ArchitectGeorge. He and Emily now met for the first time after several years,and they met in the poultry-house.

Yes, there he stood, and was handsome enough to be looked at.His face was frank and energetic; he had black shining hair, and asmile about his mouth, which said, "I have a brownie that sits in myear, and knows every one of you, inside and out." Old Elsie had pulledoff her wooden shoes, and stood there in her stockings, to do honor tothe noble guests. The hens clucked, and the cocks crowed, and theducks waddled to and fro, and said, "Quack, quack!" But the fair, palegirl, the friend of his childhood, the daughter of the General,stood there with a rosy blush on her usually pale cheeks, and her eyesopened wide, and her mouth seemed to speak without uttering a word,and the greeting he received from her was the most beautifulgreeting a young man can desire from a young lady, if they are notrelated, or have not danced many times together, and she and thearchitect had never danced together.

The Count shook hands with him, and introduced him.

"He is not altogether a stranger, our young friend George."

The General's lady bowed to him, and the General's daughter wasvery nearly giving him her hand; but she did not give it to him.

"Our little Master George!" said the General. "Old friends!Charming!"

"You have become quite an Italian," said the General's lady,"and I presume you speak the language like a native?"

"My wife sings the language, but she does not speak it,"observed the General.

At dinner, George sat at the right hand of Emily, whom the Generalhad taken down, while the Count led in the General's lady.

Mr. George talked and told of his travels; and he could talk well,and was the life and soul of the table, though the old Count couldhave been it too. Emily sat silent, but she listened, and her eyesgleamed, but she said nothing.

In the verandah, among the flowers, she and George stood together;the rose-bushes concealed them. And George was speaking again, forhe took the lead now.

"Many thanks for the kind consideration you showed my old mother,"he said. "I know that you went down to her on the night when my fatherdied, and you stayed with her till his eyes were closed. Myheartiest thanks!"

He took Emily's hand and kissed it- he might do so on such anoccasion. She blushed deeply, but pressed his hand, and looked athim with her dear blue eyes.

"Your mother was a dear soul!" she said. "How fond she was ofher son! And she let me read all your letters, so that I almostbelieve I know you. How kind you were to me when I was little girl!You used to give me pictures."

"Which you tore in two," said George.

"No, I have still your drawing of the castle."

"I must build the castle in reality now," said George; and hebecame quite warm at his own words.

The General and the General's lady talked to each other in theirroom about the porter's son- how he knew how to behave, and to expresshimself with the greatest propriety.

"He might be a tutor," said the General.

"Intellect!" said the General's lady; but she did not say anythingmore.

During the beautiful summer-time Mr. George several timesvisited the Count at his castle; and he was missed when he did notcome.

"How much the good God has given you that he has not given to uspoor mortals," said Emily to him. "Are you sure you are verygrateful for it?"

It flattered George that the lovely young girl should look up tohim, and he thought then that Emily had unusually good abilities.And the General felt more and more convinced that George was nocellar-child.

"His mother was a very good woman," he observed. "It is only rightI should do her that justice now she is in her grave."

The summer passed away, and the winter came; again there wastalk about Mr. George. He was highly respected, and was received inthe first circles. The General had met him at a court ball.

And now there was a ball to be given in the General's house forEmily, and could Mr. George be invited to it?

"He whom the King invites can be invited by the General also,"said the General, and drew himself up till he stood quite an inchhigher than before.

Mr. George was invited, and he came; princes and counts came,and they danced, one better than the other. But Emily could only danceone dance- the first; for she made a false step- nothing ofconsequence; but her foot hurt her, so that she had to be careful, andleave off dancing, and look at the others. So she sat and looked on,and the architect stood by her side.

"I suppose you are giving her the whole history of St. Peter's,"said the General, as he passed by; and smiled, like thepersonification of patronage.

With the same patronizing smile he received Mr. George a fewdays afterwards. The young man came, no doubt, to return thanks forthe invitation to the ball. What else could it be? But indeed therewas something else, something very astonishing and startling. He spokewords of sheer lunacy, so that the General could hardly believe hisown ears. It was "the height of rhodomontade," an offer, quite aninconceivable offer- Mr. George came to ask the hand of Emily inmarriage!

"Man!" cried the General, and his brain seemed to be boiling. "Idon't understand you at all. What is it you say? What is it youwant? I don't know you. Sir! Man! What possesses you to break intomy house? And am I to stand here and listen to you?" He steppedbackwards into his bed-room, locked the door behind him, and leftMr. George standing alone. George stood still for a few minutes, andthen turned round and left the room. Emily was standing in thecorridor.

"My father has answered?" she said, and her voice trembled.

George pressed her hand.

"He has escaped me," he replied; "but a better time will come."

There were tears in Emily's eyes, but in the young man's eyesshone courage and confidence; and the sun shone through the window,and cast his beams on the pair, and gave them his blessing.

The General sat in his room, bursting hot. Yes, he was stillboiling, until he boiled over in the exclamation, "Lunacy! porter!madness!"

Not an hour was over before the General's lady knew it out ofthe General's own mouth. She called Emily, and remained alone withher.

"You poor child," she said; "to insult you so! to insult us so!There are tears in your eyes, too, but they become you well. Youlook beautiful in tears. You look as I looked on my wedding-day.Weep on, my sweet Emily."

"Yes, that I must," said Emily, "if you and my father do not say'yes.'"

"Child!" screamed the General's lady; "you are ill! You aretalking wildly, and I shall have a most terrible headache! Oh, whata misfortune is coming upon our house! Don't make your mother die,Emily, or you will have no mother."

And the eyes of the General's lady were wet, for she could notbear to think of her own death.

In the newspapers there was an announcement. "Mr. George hasbeen elected Professor of the Fifth Class, number Eight."

"It's a pity that his parents are dead and cannot read it," saidthe new porter people, who now lived in the cellar under the General'sapartments. They knew that the Professor had been born and grown upwithin their four walls.

"Now he'll get a salary," said the man.

"Yes, that's not much for a poor child," said the woman.

"Eighteen dollars a year," said the man. "Why, it's a good deal ofmoney."

"No, I mean the honor of it," replied the wife. "Do you think hecares for the money? Those few dollars he can earn a hundred timesover, and most likely he'll get a rich wife into the bargain. If wehad children of our own, husband, our child should be an architect anda professor too."

George was spoken well of in the cellar, and he was spoken well ofin the first floor. The old Count took upon himself to do that.

The pictures he had drawn in his childhood gave occasion for it.But how did the conversation come to turn on these pictures? Why, theyhad been talking of Russia and of Moscow, and thus mention was made ofthe Kremlin, which little George had once drawn for Miss Emily. He haddrawn many pictures, but the Count especially remembered one, "Emily'sCastle," where she was to sleep, and to dance, and to play atreceiving guests.

"The Professor was a true man," said the Count, "and would be aprivy councillor before he died, it was not at all unlikely; and hemight build a real castle for the young lady before that time came:why not?"

"That was a strange jest," remarked the General's lady, when theCount had gone away. The General shook his head thoughtfully, and wentout for a ride, with his groom behind him at a proper distance, and hesat more stiffly than ever on his high horse.

It was Emily's birthday. Flowers, books, letters, and visitingcards came pouring in. The General's lady kissed her on the mouth, andthe General kissed her on the forehead; they were affectionateparents, and they and Emily had to receive grand visitors, two ofthe Princes. They talked of balls and theatres, of diplomaticmissions, of the government of empires and nations; and then theyspoke of talent, native talent; and so the discourse turned upon theyoung architect.

"He is building up an immortality for himself," said one, "andhe will certainly build his way into one of our first families".

"One of our first families!" repeated the General and afterwardsthe General's lady; "what is meant by one of our first families?"

"I know for whom it was intended," said the General's lady, "but Ishall not say it. I don't think it. Heaven disposes, but I shall beastonished."

"I am astonished also!" said the General. "I haven't an idea in myhead!" And he fell into a reverie, waiting for ideas.

There is a power, a nameless power, in the possession of favorfrom above, the favor of Providence, and this favor little George had.But we are forgetting the birthday.

Emily's room was fragrant with flowers, sent by male and femalefriends; on the table lay beautiful presents for greeting andremembrance, but none could come from George- none could come fromhim; but it was not necessary, for the whole house was full ofremembrances of him. Even out of the ash-bin the blossom of memorypeeped forth, for Emily had sat whimpering there on the day when thewindow-curtain caught fire, and George arrived in the character offire engine. A glance out of the window, and the acacia treereminded of the days of childhood. Flowers and leaves had fallen,but there stood the tree covered with hoar frost, looking like asingle huge branch of coral, and the moon shone clear and largeamong the twigs, unchanged in its changings, as it was when Georgedivided his bread and butter with little Emily.

Out of a box the girl took the drawings of the Czar's palace andof her own castle- remembrances of George. The drawings were lookedat, and many thoughts came. She remembered the day when, unobserved byher father and mother, she had gone down to the porter's wife wholay dying. Once again she seemed to sit beside her, holding thedying woman's hand in hers, hearing the dying woman's last words:"Blessing George!" The mother was thinking of her son, and now Emilygave her own interpretation to those words. Yes, George wascertainly with her on her birthday.

It happened that the next day was another birthday in thathouse, the General's birthday. He had been born the day after hisdaughter, but before her of course- many years before her. Manypresents arrived, and among them came a saddle of exquisiteworkmanship, a comfortable and costly saddle- one of the Princes hadjust such another. Now, from whom might this saddle come? TheGeneral was delighted. There was a little note with the saddle. Now ifthe words on the note had been "many thanks for yesterday'sreception," we might easily have guessed from whom it came. But thewords were "From somebody whom the General does not know."

"Whom in the world do I not know?" exclaimed the General. "Iknow everybody;" and his thoughts wandered all through society, for heknew everybody there. "That saddle comes from my wife!" he said atlast. "She is teasing me- charming!"

But she was not teasing him; those times were past.

Again there was a feast, but it was not in the General's house, itwas a fancy ball at the Prince's, and masks were allowed too.

The General went as Rubens, in a Spanish costume, with a littleruff round his neck, a sword by his side, and a stately manner. TheGeneral's lady was Madame Rubens, in black velvet made high roundthe neck, exceedingly warm, and with a mill-stone round her neck inthe shape of a great ruff- accurately dressed after a Dutch picture inthe possession of the General, in which the hands were especiallyadmired. They were just like the hands of the General's lady.

Emily was Psyche. In white crape and lace she was like afloating swan. She did not want wings at all. She only wore them asemblematic of Psyche.

Brightness, splendor, light and flowers, wealth and taste appearedat the ball; there was so much to see, that the beautiful hands ofMadame Rubens made no sensation at all.

A black domino, with an acacia blossom in his cap, danced withPsyche.

"Who is that?" asked the General's lady.

"His Royal Highness," replied the General. "I am quite sure of it.I knew him directly by the pressure of his hand."

The General's lady doubted it.

General Rubens had no doubts about it. He went up to the blackdomino and wrote the royal letters in the mask's hand. These weredenied, but the mask gave him a hint.

The words that came with the saddle: "One whom you do not know,General."

"But I do know you," said the General. "It was you who sent me thesaddle."

The domino raised his hand, and disappeared among the otherguests.

"Who is that black domino with whom you were dancing, Emily?"asked the General's lady.

"I did not ask his name," she replied, "because you knew it. It isthe Professor. Your protege is here, Count!" she continued, turning tothat nobleman, who stood close by. "A black domino with acaciablossoms in his cap."

"Very likely, my dear lady," replied the Count. "But one of thePrinces wears just the same costume."

"I knew the pressure of the hand," said the General. "The saddlecame from the Prince. I am so certain of it that I could invite thatdomino to dinner."

"Do so. If it be the Prince he will certainly come," replied theCount.

"And if it is the other he will not come," said the General, andapproached the black domino, who was just speaking with the King.The General gave a very respectful invitation "that they might makeeach other's acquaintance," and he smiled in his certaintyconcerning the person he was inviting. He spoke loud and distinctly.

The domino raised his mask, and it was George. "Do you repeat yourinvitation, General?" he asked.

The General certainly seemed to grow an inch taller, assumed amore stately demeanor, and took two steps backward and one stepforward, as if he were dancing a minuet, and then came as much gravityand expression into the face of the General as the General couldcontrive to infuse into it; but he replied,

"I never retract my words! You are invited, Professor!" and hebowed with a glance at the King, who must have heard the wholedialogue.

Now, there was a company to dinner at the General's, but onlythe old Count and his protege were invited.

"I have my foot under his table," thought George. "That's layingthe foundation stone."

And the foundation stone was really laid, with great ceremony,at the house of the General and of the General's lady.

The man had come, and had spoken quite like a person in goodsociety, and had made himself very agreeable, so that the Generalhad often to repeat his "Charming!" The General talked of this dinner,talked of it even to a court lady; and this lady, one of the mostintellectual persons about the court, asked to be invited to meetthe Professor the next time he should come. So he had to be invitedagain; and he was invited, and came, and was charming again; hecould even play chess.

"He's not out of the cellar," said the General; "he's quite adistinguished person. There are many distinguished persons of thatkind, and it's no fault of his."

The Professor, who was received in the King's palace, might verywell be received by the General; but that he could ever belong tothe house was out of the question, only the whole town was talkingof it.

He grew and grew. The dew of favor fell from above, so no onewas surprised after all that he should become a Privy Councillor,and Emily a Privy Councillor's lady.

"Life is either a tragedy or a comedy," said the General. "Intragedies they die, in comedies they marry one another."

In this case they married. And they had three clever boys- but notall at once.

The sweet children rode on their hobby-horses through all therooms when they came to see the grandparents. And the General alsorode on his stick; he rode behind them in the character of groom tothe little Privy Councillors.

And the General's lady sat on her sofa and smiled at them, evenwhen she had her severest headache.

So far did George get, and much further; else it had not beenworth while to tell the story of THE PORTER'S SON.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PORTUGUESE DUCK

by Hans Christian Andersen

A DUCK once arrived from Portugal, but there were some who saidshe came from Spain, which is almost the same thing. At all events,she was called the "Portuguese," and she laid eggs, was killed, andcooked, and there was an end of her. But the ducklings which creptforth from the eggs were also called "Portuguese," and about thatthere may be some question. But of all the family one only remained inthe duckyard, which may be called a farmyard, as the chickens wereadmitted, and the cock strutted about in a very hostile manner. "Heannoys me with his loud crowing," said the Portuguese duck; "but,still, he's a handsome bird, there's no denying that, although he'snot a drake. He ought to moderate his voice, like those little birdswho are singing in the lime-trees over there in our neighbor's garden,but that is an art only acquired in polite society. How sweetly theysing there; it is quite a pleasure to listen to them! I call itPortuguese singing. If I had only such a little singing-bird, I'd bekind and good as a mother to him, for it's in my nature, in myPortuguese blood."

While she was speaking, one of the little singing-birds cametumbling head over heels from the roof into the yard. The cat wasafter him, but he had escaped from her with a broken wing, and so cametumbling into the yard. "That's just like the cat, she's a villain,"said the Portuguese duck. "I remember her ways when I had childrenof my own. How can such a creature be allowed to live, and wanderabout upon the roofs. I don't think they allow such things inPortugal." She pitied the little singing-bird, and so did all theother ducks who were not Portuguese.

"Poor little creature!" they said, one after another, as they cameup. "We can't sing, certainly; but we have a sounding-board, orsomething of the kind, within us; we can feel that, though we don'ttalk about it."

"But I can talk," said the Portuguese duck; "and I'll do somethingfor the little fellow; it's my duty;" and she stepped into thewater-trough, and beat her wings upon the water so strongly that thebird was nearly drowned by a shower-bath; but the duck meant itkindly. "That is a good deed," she said; "I hope the others willtake example by it."

"Tweet, tweet!" said the little bird, for one of his wings beingbroken, he found it difficult to shake himself; but he quiteunderstood that the bath was meant kindly, and he said, "You arevery kind-hearted, madam;" but he did not wish for a second bath.

"I have never thought about my heart," replied the Portugueseduck, "but I know that I love all my fellow-creatures, except the cat,and nobody can expect me to love her, for she ate up two of myducklings. But pray make yourself at home; it is easy to make one'sself comfortable. I am myself from a foreign country, as you may seeby my feathery dress. My drake is a native of these parts; he's not ofmy race; but I am not proud on that account. If any one here canunderstand you, I may say positively I am that person."

"She's quite full of 'Portulak,'" said a little common duck, whowas witty. All the common ducks considered the word "Portulak" agood joke, for it sounded like Portugal. They nudged each other, andsaid, "Quack! that was witty!"

Then the other ducks began to notice the little bird. "ThePortuguese had certainly a great flow of language," they said to thelittle bird. "For our part we don't care to fill our beaks with suchlong words, but we sympathize with you quite as much. If we don't doanything else, we can walk about with you everywhere, and we thinkthat is the best thing we can do."

"You have a lovely voice," said one of the eldest ducks; "itmust be great satisfaction to you to be able to give so muchpleasure as you do. I am certainly no judge of your singing so Ikeep my beak shut, which is better than talking nonsense, as othersdo."

"Don't plague him so, interposed the Portuguese duck; "he requiresrest and nursing. My little singing-bird do you wish me to prepareanother bath for you?"

"Oh, no! no! pray let me dry," implored the little bird.

"The water-cure is the only remedy for me, when I am not well,"said the Portuguese. "Amusement, too, is very beneficial. The fowlsfrom the neighborhood will soon be here to pay you a visit. Thereare two Cochin Chinese amongst them; they wear feathers on their legs,and are well educated. They have been brought from a great distance,and consequently I treat them with greater respect than I do theothers."

Then the fowls arrived, and the cock was polite enough to-day tokeep from being rude. "You are a real songster," he said, "you do asmuch with your little voice as it is possible to do; but thererequires more noise and shrillness in any one who wishes it to beknown who he is."

The two Chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of thesinging-bird. His feathers had been much ruffled by his bath, sothat he seemed to them quite like a tiny Chinese fowl. "He'scharming," they said to each other, and began a conversation withhim in whispers, using the most aristocratic Chinese dialect: "Weare of the same race as yourself," they said. "The ducks, even thePortuguese, are all aquatic birds, as you must have noticed. You donot know us yet,- very few know us, or give themselves the troubleto make our acquaintance, not even any of the fowls, though we areborn to occupy a higher grade in society than most of them. But thatdoes not disturb us, we quietly go on in our own way among the rest,whose ideas are certainly not ours; for we look at the bright sideof things, and only speak what is good, although that is sometimesvery difficult to find where none exists. Except ourselves and thecock there is not one in the yard who can be called talented orpolite. It cannot even be said of the ducks, and we warn you, littlebird, not to trust that one yonder, with the short tail feathers,for she is cunning; that curiously marked one, with the crookedstripes on her wings, is a mischief-maker, and never lets any one havethe last word, though she is always in the wrong. That fat duck yonderspeaks evil of every one, and that is against our principles. If wehave nothing good to tell, we close our beaks. The Portuguese is theonly one who has had any education, and with whom we can associate,but she is passionate, and talks too much about 'Portugal.'"

"I wonder what those two Chinese are whispering about,"whispered one duck to another; "they are always doing it, and itannoys me. We never speak to them."

Now the drake came up, and he thought the little singing-birdwas a sparrow. "Well, I don't understand the difference," he said; "itappears to me all the same. He's only a plaything, and if peoplewill have playthings, why let them, I say."

"Don't take any notice of what he says," whispered the Portuguese;"he's very well in matters of business, and with him business isplaced before everything. But now I shall lie down and have a littlerest. It is a duty we owe to ourselves that we may be nice and fatwhen we come to be embalmed with sage and onions and apples." So shelaid herself down in the sun and winked with one eye; she had a verycomfortable place, and felt so comfortable that she fell asleep. Thelittle singing-bird busied himself for some time with his broken wing,and at last he lay down, too, quite close to his protectress. Thesun shone warm and bright, and he found out that it was a very goodplace. But the fowls of the neighborhood were all awake, and, totell the truth, they had paid a visit to the duckyard, simply andsolely to find food for themselves. The Chinese were the first toleave, and the other fowls soon followed them.

The witty little duck said of the Portuguese, that the old ladywas getting quite a "doting ducky," All the other ducks laughed atthis. "Doting ducky," they whispered. "Oh, that's too 'witty!'" Andthen they repeated the former joke about "Portulak," and declared itwas most amusing. Then they all lay down to have a nap.

They had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenlysomething was thrown into the yard for them to eat. It came downwith such a bang, that the whole company started up and clappedtheir wings. The Portuguese awoke too, and rushed over to the otherside: in so doing she trod upon the little singing-bird.

"Tweet," he cried; "you trod very hard upon me, madam."

"Well, then, why do you lie in my way?" she retorted, "you mustnot be so touchy. I have nerves of my own, but I do not cry 'tweet.'"

"Don't be angry," said the little bird; "the 'tweet' slipped outof my beak unawares."

The Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fastas she could, and made a good meal. When she had finished, she laydown again, and the little bird, who wished to be amiable, began tosing,-

"Chirp and twitter,

The dew-drops glitter,

In the hours of sunny spring,

I'll sing my best,

Till I go to rest,

With my head behind my wing."

"Now I want rest after my dinner," said the Portuguese; "youmust conform to the rules of the house while you are here. I want tosleep now."

The little bird was quite taken aback, for he meant it kindly.When madam awoke afterwards, there he stood before her with a littlecorn he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not sleptwell, she was naturally in a bad temper. "Give that to a chicken," shesaid, "and don't be always standing in my way."

"Why are you angry with me?" replied the little singing-bird,"what have I done?"

"Done!" repeated the Portuguese duck, "your mode of expressingyourself is not very polite. I must call your attention to that fact."

"It was sunshine here yesterday," said the little bird, "butto-day it is cloudy and the air is close."

"You know very little about the weather, I fancy," she retorted,"the day is not over yet. Don't stand there, looking so stupid."

"But you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when Ifell into the yard yesterday."

"Impertinent creature!" exclaimed the Portuguese duck: "wouldyou compare me with the cat- that beast of prey? There's not a drop ofmalicious blood in me. I've taken your part, and now I'll teach youbetter manners." So saying, she made a bite at the littlesinging-bird's head, and he fell dead on the ground. "Now whateveris the meaning of this?" "she said; "could he not bear even such alittle peck as I gave him? Then certainly he was not made for thisworld. I've been like a mother to him, I know that, for I've a goodheart."

Then the cock from the neighboring yard stuck his head in, andcrowed with steam-engine power.

"You'll kill me with your crowing," she cried, "it's all yourfault. He's lost his life, and I'm very near losing mine."

"There's not much of him lying there," observed the cock.

"Speak of him with respect," said the Portuguese duck, "for he hadmanners and education, and he could sing. He was affectionate andgentle, and that is as rare a quality in animals as in those whocall themselves human beings."

Then all the ducks came crowding round the little dead bird. Duckshave strong passions, whether they feel envy or pity. There wasnothing to envy here, so they all showed a great deal of pity, eventhe two Chinese. "We shall never have another singing-bird againamongst us; he was almost a Chinese," they whispered, and then theywept with such a noisy, clucking sound, that all the other fowlsclucked too, but the ducks went about with redder eyes afterwards. "Wehave hearts of our own," they said, "nobody can deny that."

"Hearts!" repeated the Portuguese, "indeed you have, almost astender as the ducks in Portugal."

"Let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger," saidthe drake, that's the most important business. If one of our toys isbroken, why we have plenty more."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA

by Hans Christian Andersen

ONCE upon a time there was a prince who wanted to marry aprincess; but she would have to be a real princess. He travelled allover the world to find one, but nowhere could he get what he wanted.There were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whetherthey were real ones. There was always something about them that wasnot as it should be. So he came home again and was sad, for he wouldhave liked very much to have a real princess.

One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder andlightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Suddenly a knockingwas heard at the city gate, and the old king went to open it.

It was a princess standing out there in front of the gate. But,good gracious! what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look.The water ran down from her hair and clothes; it ran down into thetoes of her shoes and out again at the heels. And yet she said thatshe was a real princess.

"Well, we'll soon find that out," thought the old queen. But shesaid nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off thebedstead, and laid a pea on the bottom; then she took twentymattresses and laid them on the pea, and then twenty eider-down bedson top of the mattresses.

On this the princess had to lie all night. In the morning shewas asked how she had slept.

"Oh, very badly!" said she. "I have scarcely closed my eyes allnight. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying onsomething hard, so that I am black and blue all over my body. It'shorrible!"

Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had feltthe pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twentyeider-down beds.

Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that.

So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had areal princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may stillbe seen, if no one has stolen it.

There, that is a true story.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PSYCHE

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the fresh morning dawn, in the rosy air gleams a great Star,the brightest Star of the morning. His rays tremble on the white wall,as if he wished to write down on it what he can tell, what he has seenthere and elsewhere during thousands of years in our rolling world.Let us hear one of his stories.

"A short time ago"- the Star's "short time ago" is called amongmen "centuries ago"- "my rays followed a young artist. It was in thecity of the Popes, in the world-city, Rome. Much has been changedthere in the course of time, but the changes have not come soquickly as the change from youth to old age. Then already the palaceof the Caesars was a ruin, as it is now; fig trees and laurels grewamong the fallen marble columns, and in the desolate bathing-halls,where the gilding still clings to the wall; the Coliseum was agigantic ruin; the church bells sounded, the incense sent up itsfragrant cloud, and through the streets marched processions withflaming tapers and glowing canopies. Holy Church was there, and artwas held as a high and holy thing. In Rome lived the greatestpainter in the world, Raphael; there also dwelt the first ofsculptors, Michael Angelo. Even the Pope paid homage to these two, andhonored them with a visit. Art was recognized and honored, and wasrewarded also. But, for all that, everything great and splendid wasnot seen and known.

"In a narrow lane stood an old house. Once it had been a temple; ayoung sculptor now dwelt there. He was young and quite unknown. Hecertainly had friends, young artists, like himself, young in spirit,young in hopes and thoughts; they told him he was rich in talent,and an artist, but that he was foolish for having no faith in hisown power; for he always broke what he had fashioned out of clay,and never completed anything; and a work must be completed if it is tobe seen and to bring money.

"'You are a dreamer,' they went on to say to him, 'and that's yourmisfortune. But the reason of this is, that you have never lived,you have never tasted life, you have never enjoyed it in greatwholesome draughts, as it ought to be enjoyed. In youth one mustmingle one's own personality with life, that they may become one. Lookat the great master Raphael, whom the Pope honors and the worldadmires. He's no despiser of wine and bread.'

"'And he even appreciates the baker's daughter, the prettyFornarina,' added Angelo, one of the merriest of the young friends.

"Yes, they said a good many things of the kind, according to theirage and their reason. They wanted to draw the young artist out withthem into the merry wild life, the mad life as it might also becalled; and at certain times he felt an inclination for it. He hadwarm blood, a strong imagination, and could take part in the merrychat, and laugh aloud with the rest; but what they called 'Raphael'smerry life' disappeared before him like a vapor when he saw the divineradiance that beamed forth from the pictures of the great master;and when he stood in the Vatican, before the forms of beauty which themasters had hewn out of marble thousands of years since, his breastswelled, and he felt within himself something high, something holy,something elevating, great and good, and he wished that he couldproduce similar forms from the blocks of marble. He wished to make apicture of that which was within him, stirring upward from his heartto the realms of the Infinite; but how, and in what form? The softclay was fashioned under his fingers into forms of beauty, but thenext day he broke what he had fashioned, according to his wont.

"One day he walked past one of those rich palaces of which Romehas many to show. He stopped before the great open portal, andbeheld a garden surrounded by cloistered walks. The garden bloomedwith a goodly show of the fairest roses. Great white lilies with greenjuicy leaves shot upward from the marble basin in which the clearwater was splashing; and a form glided past, the daughter of theprincely house, graceful, delicate, and wonderfully fair. Such aform of female loveliness he had never before beheld- yet stay: he hadseen it, painted by Raphael, painted as a Psyche, in one of theRoman palaces. Yes, there it had been painted; but here it passed byhim in living reality.

"The remembrance lived in his thoughts, in his heart. He went hometo his humble room, and modelled a Psyche of clay. It was the richyoung Roman girl, the noble maiden; and for the first time he lookedat his work with satisfaction. It had a meaning for him, for it wasshe. And the friends who saw his work shouted aloud for joy; theydeclared that this work was a manifestation of his artistic power,of which they had long been aware, and that now the world should bemade aware of it too.

"The clay figure was lifelike and beautiful, but it had not thewhiteness or the durability of marble. So they declared that thePsyche must henceforth live in marble. He already possessed a costlyblock of that stone. It had been lying for years, the property ofhis parents, in the courtyard. Fragments of glass, climbing weeds, andremains of artichokes had gathered about it and sullied its purity;but under the surface the block was as white as the mountain snow; andfrom this block the Psyche was to arise."

Now, it happened one morning- the bright Star tells nothingabout this, but we know it occurred- that a noble Roman company cameinto the narrow lane. The carriage stopped at the top of the lane, andthe company proceeded on foot towards the house, to inspect theyoung sculptor's work, for they had heard him spoken of by chance. Andwho were these distinguished guests? Poor young man! or fortunateyoung man he might be called. The noble young lady stood in the roomand smiled radiantly when her father said to her, "It is your livingimage." That smile could not be copied, any more than the look couldbe reproduced, the wonderful look which she cast upon the youngartist. It was a fiery look, that seemed at once to elevate and tocrush him.

"The Psyche must be executed in marble," said the wealthypatrician. And those were words of life for the dead clay and theheavy block of marble, and words of life likewise for the deeply-movedartist. "When the work is finished I will purchase it," continuedthe rich noble.

A new era seemed to have arisen in the poor studio. Life andcheerfulness gleamed there, and busy industry plied its work. Thebeaming Morning Star beheld how the work progressed. The clay itselfseemed inspired since she had been there, and moulded itself, inheightened beauty, to a likeness of the well-known features.

"Now I know what life is," cried the artist rejoicingly; "it isLove! It is the lofty abandonment of self for the dawning of thebeautiful in the soul! What my friends call life and enjoyment is apassing shadow; it is like bubbles among seething dregs, not thepure heavenly wine that consecrates us to life."

The marble block was reared in its place. The chisel struckgreat fragments from it; the measurements were taken, points and lineswere made, the mechanical part was executed, till gradually thestone assumed a human female form, a shape of beauty, and becameconverted into the Psyche, fair and glorious- a divine being inhuman shape. The heavy stone appeared as a gliding, dancing, airyPsyche, with the heavenly innocent smile- the smile that hadmirrored itself in the soul of the young artist.

The Star of the roseate dawn beheld and understood what wasstirring within the young man, and could read the meaning of thechanging color of his cheek, of the light that flashed from his eye,as he stood busily working, reproducing what had been put into hissoul from above.

"Thou art a master like those masters among the ancient Greeks,"exclaimed his delighted friends; "soon shall the whole world admirethy Psyche."

"My Psyche!" he repeated. "Yes, mine. She must be mine. I, too, aman artist, like those great men who are gone. Providence has grantedme the boon, and has made me the equal of that lady of noble birth."

And he knelt down and breathed a prayer of thankfulnesss toHeaven, and then he forgot Heaven for her sake- for the sake of herpicture in stone- for her Psyche which stood there as if formed ofsnow, blushing in the morning dawn.

He was to see her in reality, the living, graceful Psyche, whosewords sounded like music in his ears. He could now carry the news intothe rich palace that the marble Psyche was finished. He betook himselfthither, strode through the open courtyard where the waters ransplashing from the dolphin's jaws into the marble basins, where thesnowy lilies and the fresh roses bloomed in abundance. He stepped intothe great lofty hall, whose walls and ceilings shone with gildingand bright colors and heraldic devices. Gayly-dressed serving-men,adorned with trappings like sleigh horses, walked to and fro, and somereclined at their ease upon the carved oak seats, as if they werethe masters of the house. He told them what had brought him to thepalace, and was conducted up the shining marble staircase, coveredwith soft carpets and adorned with many a statue. Then he went onthrough richly-furnished chambers, over mosaic floors, amid gorgeouspictures. All this pomp and luxury seemed to weary him; but soon hefelt relieved, for the princely old master of the house received himmost graciously,, almost heartily; and when he took his leave he wasrequested to step into the Signora's apartment, for she, too, wishedto see him. The servants led him through more luxurious halls andchambers into her room, where she appeared the chief and leadingornament.

She spoke to him. No hymn of supplication, no holy chant, couldmelt his soul like the sound of her voice. He took her hand and liftedit to his lips. No rose was softer, but a fire thrilled through himfrom this rose- a feeling of power came upon him, and words pouredfrom his tongue- he knew not what he said. Does the crater of thevolcano know that the glowing lava is pouring from it? He confessedwhat he felt for her. She stood before him astonished, offended,proud, with contempt in her face, an expression of disgust, as ifshe had suddenly touched a cold unclean reptile. Her cheeksreddened, her lips grew white, and her eyes flashed fire, thoughthey were dark as the blackness of night.

"Madman!" she cried, "away! begone!"

And she turned her back upon him. Her beautiful face wore anexpression like that of the stony countenance with the snaky locks.

Like a stricken, fainting man, he tottered down the staircaseand out into the street. Like a man walking in his sleep, he found hisway back to his dwelling. Then he woke up to madness and agony, andseized his hammer, swung it high in the air, and rushed forward toshatter the beautiful marble image. But, in his pain, he had notnoticed that his friend Angelo stood beside him; and Angelo heldback his arm with a strong grasp, crying,

"Are you mad? What are you about?"

They struggled together. Angelo was the stronger; and, with a deepsigh of exhaustion, the young artist threw himself into a chair.

"What has happened?" asked Angelo. "Command yourself. Speak!"

But what could he say? How could he explain? And as Angelo couldmake no sense of his friend's incoherent words, he forbore to questionhim further, and merely said,

"Your blood grows thick from your eternal dreaming. Be a man, asall others are, and don't go on living in ideals, for that is whatdrives men crazy. A jovial feast will make you sleep quietly andhappily. Believe me, the time will come when you will be old, and yoursinews will shrink, and then, on some fine sunshiny day, wheneverything is laughing and rejoicing, you will lie there a fadedplant, that will grow no more. I do not live in dreams, but inreality. Come with me. Be a man!"

And he drew the artist away with him. At this moment he was ableto do so, for a fire ran in the blood of the young sculptor; achange had taken place in his soul; he felt a longing to tear from theold, the accustomed- to forget, if possible, his own individuality;and therefore it was that he followed Angelo.

In an out-of-the-way suburb of Rome lay a tavern much visited byartists. It was built on the ruins of some ancient baths. The greatyellow citrons hung down among the dark shining leaves, and covereda part of the old reddish-yellow walls. The tavern consisted of avaulted chamber, almost like a cavern, in the ruins. A lamp burnedthere before the picture of the Madonna. A great fire gleamed on thehearth, and roasting and boiling was going on there; without, underthe citron trees and laurels, stood a few covered tables.

The two artists were received by their friends with shouts ofwelcome. Little was eaten, but much was drunk, and the spirits ofthe company rose. Songs were sung and ditties were played on theguitar; presently the Salterello sounded, and the merry dance began.Two young Roman girls, who sat as models to the artists, took partin the dance and in the festivity. Two charming Bacchantes werethey; certainly not Psyches- not delicate, beautiful roses, but fresh,hearty, glowing carnations.

How hot it was on that day! Even after sundown it was hot. Therewas fire in the blood, fire in every glance, fire everywhere. Theair gleamed with gold and roses, and life seemed like gold and roses.

"At last you have joined us, for once," said his friends. "Now letyourself be carried by the waves within and around you."

"Never yet have I felt so well, so merry!" cried the young artist."You are right- you are all of you right. I was a fool- a dreamer. Manbelongs to reality, and not to fancy."

With songs and with sounding guitars the young people returnedthat evening from the tavern, through the narrow streets; the twoglowing carnations, daughters of the Campagna, went with them.

In Angelo's room, among a litter of colored sketches (studies) andglowing pictures, the voices sounded mellower, but not less merrily.On the ground lay many a sketch that resembled the daughters of theCampagna, in their fresh, hearty comeliness, but the two originalswere far handsomer than their portraits. All the burners of thesix-armed lamp flared and flamed; and the human flamed up from within,and appeared in the glare as if it were divine.

"Apollo! Jupiter! I feel myself raised to our heaven- to yourglory! I feel as if the blossom of life were unfolding itself in myveins at this moment!"

Yes, the blossom unfolded itself, and then burst and fell, andan evil vapor arose from it, blinding the sight, leading astray thefancy; the firework of the senses went out, and it became dark.

He was again in his own room. There he sat down on his bed andcollected his thoughts.

"Fie on thee!" these were the words that sounded out of hismouth from the depths of his heart. "Wretched man, go, begone!" Anda deep painful sigh burst from his bosom.

"Away! begone!" These, her words, the words of the livingPsyche, echoed through his heart, escaped from his lips. He buried hishead in the pillows, his thoughts grew confused, and he fell asleep.

In the morning dawn he started up, and collected his thoughtsanew. What had happened? Had all the past been a dream? The visit toher, the feast at the tavern, the evening with the purple carnationsof the Campagna? No, it was all real- a reality he had never beforeexperienced.

In the purple air gleamed the bright Star, and its beams fell uponhim and upon the marble Psyche. He trembled as he looked at thatpicture of immortality, and his glance seemed impure to him. Hethrew the cloth over the statue, and then touched it once more tounveil the form- but he was not able to look again at his own work.

Gloomy, quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts, he sat therethrough the long day; he heard nothing of what was going on aroundhim, and no man guessed what was passing in this human soul.

And days and weeks went by, but the nights passed more slowly thanthe days. The flashing Star beheld him one morning as he rose, paleand trembling with fever, from his sad couch; then he steppedtowards the statue, threw back the covering, took one long,sorrowful gaze at his work, and then, almost sinking beneath theburden, he dragged the statue out into the garden. In that place wasan old dry well, now nothing but a hole. Into this he cast the Psyche,threw earth in above her, and covered up the spot with twigs andnettles.

"Away! begone!" Such was the short epitaph he spoke.

The Star beheld all this from the pink morning sky, and its beamtrembled upon two great tears upon the pale feverish cheeks of theyoung man; and soon it was said that he was sick unto death, and helay stretched upon a bed of pain.

The convent Brother Ignatius visited him as a physician and afriend, and brought him words of comfort, of religion, and spoke tohim of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sinfulness ofman, of rest and mercy to be found in heaven.

And the words fell like warm sunbeams upon a teeming soil. Thesoil smoked and sent up clouds of mist, fantastic pictures, picturesin which there was reality; and from these floating islands helooked across at human life. He found it vanity and delusion- andvanity and delusion it had been to him. They told him that art was asorcerer, betraying us to vanity and to earthly lusts; that we arefalse to ourselves, unfaithful to our friends, unfaithful towardsHeaven; and that the serpent was always repeating within us, "Eat, andthou shalt become as God."

And it appeared to him as if now, for the first time, he knewhimself, and had found the way that leads to truth and to peace. Inthe church was the light and the brightness of God- in the monk's cellhe should find the rest through which the tree of human life mightgrow on into eternity.

Brother Ignatius strengthened his longings, and thedetermination became firm within him. A child of the world became aservant of the church- the young artist renounced the world, andretired into the cloister.

The brothers came forward affectionately to welcome him, and hisinauguration was as a Sunday feast. Heaven seemed to him to dwell inthe sunshine of the church, and to beam upon him from the holypictures and from the cross. And when, in the evening, at the sunsethour, he stood in his little cell, and, opening the window, looked outupon old Rome, upon the desolated temples, and the great deadColiseum- when he saw all this in its spring garb, when the acaciasbloomed, and the ivy was fresh, and roses burst forth everywhere,and the citron and orange were in the height of their beauty, andthe palm trees waved their branches- then he felt a deeper emotionthan had ever yet thrilled through him. The quiet open Campagna spreaditself forth towards the blue snow-covered mountains, which seemedto be painted in the air; all the outlines melting into each other,breathing peace and beauty, floating, dreaming- and all appearing likea dream!

Yes, this world was a dream, and the dream lasts for hours, andmay return for hours; but convent life is a life of years- long years,and many years.

From within comes much that renders men sinful and impure. Hefully realized the truth of this. What flames arose up in him attimes! What a source of evil, of that which we would not, welled upcontinually! He mortified his body, but the evil came from within.

One day, after the lapse of many years, he met Angelo, whorecognized him.

"Man!" exclaimed Angelo. "Yes, it is thou! Art thou happy now?Thou hast sinned against God, and cast away His boon from thee- hastneglected thy mission in this world! Read the parable of the intrustedtalent! The MASTER, who spoke that parable, spoke the truth! What hastthou gained? What hast thou found? Dost thou not fashion for thyself areligion and a dreamy life after thine own idea, as almost all do?Suppose all this is a dream, a fair delusion!"

"Get thee away from me, Satan!" said the monk; and he quittedAngelo.

"There is a devil, a personal devil! This day I have seen him!"said the monk to himself. "Once I extended a finger to him, and hetook my whole hand. But now," he sighed, "the evil is within me, andit is in yonder man; but it does not bow him down; he goes abroad withhead erect, and enjoys his comfort; and I grasped at comfort in theconsolations of religion. If it were nothing but a consolation?Supposing everything here were, like the world I have quitted, onlya beautiful fancy, a delusion like the beauty of the evening clouds,like the misty blue of the distant hills!- when you approach them,they are very different! O eternity! Thou actest like the great calmocean, that beckons us, and fills us with expectation- and when weembark upon thee, we sink, disappear, and cease to be. Delusion!away with it! begone!"

And tearless, but sunk in bitter reflection, he sat upon hishard couch, and then knelt down- before whom? Before the stone crossfastened to the wall? No, it was only habit that made him take thisposition.

The more deeply he looked into his own heart, the blacker didthe darkness seem. -"Nothing within, nothing without- this lifesquanderied and cast away!" And this thought rolled and grew like asnowball, until it seemed to crush him.

"I can confide my griefs to none. I may speak to none of thegnawing worm within. My secret is my prisoner; if I let the captiveescape, I shall be his!"

And the godlike power that dwelt within him suffered and strove.

"O Lord, my Lord!" he cried, in his despair, "be merciful andgrant me faith. I threw away the gift thou hadst vouchsafed to me, Ileft my mission unfulfilled. I lacked strength, and strength thoudidst not give me. Immortality- the Psyche in my breast- away withit!- it shall be buried like that Psyche, the best gleam of my life;never will it arise out of its grave!"

The Star glowed in the roseate air, the Star that shall surelybe extinguished and pass away while the soul still lives on; itstrembling beam fell upon the white wall, but it wrote nothing thereupon being made perfect in God, nothing of the hope of mercy, of thereliance on the divine love that thrills through the heart of thebeliever.

"The Psyche within can never die. Shall it live inconsciousness? Can the incomprehensible happen? Yes, yes. My beingis incomprehensible. Thou art unfathomable, O Lord. Thy whole world isincomprehensible- a wonder-work of power, of glory and of love."

His eyes gleamed, and then closed in death. The tolling of thechurch bell was the last sound that echoed above him, above the deadman; and they buried him, covering him with earth that had beenbrought from Jerusalem, and in which was mingled the dust of many ofthe pious dead.

When years had gone by his skeleton was dug up, as the skeletonsof the monks who had died before him had been; it was clad in abrown frock, a rosary was put into the bony hand, and the form wasplaced among the ranks of other skeletons in the cloisters of theconvent. And the sun shone without, while within the censers werewaved and the Mass was celebrated.

And years rolled by.

The bones fell asunder and became mingled with others. Skulls werepiled up till they formed an outer wall around the church; and therelay also his head in the burning sun, for many dead were there, and noone knew their names, and his name was forgotten also. And see,something was moving in the sunshine, in the sightless cavernous eyes!What might that be? A sparkling lizard moved about in the skull,gliding in and out through the sightless holes. The lizard nowrepresented all the life left in that head, in which once greatthoughts, bright dreams, the love of art and of the glorious, hadarisen, whence hot tears had rolled down, where hope and immortalityhad had their being. The lizard sprang away and disappeared, and theskull itself crumbled to pieces and became dust among dust.

Centuries passed away. The bright Star gleamed unaltered,radiant and large, as it had gleamed for thousands of years, and theair glowed red with tints fresh as roses, crimson like blood.

There, where once had stood the narrow lane containing the ruinsof the temple, a nunnery was now built. A grave was being dug in theconvent garden for a young nun who had died, and was to be laid in theearth this morning. The spade struck against a hard substance; itwas a stone, that shone dazzling white. A block of marble soonappeared, a rounded shoulder was laid bare; and now the spade wasplied with a more careful hand, and presently a female head wasseen, and butterflies' wings. Out of the grave in which the youngnun was to be laid they lifted, in the rosy morning, a wonderfulstatue of a Psyche carved in white marble.

"How beautiful, how perfect it is!" cried the spectators. "A relicof the best period of art."

And who could the sculptor have been? No one knew; no oneremembered him, except the bright star that had gleamed forthousands of years. The star had seen the course of that life onearth, and knew of the man's trials, of his weakness- in fact, that hehad been but human. The man's life had passed away, his dust hadbeen scattered abroad as dust is destined to be; but the result of hisnoblest striving, the glorious work that gave token of the divineelement within him- the Psyche that never dies, that lives beyondposterity- the brightness even of this earthly Psyche remained hereafter him, and was seen and acknowledged and appreciated.

The bright Morning Star in the roseate air threw its glancingray downward upon the Psyche, and upon the radiant countenances of theadmiring spectators, who here beheld the image of the soul portrayedin marble.

What is earthly will pass away and be forgotten, and the Star inthe vast firmament knows it. What is heavenly will shine brightlythrough posterity; and when the ages of posterity are past, thePsyche- the soul- will still live on!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE PUPPET-SHOW MAN

by Hans Christian Andersen

ON board a steamer I once met an elderly man, with such a merryface that, if it was really an index of his mind, he must have beenthe happiest fellow in creation; and indeed he considered himselfso, for I heard it from his own mouth. He was a Dane, the owner of atravelling theatre. He had all his company with him in a large box,for he was the proprietor of a puppet-show. His inborn cheerfulness,he said, had been tested by a member of the Polytechnic Institution,and the experiment had made him completely happy. I did not at firstunderstand all this, but afterwards he explained the whole story tome; and here it is:-

"I was giving a representation," he said, "in the hall of theposting-house in the little town of Slagelse; there was a splendidaudience, entirely juvenile excepting two respectable matrons. Allat once, a person in black, of student-like appearance, entered theroom, and sat down; he laughed aloud at the telling points, andapplauded quite at the proper time. This was a very unusualspectator for me, and I felt anxious to know who he was. I heardthat he was a member of the Polytechnic Institution in Copenhagen, whohad been sent out to lecture to the people in the provinces.Punctually at eight o'clock my performance closed, for children mustgo early to bed, and a manager must also consult the convenience ofthe public.

"At nine o'clock the lecturer commenced his lecture and hisexperiments, and then I formed a part of his audience. It waswonderful both to hear and to see. The greater part of it was beyondmy comprehension, but it led me to think that if we men can acquire somuch, we must surely be intended to last longer than the little spanwhich extends only to the time when we are hidden away under theearth. His experiments were quite miracles on a small scale, and yetthe explanations flowed as naturally as water from his lips. At thetime of Moses and the prophets, such a man would have been placedamong the sages of the land; in the middle ages they would haveburnt him at the stake.

"All night long I could not sleep; and the next evening when Igave another performance and the lecturer was present, I was in one ofmy best moods.

"I once heard of an actor, who, when he had to act the part of alover, always thought of one particular lady in the audience; heonly played for her, and forgot all the rest of the house, and now thePolytechnic lecturer was my she, my only auditor, for whom alone Iplayed.

"When the performance was over, and the puppets removed behind thecurtain, the Polytechnic lecturer invited me into his room to take aglass of wine. He talked of my comedies, and I of his science, and Ibelieve we were both equally pleased. But I had the best of it, forthere was much in what he did that he could not always explain tome. For instance, why a piece of iron which is rubbed on a cylinder,should become magnetic. How does this happen? The magnetic sparks cometo it,- but how? It is the same with people in the world; they arerubbed about on this spherical globe till the electric spark comesupon them, and then we have a Napoleon, or a Luther, or some one ofthe kind.

"'The whole world is but a series of miracles,' said the lecturer,'but we are so accustomed to them that we call them everyday matters.'And he went on explaining things to me till my skull seemed liftedfrom my brain, and I declared that were I not such an old fellow, Iwould at once become a member of the Polytechnic Institution, that Imight learn to look at the bright side of everything, although I wasone of the happiest of men.

"'One of the happiest!' said the lecturer, as if the ideapleased him; 'are you really happy?'

"'Yes,' I replied; 'for I am welcomed in every town, when I arrivewith my company; but I certainly have one wish which sometimesweighs upon my cheerful temper like a mountain of lead. I shouldlike to become the manager of a real theatre, and the director of areal troupe of men and women.'

"'I understand,' he said; 'you would like to have life breathedinto your puppets, so that they might be living actors, and youtheir director. And would you then be quite happy?'

"I said I believed so. But he did not; and we talked it over inall manner of ways, yet could not agree on the subject. However, thewine was excellent, and we clanked our glasses together as we drank.There must have been magic in it, or I should most certainly becometipsy; but that did not happen, for my mind seemed quite clear; and,indeed, a kind of sunshine filled the room, and beamed from the eyesof the Polytechnic lecturer. It made me think of the old storieswhen the gods, in their immortal youth, wandered upon this earth,and paid visits to mankind. I said so to him, and he smiled; and Icould have sworn that he was one of these ancient deities in disguise,or, at all events, that he belonged to the race of the gods. Theresult seemed to prove I was right in my suspicions; for it wasarranged that my highest wish should be granted, that my puppetswere to be gifted with life, and that I was to be the manager of areal company. We drank to my success, and clanked our glasses. Then hepacked all my dolls into the box, and fastened it on my back, and Ifelt as if I were spinning round in a circle, and presently foundmyself lying on the floor. I remember that quite well. And then thewhole company sprang from the box. The spirit had come upon us all;the puppets had become distinguished actors- at least, so they saidthemselves- and I was their director.

"When all was ready for the first representation, the wholecompany requested permission to speak to me before appearing inpublic. The dancing lady said the house could not be supportedunless she stood on one leg; for she was a great genius, and begged tobe treated as such. The lady who acted the part of the queenexpected to be treated as a queen off the stage, as well as on it,or else she said she should get out of practice. The man whose duty itwas to deliver a letter gave himself as many airs as he who took thepart of first lover in the piece; he declared that the inferiorparts were as important as the great ones, and deserving equalconsideration, as parts of an artistic whole. The hero of the piecewould only play in a part containing points likely to bring down theapplause of the house. The 'prima donna' would only act when thelights were red, for she declared that a blue light did not suit hercomplexion. It was like a company of flies in a bottle, and I was inthe bottle with them; for I was their director. My breath was takenaway, my head whirled, and I was as miserable as a man could be. Itwas quite a novel, strange set of beings among whom I now foundmyself. I only wished I had them all in my box again, and that I hadnever been their director. So I told them roundly that, after all,they were nothing but puppets; and then they killed me. After awhile I found myself lying on my bed in my room; but how I gotthere, or how I got away at all from the Polytechnic professor, he mayperhaps know, I don't. The moon shone upon the floor, the box layopen, and the dolls were all scattered about in great confusion; but Iwas not idle. I jumped off the bed, and into the box they all had togo, some on their heads, some on their feet. Then I shut down the lid,and seated myself upon the box. 'Now you'll have to stay,' said I,'and I shall be cautious how I wish you flesh and blood again.'

"I felt quite light, my cheerfulness had returned, and I was thehappiest of mortals. The Polytechnic professor had fully cured me. Iwas as happy as a king, and went to sleep on the box. Next morning-correctly speaking, it was noon, for I slept remarkably late that day-I found myself still sitting there, in happy consciousness that myformer wish had been a foolish one. I inquired for the Polytechnicprofessor; but he had disappeared like the Greek and Roman gods;from that time I have been the happiest man in the world. I am a happydirector; for none of my company ever grumble, nor the publiceither, for I always make them merry. I can arrange my pieces justas I please. I choose out of every comedy what I like best, and no oneis offended. Plays that are neglected now-a-days by the great publicwere ran after thirty years ago, and listened to till the tears randown the cheeks of the audience. These are the pieces I bring forward.I place them before the little ones, who cry over them as papa andmamma used to cry thirty years ago. But I make them shorter, for theyoungsters don't like long speeches; and if they have anythingmournful, they like it to be over quickly."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE RACES

by Hans Christian Andersen

A PRIZE, or rather two prizes, a great one and a small one, hadbeen awarded for the greatest swiftness in running,- not in a singlerace, but for the whole year.

"I obtained the first prize," said the hare. "Justice must stillbe carried out, even when one has relations and good friends among theprize committee; but that the snail should have received the secondprize, I consider almost an insult to myself"

"No," said the fence-rail, who had been a witness at thedistribution of prizes; "there should be some consideration forindustry and perseverance. I have heard many respectable people sayso, and I can quite understand it. The snail certainly took half ayear to get over the threshold of the door; but he injured himself,and broke his collar-bone by the haste he made. He gave himself upentirely to the race, and ran with his house on his back, which wasall, of course, very praiseworthy; and therefore he obtained thesecond prize."

"I think I ought to have had some consideration too," said theswallow. "I should imagine no one can be swifter in soaring and flightthan I am; and how far I have been! far, far away."

"Yes, that is your misfortune," said the fence-rail; "you are sofickle, so unsettled; you must always be travelling about into foreignlands when the cold commences here. You have no love of fatherlandin you. There can be no consideration for you."

"But now, if I have been lying the whole winter in the moor," saidthe swallow, "and suppose I slept the whole time, would that betaken into account?"

"Bring a certificate from the old moor-hen," said he, "that youhave slept away half your time in fatherland; then you will be treatedwith some consideration."

"I deserved the first prize, and not the second," said thesnail. "I know so much, at least, that the hare only ran fromcowardice, and because he thought there was danger in delay. I, on theother hand, made running the business of my life, and have become acripple in the service. If any one had a first prize, it ought to havebeen myself. But I do not understand chattering and boasting; on thecontrary, I despise it." And the snail spat at them with contempt.

"I am able to affirm with word of oath, that each prize- at least,those for which I voted- was given with just and properconsideration," said the old boundary post in the wood, who was amember of the committee of judges. "I always act with due order,consideration, and calculation. Seven times have I already had thehonor to be present at the distribution of the prizes, and to vote;but to-day is the first time I have been able to carry out my will.I always reckon the first prize by going through the alphabet from thebeginning, and the second by going through from the end. Be so kind asto give me your attention, and I will explain to you how I reckon fromthe beginning. The eighth letter from A is H, and there we have Hfor hare; therefore I awarded to the hare the first prize. Theeighth letter from the end of the alphabet is S, and therefore thesnail received the second prize. Next year, the letter I will have itsturn for the first prize, and the letter R for the second."

"I should really have voted for myself," said the mule, "if Ihad not been one of the judges on the committee. Not only the rapiditywith which advance is made, but every other quality should have dueconsideration; as, for instance, how much weight a candidate is ableto draw; but I have not brought this quality forward now, nor thesagacity of the hare in his flight, nor the cunning with which hesuddenly springs aside and doubles, to lead people on a false track,thinking he has concealed himself. No; there is something else onwhich more stress should be laid, and which ought not be leftunnoticed. I mean that which mankind call the beautiful. It is onthe beautiful that I particularly fix my eyes. I observed thewell-grown ears of the hare; it is a pleasure to me to observe howlong they are. It seemed as if I saw myself again in the days of mychildhood; and so I voted for the hare."

"Buz," said the fly; "there, I'm not going to make a longspeech; but I wish to say something about hares. I have reallyovertaken more than one hare, when I have been seated on the engine infront of a railway train. I often do so. One can then so easilyjudge of one's own swiftness. Not long ago, I crushed the hind legs ofa young hare. He had been running a long time before the engine; hehad no idea that I was travelling there. At last he had to stop in hiscareer, and the engine ran over his hind legs, and crushed them; for Iset upon it. I left him lying there, and rode on farther. I callthat conquering him; but I do not want the prize."

"It really seems to me," thought the wild rose, though she did notexpress her opinion aloud- it is not in her nature to do so,- thoughit would have been quite as well if she had; "it certainly seems to methat the sunbeam ought to have had the honor of receiving the firstprize. The sunbeam flies in a few minutes along the immeasurablepath from the sun to us. It arrives in such strength, that allnature awakes to loveliness and beauty; we roses blush and exhalefragrance in its presence. Our worshipful judges don't appear tohave noticed this at all. Were I the sunbeam, I would give each one ofthem a sun stroke; but that would only make them mad, and they are madenough already. I only hope," continued the rose, "that peace mayreign in the wood. It is glorious to bloom, to be fragrant, and tolive; to live in story and in song. The sunbeam will outlive us all."

"What is the first prize?" asked the earthworm, who hadoverslept the time, and only now came up.

"It contains a free admission to a cabbage-garden," replied themule. "I proposed that as one of the prizes. The hare most decidedlymust have it; and I, as an active and thoughtful member of thecommittee, took especial care that the prize should be one ofadvantage to him; so now he is provided for. The snail can now siton the fence, and lick up moss and sunshine. He has also beenappointed one of the first judges of swiftness in racing. It isworth much to know that one of the numbers is a man of talent in thething men call a 'committee.' I must say I expect much in thefuture; we have already made such a good beginning."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE RED SHOES

by Hans Christian Andersen

ONCE upon a time there was little girl, pretty and dainty. Butin summer time she was obliged to go barefooted because she waspoor, and in winter she had to wear large wooden shoes, so that herlittle instep grew quite red.

In the middle of the village lived an old shoemaker's wife; shesat down and made, as well as she could, a pair of little shoes out ofsome old pieces of red cloth. They were clumsy, but she meant well,for they were intended for the little girl, whose name was Karen.

Karen received the shoes and wore them for the first time on theday of her mother's funeral. They were certainly not suitable formourning; but she had no others, and so she put her bare feet intothem and walked behind the humble coffin.

Just then a large old carriage came by, and in it sat an old lady;she looked at the little girl, and taking pity on her, said to theclergyman, "Look here, if you will give me the little girl, I willtake care of her."

Karen believed that this was all on account of the red shoes,but the old lady thought them hideous, and so they were burnt. Karenherself was dressed very neatly and cleanly; she was taught to readand to sew, and people said that she was pretty. But the mirror toldher, "You are more than pretty- you are beautiful."

One day the Queen was travelling through that part of the country,and had her little daughter, who was a princess, with her. All thepeople, amongst them Karen too, streamed towards the castle, where thelittle princess, in fine white clothes, stood before the window andallowed herself to be stared at. She wore neither a train nor a goldencrown, but beautiful red morocco shoes; they were indeed much finerthan those which the shoemaker's wife had sewn for little Karen. Thereis really nothing in the world that can be compared to red shoes!

Karen was now old enough to be confirmed; she received some newclothes, and she was also to have some new shoes. The rich shoemakerin the town took the measure of her little foot in his own room, inwhich there stood great glass cases full of pretty shoes and whiteslippers. It all looked very lovely, but the old lady could not seevery well, and therefore did not get much pleasure out of it.Amongst the shoes stood a pair of red ones, like those which theprincess had worn. How beautiful they were! and the shoemaker saidthat they had been made for a count's daughter, but that they hadnot fitted her.

"I suppose they are of shiny leather?" asked the old lady. "Theyshine so."

"Yes, they do shine," said Karen. They fitted her, and werebought. But the old lady knew nothing of their being red, for shewould never have allowed Karen to be confirmed in red shoes, as shewas now to be.

Everybody looked at her feet, and the whole of the way from thechurch door to the choir it seemed to her as if even the ancientfigures on the monuments, in their stiff collars and long black robes,had their eyes fixed on her red shoes. It was only of these that shethought when the clergyman laid his hand upon her head and spoke ofthe holy baptism, of the covenant with God, and told her that shewas now to be a grown-up Christian. The organ pealed forth solemnly,and the sweet children's voices mingled with that of their old leader;but Karen thought only of her red shoes. In the afternoon the old ladyheard from everybody that Karen had worn red shoes. She said that itwas a shocking thing to do, that it was very improper, and thatKaren was always to go to church in future in black shoes, even ifthey were old.

On the following Sunday there was Communion. Karen looked first atthe black shoes, then at the red ones- looked at the red ones again,and put them on.

The sun was shining gloriously, so Karen and the old lady wentalong the footpath through the corn, where it was rather dusty.

At the church door stood an old crippled soldier leaning on acrutch; he had a wonderfully long beard, more red than white, and hebowed down to the ground and asked the old lady whether he mightwipe her shoes. Then Karen put out her little foot too. "Dear me, whatpretty dancing-shoes!" said the soldier. "Sit fast, when you dance,"said he, addressing the shoes, and slapping the soles with his hand.

The old lady gave the soldier some money and then went withKaren into the church.

And all the people inside looked at Karen's red shoes, and all thefigures gazed at them; when Karen knelt before the altar and put thegolden goblet to her mouth, she thought only of the red shoes. Itseemed to her as though they were swimming about in the goblet, andshe forgot to sing the psalm, forgot to say the "Lord's Prayer."

Now every one came out of church, and the old lady stepped intoher carriage. But just as Karen was lifting up her foot to get in too,the old soldier said: "Dear me, what pretty dancing shoes!" andKaren could not help it, she was obliged to dance a few steps; andwhen she had once begun, her legs continued to dance. It seemed asif the shoes had got power over them. She danced round the churchcorner, for she could not stop; the coachman had to run after herand seize her. He lifted her into the carriage, but her feet continuedto dance, so that she kicked the good old lady violently. At last theytook off her shoes, and her legs were at rest.

At home the shoes were put into the cupboard, but Karen couldnot help looking at them.

Now the old lady fell ill, and it was said that she would not risefrom her bed again. She had to be nursed and waited upon, and this wasno one's duty more than Karen's. But there was a grand ball in thetown, and Karen was invited. She looked at the red shoes, saying toherself that there was no sin in doing that; she put the red shoes on,thinking there was no harm in that either; and then she went to theball; and commenced to dance.

But when she wanted to go to the right, the shoes danced to theleft, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danceddown the room, down the stairs through the street, and out through thegates of the town. She danced, and was obliged to dance, far outinto the dark wood. Suddenly something shone up among the trees, andshe believed it was the moon, for it was a face. But it was the oldsoldier with the red beard; he sat there nodding his head and said:"Dear me, what pretty dancing shoes!"

She was frightened, and wanted to throw the red shoes away; butthey stuck fast. She tore off her stockings, but the shoes had grownfast to her feet. She danced and was obliged to go on dancing overfield and meadow, in rain and sunshine, by night and by day- but bynight it was most horrible.

She danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there didnot dance. They had something better to do than that. She wanted tosit down on the pauper's grave where the bitter fern grows; but forher there was neither peace nor rest. And as she danced past theopen church door she saw an angel there in long white robes, withwings reaching from his shoulders down to the earth; his face wasstern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad shining sword.

"Dance you shall," said he, "dance in your red shoes till youare pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are askeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud andwicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you andfear you! Dance you shall, dance- !"

"Mercy!" cried Karen. But she did not hear what the angelanswered, for the shoes carried her through the gate into thefields, along highways and byways, and unceasingly she had to dance.

One morning she danced past a door that she knew well; they weresinging a psalm inside, and a coffin was being carried out coveredwith flowers. Then she knew that she was forsaken by every one anddamned by the angel of God.

She danced, and was obliged to go on dancing through the darknight. The shoes bore her away over thorns and stumps till she was alltorn and bleeding; she danced away over the heath to a lonely littlehouse. Here, she knew, lived the executioner; and she tapped withher finger at the window and said:

"Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance."

And the executioner said: "I don't suppose you know who I am. Istrike off the heads of the wicked, and I notice that my axe istingling to do so."

"Don't cut off my head!" said Karen, "for then I could notrepent of my sin. But cut off my feet with the red shoes."

And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner struck offher feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the littlefeet across the field into the deep forest.

And he carved her a pair of wooden feet and some crutches, andtaught her a psalm which is always sung by sinners; she kissed thehand that guided the axe, and went away over the heath.

"Now, I have suffered enough for the red shoes," she said; "I willgo to church, so that people can see me." And she went quickly up tothe church-door; but when she came there, the red shoes were dancingbefore her, and she was frightened, and turned back.

During the whole week she was sad and wept many bitter tears,but when Sunday came again she said: "Now I have suffered andstriven enough. I believe I am quite as good as many of those whosit in church and give themselves airs." And so she went boldly on;but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate when she sawthe red shoes dancing along before her. Then she became terrified, andturned back and repented right heartily of her sin.

She went to the parsonage, and begged that she might be taken intoservice there. She would be industrious, she said, and do everythingthat she could; she did not mind about the wages as long as she hada roof over her, and was with good people. The pastor's wife hadpity on her, and took her into service. And she was industrious andthoughtful. She sat quiet and listened when the pastor read aloud fromthe Bible in the evening. All the children liked her very much, butwhen they spoke about dress and grandeur and beauty she would shakeher head.

On the following Sunday they all went to church, and she was askedwhether she wished to go too; but, with tears in her eyes, shelooked sadly at her crutches. And then the others went to hear God'sWord, but she went alone into her little room; this was only largeenough to hold the bed and a chair. Here she sat down with herhymn-book, and as she was reading it with a pious mind, the windcarried the notes of the organ over to her from the church, and intears she lifted up her face and said: "O God! help me!"

Then the sun shone so brightly, and right before her stood anangel of God in white robes; it was the same one whom she had seenthat night at the church-door. He no longer carried the sharp sword,but a beautiful green branch, full of roses; with this he touchedthe ceiling, which rose up very high, and where he had touched itthere shone a golden star. He touched the walls, which opened wideapart, and she saw the organ which was pealing forth; she saw thepictures of the old pastors and their wives, and the congregationsitting in the polished chairs and singing from their hymn-books.The church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or theroom had gone to the church. She sat in the pew with the rest of thepastor's household, and when they had finished the hymn and looked up,they nodded and said, "It was right of you to come, Karen."

"It was mercy," said she.

The organ played and the children's voices in the choir soundedsoft and lovely. The bright warm sunshine streamed through thewindow into the pew where Karen sat, and her heart became so filledwith it, so filled with peace and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew onthe sunbeams to Heaven, and no one was there who asked after the RedShoes.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SAUCY BOY

by Hans Christian Andersen

ONCE upon a time there was an old poet, one of those right goodold poets.

One evening, as he was sitting at home, there was a terrible stormgoing on outside; the rain was pouring down, but the old poet satcomfortably in his chimney-corner, where the fire was burning andthe apples were roasting.

"There will not be a dry thread left on the poor people who areout in this weather," he said.

"Oh, open the door! I am so cold and wet through," called a littlechild outside. It was crying and knocking at the door, whilst the rainwas pouring down and the wind was rattling all the windows.

"Poor creature!" said the poet, and got up and opened the door.Before him stood a little boy; he was naked, and the water flowed fromhis long fair locks. He was shivering with cold; if he had not beenlet in, he would certainly have perished in the storm.

"Poor little thing!" said the poet, and took him by the hand."Come to me; I will soon warm you. You shall have some wine and anapple, for you are such a pretty boy."

And he was, too. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, andalthough the water flowed down from his fair locks, they stillcurled quite beautifully.

He looked like a little angel, but was pale with cold, andtrembling all over. In his hand he held a splendid bow, but it hadbeen entirely spoilt by the rain, and the colours of the pretty arrowshad run into one another by getting wet.

The old man sat down by the fire, and taking the little boy on hisknee, wrung the water out of his locks and warmed his hands in hisown.

He then made him some hot spiced wine, which quickly revivedhim; so that with reddening cheeks, he sprang upon the floor anddanced around the old man.

"You are a merry boy," said the latter. "What is your name?"

"My name is Cupid," he answered. "Don't you know me? There lies mybow. I shoot with that, you know. Look, the weather is getting fineagain- the moon is shining."

"But your bow is spoilt," said the old poet.

"That would be unfortunate," said the little boy, taking it up andlooking at it. "Oh, it's quite dry and isn't damaged at all. Thestring is quite tight; I'll try it." So, drawing it back, he took anarrow, aimed, and shot the good old poet right in the heart. "Do yousee now that my bow was not spoilt?" he said, and, loudly laughing,ran away. What a naughty boy to shoot the old poet like that, whohad taken him into his warm room, had been so good to him, and hadgiven him the nicest wine and the best apple!

The good old man lay upon the floor crying; he was really shotin the heart. "Oh!" he cried, "what a naughty boy this Cupid is! Ishall tell all the good children about this, so that they take carenever to play with him, lest he hurt them."

And all good children, both girls and boys, whom he told aboutthis, were on their guard against wicked Cupid; but he deceives themall the same, for he is very deep. When the students come out ofclass, he walks beside them with a book under his arm, and wearing ablack coat. They cannot recognize him. And then, if they take him bythe arm, believing him to be a student too, he sticks an arrow intotheir chest. And when the girls go to church to be confirmed, he isamongst them too. In fact, he is always after people. He sits in thelarge chandelier in the theatre and blazes away, so that peoplethink it is a lamp; but they soon find out their mistake. He walksabout in the castle garden and on the promenades. Yes, once he shotyour father and your mother in the heart too. Just ask them, and youwill hear what they say. Oh! he is a bad boy, this Cupid, and you mustnever have anything to do with him, for he is after every one. Justthink, he even shot an arrow at old grandmother; but that was a longtime ago. The wound has long been healed, but such things are neverforgotten.

Now you know what a bad boy this wicked Cupid is.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SHADOW

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN very hot climates, where the heat of the sun has great power,people are usually as brown as mahogany; and in the hottestcountries they are negroes, with black skins. A learned man oncetravelled into one of these warm climates, from the cold regions ofthe north, and thought he would roam about as he did at home; but hesoon had to change his opinion. He found that, like all sensiblepeople, he must remain in the house during the whole day, with everywindow and door closed, so that it looked as if all in the housewere asleep or absent. The houses of the narrow street in which helived were so lofty that the sun shone upon them from morning tillevening, and it became quite unbearable. This learned man from thecold regions was young as well as clever; but it seemed to him as ifhe were sitting in an oven, and he became quite exhausted and weak,and grew so thin that his shadow shrivelled up, and became muchsmaller than it had been at home. The sun took away even what was leftof it, and he saw nothing of it till the evening, after sunset. It wasreally a pleasure, as soon as the lights were brought into the room,to see the shadow stretch itself against the wall, even to theceiling, so tall was it; and it really wanted a good stretch torecover its strength. The learned man would sometimes go out intothe balcony to stretch himself also; and as soon as the stars cameforth in the clear, beautiful sky, he felt revived. People at thishour began to make their appearance in all the balconies in thestreet; for in warm climates every window has a balcony, in which theycan breathe the fresh evening air, which is very necessary, even tothose who are used to a heat that makes them as brown as mahogany;so that the street presented a very lively appearance. Here wereshoemakers, and tailors, and all sorts of people sitting. In thestreet beneath, they brought out tables and chairs, lighted candles byhundreds, talked and sang, and were very merry. There were peoplewalking, carriages driving, and mules trotting along, with their bellson the harness, "tingle, tingle," as they went. Then the dead werecarried to the grave with the sound of solemn music, and the tollingof the church bells. It was indeed a scene of varied life in thestreet. One house only, which was just opposite to the one in whichthe foreign learned man lived, formed a contrast to all this, for itwas quite still; and yet somebody dwelt there, for flowers stood inthe balcony, blooming beautifully in the hot sun; and this could nothave been unless they had been watered carefully. Therefore some onemust be in the house to do this. The doors leading to the balcony werehalf opened in the evening; and although in the front room all wasdark, music could be heard from the interior of the house. The foreignlearned man considered this music very delightful; but perhaps hefancied it; for everything in these warm countries pleased him,excepting the heat of the sun. The foreign landlord said he did notknow who had taken the opposite house- nobody was to be seen there;and as to the music, he thought it seemed very tedious, to him mostuncommonly so.

"It is just as if some one was practising a piece that he couldnot manage; it is always the same piece. He thinks, I suppose, that hewill be able to manage it at last; but I do not think so, however longhe may play it."

Once the foreigner woke in the night. He slept with the dooropen which led to the balcony; the wind had raised the curtainbefore it, and there appeared a wonderful brightness over all in thebalcony of the opposite house. The flowers seemed like flames of themost gorgeous colors, and among the flowers stood a beautifulslender maiden. It was to him as if light streamed from her, anddazzled his eyes; but then he had only just opened them, as he awokefrom his sleep. With one spring he was out of bed, and crept softlybehind the curtain. But she was gone- the brightness haddisappeared; the flowers no longer appeared like flames, althoughstill as beautiful as ever. The door stood ajar, and from an innerroom sounded music so sweet and so lovely, that it produced the mostenchanting thoughts, and acted on the senses with magic power. Whocould live there? Where was the real entrance? for, both in the streetand in the lane at the side, the whole ground floor was a continuationof shops; and people could not always be passing through them.

One evening the foreigner sat in the balcony. A light wasburning in his own room, just behind him. It was quite natural,therefore, that his shadow should fall on the wall of the oppositehouse; so that, as he sat amongst the flowers on his balcony, whenhe moved, his shadow moved also.

"I think my shadow is the only living thing to be seenopposite," said the learned man; "see how pleasantly it sits among theflowers. The door is only ajar; the shadow ought to be clever enoughto step in and look about him, and then to come back and tell mewhat he has seen. You could make yourself useful in this way," saidhe, jokingly; "be so good as to step in now, will you?" and then henodded to the shadow, and the shadow nodded in return. "Now go, butdon't stay away altogether."

Then the foreigner stood up, and the shadow on the oppositebalcony stood up also; the foreigner turned round, the shadowturned; and if any one had observed, they might have seen it gostraight into the half-opened door of the opposite balcony, as thelearned man re-entered his own room, and let the curtain fall. Thenext morning he went out to take his coffee and read the newspapers.

"How is this?" he exclaimed, as he stood in the sunshine. "Ihave lost my shadow. So it really did go away yesterday evening, andit has not returned. This is very annoying."

And it certainly did vex him, not so much because the shadow wasgone, but because he knew there was a story of a man without a shadow.All the people at home, in his country, knew this story; and when hereturned, and related his own adventures, they would say it was onlyan imitation; and he had no desire for such things to be said ofhim. So he decided not to speak of it at all, which was a verysensible determination.

In the evening he went out again on his balcony, taking care toplace the light behind him; for he knew that a shadow always wants hismaster for a screen; but he could not entice him out. He madehimself little, and he made himself tall; but there was no shadow, andno shadow came. He said, "Hem, a-hem;" but it was all useless. Thatwas very vexatious; but in warm countries everything grows veryquickly; and, after a week had passed, he saw, to his great joy,that a new shadow was growing from his feet, when he walked in thesunshine; so that the root must have remained. After three weeks, hehad quite a respectable shadow, which, during his return journey tonorthern lands, continued to grow, and became at last so large that hemight very well have spared half of it. When this learned manarrived at home, he wrote books about the true, the good, and thebeautiful, which are to be found in this world; and so days andyears passed- many, many years.

One evening, as he sat in his study, a very gentle tap was heardat the door. "Come in," said he; but no one came. He opened thedoor, and there stood before him a man so remarkably thin that he feltseriously troubled at his appearance. He was, however, very welldressed, and looked like a gentleman. "To whom have I the honor ofspeaking?" said he.

"Ah, I hoped you would recognize me," said the elegant stranger;"I have gained so much that I have a body of flesh, and clothes towear. You never expected to see me in such a condition. Do you notrecognize your old shadow? Ah, you never expected that I should returnto you again. All has been prosperous with me since I was with youlast; I have become rich in every way, and, were I inclined topurchase my freedom from service, I could easily do so." And as hespoke he rattled between his fingers a number of costly trinkets whichhung to a thick gold watch-chain he wore round his neck. Diamond ringssparkled on his fingers, and it was all real.

"I cannot recover from my astonishment," said the learned man."What does all this mean?"

"Something rather unusual," said the shadow; "but you are yourselfan uncommon man, and you know very well that I have followed in yourfootsteps ever since your childhood. As soon as you found that Ihave travelled enough to be trusted alone, I went my own way, and I amnow in the most brilliant circumstances. But I felt a kind oflonging to see you once more before you die, and I wanted to seethis place again, for there is always a clinging to the land ofone's birth. I know that you have now another shadow; do I owe youanything? If so, have the goodness to say what it is."

"No! Is it really you?" said the learned man. "Well, this ismost remarkable; I never supposed it possible that a man's oldshadow could become a human being."

"Just tell me what I owe you," said the shadow, "for I do not liketo be in debt to any man."

"How can you talk in that manner?" said the learned man. "Whatquestion of debt can there be between us? You are as free as anyone. I rejoice exceedingly to hear of your good fortune. Sit down, oldfriend, and tell me a little of how it happened, and what you saw inthe house opposite to me while we were in those hot climates."

"Yes, I will tell you all about it," said the shadow, sittingdown; "but then you must promise me never to tell in this city,wherever you may meet me, that I have been your shadow. I amthinking of being married, for I have more than sufficient tosupport a family."

"Make yourself quite easy," said the learned man; "I will tellno one who you really are. Here is my hand,- I promise, and a wordis sufficient between man and man."

"Between man and a shadow," said the shadow; for he could not helpsaying so.

It was really most remarkable how very much he had become a man inappearance. He was dressed in a suit of the very finest black cloth,polished boots, and an opera crush hat, which could be folded togetherso that nothing could be seen but the crown and the rim, besides thetrinkets, the gold chain, and the diamond rings already spoken of. Theshadow was, in fact, very well dressed, and this made a man of him."Now I will relate to you what you wish to know," said the shadow,placing his foot with the polished leather boot as firmly aspossible on the arm of the new shadow of the learned man, which lay athis feet like a poodle dog. This was done, it might be from pride,or perhaps that the new shadow might cling to him, but the prostrateshadow remained quite quiet and at rest, in order that it mightlisten, for it wanted to know how a shadow could be sent away by itsmaster, and become a man itself. "Do you know," said the shadow, "thatin the house opposite to you lived the most glorious creature in theworld? It was poetry. I remained there three weeks, and it was morelike three thousand years, for I read all that has ever been writtenin poetry or prose; and I may say, in truth, that I saw and learnteverything."

"Poetry!" exclaimed the learned man. "Yes, she lives as a hermitin great cities. Poetry! Well, I saw her once for a very short moment,while sleep weighed down my eyelids. She flashed upon me from thebalcony like the radiant aurora borealis, surrounded with flowers likeflames of fire. Tell me, you were on the balcony that evening; youwent through the door, and what did you see?"

"I found myself in an ante-room," said the shadow. "You stillsat opposite to me, looking into the room. There was no light, or atleast it seemed in partial darkness, for the door of a whole suiteof rooms stood open, and they were brilliantly lighted. The blaze oflight would have killed me, had I approached too near the maidenmyself, but I was cautious, and took time, which is what every oneought to do."

"And what didst thou see?" asked the learned man.

"I saw everything, as you shall hear. But- it really is notpride on my part, as a free man and possessing the knowledge that Ido, besides my position, not to speak of my wealth- I wish you wouldsay you to me instead of thou."

"I beg your pardon," said the learned man; "it is an old habit,which it is difficult to break. You are quite right; I will try tothink of it. But now tell me everything that you saw."

"Everything," said the shadow; "for I saw and know everything."

"What was the appearance of the inner rooms?" asked the scholar."Was it there like a cool grove, or like a holy temple? Were thechambers like a starry sky seen from the top of a high mountain?"

"It was all that you describe," said the shadow; "but I did not goquite in- I remained in the twilight of the ante-room- but I was ina very good position,- I could see and hear all that was going on inthe court of poetry."

"But what did you see? Did the gods of ancient times passthrough the rooms? Did old heroes fight their battles over again? Werethere lovely children at play, who related their dreams?"

"I tell you I have been there, and therefore you may be surethat I saw everything that was to be seen. If you had gone there,you would not have remained a human being, whereas I became one; andat the same moment I became aware of my inner being, my inbornaffinity to the nature of poetry. It is true I did not think muchabout it while I was with you, but you will remember that I was alwaysmuch larger at sunrise and sunset, and in the moonlight even morevisible than yourself, but I did not then understand my innerexistence. In the ante-room it was revealed to me. I became a man; Icame out in full maturity. But you had left the warm countries. As aman, I felt ashamed to go about without boots or clothes, and thatexterior finish by which man is known. So I went my own way; I cantell you, for you will not put it in a book. I hid myself under thecloak of a cake woman, but she little thought who she concealed. Itwas not till evening that I ventured out. I ran about the streets inthe moonlight. I drew myself up to my full height upon the walls,which tickled my back very pleasantly. I ran here and there, lookedthrough the highest windows into the rooms, and over the roofs. Ilooked in, and saw what nobody else could see, or indeed ought to see;in fact, it is a bad world, and I would not care to be a man, but thatmen are of some importance. I saw the most miserable things going onbetween husbands and wives, parents and children,- sweet, incomparablechildren. I have seen what no human being has the power of knowing,although they would all be very glad to know- the evil conduct oftheir neighbors. Had I written a newspaper, how eagerly it wouldhave been read! Instead of which, I wrote directly to the personsthemselves, and great alarm arose in all the town I visited. Theyhad so much fear of me, and yet how dearly they loved me. Theprofessor made me a professor. The tailor gave me new clothes; I amwell provided for in that way. The overseer of the mint struck coinsfor me. The women declared that I was handsome, and so I became theman you now see me. And now I must say adieu. Here is my card. Ilive on the sunny side of the street, and always stay at home in rainyweather." And the shadow departed.

"This is all very remarkable," said the learned man.

Years passed, days and years went by, and the shadow came again."How are you going on now?" he asked.

"Ah!" said the learned man; "I am writing about the true, thebeautiful, and the good; but no one cares to hear anything about it. Iam quite in despair, for I take it to heart very much."

"That is what I never do," said the shadow; "I am growing quitefat and stout, which every one ought to be. You do not understandthe world; you will make yourself ill about it; you ought to travel; Iam going on a journey in the summer, will you go with me? I shouldlike a travelling companion; will you travel with me as my shadow?It would give me great pleasure, and I will pay all expenses."

"Are you going to travel far?" asked the learned man.

"That is a matter of opinion," replied the shadow. "At all events,a journey will do you good, and if you will be my shadow, then allyour journey shall be paid."

"It appears to me very absurd," said the learned man.

"But it is the way of the world," replied the shadow, "andalways will be." Then he went away.

Everything went wrong with the learned man. Sorrow and troublepursued him, and what he said about the good, the beautiful, and thetrue, was of as much value to most people as a nutmeg would be to acow. At length he fell ill. "You really look like a shadow," peoplesaid to him, and then a cold shudder would pass over him, for he hadhis own thoughts on the subject.

"You really ought to go to some watering-place," said the shadowon his next visit. "There is no other chance for you. I will takeyou with me, for the sake of old acquaintance. I will pay the expensesof your journey, and you shall write a description of it to amuse usby the way. I should like to go to a watering-place; my beard does notgrow as it ought, which is from weakness, and I must have a beard. Nowdo be sensible and accept my proposal; we shall travel as intimatefriends."

And at last they started together. The shadow was master now,and the master became the shadow. They drove together, and rode andwalked in company with each other, side by side, or one in front andthe other behind, according to the position of the sun. The shadowalways knew when to take the place of honor, but the learned mantook no notice of it, for he had a good heart, and was exceedinglymild and friendly.

One day the master said to the shadow, "We have grown uptogether from our childhood, and now that we have become travellingcompanions, shall we not drink to our good fellowship, and say theeand thou to each other?"

"What you say is very straightforward and kindly meant," saidthe shadow, who was now really master. "I will be equally kind andstraightforward. You are a learned man, and know how wonderful humannature is. There are some men who cannot endure the smell of brownpaper; it makes them ill. Others will feel a shuddering sensation totheir very marrow, if a nail is scratched on a pane of glass. I myselfhave a similar kind of feeling when I hear any one say thou to me. Ifeel crushed by it, as I used to feel in my former position withyou. You will perceive that this is a matter of feeling, not pride.I cannot allow you to say thou to me; I will gladly say it to you, andtherefore your wish will be half fulfilled." Then the shadow addressedhis former master as thou.

"It is going rather too far," said the latter, "that I am to sayyou when I speak to him, and he is to say thou to me." However, he wasobliged to submit.

They arrived at length at the baths, where there were manystrangers, and among them a beautiful princess, whose real diseaseconsisted in being too sharp-sighted, which made every one veryuneasy. She saw at once that the new comer was very different to everyone else. "They say he is here to make his beard grow," she thought;"but I know the real cause, he is unable to cast a shadow." Then shebecame very curious on the matter, and one day, while on thepromenade, she entered into conversation with the strange gentleman.Being a princess, she was not obliged to stand upon much ceremony,so she said to him without hesitation, "Your illness consists in notbeing able to cast a shadow."

"Your royal highness must be on the high road to recovery fromyour illness," said he. "I know your complaint arose from being toosharp-sighted, and in this case it has entirely failed. I happen tohave a most unusual shadow. Have you not seen a person who is alwaysat my side? Persons often give their servants finer cloth for theirliveries than for their own clothes, and so I have dressed out myshadow like a man; nay, you may observe that I have even given him ashadow of his own; it is rather expensive, but I like to have thingsabout me that are peculiar."

"How is this?" thought the princess; "am I really cured? This mustbe the best watering-place in existence. Water in our times hascertainly wonderful power. But I will not leave this place yet, justas it begins to be amusing. This foreign prince- for he must be aprince- pleases me above all things. I only hope his beard won't grow,or he will leave at once."

In the evening, the princess and the shadow danced together in thelarge assembly rooms. She was light, but he was lighter still; she hadnever seen such a dancer before. She told him from what country shehad come, and found he knew it and had been there, but not while shewas at home. He had looked into the windows of her father's palace,both the upper and the lower windows; he had seen many things, andcould therefore answer the princess, and make allusions which quiteastonished her. She thought he must be the cleverest man in all theworld, and felt the greatest respect for his knowledge. When shedanced with him again she fell in love with him, which the shadowquickly discovered, for she had with her eyes looked him through andthrough. They danced once more, and she was nearly telling him, butshe had some discretion; she thought of her country, her kingdom,and the number of people over whom she would one day have to rule. "Heis a clever man," she thought to herself, "which is a good thing,and he dances admirably, which is also good. But has hewell-grounded knowledge? that is an important question, and I must tryhim." Then she asked him a most difficult question, she herselfcould not have answered it, and the shadow made a most unaccountablegrimace.

"You cannot answer that," said the princess.

"I learnt something about it in my childhood," he replied; "andbelieve that even my very shadow, standing over there by the door,could answer it."

"Your shadow," said the princess; "indeed that would be veryremarkable."

"I do not say so positively," observed the shadow; "but I aminclined to believe that he can do so. He has followed me for somany years, and has heard so much from me, that I think it is verylikely. But your royal highness must allow me to observe, that he isvery proud of being considered a man, and to put him in a goodhumor, so that he may answer correctly, he must be treated as a man."

"I shall be very pleased to do so," said the princess. So shewalked up to the learned man, who stood in the doorway, and spoke tohim of the sun, and the moon, of the green forests, and of people nearhome and far off; and the learned man conversed with her pleasantlyand sensibly.

"What a wonderful man he must be, to have such a clever shadow!"thought she. "If I were to choose him it would be a real blessing tomy country and my subjects, and I will do it." So the princess and theshadow were soon engaged to each other, but no one was to be told aword about it, till she returned to her kingdom.

"No one shall know," said the shadow; "not even my own shadow;"and he had very particular reasons for saying so.

After a time, the princess returned to the land over which shereigned, and the shadow accompanied her.

"Listen my friend," said the shadow to the learned man; "nowthat I am as fortunate and as powerful as any man can be, I will dosomething unusually good for you. You shall live in my palace, drivewith me in the royal carriage, and have a hundred thousand dollars ayear; but you must allow every one to call you a shadow, and neverventure to say that you have been a man. And once a year, when I sitin my balcony in the sunshine, you must lie at my feet as becomes ashadow to do; for I must tell you I am going to marry the princess,and our wedding will take place this evening."

"Now, really, this is too ridiculous," said the learned man. "Icannot, and will not, submit to such folly. It would be cheating thewhole country, and the princess also. I will disclose everything,and say that I am the man, and that you are only a shadow dressed upin men's clothes."

"No one would believe you," said the shadow; "be reasonable,now, or I will call the guards."

"I will go straight to the princess," said the learned man.

"But I shall be there first," replied the shadow, "and you will besent to prison." And so it turned out, for the guards readily obeyedhim, as they knew he was going to marry the king's daughter.

"You tremble," said the princess, when the shadow appearedbefore her. "Has anything happened? You must not be ill to-day, forthis evening our wedding will take place."

"I have gone through the most terrible affair that couldpossibly happen," said the shadow; "only imagine, my shadow has gonemad; I suppose such a poor, shallow brain, could not bear much; hefancies that he has become a real man, and that I am his shadow."

"How very terrible," cried the princess; "is he locked up?"

"Oh yes, certainly; for I fear he will never recover."

"Poor shadow!" said the princess; "it is very unfortunate for him;it would really be a good deed to free him from his frail existence;and, indeed, when I think how often people take the part of thelower class against the higher, in these days, it would be policy toput him out of the way quietly."

"It is certainly rather hard upon him, for he was a faithfulservant," said the shadow; and he pretended to sigh.

"Yours is a noble character," said the princess, and bowed herselfbefore him.

In the evening the whole town was illuminated, and cannons fired"boom," and the soldiers presented arms. It was indeed a grandwedding. The princess and the shadow stepped out on the balcony toshow themselves, and to receive one cheer more. But the learned manheard nothing of all these festivities, for he had already beenexecuted.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SHEPHERDESS AND THE SHEEP

by Hans Christian Andersen

HAVE you ever seen an old wooden cupboard quite black with age,and ornamented with carved foliage and curious figures? Well, justsuch a cupboard stood in a parlor, and had been left to the familyas a legacy by the great-grandmother. It was covered from top tobottom with carved roses and tulips; the most curious scrolls weredrawn upon it, and out of them peeped little stags' heads, withantlers. In the middle of the cupboard door was the carved figure of aman most ridiculous to look at. He grinned at you, for no one couldcall it laughing. He had goat's legs, little horns on his head, anda long beard; the children in the room always called him, "Majorgeneral-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs." It wascertainly a very difficult name to pronounce, and there are very fewwho ever receive such a title, but then it seemed wonderful how hecame to be carved at all; yet there he was, always looking at thetable under the looking-glass, where stood a very pretty littleshepherdess made of china. Her shoes were gilt, and her dress had ared rose or an ornament. She wore a hat, and carried a crook, thatwere both gilded, and looked very bright and pretty. Close by her sidestood a little chimney-sweep, as black as coal, and also made ofchina. He was, however, quite as clean and neat as any other chinafigure; he only represented a black chimney-sweep, and the chinaworkers might just as well have made him a prince, had they feltinclined to do so. He stood holding his ladder quite handily, andhis face was as fair and rosy as a girl's; indeed, that was rather amistake, it should have had some black marks on it. He and theshepherdess had been placed close together, side by side; and, beingso placed, they became engaged to each other, for they were verywell suited, being both made of the same sort of china, and beingequally fragile. Close to them stood another figure, three times aslarge as they were, and also made of china. He was an old Chinaman,who could nod his head, and used to pretend that he was thegrandfather of the shepherdess, although he could not prove it. Hehowever assumed authority over her, and therefore when"Major-general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs" asked forthe little shepherdess to be his wife, he nodded his head to show thathe consented. "You will have a husband," said the old Chinaman to her,"who I really believe is made of mahogany. He will make you a ladyof Major-general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs. He hasthe whole cupboard full of silver plate, which he keeps locked up insecret drawers."

"I won't go into the dark cupboard," said the littleshepherdess. "I have heard that he has eleven china wives therealready."

"Then you shall be the twelfth," said the old Chinaman."To-night as soon as you hear a rattling in the old cupboard, youshall be married, as true as I am a Chinaman;" and then he noddedhis head and fell asleep.

Then the little shepherdess cried, and looked at her sweetheart,the china chimney-sweep. "I must entreat you," said she, "to go outwith me into the wide world, for we cannot stay here."

"I will do whatever you wish," said the little chimney-sweep; "letus go immediately: I think I shall be able to maintain you with myprofession."

"If we were but safely down from the table!" said she; "I shallnot be happy till we are really out in the world."

Then he comforted her, and showed her how to place her little footon the carved edge and gilt-leaf ornaments of the table. He broughthis little ladder to help her, and so they contrived to reach thefloor. But when they looked at the old cupboard, they saw it was allin an uproar. The carved stags pushed out their heads, raised theirantlers, and twisted their necks. The major-general sprung up in theair; and cried out to the old Chinaman, "They are running away! theyare running away!" The two were rather frightened at this, so theyjumped into the drawer of the window-seat. Here were three or fourpacks of cards not quite complete, and a doll's theatre, which hadbeen built up very neatly. A comedy was being performed in it, and allthe queens of diamonds, clubs, and hearts,, and spades, sat in thefirst row fanning themselves with tulips, and behind them stood allthe knaves, showing that they had heads above and below as playingcards generally have. The play was about two lovers, who were notallowed to marry, and the shepherdess wept because it was so likeher own story. "I cannot bear it," said she, "I must get out of thedrawer;" but when they reached the floor, and cast their eyes on thetable, there was the old Chinaman awake and shaking his whole body,till all at once down he came on the floor, "plump." "The old Chinamanis coming," cried the little shepherdess in a fright, and down shefell on one knee.

"I have thought of something," said the chimney-sweep; "let us getinto the great pot-pourri jar which stands in the corner; there we canlie on rose-leaves and lavender, and throw salt in his eyes if hecomes near us."

"No, that will never do," said she, "because I know that theChinaman and the pot-pourri jar were lovers once, and there alwaysremains behind a feeling of good-will between those who have been sointimate as that. No, there is nothing left for us but to go outinto the wide world."

"Have you really courage enough to go out into the wide world withme?" said the chimney-sweep; "have you thought how large it is, andthat we can never come back here again?"

"Yes, I have," she replied.

When the chimney-sweep saw that she was quite firm, he said, "Myway is through the stove and up the chimney. Have you courage to creepwith me through the fire-box, and the iron pipe? When we get to thechimney I shall know how to manage very well. We shall soon climbtoo high for any one to reach us, and we shall come through a holein the top out into the wide world." So he led her to the door ofthe stove.

"It looks very dark," said she; still she went in with him throughthe stove and through the pipe, where it was as dark as pitch.

"Now we are in the chimney," said he; "and look, there is abeautiful star shining above it." It was a real star shining down uponthem as if it would show them the way. So they clambered, and crepton, and a frightful steep place it was; but the chimney-sweep helpedher and supported her, till they got higher and higher. He showedher the best places on which to set her little china foot, so atlast they reached the top of the chimney, and sat themselves down, forthey were very tired, as may be supposed. The sky, with all its stars,was over their heads, and below were the roofs of the town. They couldsee for a very long distance out into the wide world, and the poorlittle shepherdess leaned her head on her chimney-sweep's shoulder,and wept till she washed the gilt off her sash; the world was sodifferent to what she expected. "This is too much," she said; "Icannot bear it, the world is too large. Oh, I wish I were safe back onthe table. again, under the looking glass; I shall never be happy tillI am safe back again. Now I have followed you out into the wide world,you will take me back, if you love me."

Then the chimney-sweep tried to reason with her, and spoke ofthe old Chinaman, and of the Major-general-field-sergeant-commanderBilly-goat's legs; but she sobbed so bitterly, and kissed her littlechimney-sweep till he was obliged to do all she asked, foolish as itwas. And so, with a great deal of trouble, they climbed down thechimney, and then crept through the pipe and stove, which werecertainly not very pleasant places. Then they stood in the darkfire-box, and listened behind the door, to hear what was going on inthe room. As it was all quiet, they peeped out. Alas! there lay theold Chinaman on the floor; he had fallen down from the table as heattempted to run after them, and was broken into three pieces; hisback had separated entirely, and his head had rolled into a cornerof the room. The major-general stood in his old place, and appearedlost in thought.

"This is terrible," said the little shepherdess. "My poor oldgrandfather is broken to pieces, and it is our fault. I shall neverlive after this;" and she wrung her little hands.

"He can be riveted," said the chimney-sweep; "he can be riveted.Do not be so hasty. If they cement his back, and put a good rivet init, he will be as good as new, and be able to say as many disagreeablethings to us as ever."

"Do you think so?" said she; and then they climbed up to thetable, and stood in their old places.

"As we have done no good," said the chimney-sweep, "we might aswell have remained here, instead of taking so much trouble."

"I wish grandfather was riveted," said the shepherdess. "Will itcost much, I wonder?"

And she had her wish. The family had the Chinaman's back mended,and a strong rivet put through his neck; he looked as good as new, buthe could no longer nod his head.

"You have become proud since your fall broke you to pieces,"said Major-general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs. "Youhave no reason to give yourself such airs. Am I to have her or not?"

The chimney-sweep and the little shepherdess looked piteously atthe old Chinaman, for they were afraid he might nod; but he was notable: besides, it was so tiresome to be always telling strangers hehad a rivet in the back of his neck.

And so the little china people remained together, and were glad ofthe grandfather's rivet, and continued to love each other till theywere broken to pieces.

THE END.

1872

THE SHEPHERD'S STORY OF THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE little dwelling in which we lived was of clay, but thedoor-posts were columns of fluted marble, found near the spot on whichit stood. The roof sloped nearly to the ground. It was at this timedark, brown, and ugly, but had originally been formed of bloomingolive and laurel branches, brought from beyond the mountains. Thehouse was situated in a narrow gorge, whose rocky walls rose to aperpendicular height, naked and black, while round their summitsclouds often hung, looking like white living figures. Not a singingbird was ever heard there, neither did men dance to the sound of thepipe. The spot was one sacred to olden times; even its name recalled amemory of the days when it was called "Delphi." Then the summits ofthe dark, sacred mountains were covered with snow, and the highest,mount Parnassus, glowed longest in the red evening light. The brookwhich rolled from it near our house, was also sacred. How well I canremember every spot in that deep, sacred solitude! A fire had beenkindled in the midst of the hut, and while the hot ashes lay there redand glowing, the bread was baked in them. At times the snow would bepiled so high around our hut as almost to hide it, and then mymother appeared most cheerful. She would hold my head between herhands, and sing the songs she never sang at other times, for theTurks, our masters, would not allow it. She sang,-

"On the summit of mount Olympus, in a forest of dwarf firs, lay anold stag. His eyes were heavy with tears, and glittering with colorslike dewdrops; and there came by a roebuck, and said, 'What ailestthee, that thou weepest blue and red tears?' And the stag answered,'The Turk has come to our city; he has wild dogs for the chase, agoodly pack.' 'I will drive them away across the islands!' cried theyoung roebuck; 'I will drive them away across the islands into thedeep sea.' But before evening the roebuck was slain, and beforenight the hunted stag was dead."

And when my mother sang thus, her eyes would become moist; andon the long eyelashes were tears, but she concealed them and watchedthe black bread baking in the ashes. Then I would clench my fist,and cry, "We will kill these Turks!" But she repeated the words of thesong, "I will drive them across the islands to the deep sea; butbefore evening came the roebuck was slain, and before the night thehunted stag was dead."

We had been lonely in our hut for several days and nights whenmy father came home. I knew he would bring me some shells from thegulf of Lepanto, or perhaps a knife with a shining blade. This time hebrought, under his sheep-skin cloak, a little child, a littlehalf-naked girl. She was wrapped in a fur; but when this was takenoff, and she lay in my mother's lap, three silver coins were foundfastened in her dark hair; they were all her possessions. My fathertold us that the child's parents had been killed by the Turks, andhe talked so much about them that I dreamed of Turks all night. Hehimself had been wounded, and my mother bound up his arm. It was adeep wound, and the thick sheep-skin cloak was stiff with congealedblood. The little maiden was to be my sister. How pretty and brightshe looked: even my mother's eyes were not more gentle than hers.Anastasia, as she was called, was to be my sister, because herfather had been united to mine by an old custom, which we stillfollow. They had sworn brotherhood in their youth, and the mostbeautiful and virtuous maiden in the neighborhood was chosen toperform the act of consecration upon this bond of friendship. So nowthis little girl was my sister. She sat in my lap, and I brought herflowers, and feathers from the birds of the mountain. We dranktogether of the waters of Parnassus, and dwelt for many yearsbeneath the laurel roof of the hut, while, winter after winter, mymother sang her song of the stag who shed red tears. But as yet Idid not understand that the sorrows of my own countrymen were mirroredin those tears.

One day there came to our hut Franks, men from a far country,whose dress was different to ours. They had tents and beds withthem, carried by horses; and they were accompanied by more than twentyTurks, all armed with swords and muskets. These Franks were friends ofthe Pacha, and had letters from him, commanding an escort for them.They only came to see our mountain, to ascend Parnassus amid thesnow and clouds, and to look at the strange black rocks which raisedtheir steep sides near our hut. They could not find room in the hut,nor endure the smoke that rolled along the ceiling till it found itsway out at the low door; so they pitched their tents on a smallspace outside our dwelling. Roasted lambs and birds were broughtforth, and strong, sweet wine, of which the Turks are forbidden topartake.

When they departed, I accompanied them for some distance, carryingmy little sister Anastasia, wrapped in a goat-skin, on my back. One ofthe Frankish gentlemen made me stand in front of a rock, and drew usboth as we stood there, so that we looked like one creature. I did notthink of it then, but Anastasia and I were really one. She wasalways sitting on my lap, or riding in the goat-skin on my back; andin my dreams she always appeared to me.

Two nights after this, other men, armed with knives and muskets,came into our tent. They were Albanians, brave men, my mother told me.They only stayed a short time. My sister Anastasia sat on the kneeof one of them; and when they were gone, she had not three, but twosilver coins in her hair- one had disappeared. They wrapped tobacco instrips of paper, and smoked it; and I remember they were uncertainas to the road they ought to take. But they were obliged to go atlast, and my father went with them. Soon after, we heard the soundof firing. The noise continued, and presently soldiers rushed into ourhut, and took my mother and myself and Anastasia prisoners. Theydeclared that we had entertained robbers, and that my father had actedas their guide, and therefore we must now go with them. The corpses ofthe robbers, and my father's corpse, were brought into the hut. Isaw my poor dead father, and cried till I fell asleep. When I awoke, Ifound myself in a prison; but the room was not worse than our own inthe hut. They gave me onions and musty wine from a tarred cask; but wewere not accustomed to much better fare at home. How long we were keptin prison, I do not know; but many days and nights passed by. Wewere set free about Easter-time. I carried Anastasia on my back, andwe walked very slowly; for my mother was very weak, and it is a longway to the sea, to the Gulf of Lepanto.

On our arrival, we entered a church, in which there were beautifulpictures in golden frames. They were pictures of angels, fair andbright; and yet our little Anastasia looked equally beautiful, as itseemed to me. In the centre of the floor stood a coffin filled withroses. My mother told me it was the Lord Jesus Christ who wasrepresented by these roses. Then the priest announced, "Christ isrisen," and all the people greeted each other. Each one carried aburning taper in his hand, and one was given to me, as well as tolittle Anastasia. The music sounded, and the people left the churchhand-in-hand, with joy and gladness. Outside, the women wereroasting the paschal lamb. We were invited to partake; and as I sat bythe fire, a boy, older than myself, put his arms round my neck, andkissed me, and said, "Christ is risen." And thus it was that for thefirst time I met Aphtanides.

My mother could make fishermen's nets, for which there was a greatdemand here in the bay; and we lived a long time by the side of thesea, the beautiful sea, that had a taste like tears, and in its colorsreminded me of the stag that wept red tears; for sometimes itswaters were red, and sometimes green or blue. Aphtanides knew how tomanage our boat, and I often sat in it, with my little Anastasia,while it glided on through the water, swift as a bird flying throughthe air. Then, when the sun set, how beautifully, deeply blue, wouldbe the tint on the mountains, one rising above the other in the fardistance, and the summit of mount Parnassus rising above them all likea glorious crown. Its top glittered in the evening rays like moltengold, and it seemed as if the light came from within it; for longafter the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, the mountain-top wouldglow in the clear, blue sky. The white aquatic birds skimmed thesurface of the water in their flight, and all was calm and still asamid the black rocks at Delphi. I lay on my back in the boat,Anastasia leaned against me, while the stars above us glittered morebrightly than the lamps in our church. They were the same stars, andin the same position over me as when I used to sit in front of our hutat Delphi, and I had almost begun to fancy I was still there, whensuddenly there was a splash in the water- Anastasia had fallen in; butin a moment Aphtanides has sprung in after her, and was now holdingher up to me. We dried her clothes as well as we were able, andremained on the water till they were dry; for we did not wish it to beknown what a fright we had had, nor the danger which our littleadopted sister had incurred, in whose life Aphtanides had now a part.

The summer came, and the burning heat of the sun tinted the leavesof the trees with lines of gold. I thought of our coolmountain-home, and the fresh water that flowed near it; my mother,too, longed for if, and one evening we wandered towards home. Howpeaceful and silent it was as we walked on through the thick, wildthyme, still fragrant, though the sun had scorched the leaves. Not asingle herdsman did we meet, not a solitary hut did we pass;everything appeared lonely and deserted- only a shooting star showedthat in the heavens there was yet life. I know not whether theclear, blue atmosphere gleamed with its own light, or if theradiance came from the stars; but we could distinguish quite plainlythe outline of the mountains. My mother lighted a fire, and roastedsome roots she had brought with her, and I and my little sisterslept among the bushes, without fear of the ugly smidraki, fromwhose throat issues fire, or of the wolf and the jackal; for my mothersat by us, and I considered her presence sufficient protection.

We reached our old home; but the cottage was in ruins, and wehad to build a new one. With the aid of some neighbors, chiefly women,the walls were in a few days erected, and very soon covered with aroof of olive-branches. My mother obtained a living by makingbottle-cases of bark and skins, and I kept the sheep belonging tothe priests, who were sometimes peasants, while I had for myplayfellows Anastasia and the turtles.

Once our beloved Aphtanides paid us a visit. He said he had beenlonging to see us so much; and he remained with us two whole happydays. A month afterwards he came again to wish us good-bye, andbrought with him a large fish for my mother. He told us he was goingin a ship to Corfu and Patras, and could relate a great manystories, not only about the fishermen who lived near the gulf ofLepanto, but also of kings and heroes who had once possessed Greece,just as the Turks possess it now.

I have seen a bud on a rose-bush gradually, in the course of a fewweeks, unfold its leaves till it became a rose in all its beauty; and,before I was aware of it, I beheld it blooming in rosy loveliness. Thesame thing had happened to Anastasia. Unnoticed by me, she hadgradually become a beautiful maiden, and I was now also a stout,strong youth. The wolf-skins that covered the bed in which my motherand Anastasia slept, had been taken from wolves which I had myselfshot.

Years had gone by when, one evening, Aphtanides came in. He hadgrown tall and slender as a reed, with strong limbs, and a dark, brownskin. He kissed us all, and had so much to tell of what he had seen ofthe great ocean, of the fortifications at Malta, and of the marvelloussepulchres of Egypt, that I looked up to him with a kind ofveneration. His stories were as strange as the legends of thepriests of olden times.

"How much you know!" I exclaimed, "and what wonders you canrelate?"

"I think what you once told me, the finest of all," he replied;"you told me of a thing that has never been out of my thoughts- of thegood old custom of 'the bond of friendship,'- a custom I should liketo follow. Brother, let you and I go to church, as your father andAnastasia's father once did. Your sister Anastasia is the mostbeautiful and most innocent of maidens, and she shall consecrate thedeed. No people have such grand old customs as we Greeks."

Anastasia blushed like a young rose, and my mother kissedAphtanides.

At about two miles from our cottage, where the earth on the hillis sheltered by a few scattered trees, stood the little church, with asilver lamp hanging before the altar. I put on my best clothes, andthe white tunic fell in graceful folds over my hips. The red jacketfitted tight and close, the tassel on my Fez cap was of silver, and inmy girdle glittered a knife and my pistols. Aphtanides was clad in theblue dress worn by the Greek sailors; on his breast hung a silvermedal with the figure of the Virgin Mary, and his scarf was ascostly as those worn by rich lords. Every one could see that we wereabout to perform a solemn ceremony. When we entered the little,unpretending church, the evening sunlight streamed through the opendoor on the burning lamp, and glittered on the golden pictureframes. We knelt down together on the altar steps, and Anastasiadrew near and stood beside us. A long, white garment fell ingraceful folds over her delicate form, and on her white neck and bosomhung a chain entwined with old and new coins, forming a kind ofcollar. Her black hair was fastened into a knot, and confined by aheaddress formed of gold and silver coins which had been found in anancient temple. No Greek girl had more beautiful ornaments than these.Her countenance glowed, and her eyes were like two stars. We all threeoffered a silent prayer, and then she said to us, "Will you be friendsin life and in death?"

"Yes," we replied.

"Will you each remember to say, whatever may happen, 'My brotheris a part of myself; his secret is my secret, my happiness is his;self-sacrifice, patience, everything belongs to me as they do tohim?'"

And we again answered, "Yes." Then she joined out hands and kissedus on the forehead, and we again prayed silently. After this apriest came through a door near the altar, and blessed us all three.Then a song was sung by other holy men behind the altar-screen, andthe bond of eternal friendship was confirmed. When we arose, I sawmy mother standing by the church door, weeping.

How cheerful everything seemed now in our little cottage by theDelphian springs! On the evening before his departure, Aphtanidessat thoughtfully beside me on the slopes of the mountain. His armwas flung around me, and mine was round his neck. We spoke of thesorrows of Greece, and of the men of the country who could be trusted.Every thought of our souls lay clear before us. Presently I seized hishand: "Aphtanides," I exclaimed, "there is one thing still that youmust know,- one thing that till now has been a secret between myselfand Heaven. My whole soul is filled with love,- with a love strongerthan the love I bear to my mother and to thee.

"And whom do you love?" asked Aphtanides. And his face and neckgrew red as fire.

"I love Anastasia," I replied.

Then his hand trembled in mine, and he became pale as a corpse.I saw it, I understood the cause, and I believe my hand trembledtoo. I bent towards him, I kissed his forehead, and whispered, "I havenever spoken of this to her, and perhaps she does not love me.Brother, think of this; I have seen her daily, she has grown up besideme, and has become a part of my soul."

"And she shall be thine," he exclaimed; "thine! I may not wrongthee, nor will I do so. I also love her, but tomorrow I depart. In ayear we will see each other again, but then you will be married; shallit not be so? I have a little gold of my own, it shall be yours. Youmust and shall take it."

We wandered silently homeward across the mountains. It was late inthe evening when we reached my mother's door. Anastasia held thelamp as we entered; my mother was not there. She looked atAphtanides with a sweet but mournful expression on her face."To-morrow you are going to leave us," she said. "I am very sorry."

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, and his voice was troubled with a griefas deep as my own. I could not speak; but he seized her hand and said,"Our brother yonder loves you, and is he not dear to you? His verysilence now proves his affection."

Anastasia trembled, and burst into tears. Then I saw no one,thought of none, but her. I threw my arms round her, and pressed mylips to hers. As she flung her arms round my neck, the lamp fell tothe ground, and we were in darkness, dark as the heart of poorAphtanides.

Before daybreak he rose, kissed us all, and said "Farewell," andwent away. He had given all his money to my mother for us. Anastasiawas betrothed to me, and in a few days afterwards she became my wife.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SHIRT-COLLAR

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a fine gentleman who possessed among other things aboot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had also the finest shirt-collar inthe world, and of this collar we are about to hear a story. The collarhad become so old that he began to think about getting married; andone day he happened to find himself in the same washing-tub as agarter. "Upon my word," said the shirt-collar, "I have never seenanything so slim and delicate, so neat and soft before. May Iventure to ask your name?"

"I shall not tell you," replied the garter.

"Where do you reside when you are at home?" asked theshirt-collar. But the garter was naturally shy, and did not know howto answer such a question.

"I presume you are a girdle," said the shirt-collar, "a sort ofunder girdle. I see that you are useful, as well as ornamental, mylittle lady."

"You must not speak to me," said the garter; "I do not think Ihave given you any encouragement to do so."

"Oh, when any one is as beautiful as you are," said theshirt-collar, "is not that encouragement enough?"

"Get away; don't come so near me," said the garter, "you appear tome quite like a man."

"I am a fine gentleman certainly," said the shirt-collar, "Ipossess a boot-jack and a hair-brush." This was not true, for thesethings belonged to his master; but he was a boaster.

"Don't come so near me," said the garter; "I am not accustomedto it."

"Affectation!" said the shirt-collar.

Then they were taken out of the wash-tub, starched, and hungover a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-board.And now came the glowing iron. "Mistress widow," said theshirt-collar, "little mistress widow, I feel quite warm. I amchanging, I am losing all my creases. You are burning a hole in me.Ugh! I propose to you."

"You old rag," said the flat-iron, driving proudly over thecollar, for she fancied herself a steam-engine, which rolls over therailway and draws carriages. "You old rag!" said she.

The edges of the shirt-collar were a little frayed, so thescissors were brought to cut them smooth. "Oh!" exclaimed theshirt-collar, "what a first-rate dancer you would make; you canstretch out your leg so well. I never saw anything so charming; I amsure no human being could do the same."

"I should think not," replied the scissors.

"You ought to be a countess," said the shirt collar; "but all Ipossess consists of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a comb. Iwish I had an estate for your sake."

"What! is he going to propose to me?" said the scissors, and shebecame so angry that she cut too sharply into the shirt collar, and itwas obliged to be thrown by as useless.

"I shall be obliged to propose to the hair-brush," thought theshirt collar; so he remarked one day, "It is wonderful whatbeautiful hair you have, my little lady. Have you never thought ofbeing engaged?"

"You might know I should think of it," answered the hair brush; "Iam engaged to the boot-jack."

"Engaged!" cried the shirt collar, "now there is no one left topropose to;" and then he pretended to despise all love-making.

A long time passed, and the shirt collar was taken in a bag to thepaper-mill. Here was a large company of rags, the fine ones lying bythemselves, separated from the coarser, as it ought to be. They hadall many things to relate, especially the shirt collar, who was aterrible boaster. "I have had an immense number of love affairs," saidthe shirt collar, "no one left me any peace. It is true I was a veryfine gentleman; quite stuck up. I had a boot-jack and a brush that Inever used. You should have seen me then, when I was turned down. Ishall never forget my first love; she was a girdle, so charming, andfine, and soft, and she threw herself into a washing tub for mysake. There was a widow too, who was warmly in love with me, but Ileft her alone, and she became quite black. The next was afirst-rate dancer; she gave me the wound from which I still suffer,she was so passionate. Even my own hair-brush was in love with me, andlost all her hair through neglected love. Yes, I have had greatexperience of this kind, but my greatest grief was for the garter- thegirdle I meant to say- that jumped into the wash-tub. I have a greatdeal on my conscience, and it is really time I should be turned intowhite paper."

And the shirt collar came to this at last. All the rags weremade into white paper, and the shirt collar became the veryidentical piece of paper which we now see, and on which this storyis printed. It happened as a punishment to him, for having boastedso shockingly of things which were not true. And this is a warningto us, to be careful how we act, for we may some day find ourselves inthe rag-bag, to be turned into white paper, on which our whole historymay be written, even its most secret actions. And it would not bepleasant to have to run about the world in the form of a piece ofpaper, telling everything we have done, like the boasting shirtcollar.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SILVER SHILLING

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a shilling, which came forth from the mintspringing and shouting, "Hurrah! now I am going out into the wideworld." And truly it did go out into the wide world. The children heldit with warm hands, the miser with a cold and convulsive grasp, andthe old people turned it about, goodness knows how many times, whilethe young people soon allowed it to roll away from them. Theshilling was made of silver, it contained very little copper, andconsidered itself quite out in the world when it had been circulatedfor a year in the country in which it had been coined. One day, itreally did go out into the world, for it belonged to a gentleman whowas about to travel in foreign lands. This gentleman was not awarethat the shilling lay at the bottom of his purse when he started, tillhe one day found it between his fingers. "Why," cried he, "here is ashilling from home; well, it must go on its travels with me now!"and the shilling jumped and rattled for joy, when it was put backagain into the purse.

Here it lay among a number of foreign companions, who werealways coming and going, one taking the place of another, but theshilling from home was always put back, and had to remain in thepurse, which was certainly a mark of distinction. Many weeks passed,during which the shilling had travelled a long distance in thepurse, without in the least knowing where he was. He had found outthat the other coins were French and Italian; and one coin said theywere in this town, and another said they were in that, but theshilling was unable to make out or imagine what they meant. A mancertainly cannot see much of the world if he is tied up in a bag,and this was really the shilling's fate. But one day, as he waslying in the purse, he noticed that it was not quite closed, and so heslipped near to the opening to have a little peep into society. Hecertainly had not the least idea of what would follow, but he wascurious, and curiosity often brings its own punishment. In hiseagerness, he came so near the edge of the purse that he slipped outinto the pocket of the trousers; and when, in the evening, the pursewas taken out, the shilling was left behind in the corner to whichit had fallen. As the clothes were being carried into the hall, theshilling fell out on the floor, unheard and unnoticed by any one.The next morning the clothes were taken back to the room, thegentleman put them on, and started on his journey again; but theshilling remained behind on the floor. After a time it was found,and being considered a good coin, was placed with three other coins."Ah," thought the shilling, "this is pleasant; I shall now see theworld, become acquainted with other people, and learn other customs."

"Do you call that a shilling?" said some one the next moment."That is not a genuine coin of the country,- it is false; it is goodfor nothing."

Now begins the story as it was afterwards related by theshilling himself.

"'False! good for nothing!' said he. That remark went throughand through me like a dagger. I knew that I had a true ring, andthat mine was a genuine stamp. These people must at all events bewrong, or they could not mean me. But yes, I was the one they called'false, and good for nothing.'

"'Then I must pay it away in the dark,' said the man who hadreceived me. So I was to be got rid of in the darkness, and be againinsulted in broad daylight.

"'False! good for nothing!' Oh, I must contrive to get lost,thought I. And I trembled between the fingers of the people every timethey tried to pass me off slyly as a coin of the country. Ah!unhappy shilling that I was! Of what use were my silver, my stamp, andmy real value here, where all these qualities were worthless. In theeyes of the world, a man is valued just according to the opinionformed of him. It must be a shocking thing to have a guiltyconscience, and to be sneaking about on account of wicked deeds. Asfor me, innocent as I was, I could not help shuddering before theireyes whenever they brought me out, for I knew I should be thrownback again up the table as a false pretender. At length I was paidaway to a poor old woman, who received me as wages for a hard day'swork. But she could not again get rid of me; no one would take me. Iwas to the woman a most unlucky shilling. 'I am positively obligedto pass this shilling to somebody,' said she; 'I cannot, with the bestintentions, lay by a bad shilling. The rich baker shall have it,- hecan bear the loss better than I can. But, after all, it is not a rightthing to do.'

"'Ah!' sighed I to myself, 'am I also to be a burden on theconscience of this poor woman? Am I then in my old days socompletely changed?' The woman offered me to the rich baker, but heknew the current money too well, and as soon as he received me hethrew me almost in the woman's face. She could get no bread for me,and I felt quite grieved to the heart that I should be cause of somuch trouble to another, and be treated as a cast-off coin. I who,in my young days, felt so joyful in the certainty of my own value, andknew so well that I bore a genuine stamp. I was as sorrowful now asa poor shilling can be when nobody will have him. The woman took mehome again with her, and looking at me very earnestly, she said,'No, I will not try to deceive any one with thee again. I will borea hole through thee, that everyone may know that thou art a falseand worthless thing; and yet, why should I do that? Very likely thouart a lucky shilling. A thought has just struck me that it is so,and I believe it. Yes, I will make a hole in the shilling,' saidshe, 'and run a string through it, and then give it to my neighbor'slittle one to hang round her neck, as a lucky shilling.' So shedrilled a hole through me.

"It is really not at all pleasant to have a hole bored throughone, but we can submit to a great deal when it is done with a goodintention. A string was drawn through the hole, and I became a kind ofmedal. They hung me round the neck of a little child, and the childlaughed at me and kissed me, and I rested for one whole night on thewarm, innocent breast of a child.

"In the morning the child's mother took me between her fingers,and had certain thoughts about me, which I very soon found out. First,she looked for a pair of scissors, and cut the string.

"'Lucky shilling!' said she, 'certainly this is what I mean totry.' Then she laid me in vinegar till I became quite green, and afterthat she filled up the hole with cement, rubbed me a little tobrighten me up, and went out in the twilight hour to the lotterycollector, to buy herself a ticket, with a shilling that shouldbring luck. How everything seemed to cause me trouble. The lotterycollector pressed me so hard that I thought I should crack. I had beencalled false, I had been thrown away,- that I knew; and there weremany shillings and coins with inscriptions and stamps of all kindslying about. I well knew how proud they were, so I avoided them fromvery shame. With the collector were several men who seemed to have agreat deal to do, so I fell unnoticed into a chest, among severalother coins.

"Whether the lottery ticket gained a prize, I know not; but this Iknow, that in a very few days after, I was recognized as a badshilling, and laid aside. Everything that happened seemed always toadd to my sorrow. Even if a man has a good character, it is of nouse for him to deny what is said of him, for he is not considered animpartial judge of himself.

"A year passed, and in this way I had been changed from hand tohand; always abused, always looked at with displeasure, and trusted byno one; but I trusted in myself, and had no confidence in the world.Yes, that was a very dark time.

"At length one day I was passed to a traveller, a foreigner, thevery same who had brought me away from home; and he was simple andtrue-hearted enough to take me for current coin. But would he alsoattempt to pass me? and should I again hear the outcry, 'False!good-for-nothing!' The traveller examined me attentively, 'I took theefor good coin,' said he; then suddenly a smile spread all over hisface. I have never seen such a smile on any other face as on his. 'Nowthis is singular,' said he, 'it is a coin from my own country; a good,true, shilling from home. Some one has bored a hole through it, andpeople have no doubt called it false. How curious that it shouldcome into my hands. I will take it home with me to my own house.'

'Joy thrilled through me when I heard this. I had been once morecalled a good, honest shilling, and I was to go back to my own home,where each and all would recognize me, and know that I was made ofgood silver, and bore a true, genuine stamp. I should have been gladin my joy to throw out sparks of fire, but it has never at any timebeen my nature to sparkle. Steel can do so, but not silver. I waswrapped up in fine, white paper, that I might not mix with the othercoins and be lost; and on special occasions, when people from my owncountry happened to be present, I was brought forward and spoken ofvery kindly. They said I was very interesting, and it was really quiteworth while to notice that those who are interesting have often nota single word to say for themselves.

"At length I reached home. All my cares were at an end. Joyagain overwhelmed me; for was I not good silver, and had I not agenuine stamp? I had no more insults or disappointments to endure;although, indeed, there was a hole through me, as if I were false; butsuspicions are nothing when a man is really true, and every one shouldpersevere in acting honestly, for an will be made right in time.That is my firm belief," said the shilling.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE-TREE

by Hans Christian Andersen

ROUND about the garden ran a hedge of hazel-bushes; beyond thehedge were fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middleof the garden stood a Rose-tree in bloom, under which sat a Snail,whose shell contained a great deal- that is, himself.

"Only wait till my time comes," he said; "I shall do more thangrow roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazel-bush, the cows andthe sheep."

"I expect a great deal from you," said the rose-tree. "May I askwhen it will appear?"

"I take my time," said the snail. "You're always in such ahurry. That does not excite expectation."

The following year the snail lay in almost the same spot, in thesunshine under the rose-tree, which was again budding and bearingroses as fresh and beautiful as ever. The snail crept half out ofhis shell, stretched out his horns, and drew them in again.

"Everything is just as it was last year! No progress at all; therose-tree sticks to its roses and gets no farther."

The summer and the autumn passed; the rose-tree bore roses andbuds till the snow fell and the weather became raw and wet; then itbent down its head, and the snail crept into the ground.

A new year began; the roses made their appearance, and the snailmade his too.

"You are an old rose-tree now," said the snail. "You must makehaste and die. You have given the world all that you had in you;whether it was of much importance is a question that I have not hadtime to think about. But this much is clear and plain, that you havenot done the least for your inner development, or you would haveproduced something else. Have you anything to say in defence? You willnow soon be nothing but a stick. Do you understand what I say?"

"You frighten me," said the rose- tree. "I have never thought ofthat."

"No, you have never taken the trouble to think at all. Have youever given yourself an account why you bloomed, and how yourblooming comes about- why just in that way and in no other?"

"No," said the rose-tree. "I bloom in gladness, because I cannotdo otherwise. The sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; Idrank the clear dew and the invigorating rain. I breathed and I lived!Out of the earth there arose a power within me, whilst from above Ialso received strength; I felt an ever-renewed and ever-increasinghappiness, and therefore I was obliged to go on blooming. That wasmy life; I could not do otherwise."

"You have led a very easy life," remarked the snail.

"Certainly. Everything was given me," said the rose-tree. "Butstill more was given to you. Yours is one of those deep-thinkingnatures, one of those highly gifted minds that astonishes the world."

"I have not the slightest intention of doing so," said thesnail. "The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with theworld? I have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself"

"But must we not all here on earth give up our best parts toothers, and offer as much as lies in our power? It is true, I haveonly given roses. But you- you who are so richly endowed- what haveyou given to the world? What will you give it?"

"What have I given? What am I going to give? I spit at it; it'sgood for nothing, and does not concern me. For my part, you may goon bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. Let the hazel bush bearnuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public. Ihave mine in myself. I retire within myself and there I stop. Theworld is nothing to me."

With this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up theentrance.

"That's very sad," said the rose tree. "I cannot creep intomyself, however much I might wish to do so; I have to go on bearingroses. Then they drop their leaves, which are blown away by thewind. But I once saw how a rose was laid in the mistress'shymn-book, and how one of my roses found a place in the bosom of ayoung beautiful girl, and how another was kissed by the lips of achild in the glad joy of life. That did me good; it was a realblessing. Those are my recollections, my life."

And the rose tree went on blooming in innocence, while the snaillay idling in his house- the world was nothing to him.

Years passed by.

The snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the rose tree too.Even the souvenir rose in the hymn-book was faded, but in the gardenthere were other rose trees and other snails. The latter crept intotheir houses and spat at the world, for it did not concern them.

Shall we read the story all over again? It will be just the same.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SNOW MAN

by Hans Christian Andersen

"IT is so delightfully cold," said the Snow Man, "that it makes mywhole body crackle. This is just the kind of wind to blow life intoone. How that great red thing up there is staring at me!" He meant thesun, who was just setting. "It shall not make me wink. I shallmanage to keep the pieces."

He had two triangular pieces of tile in his head, instead of eyes;his mouth was made of an old broken rake, and was, of course,furnished with teeth. He had been brought into existence amidst thejoyous shouts of boys, the jingling of sleigh-bells, and theslashing of whips. The sun went down, and the full moon rose, large,round, and clear, shining in the deep blue.

"There it comes again, from the other side," said the Snow Man,who supposed the sun was showing himself once more. "Ah, I havecured him of staring, though; now he may hang up there, and shine,that I may see myself. If I only knew how to manage to move awayfrom this place,- I should so like to move. If I could, I wouldslide along yonder on the ice, as I have seen the boys do; but I don'tunderstand how; I don't even know how to run."

"Away, away," barked the old yard-dog. He was quite hoarse, andcould not pronounce "Bow wow" properly. He had once been an indoordog, and lay by the fire, and he had been hoarse ever since. "Thesun will make you run some day. I saw him, last winter, make yourpredecessor run, and his predecessor before him. Away, away, theyall have to go."

"I don't understand you, comrade," said the Snow Man. "Is thatthing up yonder to teach me to run? I saw it running itself a littlewhile ago, and now it has come creeping up from the other side.

"You know nothing at all," replied the yard-dog; "but then, you'veonly lately been patched up. What you see yonder is the moon, andthe one before it was the sun. It will come again to-morrow, andmost likely teach you to run down into the ditch by the well; for Ithink the weather is going to change. I can feel such pricks and stabsin my left leg; I am sure there is going to be a change."

"I don't understand him," said the Snow Man to himself; "but Ihave a feeling that he is talking of something very disagreeable.The one who stared so just now, and whom he calls the sun, is not myfriend; I can feel that too."

"Away, away," barked the yard-dog, and then he turned roundthree times, and crept into his kennel to sleep.

There was really a change in the weather. Towards morning, a thickfog covered the whole country round, and a keen wind arose, so thatthe cold seemed to freeze one's bones; but when the sun rose, thesight was splendid. Trees and bushes were covered with hoar frost, andlooked like a forest of white coral; while on every twig glitteredfrozen dew-drops. The many delicate forms concealed in summer byluxuriant foliage, were now clearly defined, and looked likeglittering lace-work. From every twig glistened a white radiance.The birch, waving in the wind, looked full of life, like trees insummer; and its appearance was wondrously beautiful. And where the sunshone, how everything glittered and sparkled, as if diamond dust hadbeen strewn about; while the snowy carpet of the earth appeared asif covered with diamonds, from which countless lights gleamed,whiter than even the snow itself.

"This is really beautiful," said a young girl, who had come intothe garden with a young man; and they both stood still near the SnowMan, and contemplated the glittering scene. "Summer cannot show a morebeautiful sight," she exclaimed, while her eyes sparkled.

"And we can't have such a fellow as this in the summer time,"replied the young man, pointing to the Snow Man; "he is capital."

The girl laughed, and nodded at the Snow Man, and then trippedaway over the snow with her friend. The snow creaked and crackledbeneath her feet, as if she had been treading on starch.

"Who are these two?" asked the Snow Man of the yard-dog. "You havebeen here longer than I have; do you know them?"

"Of course I know them," replied the yard-dog; "she has stroked myback many times, and he has given me a bone of meat. I never bitethose two."

"But what are they?" asked the Snow Man.

"They are lovers," he replied; "they will go and live in thesame kennel by-and-by, and gnaw at the same bone. Away, away!"

"Are they the same kind of beings as you and I?" asked the SnowMan.

"Well, they belong to the same master," retorted the yard-dog."Certainly people who were only born yesterday know very little. I cansee that in you. I have age and experience. I know every one here inthe house, and I know there was once a time when I did not lie outhere in the cold, fastened to a chain. Away, away!"

"The cold is delightful," said the Snow Man; "but do tell metell me; only you must not clank your chain so; for it jars allthrough me when you do that."

"Away, away!" barked the yard-dog; "I'll tell you; they said I wasa pretty little fellow once; then I used to lie in a velvet-coveredchair, up at the master's house, and sit in the mistress's lap. Theyused to kiss my nose, and wipe my paws with an embroideredhandkerchief, and I was called 'Ami, dear Ami, sweet Ami.' But after awhile I grew too big for them, and they sent me away to thehousekeeper's room; so I came to live on the lower story. You can lookinto the room from where you stand, and see where I was master once;for I was indeed master to the housekeeper. It was certainly a smallerroom than those up stairs; but I was more comfortable; for I was notbeing continually taken hold of and pulled about by the children asI had been. I received quite as good food, or even better. I had myown cushion, and there was a stove- it is the finest thing in theworld at this season of the year. I used to go under the stove, andlie down quite beneath it. Ah, I still dream of that stove. Away,away!"

"Does a stove look beautiful?" asked the Snow Man, "is it at alllike me?"

"It is just the reverse of you,' said the dog; "it's as black as acrow, and has a long neck and a brass knob; it eats firewood, sothat fire spurts out of its mouth. We should keep on one side, orunder it, to be comfortable. You can see it through the window, fromwhere you stand."

Then the Snow Man looked, and saw a bright polished thing with abrazen knob, and fire gleaming from the lower part of it. The Snow Manfelt quite a strange sensation come over him; it was very odd, he knewnot what it meant, and he could not account for it. But there arepeople who are not men of snow, who understand what it is. "'And whydid you leave her?" asked the Snow Man, for it seemed to him thatthe stove must be of the female sex. "How could you give up such acomfortable place?"

"I was obliged," replied the yard-dog. "They turned me out ofdoors, and chained me up here. I had bitten the youngest of mymaster's sons in the leg, because he kicked away the bone I wasgnawing. 'Bone for bone,' I thought; but they were so angry, andfrom that time I have been fastened with a chain, and lost my bone.Don't you hear how hoarse I am. Away, away! I can't talk any more likeother dogs. Away, away, that is the end of it all."

But the Snow Man was no longer listening. He was looking intothe housekeeper's room on the lower storey; where the stove stood onits four iron legs, looking about the same size as the Snow Manhimself. "What a strange crackling I feel within me," he said."Shall I ever get in there? It is an innocent wish, and innocentwishes are sure to be fulfilled. I must go in there and lean againsther, even if I have to break the window."

"You must never go in there," said the yard-dog, "for if youapproach the stove, you'll melt away, away."

"I might as well go," said the Snow Man, "for I think I ambreaking up as it is."

During the whole day the Snow Man stood looking in through thewindow, and in the twilight hour the room became still moreinviting, for from the stove came a gentle glow, not like the sun orthe moon; no, only the bright light which gleams from a stove whenit has been well fed. When the door of the stove was opened, theflames darted out of its mouth; this is customary with all stoves. Thelight of the flames fell directly on the face and breast of the SnowMan with a ruddy gleam. "I can endure it no longer," said he; "howbeautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue?"

The night was long, but did not appear so to the Snow Man, whostood there enjoying his own reflections, and crackling with the cold.In the morning, the window-panes of the housekeeper's room werecovered with ice. They were the most beautiful ice-flowers any SnowMan could desire, but they concealed the stove. These window-paneswould not thaw, and he could see nothing of the stove, which hepictured to himself, as if it had been a lovely human being. Thesnow crackled and the wind whistled around him; it was just the kindof frosty weather a Snow Man might thoroughly enjoy. But he did notenjoy it; how, indeed, could he enjoy anything when he was "stovesick?"

"That is terrible disease for a Snow Man," said the yard-dog; "Ihave suffered from it myself, but I got over it. Away, away," hebarked and then he added, "the weather is going to change." And theweather did change; it began to thaw. As the warmth increased, theSnow Man decreased. He said nothing and made no complaint, which isa sure sign. One morning he broke, and sunk down altogether; and,behold, where he had stood, something like a broomstick remainedsticking up in the ground. It was the pole round which the boys hadbuilt him up. "Ah, now I understand why he had such a great longingfor the stove," said the yard-dog. "Why, there's the shovel that isused for cleaning out the stove, fastened to the pole." The Snow Manhad a stove scraper in his body; that was what moved him so. "But it'sall over now. Away, away." And soon the winter passed. "Away, away,"barked the hoarse yard-dog. But the girls in the house sang,

"Come from your fragrant home, green thyme;

Stretch your soft branches, willow-tree;

The months are bringing the sweet spring-time,

When the lark in the sky sings joyfully.

Come gentle sun, while the cuckoo sings,

And I'll mock his note in my wanderings."

And nobody thought any more of the Snow Man.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SNOW QUEEN

IN SEVEN STORIES

by Hans Christian Andersen

STORY THE FIRST

WHICH describes a looking-glass and the broken fragments.

You must attend to the commencement of this story, for when we getto the end we shall know more than we do now about a very wickedhobgoblin; he was one of the very worst, for he was a real demon.One day, when he was in a merry mood, he made a looking-glass whichhad the power of making everything good or beautiful that wasreflected in it almost shrink to nothing, while everything that wasworthless and bad looked increased in size and worse than ever. Themost lovely landscapes appeared like boiled spinach, and the peoplebecame hideous, and looked as if they stood on their heads and hadno bodies. Their countenances were so distorted that no one couldrecognize them, and even one freckle on the face appeared to spreadover the whole of the nose and mouth. The demon said this was veryamusing. When a good or pious thought passed through the mind of anyone it was misrepresented in the glass; and then how the demon laughedat his cunning invention. All who went to the demon's school- for hekept a school- talked everywhere of the wonders they had seen, anddeclared that people could now, for the first time, see what the worldand mankind were really like. They carried the glass about everywhere,till at last there was not a land nor a people who had not been lookedat through this distorted mirror. They wanted even to fly with it upto heaven to see the angels, but the higher they flew the moreslippery the glass became, and they could scarcely hold it, till atlast it slipped from their hands, fell to the earth, and was brokeninto millions of pieces. But now the looking-glass caused moreunhappiness than ever, for some of the fragments were not so largeas a grain of sand, and they flew about the world into everycountry. When one of these tiny atoms flew into a person's eye, itstuck there unknown to him, and from that moment he saw everythingthrough a distorted medium, or could see only the worst side of whathe looked at, for even the smallest fragment retained the same powerwhich had belonged to the whole mirror. Some few persons even got afragment of the looking-glass in their hearts, and this was veryterrible, for their hearts became cold like a lump of ice. A few ofthe pieces were so large that they could be used as window-panes; itwould have been a sad thing to look at our friends through them. Otherpieces were made into spectacles; this was dreadful for those who worethem, for they could see nothing either rightly or justly. At all thisthe wicked demon laughed till his sides shook- it tickled him so tosee the mischief he had done. There were still a number of theselittle fragments of glass floating about in the air, and now you shallhear what happened with one of them.

SECOND STORY

A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL

In a large town, full of houses and people, there is not roomfor everybody to have even a little garden, therefore they are obligedto be satisfied with a few flowers in flower-pots. In one of theselarge towns lived two poor children who had a garden somethinglarger and better than a few flower-pots. They were not brother andsister, but they loved each other almost as much as if they hadbeen. Their parents lived opposite to each other in two garrets, wherethe roofs of neighboring houses projected out towards each other andthe water-pipe ran between them. In each house was a little window, sothat any one could step across the gutter from one window to theother. The parents of these children had each a large wooden box inwhich they cultivated kitchen herbs for their own use, and a littlerose-bush in each box, which grew splendidly. Now after a while theparents decided to place these two boxes across the water-pipe, sothat they reached from one window to the other and looked like twobanks of flowers. Sweet-peas drooped over the boxes, and therose-bushes shot forth long branches, which were trained round thewindows and clustered together almost like a triumphal arch ofleaves and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knewthey must not climb upon them, without permission, but they wereoften, however, allowed to step out together and sit upon their littlestools under the rose-bushes, or play quietly. In winter all thispleasure came to an end, for the windows were sometimes quite frozenover. But then they would warm copper pennies on the stove, and holdthe warm pennies against the frozen pane; there would be very soon alittle round hole through which they could peep, and the soft brighteyes of the little boy and girl would beam through the hole at eachwindow as they looked at each other. Their names were Kay and Gerda.In summer they could be together with one jump from the window, but inwinter they had to go up and down the long staircase, and outthrough the snow before they could meet.

"See there are the white bees swarming," said Kay's oldgrandmother one day when it was snowing.

"Have they a queen bee?" asked the little boy, for he knew thatthe real bees had a queen.

"To be sure they have," said the grandmother. "She is flying therewhere the swarm is thickest. She is the largest of them all, and neverremains on the earth, but flies up to the dark clouds. Often atmidnight she flies through the streets of the town, and looks in atthe windows, then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderfulshapes, that look like flowers and castles."

"Yes, I have seen them," said both the children, and they knewit must be true.

"Can the Snow Queen come in here?" asked the little girl.

"Only let her come," said the boy, "I'll set her on the stoveand then she'll melt."

Then the grandmother smoothed his hair and told him some moretales. One evening, when little Kay was at home, half undressed, heclimbed on a chair by the window and peeped out through the littlehole. A few flakes of snow were falling, and one of them, ratherlarger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes.This snow-flake grew larger and larger, till at last it became thefigure of a woman, dressed in garments of white gauze, which lookedlike millions of starry snow-flakes linked together. She was fairand beautiful, but made of ice- shining and glittering ice. Stillshe was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but there wasneither peace nor rest in their glance. She nodded towards thewindow and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened and sprangfrom the chair; at the same moment it seemed as if a large bird flewby the window. On the following day there was a clear frost, andvery soon came the spring. The sun shone; the young green leaves burstforth; the swallows built their nests; windows were opened, and thechildren sat once more in the garden on the roof, high above all theother rooms. How beautiful the roses blossomed this summer. The littlegirl had learnt a hymn in which roses were spoken of, and then shethought of their own roses, and she sang the hymn to the little boy,and he sang too:-

"Roses bloom and cease to be,

But we shall the Christ-child see."Then the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed theroses, and looked at the bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if theChrist-child were there. Those were splendid summer days. Howbeautiful and fresh it was out among the rose-bushes, which seemedas if they would never leave off blooming. One day Kay and Gerda satlooking at a book full of pictures of animals and birds, and then justas the clock in the church tower struck twelve, Kay said, "Oh,something has struck my heart!" and soon after, "There is something inmy eye."

The little girl put her arm round his neck, and looked into hiseye, but she could see nothing.

"I think it is gone," he said. But it was not gone; it was oneof those bits of the looking-glass- that magic mirror, of which wehave spoken- the ugly glass which made everything great and goodappear small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became morevisible, and every little fault could be plainly seen. Poor little Kayhad also received a small grain in his heart, which very quicklyturned to a lump of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was therestill. "Why do you cry?" said he at last; "it makes you look ugly.There is nothing the matter with me now. Oh, see!" he criedsuddenly, "that rose is worm-eaten, and this one is quite crooked.After all they are ugly roses, just like the box in which they stand,"and then he kicked the boxes with his foot, and pulled off the tworoses.

"Kay, what are you doing?" cried the little girl; and then, whenhe saw how frightened she was, he tore off another rose, and jumpedthrough his own window away from little Gerda.

When she afterwards brought out the picture book, he said, "It wasonly fit for babies in long clothes," and when grandmother told anystories, he would interrupt her with "but;" or, when he could manageit, he would get behind her chair, put on a pair of spectacles, andimitate her very cleverly, to make people laugh. By-and-by he began tomimic the speech and gait of persons in the street. All that waspeculiar or disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, andpeople said, "That boy will be very clever; he has a remarkablegenius." But it was the piece of glass in his eye, and the coldness inhis heart, that made him act like this. He would even tease littleGerda, who loved him with all her heart. His games, too, were quitedifferent; they were not so childish. One winter's day, when itsnowed, he brought out a burning-glass, then he held out the tail ofhis blue coat, and let the snow-flakes fall upon it. "Look in thisglass, Gerda," said he; and she saw how every flake of snow wasmagnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering star."Is it not clever?" said Kay, "and much more interesting thanlooking at real flowers. There is not a single fault in it, and thesnow-flakes are quite perfect till they begin to melt."

Soon after Kay made his appearance in large thick gloves, and withhis sledge at his back. He called up stairs to Gerda, "I've got toleave to go into the great square, where the other boys play andride." And away he went.

In the great square, the boldest among the boys would often tietheir sledges to the country people's carts, and go with them a goodway. This was capital. But while they were all amusing themselves, andKay with them, a great sledge came by; it was painted white, and in itsat some one wrapped in a rough white fur, and wearing a white cap.The sledge drove twice round the square, and Kay fastened his ownlittle sledge to it, so that when it went away, he followed with it.It went faster and faster right through the next street, and thenthe person who drove turned round and nodded pleasantly to Kay, justas if they were acquainted with each other, but whenever Kay wished toloosen his little sledge the driver nodded again, so Kay sat still,and they drove out through the town gate. Then the snow began tofall so heavily that the little boy could not see a hand's breadthbefore him, but still they drove on; then he suddenly loosened thecord so that the large sled might go on without him, but it was ofno use, his little carriage held fast, and away they went like thewind. Then he called out loudly, but nobody heard him, while thesnow beat upon him, and the sledge flew onwards. Every now and then itgave a jump as if it were going over hedges and ditches. The boy wasfrightened, and tried to say a prayer, but he could remember nothingbut the multiplication table.

The snow-flakes became larger and larger, till they appearedlike great white chickens. All at once they sprang on one side, thegreat sledge stopped, and the person who had driven it rose up. Thefur and the cap, which were made entirely of snow, fell off, and hesaw a lady, tall and white, it was the Snow Queen.

"We have driven well," said she, "but why do you tremble? here,creep into my warm fur." Then she seated him beside her in the sledge,and as she wrapped the fur round him he felt as if he were sinkinginto a snow drift.

"Are you still cold," she asked, as she kissed him on theforehead. The kiss was colder than ice; it went quite through to hisheart, which was already almost a lump of ice; he felt as if he weregoing to die, but only for a moment; he soon seemed quite wellagain, and did not notice the cold around him.

"My sledge! don't forget my sledge," was his first thought, andthen he looked and saw that it was bound fast to one of the whitechickens, which flew behind him with the sledge at its back. TheSnow Queen kissed little Kay again, and by this time he hadforgotten little Gerda, his grandmother, and all at home.

"Now you must have no more kisses," she said, "or I should kissyou to death."

Kay looked at her, and saw that she was so beautiful, he could notimagine a more lovely and intelligent face; she did not now seem to bemade of ice, as when he had seen her through his window, and she hadnodded to him. In his eyes she was perfect, and she did not feel atall afraid. He told her he could do mental arithmetic, as far asfractions, and that he knew the number of square miles and thenumber of inhabitants in the country. And she always smiled so that hethought he did not know enough yet, and she looked round the vastexpanse as she flew higher and higher with him upon a black cloud,while the storm blew and howled as if it were singing old songs.They flew over woods and lakes, over sea and land; below them roaredthe wild wind; the wolves howled and the snow crackled; over them flewthe black screaming crows, and above all shone the moon, clear andbright,- and so Kay passed through the long winter's night, and by dayhe slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.

THIRD STORY

THE FLOWER GARDEN OF THE WOMAN

WHO COULD CONJURE

But how fared little Gerda during Kay's absence? What had becomeof him, no one knew, nor could any one give the slightest information,excepting the boys, who said that he had tied his sledge to anothervery large one, which had driven through the street, and out at thetown gate. Nobody knew where it went; many tears were shed for him,and little Gerda wept bitterly for a long time. She said she knew hemust be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close bythe school. Oh, indeed those long winter days were very dreary. But atlast spring came, with warm sunshine. "Kay is dead and gone," saidlittle Gerda.

"I don't believe it," said the sunshine.

"He is dead and gone," she said to the sparrows.

"We don't believe it," they replied; and at last little Gerdabegan to doubt it herself. "I will put on my new red shoes," shesaid one morning, "those that Kay has never seen, and then I will godown to the river, and ask for him." It was quite early when shekissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep; then she put onher red shoes, and went quite alone out of the town gates toward theriver. "Is it true that you have taken my little playmate away fromme?" said she to the river. "I will give you my red shoes if youwill give him back to me." And it seemed as if the waves nodded to herin a strange manner. Then she took off her red shoes, which sheliked better than anything else, and threw them both into the river,but they fell near the bank, and the little waves carried them back tothe land, just as if the river would not take from her what sheloved best, because they could not give her back little Kay. But shethought the shoes had not been thrown out far enough. Then she creptinto a boat that lay among the reeds, and threw the shoes again fromthe farther end of the boat into the water, but it was not fastened.And her movement sent it gliding away from the land. When she saw thisshe hastened to reach the end of the boat, but before she could soit was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting away faster thanever. Then little Gerda was very much frightened, and began to cry,but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry herto land, but they flew along by the shore, and sang, as if tocomfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat floated with thestream; little Gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on herfeet; the red shoes floated after her, but she could not reach thembecause the boat kept so much in advance. The banks on each side ofthe river were very pretty. There were beautiful flowers, old trees,sloping fields, in which cows and sheep were grazing, but not a man tobe seen. Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay, thought Gerda,and then she became more cheerful, and raised her head, and lookedat the beautiful green banks; and so the boat sailed on for hours.At length she came to a large cherry orchard, in which stood a smallred house with strange red and blue windows. It had also a thatchedroof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that presented arms to heras she sailed past. Gerda called out to them, for she thought theywere alive, but of course they did not answer; and as the boat driftednearer to the shore, she saw what they really were. Then Gerdacalled still louder, and there came a very old woman out of the house,leaning on a crutch. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun,and on it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers. "You poor littlechild," said the old woman, "how did you manage to come all thisdistance into the wide world on such a rapid rolling stream?" And thenthe old woman walked in the water, seized the boat with her crutch,drew it to land, and lifted Gerda out. And Gerda was glad to feelherself on dry ground, although she was rather afraid of the strangeold woman. "Come and tell me who you are," said she, "and how came youhere."

Then Gerda told her everything, while the old woman shook herhead, and said, "Hem-hem;" and when she had finished, Gerda asked ifshe had not seen little Kay, and the old woman told her he had notpassed by that way, but he very likely would come. So she told Gerdanot to be sorrowful, but to taste the cherries and look at theflowers; they were better than any picture-book, for each of themcould tell a story. Then she took Gerda by the hand and led her intothe little house, and the old woman closed the door. The windowswere very high, and as the panes were red, blue, and yellow, thedaylight shone through them in all sorts of singular colors. On thetable stood beautiful cherries, and Gerda had permission to eat asmany as she would. While she was eating them the old woman combedout her long flaxen ringlets with a golden comb, and the glossycurls hung down on each side of the little round pleasant face,which looked fresh and blooming as a rose. "I have long been wishingfor a dear little maiden like you," said the old woman, "and now youmust stay with me, and see how happily we shall live together." Andwhile she went on combing little Gerda's hair, she thought less andless about her adopted brother Kay, for the old woman could conjure,although she was not a wicked witch; she conjured only a little forher own amusement, and now, because she wanted to keep Gerda.Therefore she went into the garden, and stretched out her crutchtowards all the rose-trees, beautiful though they were; and theyimmediately sunk into the dark earth, so that no one could tellwhere they had once stood. The old woman was afraid that if littleGerda saw roses she would think of those at home, and then rememberlittle Kay, and run away. Then she took Gerda into theflower-garden. How fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower thatcould be thought of for every season of the year was here in fullbloom; no picture-book could have more beautiful colors. Gerdajumped for joy, and played till the sun went down behind the tallcherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed with red silkpillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she dreamed aspleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. The next day, and for manydays after, Gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. Sheknew every flower, and yet, although there were so many of them, itseemed as if one were missing, but which it was she could not tell.One day, however, as she sat looking at the old woman's hat with thepainted flowers on it, she saw that the prettiest of them all was arose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when shemade all the roses sink into the earth. But it is difficult to keepthe thoughts together in everything; one little mistake upsets all ourarrangements.

"What, are there no roses here?" cried Gerda; and she ran out intothe garden, and examined all the beds, and searched and searched.There was not one to be found. Then she sat down and wept, and hertears fell just on the place where one of the rose-trees had sunkdown. The warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose-tree sproutedup at once, as blooming as when it had sunk; and Gerda embraced it andkissed the roses, and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and,with them, of little Kay.

"Oh, how I have been detained!" said the little maiden, "Iwanted to seek for little Kay. Do you know where he is?" she asked theroses; "do you think he is dead?"

And the roses answered, "No, he is not dead. We have been in theground where all the dead lie; but Kay is not there."

"Thank you," said little Gerda, and then she went to the otherflowers, and looked into their little cups, and asked, "Do you knowwhere little Kay is?" But each flower, as it stood in the sunshine,dreamed only of its own little fairy tale of history. Not one knewanything of Kay. Gerda heard many stories from the flowers, as sheasked them one after another about him.

And what, said the tiger-lily? "Hark, do you hear the drum? -'turn, turn,'- there are only two notes, always, 'turn, turn.'Listen to the women's song of mourning! Hear the cry of the priest! Inher long red robe stands the Hindoo widow by the funeral pile. Theflames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of herhusband; but the Hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in thatcircle; of him, her son, who lighted those flames. Those shiningeyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which willsoon consume her body to ashes. Can the fire of the heart beextinguished in the flames of the funeral pile?"

"I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda.

"That is my story," said the tiger-lily.

What, says the convolvulus? "Near yonder narrow road stands an oldknight's castle; thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf overleaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden. Shebends over the balustrades, and looks up the road. No rose on its stemis fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats morelightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over andexclaims, 'Will he not come?'

"Is it Kay you mean?" asked Gerda.

"I am only speaking of a story of my dream," replied the flower.

What, said the little snow-drop? "Between two trees a rope ishanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is a swing. Twopretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long greenribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging.Their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he hasone arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds alittle bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. Asthe swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the mostbeautiful varying colors. The last still hangs from the bowl of thepipe, and sways in the wind. On goes the swing; and then a littleblack dog comes running up. He is almost as light as the bubble, andhe raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into theswing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he barks and getsangry. The children stoop towards him, and the bubble bursts. Aswinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture,- that is my story."

"It may be all very pretty what you are telling me," said littleGerda, "but you speak so mournfully, and you do not mention little Kayat all."

What do the hyacinths say? "There were three beautiful sisters,fair and delicate. The dress of one was red, of the second blue, andof the third pure white. Hand in hand they danced in the brightmoonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings, not fairyelves. The sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared in thewood; here the fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in whichlay the three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part ofthe forest across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them,like little floating torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or arethey dead? The scent of the flower says that they are corpses. Theevening bell tolls their knell."

"You make me quite sorrowful," said little Gerda; "your perfume isso strong, you make me think of the dead maidens. Ah! is little Kayreally dead then? The roses have been in the earth, and they say no."

"Cling, clang," tolled the hyacinth bells. "We are not tolling forlittle Kay; we do not know him. We sing our song, the only one weknow."

Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst thebright green leaves.

"You are little bright suns," said Gerda; "tell me if you knowwhere I can find my play-fellow."

And the buttercups sparkled gayly, and looked again at Gerda. Whatsong could the buttercups sing? It was not about Kay.

"The bright warm sun shone on a little court, on the first warmday of spring. His bright beams rested on the white walls of theneighboring house; and close by bloomed the first yellow flower of theseason, glittering like gold in the sun's warm ray. An old woman satin her arm chair at the house door, and her granddaughter, a poorand pretty servant-maid came to see her for a short visit. When shekissed her grandmother there was gold everywhere: the gold of theheart in that holy kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold inthe beaming sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and onthe lips of the maiden. There, that is my story," said the buttercup.

"My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda; "she is longing to seeme, and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but I shall soon gohome now, and take little Kay with me. It is no use asking theflowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me noinformation."

And then she tucked up her little dress, that she might runfaster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg as she was jumpingover it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow flower, andsaid, "Perhaps you may know something."

Then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and listened; andwhat did he say?

"I can see myself, I can see myself," said the narcissus. "Oh, howsweet is my perfume! Up in a little room with a bow window, stands alittle dancing girl, half undressed; she stands sometimes on oneleg, and sometimes on both, and looks as if she would tread thewhole world under her feet. She is nothing but a delusion. She ispouring water out of a tea-pot on a piece of stuff which she holdsin her hand; it is her bodice. 'Cleanliness is a good thing,' shesays. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in thetea-pot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties asaffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the dresslook whiter. See how she stretches out her legs, as if she wereshowing off on a stem. I can see myself, I can see myself."

"What do I care for all that," said Gerda, "you need not tell mesuch stuff." And then she ran to the other end of the garden. The doorwas fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch, and it gaveway. The door sprang open, and little Gerda ran out with bare feetinto the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one seemed tobe following her. At last she could run no longer, so she sat downto rest on a great stone, and when she looked round she saw that thesummer was over, and autumn very far advanced. She had known nothingof this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the flowersgrew all the year round.

"Oh, how I have wasted my time?" said little Gerda; "it is autumn.I must not rest any longer," and she rose up to go on. But herlittle feet were wounded and sore, and everything around her looked socold and bleak. The long willow-leaves were quite yellow. Thedew-drops fell like water, leaf after leaf dropped from the trees, thesloe-thorn alone still bore fruit, but the sloes were sour, and setthe teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared!

FOURTH STORY

THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS

Gerda was obliged to rest again, and just opposite the place whereshe sat, she saw a great crow come hopping across the snow toward her.He stood looking at her for some time, and then he wagged his head andsaid, "Caw, caw; good-day, good-day." He pronounced the words asplainly as he could, because he meant to be kind to the little girl;and then he asked her where she was going all alone in the wide world.

The word alone Gerda understood very well, and knew how much itexpressed. So then she told the crow the whole story of her life andadventures, and asked him if he had seen little Kay.

The crow nodded his head very gravely, and said, "Perhaps Ihave- it may be."

"No! Do you think you have?" cried little Gerda, and she kissedthe crow, and hugged him almost to death with joy.

"Gently, gently," said the crow. "I believe I know. I think it maybe little Kay; but he has certainly forgotten you by this time for theprincess."

"Does he live with a princess?" asked Gerda.

"Yes, listen," replied the crow, "but it is so difficult tospeak your language. If you understand the crows' language then Ican explain it better. Do you?"

"No, I have never learnt it," said Gerda, but my grandmotherunderstands it, and used to speak it to me. I wish I had learnt it."

"It does not matter," answered the crow; "I will explain as wellas I can, although it will be very badly done;" and he told her whathe had heard. "In this kingdom where we now are," said he, "therelives a princess, who is so wonderfully clever that she has read allthe newspapers in the world, and forgotten them too, although she isso clever. A short time ago, as she was sitting on her throne, whichpeople say is not such an agreeable seat as is often supposed, shebegan to sing a song which commences in these words:

'Why should I not be married?''Why not indeed?' said she, and so she determined to marry if shecould find a husband who knew what to say when he was spoken to, andnot one who could only look grand, for that was so tiresome. Thenshe assembled all her court ladies together at the beat of the drum,and when they heard of her intentions they were very much pleased. 'Weare so glad to hear it,' said they, we were talking about it ourselvesthe other day.' You may believe that every word I tell you is true,"said the crow, "for I have a tame sweetheart who goes freely about thepalace, and she told me all this."

Of course his sweetheart was a crow, for "birds of a feather flocktogether," and one crow always chooses another crow.

"Newspapers were published immediately, with a border of hearts,and the initials of the princess among them. They gave notice thatevery young man who was handsome was free to visit the castle andspeak with the princess; and those who could reply loud enough to beheard when spoken to, were to make themselves quite at home at thepalace; but the one who spoke best would be chosen as a husband forthe princess. Yes, yes, you may believe me, it is all as true as I sithere," said the crow. "The people came in crowds. There was a greatdeal of crushing and running about, but no one succeeded either on thefirst or second day. They could all speak very well while they wereoutside in the streets, but when they entered the palace gates, andsaw the guards in silver uniforms, and the footmen in their goldenlivery on the staircase, and the great halls lighted up, they becamequite confused. And when they stood before the throne on which theprincess sat, they could do nothing but repeat the last words shehad said; and she had no particular wish to hear her own words overagain. It was just as if they had all taken something to make themsleepy while they were in the palace, for they did not recoverthemselves nor speak till they got back again into the street. Therewas quite a long line of them reaching from the town-gate to thepalace. I went myself to see them," said the crow. "They were hungryand thirsty, for at the palace they did not get even a glass of water.Some of the wisest had taken a few slices of bread and butter withthem, but they did not share it with their neighbors; they thoughtif they went in to the princess looking hungry, there would be abetter chance for themselves."

"But Kay! tell me about little Kay!" said Gerda, "was he amongstthe crowd?"

"Stop a bit, we are just coming to him. It was on the third day,there came marching cheerfully along to the palace a little personage,without horses or carriage, his eyes sparkling like yours; he hadbeautiful long hair, but his clothes were very poor."

"That was Kay!" said Gerda joyfully. "Oh, then I have foundhim;" and she clapped her hands.

"He had a little knapsack on his back," added the crow.

"No, it must have been his sledge," said Gerda; "for he wentaway with it."

"It may have been so," said the crow; "I did not look at it veryclosely. But I know from my tame sweetheart that he passed through thepalace gates, saw the guards in their silver uniform, and the servantsin their liveries of gold on the stairs, but he was not in the leastembarrassed. 'It must be very tiresome to stand on the stairs,' hesaid. 'I prefer to go in." The rooms were blazing with light.Councillors and ambassadors walked about with bare feet, carryinggolden vessels; it was enough to make any one feel serious. Hisboots creaked loudly as he walked, and yet he was not at all uneasy."

"It must be Kay," said Gerda, "I know he had new boots on, Ihave heard them creak in grandmother's room."

"They really did creak," said the crow, "yet he went boldly upto the princess herself, who was sitting on a pearl as large as aspinning wheel, and all the ladies of the court were present withtheir maids, and all the cavaliers with their servants; and each ofthe maids had another maid to wait upon her, and the cavaliers'servants had their own servants, as well as a page each. They allstood in circles round the princess, and the nearer they stood tothe door, the prouder they looked. The servants' pages, who alwayswore slippers, could hardly be looked at, they held themselves up soproudly by the door."

"It must be quite awful," said little Gerda, "but did Kay winthe princess?"

"If I had not been a crow," said he, "I would have married hermyself, although I am engaged. He spoke just as well as I do, when Ispeak the crows' language, so I heard from my tame sweetheart. Hewas quite free and agreeable and said he had not come to woo theprincess, but to hear her wisdom; and he was as pleased with her asshe was with him."

"Oh, certainly that was Kay," said Gerda, "he was so clever; hecould work mental arithmetic and fractions. Oh, will you take me tothe palace?"

"It is very easy to ask that," replied the crow, "but how are weto manage it? However, I will speak about it to my tame sweetheart,and ask her advice; for I must tell you it will be very difficult togain permission for a little girl like you to enter the palace."

"Oh, yes; but I shall gain permission easily," said Gerda, "forwhen Kay hears that I am here, he will come out and fetch me inimmediately."

"Wait for me here by the palings," said the crow, wagging his headas he flew away.

It was late in the evening before the crow returned. "Caw, caw,"he said, she sends you greeting, and here is a little roll which shetook from the kitchen for you; there is plenty of bread there, and shethinks you must be hungry. It is not possible for you to enter thepalace by the front entrance. The guards in silver uniform and theservants in gold livery would not allow it. But do not cry, we willmanage to get you in; my sweetheart knows a little back-staircase thatleads to the sleeping apartments, and she knows where to find thekey."

Then they went into the garden through the great avenue, where theleaves were falling one after another, and they could see the light inthe palace being put out in the same manner. And the crow led littleGerda to the back door, which stood ajar. Oh! how little Gerda's heartbeat with anxiety and longing; it was just as if she were going todo something wrong, and yet she only wanted to know where little Kaywas. "It must be he," she thought, "with those clear eyes, and thatlong hair." She could fancy she saw him smiling at her, as he usedto at home, when they sat among the roses. He would certainly beglad to see her, and to hear what a long distance she had come for hissake, and to know how sorry they had been at home because he did notcome back. Oh what joy and yet fear she felt! They were now on thestairs, and in a small closet at the top a lamp was burning. In themiddle of the floor stood the tame crow, turning her head from side toside, and gazing at Gerda, who curtseyed as her grandmother had taughther to do.

"My betrothed has spoken so very highly of you, my little lady,"said the tame crow, "your life-history, Vita, as it may be called,is very touching. If you will take the lamp I will walk before you. Wewill go straight along this way, then we shall meet no one."

"It seems to me as if somebody were behind us," said Gerda, assomething rushed by her like a shadow on the wall, and then horseswith flying manes and thin legs, hunters, ladies and gentlemen onhorseback, glided by her, like shadows on the wall.

"They are only dreams," said the crow, "they are coming to fetchthe thoughts of the great people out hunting."

"All the better, for we shall be able to look at them in theirbeds more safely. I hope that when you rise to honor and favor, youwill show a grateful heart."

"You may be quite sure of that," said the crow from the forest.

They now came into the first hall, the walls of which were hungwith rose-colored satin, embroidered with artificial flowers. Here thedreams again flitted by them but so quickly that Gerda could notdistinguish the royal persons. Each hall appeared more splendid thanthe last, it was enought to bewilder any one. At length they reached abedroom. The ceiling was like a great palm-tree, with glass leavesof the most costly crystal, and over the centre of the floor two beds,each resembling a lily, hung from a stem of gold. One, in which theprincess lay, was white, the other was red; and in this Gerda had toseek for little Kay. She pushed one of the red leaves aside, and saw alittle brown neck. Oh, that must be Kay! She called his name out quiteloud, and held the lamp over him. The dreams rushed back into the roomon horseback. He woke, and turned his head round, it was not littleKay! The prince was only like him in the neck, still he was youngand pretty. Then the princess peeped out of her white-lily bed, andasked what was the matter. Then little Gerda wept and told herstory, and all that the crows had done to help her.

"You poor child," said the prince and princess; then theypraised the crows, and said they were not angry for what they haddone, but that it must not happen again, and this time they shouldbe rewarded.

"Would you like to have your freedom?" asked the princess, "orwould you prefer to be raised to the position of court crows, with allthat is left in the kitchen for yourselves?"

Then both the crows bowed, and begged to have a fixed appointment,for they thought of their old age, and said it would be so comfortableto feel that they had provision for their old days, as they called it.And then the prince got out of his bed, and gave it up to Gerda,- hecould do no more; and she lay down. She folded her little hands, andthought, "How good everyone is to me, men and animals too;" then sheclosed her eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. All the dreams cameflying back again to her, and they looked like angels, and one of themdrew a little sledge, on which sat Kay, and nodded to her. But allthis was only a dream, and vanished as soon as she awoke.

The following day she was dressed from head to foot in silk andvelvet, and they invited her to stay at the palace for a few days, andenjoy herself, but she only begged for a pair of boots, and a littlecarriage, and a horse to draw it, so that she might go into the wideworld to seek for Kay. And she obtained, not only boots, but also amuff, and she was neatly dressed; and when she was ready to go, there,at the door, she found a coach made of pure gold, with thecoat-of-arms of the prince and princess shining upon it like a star,and the coachman, footman, and outriders all wearing golden crownson their heads. The prince and princess themselves helped her into thecoach, and wished her success. The forest crow, who was now married,accompanied her for the first three miles; he sat by Gerda's side,as he could not bear riding backwards. The tame crow stood in thedoor-way flapping her wings. She could not go with them, because shehad been suffering from headache ever since the new appointment, nodoubt from eating too much. The coach was well stored with sweetcakes, and under the seat were fruit and gingerbread nuts."Farewell, farewell," cried the prince and princess, and littleGerda wept, and the crow wept; and then, after a few miles, the crowalso said "Farewell," and this was the saddest parting. However, heflew to a tree, and stood flapping his black wings as long as he couldsee the coach, which glittered in the bright sunshine.

FIFTH STORY

LITTLE ROBBER-GIRL

The coach drove on through a thick forest, where it lighted up theway like a torch, and dazzled the eyes of some robbers, who couldnot bear to let it pass them unmolested.

"It is gold! it is gold!" cried they, rushing forward, and seizingthe horses. Then they struck the little jockeys, the coachman, and thefootman dead, and pulled little Gerda out of the carriage.

"She is fat and pretty, and she has been fed with the kernels ofnuts," said the old robber-woman, who had a long beard and eyebrowsthat hung over her eyes. "She is as good as a little lamb; how niceshe will taste!" and as she said this, she drew forth a shining knife,that glittered horribly. "Oh!" screamed the old woman the same moment;for her own daughter, who held her back, had bitten her in the ear.She was a wild and naughty girl, and the mother called her an uglything, and had not time to kill Gerda.

"She shall play with me," said the little robber-girl; "sheshall give me her muff and her pretty dress, and sleep with me in mybed." And then she bit her mother again, and made her spring in theair, and jump about; and all the robbers laughed, and said, "See howshe is dancing with her young cub."

"I will have a ride in the coach," said the little robber-girl;and she would have her own way; for she was so self-willed andobstinate.

She and Gerda seated themselves in the coach, and drove away, overstumps and stones, into the depths of the forest. The littlerobber-girl was about the same size as Gerda, but stronger; she hadbroader shoulders and a darker skin; her eyes were quite black, andshe had a mournful look. She clasped little Gerda round the waist, andsaid,-

"They shall not kill you as long as you don't make us vexed withyou. I suppose you are a princess."

"No," said Gerda; and then she told her all her history, and howfond she was of little Kay.

The robber-girl looked earnestly at her, nodded her head slightly,and said, "They sha'nt kill you, even if I do get angry with you;for I will do it myself." And then she wiped Gerda's eyes, and stuckher own hands in the beautiful muff which was so soft and warm.

The coach stopped in the courtyard of a robber's castle, the wallsof which were cracked from top to bottom. Ravens and crows flew in andout of the holes and crevices, while great bulldogs, either of whichlooked as if it could swallow a man, were jumping about; but they werenot allowed to bark. In the large and smoky hall a bright fire wasburning on the stone floor. There was no chimney; so the smoke went upto the ceiling, and found a way out for itself. Soup was boiling ina large cauldron, and hares and rabbits were roasting on the spit.

"You shall sleep with me and all my little animals to-night," saidthe robber-girl, after they had had something to eat and drink. So shetook Gerda to a corner of the hall, where some straw and carpetswere laid down. Above them, on laths and perches, were more than ahundred pigeons, who all seemed to be asleep, although they movedslightly when the two little girls came near them. "These all belongto me," said the robber-girl; and she seized the nearest to her,held it by the feet, and shook it till it flapped its wings. "Kissit," cried she, flapping it in Gerda's face. "There sit thewood-pigeons," continued she, pointing to a number of laths and a cagewhich had been fixed into the walls, near one of the openings. "Bothrascals would fly away directly, if they were not closely locked up.And here is my old sweetheart 'Ba;' and she dragged out a reindeerby the horn; he wore a bright copper ring round his neck, and was tiedup. "We are obliged to hold him tight too, or else he would run awayfrom us also. I tickle his neck every evening with my sharp knife,which frightens him very much." And then the robber-girl drew a longknife from a chink in the wall, and let it slide gently over thereindeer's neck. The poor animal began to kick, and the littlerobber-girl laughed, and pulled down Gerda into bed with her.

"Will you have that knife with you while you are asleep?" askedGerda, looking at it in great fright.

"I always sleep with the knife by me," said the robber-girl. "Noone knows what may happen. But now tell me again all about little Kay,and why you went out into the world."

Then Gerda repeated her story over again, while the wood-pigeonsin the cage over her cooed, and the other pigeons slept. The littlerobber-girl put one arm across Gerda's neck, and held the knife in theother, and was soon fast asleep and snoring. But Gerda could not closeher eyes at all; she knew not whether she was to live or die. Therobbers sat round the fire, singing and drinking, and the old womanstumbled about. It was a terrible sight for a little girl to witness.

Then the wood-pigeons said, "Coo, coo; we have seen little Kay.A white fowl carried his sledge, and he sat in the carriage of theSnow Queen, which drove through the wood while we were lying in ournest. She blew upon us, and all the young ones died excepting ustwo. Coo, coo."

"What are you saying up there?" cried Gerda. "Where was the SnowQueen going? Do you know anything about it?"

"She was most likely travelling to Lapland, where there isalways snow and ice. Ask the reindeer that is fastened up there with arope."

"Yes, there is always snow and ice," said the reindeer; "and it isa glorious place; you can leap and run about freely on the sparklingice plains. The Snow Queen has her summer tent there, but her strongcastle is at the North Pole, on an island called Spitzbergen."

"Oh, Kay, little Kay!" sighed Gerda.

"Lie still," said the robber-girl, "or I shall run my knife intoyour body."

In the morning Gerda told her all that the wood-pigeons hadsaid; and the little robber-girl looked quite serious, and noddedher head, and said, "That is all talk, that is all talk. Do you knowwhere Lapland is?" she asked the reindeer.

"Who should know better than I do?" said the animal, while hiseyes sparkled. "I was born and brought up there, and used to run aboutthe snow-covered plains."

"Now listen," said the robber-girl; "all our men are gone away,-only mother is here, and here she will stay; but at noon she alwaysdrinks out of a great bottle, and afterwards sleeps for a littlewhile; and then, I'll do something for you." Then she jumped out ofbed, clasped her mother round the neck, and pulled her by the beard,crying, "My own little nanny goat, good morning." Then her motherfilliped her nose till it was quite red; yet she did it all for love.

When the mother had drunk out of the bottle, and was gone tosleep, the little robber-maiden went to the reindeer, and said, "Ishould like very much to tickle your neck a few times more with myknife, for it makes you look so funny; but never mind,- I will untieyour cord, and set you free, so that you may run away to Lapland;but you must make good use of your legs, and carry this littlemaiden to the castle of the Snow Queen, where her play-fellow is.You have heard what she told me, for she spoke loud enough, and youwere listening."

Then the reindeer jumped for joy; and the little robber-girllifted Gerda on his back, and had the forethought to tie her on, andeven to give her her own little cushion to sit on.

"Here are your fur boots for you," said she; "for it will bevery cold; but I must keep the muff; it is so pretty. However, youshall not be frozen for the want of it; here are my mother's largewarm mittens; they will reach up to your elbows. Let me put them on.There, now your hands look just like my mother's."

But Gerda wept for joy.

"I don't like to see you fret," said the little robber-girl;"you ought to look quite happy now; and here are two loaves and a ham,so that you need not starve." These were fastened on the reindeer, andthen the little robber-maiden opened the door, coaxed in all the greatdogs, and then cut the string with which the reindeer was fastened,with her sharp knife, and said, "Now run, but mind you take goodcare of the little girl." And then Gerda stretched out her hand,with the great mitten on it, towards the little robber-girl, and said,"Farewell," and away flew the reindeer, over stumps and stones,through the great forest, over marshes and plains, as quickly as hecould. The wolves howled, and the ravens screamed; while up in the skyquivered red lights like flames of fire. "There are my old northernlights," said the reindeer; "see how they flash." And he ran on dayand night still faster and faster, but the loaves and the ham were alleaten by the time they reached Lapland.

SIXTH STORY

THE LAPLAND WOMAN AND

THE FINLAND WOMAN

They stopped at a little hut; it was very mean looking; the roofsloped nearly down to the ground, and the door was so low that thefamily had to creep in on their hands and knees, when they went in andout. There was no one at home but an old Lapland woman, who wascooking fish by the light of a train-oil lamp. The reindeer told herall about Gerda's story, after having first told his own, which seemedto him the most important, but Gerda was so pinched with the cold thatshe could not speak. "Oh, you poor things," said the Lapland woman,"you have a long way to go yet. You must travel more than a hundredmiles farther, to Finland. The Snow Queen lives there now, and sheburns Bengal lights every evening. I will write a few words on a driedstock-fish, for I have no paper, and you can take it from me to theFinland woman who lives there; she can give you better informationthan I can." So when Gerda was warmed, and had taken something toeat and drink, the woman wrote a few words on the dried fish, and toldGerda to take great care of it. Then she tied her again on thereindeer, and he set off at full speed. Flash, flash, went thebeautiful blue northern lights in the air the whole night long. And atlength they reached Finland, and knocked at the chimney of the Finlandwoman's hut, for it had no door above the ground. They crept in, butit was so terribly hot inside that that woman wore scarcely anyclothes; she was small and very dirty looking. She loosened littleGerda's dress, and took off the fur boots and the mittens, or Gerdawould have been unable to bear the heat; and then she placed a pieceof ice on the reindeer's head, and read what was written on thedried fish. After she had read it three times, she knew it by heart,so she popped the fish into the soup saucepan, as she knew it was goodto eat, and she never wasted anything. The reindeer told his own storyfirst, and then little Gerda's, and the Finlander twinkled with herclever eyes, but she said nothing. "You are so clever," said thereindeer; "I know you can tie all the winds of the world with apiece of twine. If a sailor unties one knot, he has a fair wind;when he unties the second, it blows hard; but if the third andfourth are loosened, then comes a storm, which will root up wholeforests. Cannot you give this little maiden something which willmake her as strong as twelve men, to overcome the Snow Queen?"

"The Power of twelve men!" said the Finland woman; "that wouldbe of very little use." But she went to a shelf and took down andunrolled a large skin, on which were inscribed wonderful characters,and she read till the perspiration ran down from her forehead. But thereindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and Gerda looked at theFinland woman with such beseeching tearful eyes, that her own eyesbegan to twinkle again; so she drew the reindeer into a corner, andwhispered to him while she laid a fresh piece of ice on his head,"Little Kay is really with the Snow Queen, but he finds everythingthere so much to his taste and his liking, that he believes it isthe finest place in the world; but this is because he has a piece ofbroken glass in his heart, and a little piece of glass in his eye.These must be taken out, or he will never be a human being again,and the Snow Queen will retain her power over him."

"But can you not give little Gerda something to help her toconquer this power?"

"I can give her no greater power than she has already," said thewoman; "don't you see how strong that is? How men and animals areobliged to serve her, and how well she has got through the world,barefooted as she is. She cannot receive any power from me greaterthan she now has, which consists in her own purity and innocence ofheart. If she cannot herself obtain access to the Snow Queen, andremove the glass fragments from little Kay, we can do nothing tohelp her. Two miles from here the Snow Queen's garden begins; youcan carry the little girl so far, and set her down by the large bushwhich stands in the snow, covered with red berries. Do not staygossiping, but come back here as quickly as you can." Then the Finlandwoman lifted little Gerda upon the reindeer, and he ran away withher as quickly as he could.

"Oh, I have forgotten my boots and my mittens," cried littleGerda, as soon as she felt the cutting cold, but the reindeer darednot stop, so he ran on till he reached the bush with the redberries; here he set Gerda down, and he kissed her, and the greatbright tears trickled over the animal's cheeks; then he left her andran back as fast as he could.

There stood poor Gerda, without shoes, without gloves, in themidst of cold, dreary, ice-bound Finland. She ran forwards asquickly as she could, when a whole regiment of snow-flakes cameround her; they did not, however, fall from the sky, which was quiteclear and glittering with the northern lights. The snow-flakes ranalong the ground, and the nearer they came to her, the larger theyappeared. Gerda remembered how large and beautiful they looked throughthe burning-glass. But these were really larger, and much moreterrible, for they were alive, and were the guards of the SnowQueen, and had the strangest shapes. Some were like greatporcupines, others like twisted serpents with their heads stretchingout, and some few were like little fat bears with their hair bristled;but all were dazzlingly white, and all were living snow-flakes. Thenlittle Gerda repeated the Lord's Prayer, and the cold was so greatthat she could see her own breath come out of her mouth like steamas she uttered the words. The steam appeared to increase, as shecontinued her prayer, till it took the shape of little angels who grewlarger the moment they touched the earth. They all wore helmets ontheir heads, and carried spears and shields. Their number continued toincrease more and more; and by the time Gerda had finished herprayers, a whole legion stood round her. They thrust their spears intothe terrible snow-flakes, so that they shivered into a hundred pieces,and little Gerda could go forward with courage and safety. Theangels stroked her hands and feet, so that she felt the cold less, andshe hastened on to the Snow Queen's castle.

But now we must see what Kay is doing. In truth he thought notof little Gerda, and never supposed she could be standing in the frontof the palace.

SEVENTH STORY

OF THE PALACE OF THE SNOW QUEEN

AND WHAT HAPPENED THERE AT LAST

The walls of the palace were formed of drifted snow, and thewindows and doors of the cutting winds. There were more than a hundredrooms in it, all as if they had been formed with snow blowntogether. The largest of them extended for several miles; they wereall lighted up by the vivid light of the aurora, and they were solarge and empty, so icy cold and glittering! There were noamusements here, not even a little bear's ball, when the storm mighthave been the music, and the bears could have danced on their hindlegs, and shown their good manners. There were no pleasant games ofsnap-dragon, or touch, or even a gossip over the tea-table, for theyoung-lady foxes. Empty, vast, and cold were the halls of the SnowQueen. The flickering flame of the northern lights could be plainlyseen, whether they rose high or low in the heavens, from every part ofthe castle. In the midst of its empty, endless hall of snow was afrozen lake, broken on its surface into a thousand forms; each pieceresembled another, from being in itself perfect as a work of art,and in the centre of this lake sat the Snow Queen, when she was athome. She called the lake "The Mirror of Reason," and said that it wasthe best, and indeed the only one in the world.

Little Kay was quite blue with cold, indeed almost black, but hedid not feel it; for the Snow Queen had kissed away the icyshiverings, and his heart was already a lump of ice. He dragged somesharp, flat pieces of ice to and fro, and placed them together inall kinds of positions, as if he wished to make something out of them;just as we try to form various figures with little tablets of woodwhich we call "a Chinese puzzle." Kay's fingers were very artistic; itwas the icy game of reason at which he played, and in his eyes thefigures were very remarkable, and of the highest importance; thisopinion was owing to the piece of glass still sticking in his eye.He composed many complete figures, forming different words, butthere was one word he never could manage to form, although he wishedit very much. It was the word "Eternity." The Snow Queen had said tohim, "When you can find out this, you shall be your own master, andI will give you the whole world and a new pair of skates." But hecould not accomplish it.

"Now I must hasten away to warmer countries," said the Snow Queen."I will go and look into the black craters of the tops of theburning mountains, Etna and Vesuvius, as they are called,- I shallmake them look white, which will be good for them, and for thelemons and the grapes." And away flew the Snow Queen, leaving littleKay quite alone in the great hall which was so many miles in length;so he sat and looked at his pieces of ice, and was thinking so deeply,and sat so still, that any one might have supposed he was frozen.

Just at this moment it happened that little Gerda came through thegreat door of the castle. Cutting winds were raging around her, butshe offered up a prayer and the winds sank down as if they weregoing to sleep; and she went on till she came to the large empty hall,and caught sight of Kay; she knew him directly; she flew to him andthrew her arms round his neck, and held him fast, while she exclaimed,"Kay, dear little Kay, I have found you at last."

But he sat quite still, stiff and cold.

Then little Gerda wept hot tears, which fell on his breast, andpenetrated into his heart, and thawed the lump of ice, and washed awaythe little piece of glass which had stuck there. Then he looked ather, and she sang-

"Roses bloom and cease to be,

But we shall the Christ-child see."

Then Kay burst into tears, and he wept so that the splinter ofglass swam out of his eye. Then he recognized Gerda, and said,joyfully, "Gerda, dear little Gerda, where have you been all thistime, and where have I been?" And he looked all around him, andsaid, "How cold it is, and how large and empty it all looks," and heclung to Gerda, and she laughed and wept for joy. It was so pleasingto see them that the pieces of ice even danced about; and when theywere tired and went to lie down, they formed themselves into theletters of the word which the Snow Queen had said he must find outbefore he could be his own master, and have the whole world and a pairof new skates. Then Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they became blooming;and she kissed his eyes, and they shone like her own; she kissed hishands and his feet, and then he became quite healthy and cheerful. TheSnow Queen might come home now when she pleased, for there stood hiscertainty of freedom, in the word she wanted, written in shiningletters of ice.

Then they took each other by the hand, and went forth from thegreat palace of ice. They spoke of the grandmother, and of the roseson the roof, and as they went on the winds were at rest, and the sunburst forth. When they arrived at the bush with red berries, therestood the reindeer waiting for them, and he had brought anotheryoung reindeer with him, whose udders were full, and the childrendrank her warm milk and kissed her on the mouth. Then they carried Kayand Gerda first to the Finland woman, where they warmed themselvesthoroughly in the hot room, and she gave them directions about theirjourney home. Next they went to the Lapland woman, who had made somenew clothes for them, and put their sleighs in order. Both thereindeer ran by their side, and followed them as far as the boundariesof the country, where the first green leaves were budding. And herethey took leave of the two reindeer and the Lapland woman, and allsaid- Farewell. Then the birds began to twitter, and the forest toowas full of green young leaves; and out of it came a beautifulhorse, which Gerda remembered, for it was one which had drawn thegolden coach. A young girl was riding upon it, with a shining redcap on her head, and pistols in her belt. It was the littlerobber-maiden, who had got tired of staying at home; she was goingfirst to the north, and if that did not suit her, she meant to trysome other part of the world. She knew Gerda directly, and Gerdaremembered her: it was a joyful meeting.

"You are a fine fellow to go gadding about in this way," saidshe to little Kay, "I should like to know whether you deserve that anyone should go to the end of the world to find you."

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and asked after the prince andprincess.

"They are gone to foreign countries," said the robber-girl.

"And the crow?" asked Gerda.

"Oh, the crow is dead," she replied; "his tame sweetheart is now awidow, and wears a bit of black worsted round her leg. She mourns verypitifully, but it is all stuff. But now tell me how you managed to gethim back."

Then Gerda and Kay told her all about it.

"Snip, snap, snare! it's all right at last," said the robber-girl.

Then she took both their hands, and promised that if ever sheshould pass through the town, she would call and pay them a visit. Andthen she rode away into the wide world. But Gerda and Kay wenthand-in-hand towards home; and as they advanced, spring appearedmore lovely with its green verdure and its beautiful flowers. Verysoon they recognized the large town where they lived, and the tallsteeples of the churches, in which the sweet bells were ringing amerry peal as they entered it, and found their way to theirgrandmother's door. They went upstairs into the little room, where alllooked just as it used to do. The old clock was going "tick, tick,"and the hands pointed to the time of day, but as they passed throughthe door into the room they perceived that they were both grown up,and become a man and woman. The roses out on the roof were in fullbloom, and peeped in at the window; and there stood the little chairs,on which they had sat when children; and Kay and Gerda seatedthemselves each on their own chair, and held each other by the hand,while the cold empty grandeur of the Snow Queen's palace vanished fromtheir memories like a painful dream. The grandmother sat in God'sbright sunshine, and she read aloud from the Bible, "Except yebecome as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into thekingdom of God." And Kay and Gerda looked into each other's eyes,and all at once understood the words of the old song,

"Roses bloom and cease to be,

But we shall the Christ-child see."And they both sat there, grown up, yet children at heart; and it wassummer,- warm, beautiful summer.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SNOWDROP

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT was winter-time; the air was cold, the wind was sharp, butwithin the closed doors it was warm and comfortable, and within theclosed door lay the flower; it lay in the bulb under thesnow-covered earth.

One day rain fell. The drops penetrated through the snowy coveringdown into the earth, and touched the flower-bulb, and talked of thebright world above. Soon the Sunbeam pierced its way through thesnow to the root, and within the root there was a stirring.

"Come in," said the flower.

"I cannot," said the Sunbeam. "I am not strong enough to unlockthe door! When the summer comes I shall be strong!"

"When will it be summer?" asked the Flower, and she repeatedthis question each time a new sunbeam made its way down to her. Butthe summer was yet far distant. The snow still lay upon the ground,and there was a coat of ice on the water every night.

"What a long time it takes! what a long time it takes!" said theFlower. "I feel a stirring and striving within me; I must stretchmyself, I must unlock the door, I must get out, and must nod a goodmorning to the summer, and what a happy time that will be!"

And the Flower stirred and stretched itself within the thin rindwhich the water had softened from without, and the snow and theearth had warmed, and the Sunbeam had knocked at; and it shot forthunder the snow with a greenish-white blossom on a green stalk, withnarrow thick leaves, which seemed to want to protect it. The snowwas cold, but was pierced by the Sunbeam, therefore it was easy to getthrough it, and now the Sunbeam came with greater strength thanbefore.

"Welcome, welcome!" sang and sounded every ray, and the Flowerlifted itself up over the snow into the brighter world. The Sunbeamscaressed and kissed it, so that it opened altogether, white as snow,and ornamented with green stripes. It bent its head in joy andhumility.

"Beautiful Flower!" said the Sunbeams, "how graceful anddelicate you are! You are the first, you are the only one! You are ourlove! You are the bell that rings out for summer, beautiful summer,over country and town. All the snow will melt; the cold winds willbe driven away; we shall rule; all will become green, and then youwill have companions, syringas, laburnums, and roses; but you arethe first, so graceful, so delicate!"

That was a great pleasure. It seemed as if the air were singingand sounding, as if rays of light were piercing through the leaves andthe stalks of the Flower. There it stood, so delicate and so easilybroken, and yet so strong in its young beauty; it stood there in itswhite dress with the green stripes, and made a summer. But there was along time yet to the summer-time. Clouds hid the sun, and bleakwinds were blowing.

"You have come too early," said Wind and Weather. "We have stillthe power, and you shall feel it, and give it up to us. You shouldhave stayed quietly at home and not have run out to make a displayof yourself. Your time is not come yet!"

It was a cutting cold! The days which now come brought not asingle sunbeam. It was weather that might break such a little Flowerin two with cold. But the Flower had more strength than she herselfknew of. She was strong in joy and in faith in the summer, which wouldbe sure to come, which had been announced by her deep longing andconfirmed by the warm sunlight; and so she remained standing inconfidence in the snow in her white garment, bending her head evenwhile the snow-flakes fell thick and heavy, and the icy winds sweptover her.

"You'll break!" they said, "and fade, and fade! What did youwant out here? Why did you let yourself be tempted? The Sunbeam onlymade game of you. Now you have what you deserve, you summer gauk." "Summer gauk!" she repeated in the cold morning hour.

"O summer gauk!" cried some children rejoicingly; "yonder standsone- how beautiful, how beautiful! The first one, the only one!"

These words did the Flower so much good, they seemed to her likewarm sunbeams. In her joy the Flower did not even feel when it wasbroken off. It lay in a child's hand, and was kissed by a child'smouth, and carried into a warm room, and looked on by gentle eyes, andput into water. How strengthening, how invigorating! The Flowerthought she had suddenly come upon the summer.

The daughter of the house, a beautiful little girl, was confirmed,and she had a friend who was confirmed, too. He was studying for anexamination for an appointment. "He shall be my summer gauk," shesaid; and she took the delicate Flower and laid it in a piece ofscented paper, on which verses were written, beginning with summergauk and ending with summer gauk. "My friend, be a winter gauk." Shehad twitted him with the summer. Yes, all this was in the verses,and the paper was folded up like a letter, and the Flower was foldedin the letter, too. It was dark around her, dark as in those days whenshe lay hidden in the bulb. The Flower went forth on her journey,and lay in the post-bag, and was pressed and crushed, which was not atall pleasant; but that soon came to an end.

The journey was over; the letter was opened, and read by thedear friend. How pleased he was! He kissed the letter, and it waslaid, with its enclosure of verses, in a box, in which there were manybeautiful verses, but all of them without flowers; she was thefirst, the only one, as the Sunbeams had called her; and it was apleasant thing to think of that.

She had time enough, moreover, to think about it; she thought ofit while the summer passed away, and the long winter went by, andthe summer came again, before she appeared once more. But now theyoung man was not pleased at all. He took hold of the letter veryroughly, and threw the verses away, so that the Flower fell on theground. Flat and faded she certainly was, but why should she be thrownon the ground? Still, it was better to be here than in the fire, wherethe verses and the paper were being burnt to ashes. What had happened?What happens so often:- the Flower had made a gauk of him, that wasa jest; the girl had made a fool of him, that was no jest, she had,during the summer, chosen another friend.

Next morning the sun shone in upon the little flattenedSnowdrop, that looked as if it had been painted upon the floor. Theservant girl, who was sweeping out the room, picked it up, and laid itin one of the books which were upon the table, in the belief that itmust have fallen out while the room was being arranged. Again theflower lay among verses- printed verses- and they are better thanwritten ones- at least, more money has been spent upon them.

And after this years went by. The book stood upon thebook-shelf, and then it was taken up and somebody read out of it. Itwas a good book; verses and songs by the old Danish poet, AmbrosiusStub, which are well worth reading. The man who was now reading thebook turned over a page.

"Why, there's a flower!" he said; "a snowdrop, a summer gauk, apoet gauk! That flower must have been put in there with a meaning!Poor Ambrosius Stub! he was a summer fool too, a poet fool; he cametoo early, before his time, and therefore he had to taste the sharpwinds, and wander about as a guest from one noble landed proprietor toanother, like a flower in a glass of water, a flower in rhymed verses!Summer fool, winter fool, fun and folly- but the first, the only,the fresh young Danish poet of those days. Yes, thou shalt remain as atoken in the book, thou little snowdrop: thou hast been put there witha meaning."

And so the Snowdrop was put back into the book, and felt equallyhonored and pleased to know that it was a token in the glorious bookof songs, and that he who was the first to sing and to write hadbeen also a snowdrop, had been a summer gauk, and had been looked uponin the winter-time as a fool. The Flower understood this, in herway, as we interpret everything in our way.

That is the story of the Snowdrop.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE STORKS

by Hans Christian Andersen

ON the last house in a little village the storks had built a nest,and the mother stork sat in it with her four young ones, who stretchedout their necks and pointed their black beaks, which had not yetturned red like those of the parent birds. A little way off, on theedge of the roof, stood the father stork, quite upright and stiff; notliking to be quite idle, he drew up one leg, and stood on the other,so still that it seemed almost as if he were carved in wood. "Itmust look very grand," thought he, "for my wife to have a sentryguarding her nest. They do not know that I am her husband; they willthink I have been commanded to stand here, which is quitearistocratic;" and so he continued standing on one leg.

In the street below were a number of children at play, and whenthey caught sight of the storks, one of the boldest amongst the boysbegan to sing a song about them, and very soon he was joined by therest. These are the words of the song, but each only sang what hecould remember of them in his own way.

"Stork, stork, fly away,

Stand not on one leg, I pray,

See your wife is in her nest,

With her little ones at rest.

They will hang one,

And fry another;

They will shoot a third,

And roast his brother."

"Just hear what those boys are singing," said the young storks;"they say we shall be hanged and roasted."

"Never mind what they say; you need not listen," said themother. "They can do no harm."

But the boys went on singing and pointing at the storks, andmocking at them, excepting one of the boys whose name was Peter; hesaid it was a shame to make fun of animals, and would not join withthem at all. The mother stork comforted her young ones, and toldthem not to mind. "See," she said, "How quiet your father stands,although he is only on one leg."

"But we are very much frightened," said the young storks, and theydrew back their heads into the nests.

The next day when the children were playing together, and sawthe storks, they sang the song again-

"They will hang one,

And roast another."

"Shall we be hanged and roasted?" asked the young storks.

"No, certainly not," said the mother. "I will teach you to fly,and when you have learnt, we will fly into the meadows, and pay avisit to the frogs, who will bow themselves to us in the water, andcry 'Croak, croak,' and then we shall eat them up; that will be fun."

"And what next?" asked the young storks.

"Then," replied the mother, "all the storks in the country willassemble together, and go through their autumn manoeuvres, so thatit is very important for every one to know how to fly properly. Ifthey do not, the general will thrust them through with his beak, andkill them. Therefore you must take pains and learn, so as to beready when the drilling begins."

"Then we may be killed after all, as the boys say; and hark!they are singing again."

"Listen to me, and not to them," said the mother stork. "After thegreat review is over, we shall fly away to warm countries far fromhence, where there are mountains and forests. To Egypt, where we shallsee three-cornered houses built of stone, with pointed tops that reachnearly to the clouds. They are called Pyramids, and are older than astork could imagine; and in that country, there is a river thatoverflows its banks, and then goes back, leaving nothing but mire;there we can walk about, and eat frogs in abundance."

"Oh, o- h!" cried the young storks.

"Yes, it is a delightful place; there is nothing to do all daylong but eat, and while we are so well off out there, in thiscountry there will not be a single green leaf on the trees, and theweather will be so cold that the clouds will freeze, and fall on theearth in little white rags." The stork meant snow, but she could notexplain it in any other way.

"Will the naughty boys freeze and fall in pieces?" asked the youngstorks.

"No, they will not freeze and fall into pieces," said themother, "but they will be very cold, and be obliged to sit all dayin a dark, gloomy room, while we shall be flying about in foreignlands, where there are blooming flowers and warm sunshine."

Time passed on, and the young storks grew so large that they couldstand upright in the nest and look about them. The father broughtthem, every day, beautiful frogs, little snakes, and all kinds ofstork-dainties that he could find. And then, how funny it was to seethe tricks he would perform to amuse them. He would lay his head quiteround over his tail, and clatter with his beak, as if it had been arattle; and then he would tell them stories all about the marshesand fens.

"Come," said the mother one day, "Now you must learn to fly."And all the four young ones were obliged to come out on the top of theroof. Oh, how they tottered at first, and were obliged to balancethemselves with their wings, or they would have fallen to the groundbelow.

"Look at me," said the mother, "you must hold your heads in thisway, and place your feet so. Once, twice, once, twice- that is it. Nowyou will be able to take care of yourselves in the world."

Then she flew a little distance from them, and the young ones madea spring to follow her; but down they fell plump, for their bodieswere still too heavy.

"I don't want to fly," said one of the young storks, creeping backinto the nest. "I don't care about going to warm countries."

"Would you like to stay here and freeze when the winter comes?"said the mother, "or till the boys comes to hang you, or to roastyou?- Well then, I'll call them."

"Oh no, no," said the young stork, jumping out on the roof withthe others; and now they were all attentive, and by the third daycould fly a little. Then they began to fancy they could soar, sothey tried to do so, resting on their wings, but they soon foundthemselves falling, and had to flap their wings as quickly aspossible. The boys came again in the street singing their song:-

"Stork, stork, fly away."

"Shall we fly down, and pick their eyes out?" asked the youngstorks.

"No; leave them alone," said the mother. "Listen to me; that ismuch more important. Now then. One-two-three. Now to the right.One-two-three. Now to the left, round the chimney. There now, that wasvery good. That last flap of the wings was so easy and graceful,that I shall give you permission to fly with me to-morrow to themarshes. There will be a number of very superior storks there withtheir families, and I expect you to show them that my children are thebest brought up of any who may be present. You must strut aboutproudly- it will look well and make you respected."

"But may we not punish those naughty boys?" asked the youngstorks.

"No; let them scream away as much as they like. You can fly fromthem now up high amid the clouds, and will be in the land of thepyramids when they are freezing, and have not a green leaf on thetrees or an apple to eat."

"We will revenge ourselves," whispered the young storks to eachother, as they again joined the exercising.

Of all the boys in the street who sang the mocking song aboutthe storks, not one was so determined to go on with it as he who firstbegan it. Yet he was a little fellow not more than six years old. Tothe young storks he appeared at least a hundred, for he was so muchbigger than their father and mother. To be sure, storks cannot beexpected to know how old children and grown-up people are. So theydetermined to have their revenge on this boy, because he began thesong first and would keep on with it. The young storks were veryangry, and grew worse as they grew older; so at last their motherwas obliged to promise that they should be revenged, but not until theday of their departure.

"We must see first, how you acquit yourselves at the grandreview," said she. "If you get on badly there, the general will thrusthis beak through you, and you will be killed, as the boys said, thoughnot exactly in the same manner. So we must wait and see."

"You shall see," said the young birds, and then they took suchpains and practised so well every day, that at last it was quite apleasure to see them fly so lightly and prettily. As soon as theautumn arrived, all the storks began to assemble together beforetaking their departure for warm countries during the winter. Thenthe review commenced. They flew over forests and villages to show whatthey could do, for they had a long journey before them. The youngstorks performed their part so well that they received a mark ofhonor, with frogs and snakes as a present. These presents were thebest part of the affair, for they could eat the frogs and snakes,which they very quickly did.

"Now let us have our revenge," they cried.

"Yes, certainly," cried the mother stork. "I have thought upon thebest way to be revenged. I know the pond in which all the littlechildren lie, waiting till the storks come to take them to theirparents. The prettiest little babies lie there dreaming more sweetlythan they will ever dream in the time to come. All parents are glad tohave a little child, and children are so pleased with a little brotheror sister. Now we will fly to the pond and fetch a little baby foreach of the children who did not sing that naughty song to make gameof the storks."

"But the naughty boy, who began the song first, what shall we doto him?" cried the young storks.

"There lies in the pond a little dead baby who has dreameditself to death," said the mother. "We will take it to the naughtyboy, and he will cry because we have brought him a little deadbrother. But you have not forgotten the good boy who said it was ashame to laugh at animals: we will take him a little brother andsister too, because he was good. He is called Peter, and you shall allbe called Peter in future."

So they all did what their mother had arranged, and from that day,even till now, all the storks have been called Peter.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE STORM SHAKES THE SHIELD

by Hans Christian Andersen

IN the old days, when grandpapa was quite a little boy, and ranabout in little red breeches and a red coat, and a feather in his cap-for that's the costume the little boys wore in his time when they weredressed in their best- many things were very different from whatthey are now. There was often a good deal of show in the streets- showthat we don't see nowadays, because it has been abolished as tooold-fashioned. Still, it is very interesting to hear grandfathertell about it.

It must really have been a gorgeous sight to behold, in thosedays, when the shoemaker brought over the shield, when the court-housewas changed. The silken flag waved to and fro, on the shield itselfa double eagle was displayed, and a big boot; the youngest ladscarried the "welcome," and the chest of the workmen's guild, and theirshirt-sleeves were adorned with red and white ribbons; the elderones carried drawn swords, each with a lemon stuck on its point. Therewas a full band of music, and the most splendid of all the instrumentswas the "bird," as grandfather called the big stick with thecrescent on the top, and all manner of dingle-dangles hanging to it- aperfect Turkish clatter of music. The stick was lifted high in theair, and swung up and down till it jingled again, and quite dazzledone's eyes when the sun shone on all its glory of gold, and silver,and brass.

In front of the procession ran the Harlequin, dressed in clothesmade of all kinds of colored patches artfully sewn together, with ablack face, and bells on his head like a sledge horse. He beat thepeople with his bat, which made a great clattering without hurtingthem, and the people would crowd together and fall back, only toadvance again the next moment. Little boys and girls fell over theirown toes into the gutter, old women dispensed digs with theirelbows, and looked sour, and took snuff. One laughed, another chatted;the people thronged the windows and door-steps, and even all theroofs. The sun shone; and although they had a little rain too, thatwas good for the farmer; and when they got wetted thoroughly, theyonly thought what a blessing it was for the country.

And what stories grandpapa could tell! As a little boy he had seenall these fine doings in their greatest pomp. The oldest of thepolicemen used to make a speech from the platform on which theshield was hung up, and the speech was in verse, as if it had beenmade by a poet, as, indeed it had; for three people had concocted ittogether, and they had first drunk a good bowl of punch, so that thespeech might turn out well.

And the people gave a cheer for the speech, but they shoutedmuch louder for the Harlequin, when he appeared in front of theplatform, and made a grimace at them.

The fools played the fool most admirably, and drank mead out ofspirit-glasses, which they then flung among the crowd, by whom theywere caught up. Grandfather was the possessor of one of these glasses,which had been given him by a working mason, who had managed tocatch it. Such a scene was really very pleasant; and the shield on thenew court-house was hung with flowers and green wreaths.

"One never forgets a feast like that, however old one may grow,"said grandfather. Nor did he forget it, though he saw many other grandspectacles in his time, and could tell about them too; but it was mostpleasant of all to hear him tell about the shield that was broughtin the town from the old to the new court-house.

Once, when he was a little boy, grandpapa had gone with hisparents to see this festivity. He had never yet been in the metropolisof the country. There were so many people in the streets, that hethought that the shield was being carried. There were many shieldsto be seen; a hundred rooms might have been filled with pictures, ifthey had been hung up inside and outside. At the tailor's werepictures of all kinds of clothing, to show that he could stitch uppeople from the coarsest to the finest; at the tobaccomanufacturer's were pictures of the most charming little boys, smokingcigars, just as they do in reality; there were signs with paintedbutter, and herring, clerical collars, and coffins, and inscriptionsand announcements into the bargain. A person could walk up and downfor a whole day through the streets, and tire himself out with lookingat the pictures; and then he would know all about what people lived inthe houses, for they had hung out their shields or signs; and, asgrandfather said, it was a very instructive thing, in a great town, toknow at once who the inhabitants were.

And this is what happened with these shields, when grandpapacame to the town. He told it me himself, and he hadn't "a rogue on hisback," as mother used to tell me he had when he wanted to make mebelieve something outrageous, for now he looked quite trustworthy.

The first night after he came to the town had been signalized bythe most terrible gale ever recorded in the newspapers- a gale such asnone of the inhabitants had ever before experienced. The air wasdark with flying tiles; old wood-work crashed and fell; and awheelbarrow ran up the streets all alone, only to get out of theway. There was a groaning in the air, and a howling and a shrieking,and altogether it was a terrible storm. The water in the canal roseover the banks, for it did not know where to run. The storm swept overthe town, carrying plenty of chimneys with it, and more than one proudweathercock on a church tower had to bow, and has never got over itfrom that time.

There was a kind of sentry-house, where dwelt the venerable oldsuperintendent of the fire brigade, who always arrived with the lastengine. The storm would not leave this little sentry-house alone,but must needs tear it from its fastenings, and roll it down thestreet; and, wonderfully enough, it stopped opposite to the door ofthe dirty journeyman plasterer, who had saved three lives at thelast fire, but the sentry-house thought nothing of that.

The barber's shield, the great brazen dish, was carried away,and hurled straight into the embrasure of the councillor of justice;and the whole neighborhood said this looked almost like malice,inasmuch as they, and nearly all the friends of the councillor's wife,used to call that lady "the Razor" for she was so sharp that sheknew more about other people's business than they knew about itthemselves.

A shield with a dried salt fish painted on it flew exactly infront of the door of a house where dwelt a man who wrote anewspaper. That was a very poor joke perpetrated by the gale, whichseemed to have forgotten that a man who writes in a paper is not thekind of person to understand any liberty taken with him; for he is aking in his own newspaper, and likewise in his own opinion.

The weathercock flew to the opposite house, where he perched,looking the picture of malice- so the neighbors said.

The cooper's tub stuck itself up under the head of "ladies'costumes."

The eating-house keeper's bill of fare, which had hung at his doorin a heavy frame, was posted by the storm over the entrance to thetheatre, where nobody went. "It was a ridiculous list- horse-radish,soup, and stuffed cabbage." And now people came in plenty.

The fox's skin, the honorable sign of the furrier, was foundfastened to the bell-pull of a young man who always went to earlylecture, and looked like a furled umbrella. He said he was strivingafter truth, and was considered by his aunt "a model and an example."

The inscription "Institution for Superior Education" was foundnear the billiard club, which place of resort was further adorned withthe words, "Children brought up by hand." Now, this was not at allwitty; but, you see, the storm had done it, and no one has any controlover that.

It was a terrible night, and in the morning- only think!- nearlyall the shields had changed places. In some places the inscriptionswere so malicious, that grandfather would not speak of them at all;but I saw that he was chuckling secretly, and there may have been someinaccuracy in his description, after all.

The poor people in the town, and still more the strangers, werecontinually making mistakes in the people they wanted to see; norwas this to be avoided, when they went according to the shields thatwere hung up. Thus, for instance, some who wanted to go to a verygrave assembly of elderly men, where important affairs were to bediscussed, found themselves in a noisy boys' school, where all thecompany were leaping over the chairs and tables.

There were also people who made a mistake between the church andthe theatre, and that was terrible indeed!

Such a storm we have never witnessed in our day; for that onlyhappened in grandpapa's time, when he was quite a little boy.Perhaps we shall never experience a storm of the kind, but ourgrandchildren may; and we can only hope and pray that all may stayat home while the storm is moving the shields.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE STORY OF A MOTHER

by Hans Christian Andersen

A MOTHER sat by her little child; she was very sad, for she fearedit would die. It was quite pale, and its little eyes were closed,and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath, almost like a sigh; andthen the mother gazed more sadly than ever on the poor littlecreature. Some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man walkedin. He was wrapped in something that looked like a greathorse-cloth; and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it wascold winter; the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, andthe wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. The little childhad dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing that theold man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a small mug of beer onthe stove to warm for him. The old man sat and rocked the cradle;and the mother seated herself on a chair near him, and looked at hersick child who still breathed heavily, and took hold of its littlehand.

"You think I shall keep him, do you not?" she said. "Ourall-merciful God will surely not take him away from me."

The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head in apeculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes, or No; and themother cast down her eyes, while the tears rolled down her cheeks.Then her head became heavy, for she had not closed her eyes forthree days and nights, and she slept, but only for a moment. Shiveringwith cold, she started up and looked round the room. The old man wasgone, and her child- it was gone too!- the old man had taken it withhim. In the corner of the room the old clock began to strike;"whirr" went the chains, the heavy weight sank to the ground, andthe clock stopped; and the poor mother rushed out of the house callingfor her child. Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, andshe said to the mother, "Death has been with you in your room. I sawhim hastening away with your little child; he strides faster thanthe wind, and never brings back what he has taken away."

"Only tell me which way he has gone," said the mother; tell me theway, I will find him."

"I know the way," said the woman in the black garments; "butbefore I tell you, you must sing to me all the songs that you havesung to your child; I love these songs, I have heard them before. I amNight, and I saw your tears flow as you sang."

"I will sing them all to you," said the mother; "but do not detainme now. I must overtake him, and find my child."

But Night sat silent and still. Then the mother wept and sang, andwrung her hands. And there were many songs, and yet even more tears;till at length Night said, "Go to the right, into the dark forest offir-trees; for I saw Death take that road with your little child."

Within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she knew notwhich to take. Just by stood a thorn-bush; it had neither leaf norflower, for it was the cold winter time, and icicles hung on thebranches. "Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child?" sheasked.

"Yes," replied the thorn-bush; "but I will not tell you whichway he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom. I am freezingto death here, and turning to ice."

Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so thatit might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and greatdrops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh greenleaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter's night, so warm isthe heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the bramble-bush told her thepath she must take. She came at length to a great lake, on which therewas neither ship nor boat to be seen. The lake was not frozensufficiently for her to pass over on the ice, nor was it open enoughfor her to wade through; and yet she must cross it, if she wished tofind her child. Then she laid herself down to drink up the water ofthe lake, which was of course impossible for any human being to do;but the bereaved mother thought that perhaps a miracle might takeplace to help her. "You will never succeed in this," said the lake;let us make an agreement together which will be better. I love tocollect pearls, and your eyes are the purest I have ever seen. Ifyou will weep those eyes away in tears into my waters, then I willtake you to the large hothouse where Death dwells and rears flowersand trees, every one of which is a human life."

"Oh, what would I not give to reach my child!" said the weepingmother; and as she still continued to weep, her eyes fell into thedepths of the lake, and became two costly pearls.

Then the lake lifted her up, and wafted her across to the oppositeshore as if she were on a swing, where stood a wonderful building manymiles in length. No one could tell whether it was a mountain coveredwith forests and full of caves, or whether it had been built. Butthe poor mother could not see, for she had wept her eyes into thelake. "Where shall I find Death, who went away with my littlechild?" she asked.

"He has not arrived here yet," said an old gray-haired woman,who was walking about, and watering Death's hothouse. "How have youfound your way here? and who helped you?"

"God has helped me," she replied. "He is merciful; will you not bemerciful too? Where shall I find my little child?"

"I did not know the child," said the old woman; "and you areblind. Many flowers and trees have faded to-night, and Death will sooncome to transplant them. You know already that every human being has alife-tree or a life-flower, just as may be ordained for him. They looklike other plants; but they have hearts that beat. Children's heartsalso beat: from that you may perhaps be able to recognize yourchild. But what will you give me, if I tell you what more you willhave to do?

"I have nothing to give," said the afflicted mother; "but Iwould go to the ends of the earth for you."

"I can give you nothing to do for me there," said the old woman;"but you can give me your long black hair. You know yourself that itis beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white hair inexchange, which will be something in return."

"Do you ask nothing more than that?" said she. "I will give itto you with pleasure."

And she gave up her beautiful hair, and received in return thewhite locks of the old woman. Then they went into Death's vasthothouse, where flowers and trees grew together in wonderfulprofusion. Blooming hyacinths, under glass bells, and peonies, likestrong trees. There grew water-plants, some quite fresh, and otherslooking sickly, which had water-snakes twining round them, and blackcrabs clinging to their stems. There stood noble palm-trees, oaks, andplantains, and beneath them bloomed thyme and parsley. Each tree andflower had a name; each represented a human life, and belonged tomen still living, some in China, others in Greenland, and in all partsof the world. Some large trees had been planted in little pots, sothat they were cramped for room, and seemed about to burst the potto pieces; while many weak little flowers were growing in rich soil,with moss all around them, carefully tended and cared for. Thesorrowing mother bent over the little plants, and heard the humanheart beating in each, and recognized the beatings of her child'sheart among millions of others.

"That is it," she cried, stretching out her hand towards alittle crocus-flower which hung down its sickly head.

"Do not touch the flower," exclaimed the old woman; "but placeyourself here; and when Death comes- I expect him every minute- do notlet him pull up that plant, but threaten him that if he does youwill serve the other flowers in the same manner. This will make himafraid; for he must account to God for each of them. None can beuprooted, unless he receives permission to do so."

There rushed through the hothouse a chill of icy coldness, and theblind mother felt that Death had arrived.

"How did you find your way hither?" asked he; "how could youcome here faster than I have?"

"I am a mother," she answered.

And Death stretched out his hand towards the delicate littleflower; but she held her hands tightly round it, and held it fast atsame time, with the most anxious care, lest she should touch one ofthe leaves. Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt hisbreath colder than the icy wind, and her hands sank down powerless.

"You cannot prevail against me," said Death.

"But a God of mercy can," said she.

"I only do His will," replied Death. "I am his gardener. I takeall His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the gardens ofParadise in an unknown land. How they flourish there, and what thatgarden resembles, I may not tell you."

"Give me back my child," said the mother, weeping and imploring;and she seized two beautiful flowers in her hands, and cried to Death,"I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in despair."

"Do not touch them," said Death. "You say you are unhappy; andwould you make another mother as unhappy as yourself?"

"Another mother!" cried the poor woman, setting the flowers freefrom her hands.

"There are your eyes," said Death. "I fished them up out of thelake for you. They were shining brightly; but I knew not they wereyours. Take them back- they are clearer now than before- and then lookinto the deep well which is close by here. I will tell you the namesof the two flowers which you wished to pull up; and you will see thewhole future of the human beings they represent, and what you wereabout to frustrate and destroy."

Then she looked into the well; and it was a glorious sight tobehold how one of them became a blessing to the world, and how muchhappiness and joy it spread around. But she saw that the life of theother was full of care and poverty, misery and woe.

"Both are the will of God," said Death.

"Which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed one?" shesaid.

"That I may not tell you," said Death; "but thus far you maylearn, that one of the two flowers represents your own child. It wasthe fate of your child that you saw,- the future of your own child."

Then the mother screamed aloud with terror, "Which of them belongsto my child? Tell me that. Deliver the unhappy child. Release itfrom so much misery. Rather take it away. Take it to the kingdom ofGod. Forget my tears and my entreaties; forget all that I have said ordone."

"I do not understand you," said Death. "Will you have your childback? or shall I carry him away to a place that you do not know?"

Then the mother wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and prayedto God, "Grant not my prayers, when they are contrary to Thy will,which at all times must be the best. Oh, hear them not;" and herhead sank on her bosom.

Then Death carried away her child to the unknown land.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE STORY OF THE WIND

by Hans Christian Andersen

"NEAR the shores of the great Belt, which is one of the straitsthat connect the Cattegat with the Baltic, stands an old mansionwith thick red walls. I know every stone of it," says the Wind. "I sawit when it was part of the castle of Marck Stig on the promontory. Butthe castle was obliged to be pulled down, and the stone was used againfor the walls of a new mansion on another spot- the baronial residenceof Borreby, which still stands near the coast. I knew them well, thosenoble lords and ladies, the successive generations that dwelt there;and now I'm going to tell you of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. Howproud was his bearing, for he was of royal blood, and could boast ofmore noble deeds than merely hunting the stag and emptying thewine-cup. His rule was despotic: 'It shall be,' he was accustomed tosay. His wife, in garments embroidered with gold, stepped proudly overthe polished marble floors. The tapestries were gorgeous, and thefurniture of costly and artistic taste. She had brought gold and platewith her into the house. The cellars were full of wine. Black, fieryhorses, neighed in the stables. There was a look of wealth about thehouse of Borreby at that time. They had three children, daughters,fair and delicate maidens- Ida, Joanna, and Anna Dorothea; I havenever forgotten their names. They were a rich, noble family, born inaffluence and nurtured in luxury.

"Whir-r-r, whir-r-r!" roared the Wind, and went on, "I did not seein this house, as in other great houses, the high-born lady sittingamong her women, turning the spinning-wheel. She could sweep thesounding chords of the guitar, and sing to the music, not alwaysDanish melodies, but the songs of a strange land. It was 'Live and letlive,' here. Stranger guests came from far and near, music sounded,goblets clashed, and I," said the Wind, "was not able to drown thenoise. Ostentation, pride, splendor, and display ruled, but not thefear of the Lord.

"It was on the evening of the first day of May," the Windcontinued, "I came from the west, and had seen the ships overpoweredwith the waves, when all on board persisted or were cast shipwreckedon the coast of Jutland. I had hurried across the heath and overJutland's wood-girt eastern coast, and over the island of Funen, andthen I drove across the great belt, sighing and moaning. At length Ilay down to rest on the shores of Zeeland, near to the great houseof Borreby, where the splendid forest of oaks still flourished. Theyoung men of the neighborhood were collecting branches and brushwoodunder the oak-trees. The largest and dryest they could find theycarried into the village, and piled them up in a heap and set themon fire. Then the men and maidens danced, and sung in a circle roundthe blazing pile. I lay quite quiet," said the Wind, "but I silentlytouched a branch which had been brought by one of the handsomest ofthe young men, and the wood blazed up brightly, blazed brighter thanall the rest. Then he was chosen as the chief, and received the nameof the Shepherd; and might choose his lamb from among the maidens.There was greater mirth and rejoicing than I had ever heard in thehalls of the rich baronial house. Then the noble lady drove by towardsthe baron's mansion with her three daughters, in a gilded carriagedrawn by six horses. The daughters were young and beautiful- threecharming blossoms- a rose, a lily, and a white hyacinth. The motherwas a proud tulip, and never acknowledged the salutations of any ofthe men or maidens who paused in their sport to do her honor. Thegracious lady seemed like a flower that was rather stiff in the stalk.Rose, lily, and hyacinth- yes, I saw them all three. Whose littlelambs will they one day become? thought I; their shepherd will be agallant knight, perhaps a prince. The carriage rolled on, and thepeasants resumed their dancing. They drove about the summer throughall the villages near. But one night, when I rose again, the high-bornlady lay down to rise again no more; that thing came to her whichcomes to us all, in which there is nothing new. Waldemar Daaremained for a time silent and thoughtful. 'The loftiest tree may bebowed without being broken,' said a voice within him. His daughterswept; all the people in the mansion wiped their eyes, but Lady Daa haddriven away, and I drove away too," said the Wind. "Whir-r-r,whir-r-r-!

"I returned again; I often returned and passed over the islandof Funen and the shores of the Belt. Then I rested by Borreby, nearthe glorious wood, where the heron made his nest, the haunt of thewood-pigeons, the blue-birds, and the black stork. It was yetspring, some were sitting on their eggs, others had already hatchedtheir young broods; but how they fluttered about and cried out whenthe axe sounded through the forest, blow upon blow! The trees of theforest were doomed. Waldemar Daa wanted to build a noble ship, aman-of-war, a three-decker, which the king would be sure to buy; andthese, the trees of the wood, the landmark of the seamen, the refugeof the birds, must be felled. The hawk started up and flew away, forits nest was destroyed; the heron and all the birds of the forestbecame homeless, and flew about in fear and anger. I could wellunderstand how they felt. Crows and ravens croaked, as if in scorn,while the trees were cracking and falling around them. Far in theinterior of the wood, where a noisy swarm of laborers were working,stood Waldemar Daa and his three daughters, and all were laughing atthe wild cries of the birds, excepting one, the youngest, AnnaDorothea, who felt grieved to the heart; and when they madepreparations to fell a tree that was almost dead, and on whose nakedbranches the black stork had built her nest, she saw the poor littlethings stretching out their necks, and she begged for mercy forthem, with the tears in her eyes. So the tree with the black stork'snest was left standing; the tree itself, however, was not worth muchto speak of. Then there was a great deal of hewing and sawing, andat last the three-decker was built. The builder was a man of loworigin, but possessing great pride; his eyes and forehead spoke oflarge intellect, and Waldemar Daa was fond of listening to him, and sowas Waldemar's daughter Ida, the eldest, now about fifteen yearsold; and while he was building the ship for the father, he wasbuilding for himself a castle in the air, in which he and Ida wereto live when they were married. This might have happened, indeed, ifthere had been a real castle, with stone walls, ramparts, and amoat. But in spite of his clever head, the builder was still but apoor, inferior bird; and how can a sparrow expect to be admittedinto the society of peacocks?

"I passed on in my course," said the Wind, "and he passed awayalso. He was not allowed to remain, and little Ida got over it,because she was obliged to do so. Proud, black horses, worth lookingat, were neighing in the stable. And they were locked up; for theadmiral, who had been sent by the king to inspect the new ship, andmake arrangements for its purchase, was loud in admiration of thesebeautiful horses. I heard it all," said the Wind, "for I accompaniedthe gentlemen through the open door of the stable, and strewedstalks of straw, like bars of gold, at their feet. Waldemar Daa wantedgold, and the admiral wished for the proud black horses; thereforehe praised them so much. But the hint was not taken, andconsequently the ship was not bought. It remained on the shore coveredwith boards,- a Noah's ark that never got to the water- Whir-r-r-r-and that was a pity.

"In the winter, when the fields were covered with snow, and thewater filled with large blocks of ice which I had blown up to thecoast," continued the Wind, "great flocks of crows and ravens, darkand black as they usually are, came and alighted on the lonely,deserted ship. Then they croaked in harsh accents of the forest thatnow existed no more, of the many pretty birds' nests destroyed and thelittle ones left without a home; and all for the sake of that greatbit of lumber, that proud ship, that never sailed forth. I made thesnowflakes whirl till the snow lay like a great lake round the ship,and drifted over it. I let it hear my voice, that it might know whatthe storm has to say. Certainly I did my part towards teaching itseamanship.

"That winter passed away, and another winter and summer bothpassed, as they are still passing away, even as I pass away. Thesnow drifts onwards, the apple-blossoms are scattered, the leavesfall,- everything passes away, and men are passing away too. But thegreat man's daughters are still young, and little Ida is a rose asfair to look upon as on the day when the shipbuilder first saw her.I often tumbled her long, brown hair, while she stood in the garden bythe apple-tree, musing, and not heeding how I strewed the blossomson her hair, and dishevelled it; or sometimes, while she stoodgazing at the red sun and the golden sky through the openingbranches of the dark, thick foliage of the garden trees. Her sisterJoanna was bright and slender as a lily; she had a tall and loftycarriage and figure, though, like her mother, rather stiff in back.She was very fond of walking through the great hall, where hung theportraits of her ancestors. The women were represented in dresses ofvelvet and silk, with tiny little hats, embroidered with pearls, ontheir braided hair. They were all handsome women. The gentlemenappeared clad in steel, or in rich cloaks lined with squirrel's fur;they wore little ruffs, and swords at their sides. Where wouldJoanna's place be on that wall some day? and how would he look,- hernoble lord and husband? This is what she thought of, and often spokeof in a low voice to herself. I heard it as I swept into the longhall, and turned round to come out again. Anna Dorothea, the palehyacinth, a child of fourteen, was quiet and thoughtful; her large,deep, blue eyes had a dreamy look, but a childlike smile stillplayed round her mouth. I was not able to blow it away, neither didI wish to do so. We have met in the garden, in the hollow lane, in thefield and meadow, where she gathered herbs and flowers which sheknew would be useful to her father in preparing the drugs and mixtureshe was always concocting. Waldemar Daa was arrogant and proud, buthe was also a learned man, and knew a great deal. It was no secret,and many opinions were expressed on what he did. In his fireplacethere was a fire, even in summer time. He would lock himself in hisroom, and for days the fire would be kept burning; but he did not talkmuch of what he was doing. The secret powers of nature are generallydiscovered in solitude, and did he not soon expect to find out the artof making the greatest of all good things- the art of making gold?So he fondly hoped; therefore the chimney smoked and the fire crackledso constantly. Yes, I was there too," said the Wind. "'Leave italone,' I sang down the chimney; 'leave it alone, it will all end insmoke, air, coals, and ashes, and you will burn your fingers.' ButWaldemar Daa did not leave it alone, and all he possessed vanishedlike smoke blown by me. The splendid black horses, where are they?What became of the cows in the field, the old gold and silvervessels in cupboards and chests, and even the house and home itself?It was easy to melt all these away in the gold-making crucible, andyet obtain no gold. And so it was. Empty are the barns andstore-rooms, the cellars and cupboards; the servants decreased innumber, and the mice multiplied. First one window became broken, andthen another, so that I could get in at other places besides the door.'Where the chimney smokes, the meal is being cooked,' says theproverb; but here a chimney smoked that devoured all the meals for thesake of gold. I blew round the courtyard," said the Wind, "like awatchman blowing his home, but no watchman was there. I twirled theweather-cock round on the summit of the tower, and it creaked like thesnoring of a warder, but no warder was there; nothing but mice andrats. Poverty laid the table-cloth; poverty sat in the wardrobe and inthe larder. The door fell off its hinges, cracks and fissures madetheir appearance everywhere; so that I could go in and out atpleasure, and that is how I know all about it. Amid smoke and ashes,sorrow, and sleepless nights, the hair and beard of the master ofthe house turned gray, and deep furrows showed themselves around histemples; his skin turned pale and yellow, while his eyes stilllooked eagerly for gold, the longed-for gold, and the result of hislabor was debt instead of gain. I blew the smoke and ashes into hisface and beard; I moaned through the broken window-panes, and theyawning clefts in the walls; I blew into the chests and drawersbelonging to his daughters, wherein lay the clothes that had becomefaded and threadbare, from being worn over and over again. Such a songhad not been sung, at the children's cradle as I sung now. Thelordly life had changed to a life of penury. I was the only one whorejoiced aloud in that castle," said the Wind. "At last I snowedthem up, and they say snow keeps people warm. It was good for them,for they had no wood, and the forest, from which they might haveobtained it, had been cut down. The frost was very bitter, and Irushed through loop-holes and passages, over gables and roofs withkeen and cutting swiftness. The three high-born daughters were lyingin bed because of the cold, and their father crouching beneath hisleather coverlet. Nothing to eat, nothing to burn, no fire on thehearth! Here was a life for high-born people! 'Give it up, give itup!' But my Lord Daa would not do that. 'After winter, spring willcome,' he said, 'after want, good times. We must not lose patience, wemust learn to wait. Now my horses and lands are all mortgaged, it isindeed high time; but gold will come at last- at Easter.'

"I heard him as he thus spoke; he was looking at a spider's web,and he continued, 'Thou cunning little weaver, thou dost teach meperseverance. Let any one tear thy web, and thou wilt begin againand repair it. Let it be entirely destroyed, thou wilt resolutelybegin to make another till it is completed. So ought we to do, if wewish to succeed at last.'

"It was the morning of Easter-day. The bells sounded from theneighboring church, and the sun seemed to rejoice in the sky. Themaster of the castle had watched through the night, in feverishexcitement, and had been melting and cooling, distilling and mixing. Iheard him sighing like a soul in despair; I heard him praying, and Inoticed how he held his breath. The lamp burnt out, but he did notobserve it. I blew up the fire in the coals on the hearth, and itthrew a red glow on his ghastly white face, lighting it up with aglare, while his sunken eyes looked out wildly from their cavernousdepths, and appeared to grow larger and more prominent, as if theywould burst from their sockets. 'Look at the alchymic glass,' hecried; 'something glows in the crucible, pure and heavy.' He lifted itwith a trembling hand, and exclaimed in a voice of agitation, 'Gold!gold!' He was quite giddy, I could have blown him down," said theWind; "but I only fanned the glowing coals, and accompanied himthrough the door to the room where his daughter sat shivering. Hiscoat was powdered with ashes, and there were ashes in his beard and inhis tangled hair. He stood erect, and held high in the air the brittleglass that contained his costly treasure. 'Found! found! Gold!gold!' he shouted, again holding the glass aloft, that it mightflash in the sunshine; but his hand trembled, and the alchymic glassfell from it, clattering to the ground, and brake in a thousandpieces. The last bubble of his happiness had burst, with a whiz anda whir, and I rushed away from the gold-maker's house.

"Late in the autumn, when the days were short, and the mistsprinkled cold drops on the berries and the leafless branches, Icame back in fresh spirits, rushed through the air, swept the skyclear, and snapped off the dry twigs, which is certainly no greatlabor to do, yet it must be done. There was another kind of sweepingtaking place at Waldemar Daa's, in the castle of Borreby. His enemy,Owe Ramel, of Basnas, was there, with the mortgage of the house andeverything it contained, in his pocket. I rattled the brokenwindows, beat against the old rotten doors, and whistled throughcracks and crevices, so that Mr. Owe Ramel did not much like to remainthere. Ida and Anna Dorothea wept bitterly, Joanna stood, pale andproud, biting her lips till the blood came; but what could that avail?Owe Ramel offered Waldemar Daa permission to remain in the housetill the end of his life. No one thanked him for the offer, and Isaw the ruined old gentleman lift his head, and throw it back moreproudly than ever. Then I rushed against the house and the oldlime-trees with such force, that one of the thickest branches, adecayed one, was broken off, and the branch fell at the entrance,and remained there. It might have been used as a broom, if any one hadwanted to sweep the place out, and a grand sweeping-out there reallywas; I thought it would be so. It was hard for any one to preservecomposure on such a day; but these people had strong wills, asunbending as their hard fortune. There was nothing they could calltheir own, excepting the clothes they wore. Yes, there was one thingmore, an alchymist's glass, a new one, which had been lately bought,and filled with what could be gathered from the ground of the treasurewhich had promised so much but failed in keeping its promise. WaldemarDaa hid the glass in his bosom, and, taking his stick in his hand, theonce rich gentleman passed with his daughters out of the house ofBorreby. I blew coldly upon his flustered cheeks, I stroked his graybeard and his long white hair, and I sang as well as I was able,'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r. Gone away! Gone away!' Ida walked on one sideof the old man, and Anna Dorothea on the other; Joanna turned round,as they left the entrance. Why? Fortune would not turn because sheturned. She looked at the stone in the walls which had once formedpart of the castle of Marck Stig, and perhaps she thought of hisdaughters and of the old song,-

"The eldest and youngest, hand-in-hand,

Went forth alone to a distant land."These were only two; here there were three, and their father with themalso. They walked along the high-road, where once they had driven intheir splendid carriage; they went forth with their father as beggars.They wandered across an open field to a mud hut, which they rented fora dollar and a half a year, a new home, with bare walls and emptycupboards. Crows and magpies fluttered about them, and cried, as if incontempt, 'Caw, caw, turned out of our nest- caw, caw,' as they haddone in the wood at Borreby, when the trees were felled. Daa and hisdaughters could not help hearing it, so I blew about their ears todrown the noise; what use was it that they should listen? So they wentto live in the mud hut in the open field, and I wandered away, overmoor and meadow, through bare bushes and leafless forests, to the opensea, to the broad shores in other lands, 'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r! Away,away!' year after year."

And what became of Waldemar Daa and his daughters? Listen; theWind will tell us:

"The last I saw of them was the pale hyacinth, Anna Dorothea. Shewas old and bent then; for fifty years had passed and she had outlivedthem all. She could relate the history. Yonder, on the heath, near thetown of Wiborg, in Jutland, stood the fine new house of the canon. Itwas built of red brick, with projecting gables. It was inhabited, forthe smoke curled up thickly from the chimneys. The canon's gentle ladyand her beautiful daughters sat in the bay-window, and looked over thehawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brown heath. What were theylooking at? Their glances fell upon a stork's nest, which was builtupon an old tumbledown hut. The roof, as far as one existed at all,was covered with moss and lichen. The stork's nest covered the greaterpart of it, and that alone was in a good condition; for it was kept inorder by the stork himself. That is a house to be looked at, and notto be touched," said the Wind. "For the sake of the stork's nest ithad been allowed to remain, although it is a blot on the landscape.They did not like to drive the stork away; therefore the old shed wasleft standing, and the poor woman who dwelt in it allowed to stay. Shehad the Egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it perchance herreward for having once interceded for the preservation of the nest ofits black brother in the forest of Borreby? At that time she, thepoor woman, was a young child, a white hyacinth in a rich garden. Sheremembered that time well; for it was Anna Dorothea.

"'O-h, o-h,' she sighed; for people can sigh like the moaning ofthe wind among the reeds and rushes. 'O-h, o-h,' she would say, 'nobell sounded at thy burial, Waldemar Daa. The poor school-boys did noteven sing a psalm when the former lord of Borreby was laid in theearth to rest. O-h, everything has an end, even misery. Sister Idabecame the wife of a peasant; that was the hardest trial whichbefell our father, that the husband of his own daughter should be amiserable serf, whom his owner could place for punishment on thewooden horse. I suppose he is under the ground now; and Ida- alas!alas! it is not ended yet; miserable that I am! Kind Heaven, grantme that I may die.'

"That was Anna Dorothea's prayer in the wretched hut that was leftstanding for the sake of the stork. I took pity on the proudest of thesisters," said the Wind. "Her courage was like that of a man; and inman's clothes she served as a sailor on board ship. She was of fewwords, and of a dark countenance; but she did not know how to climb,so I blew her overboard before any one found out that she was a woman;and, in my opinion, that was well done," said the Wind.

On such another Easter morning as that on which Waldemar Daaimagined he had discovered the art of making gold, I heard the tonesof a psalm under the stork's nest, and within the crumbling walls.It was Anna Dorothea's last song. There was no window in the hut, onlya hole in the wall; and the sun rose like a globe of burnished gold,and looked through. With what splendor he filled that dismal dwelling!Her eyes were glazing, and her heart breaking; but so it would havebeen, even had the sun not shone that morning on Anna Dorothea. Thestork's nest had secured her a home till her death. I sung over hergrave; I sung at her father's grave. I know where it lies, and whereher grave is too, but nobody else knows it.

"New times now; all is changed. The old high-road is lost amidcultivated fields; the new one now winds along over covered graves;and soon the railway will come, with its train of carriages, andrush over graves where lie those whose very names are forgoten. Allpassed away, passed away!

"This is the story of Waldemar Daa and his daughters. Tell itbetter, any of you, if you know how," said the Wind; and he rushedaway, and was gone.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE STORY OF THE YEAR

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT was near the end of January, and a terrible fall of snow waspelting down, and whirling through the streets and lanes; thewindows were plastered with snow on the outside, snow fell in massesfrom the roofs. Every one seemed in a great hurry; they ran, theyflew, fell into each other's arms, holding fast for a moment as longas they could stand safely. Coaches and horses looked as if they hadbeen frosted with sugar. The footmen stood with their backs againstthe carriages, so as to turn their faces from the wind. The footpassengers kept within the shelter of the carriages, which couldonly move slowly on in the deep snow. At last the storm abated, anda narrow path was swept clean in front of the houses; when two personsmet in this path they stood still, for neither liked to take the firststep on one side into the deep snow to let the other pass him. Therethey stood silent and motionless, till at last, as if by tacitconsent, they each sacrificed a leg and buried it in the deep snow.Towards evening, the weather became calm. The sky, cleared from thesnow, looked more lofty and transparent, while the stars shone withnew brightness and purity. The frozen snow crackled under foot, andwas quite firm enough to bear the sparrows, who hopped upon it inthe morning dawn. They searched for food in the path which had beenswept, but there was very little for them, and they were terriblycold. "Tweet, tweet," said one to another; they call this a newyear, but I think it is worse than the last. We might just as wellhave kept the old year; I'm quite unhappy, and I have a right to beso."

"Yes, you have; and yet the people ran about and fired off guns,to usher in the new year," said a little shivering sparrow. "Theythrew things against the doors, and were quite beside themselveswith joy, because the old year had disappeared. I was glad too, forI expected we should have some warm days, but my hopes have come tonothing. It freezes harder than ever; I think mankind have made amistake in reckoning time."

"That they have," said a third, an old sparrow with a whitepoll; "they have something they call a calendar; it's an inventionof their own, and everything must be arranged according to it, butit won't do. When spring comes, then the year begins. It is thevoice of nature, and I reckon by that."

"But when will spring come?" asked the others.

"It will come when the stork returns, but he is very uncertain,and here in the town no one knows anything about it. In the countrythey have more knowledge; shall we fly away there and wait? we shallbe nearer to spring then, certainly."

"That may be all very well," said another sparrow, who had beenhopping about for a long time, chirping, but not saying anything ofconsequence, "but I have found a few comforts here in town which,I'm afraid, I should miss out in the country. Here in thisneighborhood, there lives a family of people who have been so sensibleas to place three or four flower-pots against the wall in thecourt-yard, so that the openings are all turned inward, and the bottomof each points outward. In the latter a hole has been cut large enoughfor me to fly in and out. I and my husband have built a nest in one ofthese pots, and all our young ones, who have now flown away, werebrought up there. The people who live there of course made the wholearrangement that they might have the pleasure of seeing us, or theywould not have done it. It pleased them also to strew bread-crumbs forus, and so we have food, and may consider ourselves provided for. So Ithink my husband and I will stay where we are; although we are notvery happy, but we shall stay."

"And we will fly into the country," said the others, "to see ifspring is coming." And away they flew.

In the country it was really winter, a few degrees colder thanin the town. The sharp winds blew over the snow-covered fields. Thefarmer, wrapped in warm clothing, sat in his sleigh, and beat his armsacross his chest to keep off the cold. The whip lay on his lap. Thehorses ran till they smoked. The snow crackled, the sparrows hoppedabout in the wheel-ruts, and shivered, crying, "Tweet, tweet; whenwill spring come? It is very long in coming."

"Very long indeed," sounded over the field, from the nearestsnow-covered hill. It might have been the echo which people heard,or perhaps the words of that wonderful old man, who sat high on a heapof snow, regardless of wind or weather. He was all in white; he had ona peasant's coarse white coat of frieze. He had long white hair, apale face, and large clear blue eyes. "Who is that old man?" asked thesparrows.

"I know who he is," said an old raven, who sat on the fence, andwas condescending enough to acknowledge that we are all equal in thesight of Heaven, even as little birds, and therefore he talked withthe sparrows, and gave them the information they wanted. "I know whothe old man is," he said. "It is Winter, the old man of last year;he is not dead yet, as the calendar says, but acts as guardian tolittle Prince Spring who is coming. Winter rules here still. Ugh!the cold makes you shiver, little ones, does it not?"

"There! Did I not tell you so?" said the smallest of the sparrows."The calendar is only an invention of man, and is not arrangedaccording to nature. They should leave these things to us; we arecreated so much more clever than they are."

One week passed, and then another. The forest looked dark, thehard-frozen lake lay like a sheet of lead. The mountains haddisappeared, for over the land hung damp, icy mists. Large black crowsflew about in silence; it was as if nature slept. At length asunbeam glided over the lake, and it shone like burnished silver.But the snow on the fields and the hills did not glitter as before.The white form of Winter sat there still, with his un-wandering gazefixed on the south. He did not perceive that the snowy carpet seemedto sink as it were into the earth; that here and there a littlegreen patch of grass appeared, and that these patches were coveredwith sparrows.

"Tee-wit, tee-wit; is spring coming at last?"

Spring! How the cry resounded over field and meadow, and throughthe dark-brown woods, where the fresh green moss still gleamed onthe trunks of the trees, and from the south came the two firststorks flying through the air, and on the back of each sat a lovelylittle child, a boy and a girl. They greeted the earth with a kiss,and wherever they placed their feet white flowers sprung up frombeneath the snow. Hand in hand they approached the old ice-man,Winter, embraced him and clung to his breast; and as they did so, in amoment all three were enveloped in a thick, damp mist, dark and heavy,that closed over them like a veil. The wind arose with mighty rustlingtone, and cleared away the mist. Then the sun shone out warmly. Winterhad vanished away, and the beautiful children of Spring sat on thethrone of the year.

"This is really a new year," cried all the sparrows, "now we shallget our rights, and have some return for what we suffered in winter."

Wherever the two children wandered, green buds burst forth on bushand tree, the grass grew higher, and the corn-fields became lovelyin delicate green.

The little maiden strewed flowers in her path. She held herapron before her: it was full of flowers; it was as if they sprunginto life there, for the more she scattered around her, the moreflowers did her apron contain. Eagerly she showered snowy blossomsover apple and peach-trees, so that they stood in full beauty beforeeven their green leaves had burst from the bud. Then the boy and thegirl clapped their hands, and troops of birds came flying by, no oneknew from whence, and they all twittered and chirped, singing"Spring has come!" How beautiful everything was! Many an old dame cameforth from her door into the sunshine, and shuffled about with greatdelight, glancing at the golden flowers which glittered everywherein the fields, as they used to do in her young days. The world grewyoung again to her, as she said, "It is a blessed time out hereto-day." The forest already wore its dress of dark-green buds. Thethyme blossomed in fresh fragrance. Primroses and anemones sprungforth, and violets bloomed in the shade, while every blade of grasswas full of strength and sap. Who could resist sitting down on sucha beautiful carpet? and then the young children of Spring seatedthemselves, holding each other's hands, and sang, and laughed, andgrew. A gentle rain fell upon them from the sky, but they did notnotice it, for the rain-drops were their own tears of joy. They kissedeach other, and were betrothed; and in the same moment the buds of thetrees unfolded, and when the sun rose, the forest was green. Hand inhand the two wandered beneath the fresh pendant canopy of foliage,while the sun's rays gleamed through the opening of the shade, inchanging and varied colors. The delicate young leaves filled the airwith refreshing odor. Merrily rippled the clear brooks and rivuletsbetween the green, velvety rushes, and over the many-colored pebblesbeneath. All nature spoke of abundance and plenty. The cuckoo sang,and the lark carolled, for it was now beautiful spring. The carefulwillows had, however, covered their blossoms with woolly gloves; andthis carefulness is rather tedious. Days and weeks went by, and theheat increased. Warm air waved the corn as it grew golden in thesun. The white northern lily spread its large green leaves over theglossy mirror of the woodland lake, and the fishes sought theshadows beneath them. In a sheltered part of the wood, the sun shoneupon the walls of a farm-house, brightening the blooming roses, andripening the black juicy berries, which hung on the loadedcherry-trees, with his hot beams. Here sat the lovely wife ofSummer, the same whom we have seen as a child and a bride; her eyeswere fixed on dark gathering clouds, which in wavy outlines of blackand indigo were piling themselves up like mountains, higher andhigher. They came from every side, always increasing like a rising,rolling sea. Then they swooped towards the forest, where every soundhad been silenced as if by magic, every breath hushed, every birdmute. All nature stood still in grave suspense. But in the lanes andthe highways, passengers on foot or in carriages were hurrying to finda place of shelter. Then came a flash of light, as if the sun hadrushed forth from the sky, flaming, burning, all-devouring, anddarkness returned amid a rolling crash of thunder. The rain poureddown in streams,- now there was darkness, then blinding light,- nowthrilling silence, then deafening din. The young brown reeds on themoor waved to and fro in feathery billows; the forest boughs werehidden in a watery mist, and still light and darkness followed eachother, still came the silence after the roar, while the corn and theblades of grass lay beaten down and swamped, so that it seemedimpossible they could ever raise themselves again. But after a whilethe rain began to fall gently, the sun's rays pierced the clouds,and the water-drops glittered like pearls on leaf and stem. Thebirds sang, the fishes leaped up to the surface of the water, thegnats danced in the sunshine, and yonder, on a rock by the heavingsalt sea, sat Summer himself, a strong man with sturdy limbs and long,dripping hair. Strengthened by the cool bath, he sat in the warmsunshine, while all around him renewed nature bloomed strong,luxuriant, and beautiful: it was summer, warm, lovely summer. Sweetand pleasant was the fragrance wafted from the clover-field, where thebees swarmed round the ruined tower, the bramble twined itself overthe old altar, which, washed by the rain, glittered in the sunshine;and thither flew the queen bee with her swarm, and prepared wax andhoney. But Summer and his bosom-wife saw it with different eyes, tothem the altar-table was covered with the offerings of nature. Theevening sky shone like gold, no church dome could ever gleam sobrightly, and between the golden evening and the blushing morningthere was moonlight. It was indeed summer. And days and weekspassed, the bright scythes of the reapers glittered in thecorn-fields, the branches of the apple-trees bent low, heavy withthe red and golden fruit. The hop, hanging in clusters, filled the airwith sweet fragrance, and beneath the hazel-bushes, where the nutshung in great bunches, rested a man and a woman- Summer and hisgrave consort.

"See," she exclaimed, "what wealth, what blessings surround us.Everything is home-like and good, and yet, I know not why, I longfor rest and peace; I can scarcely express what I feel. They arealready ploughing the fields again; more and more the people wishfor gain. See, the storks are flocking together, and following theplough at a short distance. They are the birds from Egypt, who carriedus through the air. Do you remember how we came as children to thisland of the north; we brought with us flowers and bright sunshine, andgreen to the forests, but the wind has been rough with them, andthey are now become dark and brown, like the trees of the south, butthey do not, like them, bear golden fruit."

"Do you wish to see golden fruit?" said the man, "then rejoice,"and he lifted his arm. The leaves of the forest put on colors of redand gold, and bright tints covered the woodlands. The rose-bushesgleamed with scarlet hips, and the branches of the elder-trees hungdown with the weight of the full, dark berries. The wild chestnutsfell ripe from their dark, green shells, and in the forests theviolets bloomed for the second time. But the queen of the yearbecame more and more silent and pale.

"It blows cold," she said, "and night brings the damp mist; I longfor the land of my childhood." Then she saw the storks fly awayevery one, and she stretched out her hands towards them. She looked atthe empty nests; in one of them grew a long-stalked corn flower, inanother the yellow mustard seed, as if the nest had been placedthere only for its comfort and protection, and the sparrows wereflying round them all.

"Tweet, where has the master of the nest gone?" cried one, "Isuppose he could not bear it when the wind blew, and therefore hehas left this country. I wish him a pleasant journey."

The forest leaves became more and more yellow, leaf after leaffell, and the stormy winds of Autumn howled. The year was now faradvanced, and upon the fallen, yellow leaves, lay the queen of theyear, looking up with mild eyes at a gleaming star, and her husbandstood by her. A gust of wind swept through the foliage, and the leavesfell in a shower. The summer queen was gone, but a butterfly, the lastof the year, flew through the cold air. Damp fogs came, icy windsblew, and the long, dark nights of winter approached. The ruler of theyear appeared with hair white as snow, but he knew it not; hethought snow-flakes falling from the sky covered his head, as theydecked the green fields with a thin, white covering of snow. Andthen the church bells rang out for Christmas time.

"The bells are ringing for the new-born year," said the ruler,"soon will a new ruler and his bride be born, and. I shall go torest with my wife in yonder light-giving star."

In the fresh, green fir-wood, where the snow lay all around, stoodthe angel of Christmas, and consecrated the young trees that were toadorn his feast.

"May there be joy in the rooms, and under the green boughs,"said the old ruler of the year. In a few weeks he had become a veryold man, with hair as white as snow. "My resting-time draws near;the young pair of the year will soon claim my crown and sceptre."

"But the night is still thine," said the angel of Christmas,"for power, but not for rest. Let the snow lie warmly upon thetender seed. Learn to endure the thought that another is worshippedwhilst thou art still lord. Learn to endure being forgotten whileyet thou livest. The hour of thy freedom will come when Springappears."

"And when will Spring come?" asked Winter.

"It will come when the stork returns."

And with white locks and snowy beard, cold, bent, and hoary, butstrong as the wintry storm, and firm as the ice, old Winter sat on thesnowdrift-covered hill, looking towards the south, where Winter hadsat before, and gazed. The ice glittered, the snow crackled, theskaters skimmed over the polished surface of the lakes; ravens andcrows formed a pleasing contrast to the white ground, and not a breathof wind stirred, and in the still air old Winter clenched his fists,and the ice lay fathoms deep between the lands. Then came the sparrowsagain out of the town, and asked, "Who is that old man?" The raven satthere still, or it might be his son, which is the same thing, and hesaid to them,-

"It is Winter, the old man of the former year; he is not dead,as the calendar says, but he is guardian to the spring, which iscoming."

"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows, "for we shall havebetter times then, and a better rule. The old times are worthnothing."

And in quiet thought old Winter looked at the leafless forest,where the graceful form and bends of each tree and branch could beseen; and while Winter slept, icy mists came from the clouds, andthe ruler dreamt of his youthful days and of his manhood, and in themorning dawn the whole forest glittered with hoar frost, which the sunshook from the branches,- and this was the summer dream of Winter.

"When will Spring come?" asked the sparrows. "Spring!" Again theecho sounded from the hills on which the snow lay. The sunshine becamewarmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered, "Spring iscoming!" And high in the air flew the first stork, and the secondfollowed; a lovely child sat on the back of each, and they sank downon the open field, kissed the earth, and kissed the quiet old man;and, as the mist from the mountain top, he vanished away anddisappeared. And the story of the year was finished.

"This is all very fine, no doubt," said the sparrows, "and it isvery beautiful; but it is not according to the calendar, therefore, itmust be all wrong."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SUNBEAM AND THE CAPTIVE

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT is autumn. We stand on the ramparts, and look out over the sea.We look at the numerous ships, and at the Swedish coast on theopposite side of the sound, rising far above the surface of the waterswhich mirror the glow of the evening sky. Behind us the wood issharply defined; mighty trees surround us, and the yellow leavesflutter down from the branches. Below, at the foot of the wall, standsa gloomy looking building enclosed in palisades. The space betweenis dark and narrow, but still more dismal must it be behind the irongratings in the wall which cover the narrow loopholes or windows,for in these dungeons the most depraved of the criminals are confined.A ray of the setting sun shoots into the bare cells of one of thecaptives, for God's sun shines upon the evil and the good. Thehardened criminal casts an impatient look at the bright ray. Then alittle bird flies towards the grating, for birds twitter to the justas well as to the unjust. He only cries, "Tweet, tweet," and thenperches himself near the grating, flutters his wings, pecks afeather from one of them, puffs himself out, and sets his featherson end round his breast and throat. The bad, chained man looks at him,and a more gentle expression comes into his hard face. In his breastthere rises a thought which he himself cannot rightly analyze, but thethought has some connection with the sunbeam, with the bird, andwith the scent of violets, which grow luxuriantly in spring at thefoot of the wall. Then there comes the sound of the hunter's horn,merry and full. The little bird starts, and flies away, the sunbeamgradually vanishes, and again there is darkness in the room and in theheart of that bad man. Still the sun has shone into that heart, andthe twittering of the bird has touched it.

Sound on, ye glorious strains of the hunter's horn; continueyour stirring tones, for the evening is mild, and the surface of thesea, heaving slowly and calmly, is smooth as a mirror.

THE END.

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1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SWAN'S NEST

by Hans Christian Andersen

BETWEEN the Baltic and the North Sea there lies an old swan'snest, wherein swans are born and have been born that shall never die.

In olden times a flock of swans flew over the Alps to the greenplains around Milan, where it was delightful to dwell. This flightof swans men called the Lombards.

Another flock, with shining plumage and honest eyes, soaredsouthward to Byzantium; the swans established themselves there closeby the Emperor's throne, and spread their wings over him as shields toprotect him. They received the name of Varangians.

On the coast of France there sounded a cry of fear, for theblood-stained swans that came from the North with fire under theirwings; and the people prayed, "Heaven deliver us from the wildNorthmen."

On the fresh sward of England stood the Danish swan by the openseashore, with the crown of three kingdoms on his head; and hestretched out his golden sceptre over the land. The heathens on thePomerian coast bent the knee, and the Danish swans came with thebanner of the Cross and with the drawn sword.

"That was in the very old times," you say.

In later days two mighty swans have been seen to fly from thenest. A light shone far through the air, far over the lands of theearth; the swan, with the strong beating of his wings, scattered thetwilight mists, and the starry sky was seen, and it was as if itcame nearer to the earth. That was the swan Tycho Brahe.

"Yes, then," you say; "but in our own days?"

We have seen swan after swan soar by in glorious flight. One lethis pinions glide over the strings of the golden harp, and itresounded through the North. Norway's mountains seemed to risehigher in the sunlight of former days; there was a rustling amongthe pine trees and the birches; the gods of the North, the heroes, andthe noble women, showed themselves in the dark forest depths.

We have seen a swan beat with his wings upon the marble crag, sothat it burst, and the forms of beauty imprisoned in the stone steppedout to the sunny day, and men in the lands round about lifted up theirheads to behold these mighty forms.

We have seen a third swan spinning the thread of thought that isfastened from country to country round the world, so that the word mayfly with lightning speed from land to land.

And our Lord loves the old swan's nest between the Baltic andthe North Sea. And when the mighty birds come soaring through theair to destroy it, even the callow young stand round in a circle onthe margin of the nest, and though their breasts may be struck so thattheir blood flows, they bear it, and strike with their wings and theirclaws.

Centuries will pass by, swans will fly forth from the nest, menwill see them and hear them in the world, before it shall be said inspirit and in truth, "This is the last swan- the last song from theswan's nest."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE SWINEHERD

by Hans Christian Andersen

ONCE upon a time lived a poor prince; his kingdom was verysmall, but it was large enough to enable him to marry, and marry hewould. It was rather bold of him that he went and asked theemperor's daughter: "Will you marry me?" but he ventured to do so, forhis name was known far and wide, and there were hundreds of princesseswho would have gladly accepted him, but would she do so? Now weshall see.

On the grave of the prince's father grew a rose-tree, the mostbeautiful of its kind. It bloomed only once in five years, and then ithad only one single rose upon it, but what a rose! It had such a sweetscent that one instantly forgot all sorrow and grief when one smeltit. He had also a nightingale, which could sing as if every sweetmelody was in its throat. This rose and the nightingale he wished togive to the princess; and therefore both were put into big silvercases and sent to her.

The emperor ordered them to be carried into the great hall wherethe princess was just playing "Visitors are coming" with herladies-in-waiting; when she saw the large cases with the presentstherein, she clapped her hands for joy.

"I wish it were a little pussy cat," she said. But then therose-tree with the beautiful rose was unpacked.

"Oh, how nicely it is made," exclaimed the ladies.

"It is more than nice," said the emperor, "it is charming."

The princess touched it and nearly began to cry.

"For shame, pa," she said, "it is not artificial, it is natural!"

"For shame, it is natural" repeated all her ladies.

"Let us first see what the other case contains before we areangry," said the emperor; then the nightingale was taken out, and itsang so beautifully that no one could possibly say anything unkindabout it.

"Superbe, charmant," said the ladies of the court, for they allprattled French, one worse than the other.

"How much the bird reminds me of the musical box of the latelamented empress," said an old courtier, "it has exactly the sametone, the same execution."

"You are right," said the emperor, and began to cry like alittle child.

"I hope it is not natural," said the princess.

"Yes, certainly it is natural," replied those who had broughtthe presents.

"Then let it fly," said the princess, and refused to see theprince.

But the prince was not discouraged. He painted his face, put oncommon clothes, pulled his cap over his forehead, and came back.

"Good day, emperor," he said, "could you not give me someemployment at the court?"

"There are so many," replied the emperor, "who apply for places,that for the present I have no vacancy, but I will remember you. Butwait a moment; it just comes into my mind, I require somebody tolook after my pigs, for I have a great many."

Thus the prince was appointed imperial swineherd, and as such helived in a wretchedly small room near the pigsty; there he workedall day long, and when it was night he had made a pretty little pot.There were little bells round the rim, and when the water began toboil in it, the bells began to play the old tune:

"A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,

Three little piggies had she," &c.But what was more wonderful was that, when one put a finger into thesteam rising from the pot, one could at once smell what meals theywere preparing on every fire in the whole town. That was indeed muchmore remarkable than the rose. When the princess with her ladiespassed by and heard the tune, she stopped and looked quite pleased,for she also could play it- in fact, it was the only tune she couldplay, and she played it with one finger.

"That is the tune I know," she exclaimed. "He must be awell-educated swineherd. Go and ask him how much the instrument is."

One of the ladies had to go and ask; but she put on pattens.

"What will you take for your pot?" asked the lady.

"I will have ten kisses from the princess," said the swineherd.

"God forbid," said the lady.

"Well, I cannot sell it for less," replied the swineherd.

"What did he say?" said the princess.

I really cannot tell you," replied the lady.

"You can whisper it into my ear."

"It is very naughty," said the princess, and walked off.

But when she had gone a little distance, the bells rang again sosweetly:

"A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,

Three little piggies had she," &c.

"Ask him," said the princess, "if he will be satisfied with tenkisses from one of my ladies."

"No, thank you," said the swineherd: "ten kisses from theprincess, or I keep my pot."

"That is tiresome," said the princess. "But you must standbefore me, so that nobody can see it."

The ladies placed themselves in front of her and spread outtheir dresses, and she gave the swineherd ten kisses and receivedthe pot.

That was a pleasure! Day and night the water in the pot wasboiling; there was not a single fire in the whole town of which theydid not know what was preparing on it, the chamberlain's as well asthe shoemaker's. The ladies danced and clapped their hands for joy.

"We know who will eat soup and pancakes; we know who will eatporridge and cutlets; oh, how interesting!"

"Very interesting, indeed," said the mistress of the household."But you must not betray me, for I am the emperor's daughter."

"Of course not," they all said.

The swineherd- that is to say, the prince- but they did not knowotherwise than that he was a real swineherd- did not waste a singleday without doing something; he made a rattle, which, when turnedquickly round, played all the waltzes, galops, and polkas knownsince the creation of the world.

"But that is superbe," said the princess passing by. "I have neverheard a more beautiful composition. Go down and ask him what theinstrument costs; but I shall not kiss him again."

"He will have a hundred kisses from the princess," said thelady, who had gone down to ask him.

"I believe he is mad," said the princess, and walked off, but soonshe stopped. "One must encourage art," she said. "I am the emperor'sdaughter! Tell him I will give him ten kisses, as I did the other day;the remainder one of my ladies can give him.

"But we do not like to kiss him" said the ladies.

"That is nonsense," said the princess; "if I can kiss him, you canalso do it. Remember that I give you food and employment." And thelady had to go down once more.

"A hundred kisses from the princess," said the swineherd, "oreverybody keeps his own."

"Place yourselves before me," said the princess then. They didas they were bidden, and the princess kissed him.

"I wonder what that crowd near the pigsty means!" said theemperor, who had just come out on his balcony. He rubbed his eyesand put his spectacles on.

"The ladies of the court are up to some mischief, I think. I shallhave to go down and see." He pulled up his shoes, for they were downat the heels, and he was very quick about it. When he had come downinto the courtyard he walked quite softly, and the ladies were sobusily engaged in counting the kisses, that all should be fair, thatthey did not notice the emperor. He raised himself on tiptoe.

"What does this mean?" he said, when he saw that his daughterwas kissing the swineherd, and then hit their heads with his shoe justas the swineherd received the sixty-eighth kiss.

"Go out of my sight," said the emperor, for he was very angry; andboth the princess and the swineherd were banished from the empire.There she stood and cried, the swineherd scolded her, and the raincame down in torrents.

"Alas, unfortunate creature that I am!" said the princess, "I wishI had accepted the prince. Oh, how wretched I am!"

The swineherd went behind a tree, wiped his face, threw off hispoor attire and stepped forth in his princely garments; he looked sobeautiful that the princess could not help bowing to him.

"I have now learnt to despise you," he said. "You refused anhonest prince; you did not appreciate the rose and the nightingale;but you did not mind kissing a swineherd for his toys; you have no onebut yourself to blame!"

And then he returned into his kingdom and left her behind. Shecould now sing at her leisure:

"A jolly old sow once lived in a sty,

Three little piggies has she," &c.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE THISTLE'S EXPERIENCES

by Hans Christian Andersen

BELONGING to the lordly manor-house was beautiful, well-keptgarden, with rare trees and flowers; the guests of the proprietordeclared their admiration of it; the people of the neighborhood,from town and country, came on Sundays and holidays, and askedpermission to see the garden; indeed, whole schools used to pay visitsto it.

Outside the garden, by the palings at the road-side, stood a greatmighty Thistle, which spread out in many directions from the root,so that it might have been called a thistle bush. Nobody looked at it,except the old Ass which drew the milk-maid's cart. This Ass used tostretch out his neck towards the Thistle, and say, "You are beautiful;I should like to eat you!" But his halter was not long enough to lethim reach it and eat it.

There was great company at the manor-house- some very noble peoplefrom the capital; young pretty girls, and among them a young ladywho came from a long distance. She had come from Scotland, and wasof high birth, and was rich in land and in gold- a bride worthwinning, said more than one of the young gentlemen; and their ladymothers said the same thing.

The young people amused themselves on the lawn, and played atball; they wandered among the flowers, and each of the young girlsbroke off a flower, and fastened it in a young gentleman's buttonhole.But the young Scotch lady looked round, for a long time, in anundecided way. None of the flowers seemed to suit her taste. Thenher eye glanced across the paling- outside stood the great thistlebush, with the reddish-blue, sturdy flowers; she saw them, she smiled,and asked the son of the house to pluck one for her.

"It is the flower of Scotland," she said. "It blooms in thescutcheon of my country. Give me yonder flower."

And he brought the fairest blossom, and pricked his fingers ascompletely as if it had grown on the sharpest rose bush.

She placed the thistle-flower in the buttonhole of the youngman, and he felt himself highly honored. Each of the other younggentlemen would willingly have given his own beautiful flower tohave worn this one, presented by the fair hand of the Scottish maiden.And if the son of the house felt himself honored, what were thefeelings of the Thistle bush? It seemed to him as if dew andsunshine were streaming through him.

"I am something more than I knew of," said the Thistle toitself. "I suppose my right place is really inside the palings, andnot outside. One is often strangely placed in this world; but now Ihave at least managed to get one of my people within the pale, andindeed into a buttonhole!"

The Thistle told this event to every blossom that unfolded itself,and not many days had gone by before the Thistle heard, not frommen, not from the twittering of the birds, but from the air itself,which stores up the sounds, and carries them far around- out of themost retired walks of the garden, and out of the rooms of the house,in which doors and windows stood open, that the young gentleman whohad received the thistle-flower from the hand of the fair Scottishmaiden had also now received the heart and hand of the lady inquestion. They were a handsome pair- it was a good match.

"That match I made up!" said the Thistle; and he thought of theflower he had given for the buttonhole. Every flower that opened heardof this occurrence.

"I shall certainly be transplanted into the garden," thought theThistle, and perhaps put into a pot, which crowds one in. That is saidto be the greatest of all honors."

And the Thistle pictured this to himself in such a livelymanner, that at last he said, with full conviction, "I am to betransplanted into a pot."

Then he promised every little thistle flower which unfolded itselfthat it also should be put into a pot, and perhaps into abuttonhole, the highest honor that could be attained. But not one ofthem was put into a pot, much less into a buttonhole. They drank inthe sunlight and the air; lived on the sunlight by day, and on the dewby night; bloomed- were visited by bees and hornets, who lookedafter the honey, the dowry of the flower, and they took the honey, andleft the flower where it was.

"The thievish rabble!" said the Thistle. "If I could only stabevery one of them! But I cannot."

The flowers hung their heads and faded; but after a time newones came.

"You come in good time," said the Thistle. "I am expecting everymoment to get across the fence."

A few innocent daisies, and a long thin dandelion, stood andlistened in deep admiration, and believed everything they heard.

The old Ass of the milk-cart stood at the edge of thefield-road, and glanced across at the blooming thistle bush; but hishalter was too short, and he could not reach it.

And the Thistle thought so long of the thistle of Scotland, towhose family he said he belonged, that he fancied at last that hehad come from Scotland, and that his parents had been put into thenational escutcheon. That was a great thought; but, you see, a greatthistle has a right to a great thought.

"One is often of so grand a family, that one may not know it,"said the Nettle, who grew close by. He had a kind of idea that hemight be made into cambric if he were rightly treated.

And the summer went by, and the autumn went by. The leaves fellfrom the trees, and the few flowers left had deeper colors and lessscent. The gardener's boy sang in the garden, across the palings:

"Up the hill, down the dale we wend,

That is life, from beginning to end."

The young fir trees in the forest began to long for Christmas, butit was a long time to Christmas yet.

"Here I am standing yet!" said the Thistle. "It is as if nobodythought of me, and yet I managed the match. They were betrothed, andthey have had their wedding; it is now a week ago. I won't take asingle step-because I can't."

A few more weeks went by. The Thistle stood there with his lastsingle flower large and full. This flower had shot up from near theroots; the wind blew cold over it, and the colors vanished, and theflower grew in size, and looked like a silvered sunflower.

One day the young pair, now man and wife, came into the garden.They went along by the paling, and the young wife looked across it.

"There's the great thistle still growing," she said. "It has noflowers now."

"Oh, yes, the ghost of the last one is there still," said he.And he pointed to the silvery remains of the flower, which looked likea flower themselves.

"It is pretty, certainly," she said. "Such an one must be carvedon the frame of our picture."

And the young man had to climb across the palings again, and tobreak off the calyx of the thistle. It pricked his fingers, but thenhe had called it a ghost. And this thistle-calyx came into the garden,and into the house, and into the drawing-room. There stood apicture- "Young Couple." A thistle-flower was painted in thebuttonhole of the bridegroom. They spoke about this, and also aboutthe thistle-flower they brought, the last thistle-flower, now gleaminglike silver, whose picture was carved on the frame.

And the breeze carried what was spoken away, far away.

"What one can experience!" said the Thistle Bush. "My first bornwas put into a buttonhole, and my youngest has been put in a frame.Where shall I go?"

And the Ass stood by the road-side, and looked across at theThistle.

"Come to me, my nibble darling!" said he. "I can't get across toyou."

But the Thistle did not answer. He became more and morethoughtful- kept on thinking and thinking till near Christmas, andthen a flower of thought came forth.

"If the children are only good, the parents do not mind standingoutside the garden pale."

"That's an honorable thought," said the Sunbeam. "You shall alsohave a good place."

"In a pot or in a frame?" asked the Thistle.

"In a story," replied the Sunbeam.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE THORNY ROAD OF HONOR

by Hans Christian Andersen

AN old story yet lives of the "Thorny Road of Honor," of amarksman, who indeed attained to rank and office, but only after alifelong and weary strife against difficulties. Who has not, inreading this story, thought of his own strife, and of his own numerous"difficulties?" The story is very closely akin to reality; but stillit has its harmonious explanation here on earth, while reality oftenpoints beyond the confines of life to the regions of eternity. Thehistory of the world is like a magic lantern that displays to us, inlight pictures upon the dark ground of the present, how thebenefactors of mankind, the martyrs of genius, wandered along thethorny road of honor.

From all periods, and from every country, these shining picturesdisplay themselves to us. Each only appears for a few moments, buteach represents a whole life, sometimes a whole age, with itsconflicts and victories. Let us contemplate here and there one ofthe company of martyrs- the company which will receive new membersuntil the world itself shall pass away.

We look down upon a crowded amphitheatre. Out of the "Clouds" ofAristophanes, satire and humor are pouring down in streams upon theaudience; on the stage Socrates, the most remarkable man in Athens, hewho had been the shield and defence of the people against the thirtytyrants, is held up mentally and bodily to ridicule- Socrates, whosaved Alcibiades and Xenophon in the turmoil of battle, and whosegenius soared far above the gods of the ancients. He himself ispresent; he has risen from the spectator's bench, and has steppedforward, that the laughing Athenians may well appreciate thelikeness between himself and the caricature on the stage. There hestands before them, towering high above them all.

Thou juicy, green, poisonous hemlock, throw thy shadow overAthens- not thou, olive tree of fame!

Seven cities contended for the honor of giving birth to Homer-that is to say, they contended after his death! Let us look at himas he was in his lifetime. He wanders on foot through the cities,and recites his verses for a livelihood; the thought for the morrowturns his hair gray! He, the great seer, is blind, and painfullypursues his way- the sharp thorn tears the mantle of the king ofpoets. His song yet lives, and through that alone live all theheroes and gods of antiquity.

One picture after another springs up from the east, from the west,far removed from each other in time and place, and yet each oneforming a portion of the thorny road of honor, on which the thistleindeed displays a flower, but only to adorn the grave.

The camels pass along under the palm trees; they are richlyladen with indigo and other treasures of value, sent by the ruler ofthe land to him whose songs are the delight of the people, the fame ofthe country. He whom envy and falsehood have driven into exile hasbeen found, and the caravan approaches the little town in which he hastaken refuge. A poor corpse is carried out of the town gate, and thefuneral procession causes the caravan to halt. The dead man is he whomthey have been sent to seek- Firdusi- who has wandered the Thorny roadof honor even to the end.

The African, with blunt features, thick lips, and woolly hair,sits on the marble steps of the palace in the capital of Portugal, andbegs. He is the submissive slave of Camoens, and but for him, andfor the copper coins thrown to him by the passers-by, his master,the poet of the "Lusiad," would die of hunger. Now, a costlymonument marks the grave of Camoens.

There is a new picture.

Behind the iron grating a man appears, pale as death, with longunkempt beard.

"I have made a discovery," he says, "the greatest that has beenmade for centuries; and they have kept me locked up here for more thantwenty years!"

Who is the man?

"A madman," replies the keeper of the madhouse. "What whimsicalideas these lunatics have! He imagines that one can propel things bymeans of steam."

It is Solomon de Cares, the discoverer of the power of steam,whose theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by Richelieu;and he dies in the madhouse.

Here stands Columbus, whom the street boys used once to follow andjeer, because he wanted to discover a new world; and he has discoveredit. Shouts of joy greet him from the breasts of all, and the clashof bells sounds to celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash ofthe bells of envy soon drowns the others. The discoverer of a world-he who lifted the American gold land from the sea, and gave it tohis king- he is rewarded with iron chains. He wishes that these chainsmay be placed in his coffin, for they witness to the world of theway in which a man's contemporaries reward good service.

One picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny path ofhonor and of fame is over-filled.

Here in dark night sits the man who measured the mountains inthe moon; he who forced his way out into the endless space, amongstars and planets; he, the mighty man who understood the spirit ofnature, and felt the earth moving beneath his feet- Galileo. Blind anddeaf he sits- an old man thrust through with the spear of suffering,and amid the torments of neglect, scarcely able to lift his foot- thatfoot with which, in the anguish of his soul, when men denied thetruth, he stamped upon the ground, with the exclamation, "Yet itmoves!"

Here stands a woman of childlike mind, yet full of faith andinspiration. She carries the banner in front of the combating army,and brings victory and salvation to her fatherland. The sound ofshouting arises, and the pile flames up. They are burning the witch,Joan of Arc. Yes, and a future century jeers at the White Lily.Voltaire, the satyr of human intellect, writes "La Pucelle."

At the Thing or Assembly at Viborg, the Danish nobles burn thelaws of the king. They flame up high, illuminating the period andthe lawgiver, and throw a glory into the dark prison tower, where anold man is growing gray and bent. With his finger he marks out agroove in the stone table. It is the popular king who sits there, oncethe ruler of three kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and thepeasant. It is Christian the Second. Enemies wrote his history. Let usremember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannotforget his crime.

A ship sails away, quitting the Danish shores. A man leans againstthe mast, casting a last glance towards the Island Hueen. It isTycho Brahe. He raised the name of Denmark to the stars, and wasrewarded with injury, loss and sorrow. He is going to a strangecountry.

"The vault of heaven is above me everywhere," he says, "and whatdo I want more?"

And away sails the famous Dane, the astronomer, to live honoredand free in a strange land.

"Ay, free, if only from the unbearable sufferings of the body!"comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our ear. What apicture! Griffenfeldt, a Danish Prometheus, bound to the rockyisland of Munkholm.

We are in America, on the margin of one of the largest rivers;an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is tosail against the wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements.The man who thinks he can solve the problem is named Robert Fulton.The ship begins its passage, but suddenly it stops. The crowd beginsto laugh and whistle and hiss- the very father of the man whistleswith the rest.

"Conceit! Foolery!" is the cry. "It has happened just as hedeserved. Put the crack-brain under lock and key!"

Then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped themachine for a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, the floatsbreak the force of the waters, and the ship continues its course;and the beam of the steam engine shortens the distance between farlands from hours into minutes.

O human race, canst thou grasp the happiness of such a minute ofconsciousness, this penetration of the soul by its mission, the momentin which all dejection, and every wound- even those caused by one'sown fault- is changed into health and strength and clearness- whendiscord is converted to harmony- the minute in which men seem torecognize the manifestation of the heavenly grace in one man, and feelhow this one imparts it to all?

Thus the thorny path of honor shows itself as a glory, surroundingthe earth with its beams. Thrice happy he who is chosen to be awanderer there, and, without merit of his own, to be placed betweenthe builder of the bridge and the earth- between Providence and thehuman race.

On mighty wings the spirit of history floats through the ages, andshows- giving courage and comfort, and awakening gentle thoughts- onthe dark nightly background, but in gleaming pictures, the thorny pathof honor, which does not, like a fairy tale, end in brilliancy and joyhere on earth, but stretches out beyond all time, even into eternity!

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE TINDER-BOX

by Hans Christian Andersen

A SOLDIER came marching along the high road: "Left, right- left,right." He had his knapsack on his back, and a sword at his side; hehad been to the wars, and was now returning home.

As he walked on, he met a very frightful-looking old witch inthe road. Her under-lip hung quite down on her breast, and she stoppedand said, "Good evening, soldier; you have a very fine sword, and alarge knapsack, and you are a real soldier; so you shall have asmuch money as ever you like."

"Thank you, old witch," said the soldier.

"Do you see that large tree," said the witch, pointing to a treewhich stood beside them. "Well, it is quite hollow inside, and youmust climb to the top, when you will see a hole, through which you canlet yourself down into the tree to a great depth. I will tie a roperound your body, so that I can pull you up again when you call outto me."

"But what am I to do, down there in the tree?" asked the soldier.

"Get money," she replied; "for you must know that when you reachthe ground under the tree, you will find yourself in a large hall,lighted up by three hundred lamps; you will then see three doors,which can be easily opened, for the keys are in all the locks. Onentering the first of the chambers, to which these doors lead, youwill see a large chest, standing in the middle of the floor, andupon it a dog seated, with a pair of eyes as large as teacups. But youneed not be at all afraid of him; I will give you my blue checkedapron, which you must spread upon the floor, and then boldly seizehold of the dog, and place him upon it. You can then open the chest,and take from it as many pence as you please, they are only copperpence; but if you would rather have silver money, you must go into thesecond chamber. Here you will find another dog, with eyes as big asmill-wheels; but do not let that trouble you. Place him upon my apron,and then take what money you please. If, however, you like goldbest, enter the third chamber, where there is another chest full ofit. The dog who sits on this chest is very dreadful; his eyes are asbig as a tower, but do not mind him. If he also is placed upon myapron, he cannot hurt you, and you may take from the chest what goldyou will."

"This is not a bad story," said the soldier; "but what am I togive you, you old witch? for, of course, you do not mean to tell meall this for nothing."

"No," said the witch; "but I do not ask for a single penny. Onlypromise to bring me an old tinder-box, which my grandmother leftbehind the last time she went down there."

"Very well; I promise. Now tie the rope round my body."

"Here it is," replied the witch; "and here is my blue checkedapron."

As soon as the rope was tied, the soldier climbed up the tree, andlet himself down through the hollow to the ground beneath; and here hefound, as the witch had told him, a large hall, in which manyhundred lamps were all burning. Then he opened the first door. "Ah!"there sat the dog, with the eyes as large as teacups, staring at him.

"You're a pretty fellow," said the soldier, seizing him, andplacing him on the witch's apron, while he filled his pockets from thechest with as many pieces as they would hold. Then he closed thelid, seated the dog upon it again, and walked into another chamber,And, sure enough, there sat the dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels.

"You had better not look at me in that way," said the soldier;"you will make your eyes water;" and then he seated him also uponthe apron, and opened the chest. But when he saw what a quantity ofsilver money it contained, he very quickly threw away all thecoppers he had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack withnothing but silver.

Then he went into the third room, and there the dog was reallyhideous; his eyes were, truly, as big as towers, and they turned roundand round in his head like wheels.

"Good morning," said the soldier, touching his cap, for he hadnever seen such a dog in his life. But after looking at him moreclosely, he thought he had been civil enough, so he placed him onthe floor, and opened the chest. Good gracious, what a quantity ofgold there was! enough to buy all the sugar-sticks of thesweet-stuff women; all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-horsesin the world, or even the whole town itself There was, indeed, animmense quantity. So the soldier now threw away all the silver moneyhe had taken, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with goldinstead; and not only his pockets and his knapsack, but even his capand boots, so that he could scarcely walk.

He was really rich now; so he replaced the dog on the chest,closed the door, and called up through the tree, "Now pull me out, youold witch."

"Have you got the tinder-box?" asked the witch.

"No; I declare I quite forgot it." So he went back and fetched thetinderbox, and then the witch drew him up out of the tree, and hestood again in the high road, with his pockets, his knapsack, his cap,and his boots full of gold.

"What are you going to do with the tinder-box?" asked the soldier.

"That is nothing to you," replied the witch; "you have themoney, now give me the tinder-box."

"I tell you what," said the soldier, "if you don't tell me whatyou are going to do with it, I will draw my sword and cut off yourhead."

"No," said the witch.

The soldier immediately cut off her head, and there she lay on theground. Then he tied up all his money in her apron. and slung it onhis back like a bundle, put the tinderbox in his pocket, and walkedoff to the nearest town. It was a very nice town, and he put up at thebest inn, and ordered a dinner of all his favorite dishes, for nowhe was rich and had plenty of money.

The servant, who cleaned his boots, thought they certainly werea shabby pair to be worn by such a rich gentleman, for he had notyet bought any new ones. The next day, however, he procured somegood clothes and proper boots, so that our soldier soon became knownas a fine gentleman, and the people visited him, and told him allthe wonders that were to be seen in the town, and of the king'sbeautiful daughter, the princess.

"Where can I see her?" asked the soldier.

"She is not to be seen at all," they said; "she lives in a largecopper castle, surrounded by walls and towers. No one but the kinghimself can pass in or out, for there has been a prophecy that shewill marry a common soldier, and the king cannot bear to think of sucha marriage."

"I should like very much to see her," thought the soldier; buthe could not obtain permission to do so. However, he passed a verypleasant time; went to the theatre, drove in the king's garden, andgave a great deal of money to the poor, which was very good of him; heremembered what it had been in olden times to be without a shilling.Now he was rich, had fine clothes, and many friends, who alldeclared he was a fine fellow and a real gentleman, and all thisgratified him exceedingly. But his money would not last forever; andas he spent and gave away a great deal daily, and received none, hefound himself at last with only two shillings left. So he wasobliged to leave his elegant rooms, and live in a little garretunder the roof, where he had to clean his own boots, and even mendthem with a large needle. None of his friends came to see him, therewere too many stairs to mount up. One dark evening, he had not evena penny to buy a candle; then all at once he remembered that there wasa piece of candle stuck in the tinder-box, which he had brought fromthe old tree, into which the witch had helped him.

He found the tinder-box, but no sooner had he struck a fewsparks from the flint and steel, than the door flew open and the dogwith eyes as big as teacups, whom he had seen while down in thetree, stood before him, and said, "What orders, master?"

"Hallo," said the soldier; "well this is a pleasant tinderbox,if it brings me all I wish for."

"Bring me some money," said he to the dog.

He was gone in a moment, and presently returned, carrying alarge bag of coppers in his month. The soldier very soon discoveredafter this the value of the tinder-box. If he struck the flint once,the dog who sat on the chest of copper money made his appearance; iftwice, the dog came from the chest of silver; and if three times,the dog with eyes like towers, who watched over the gold. Thesoldier had now plenty of money; he returned to his elegant rooms, andreappeared in his fine clothes, so that his friends knew him againdirectly, and made as much of him as before.

After a while he began to think it was very strange that no onecould get a look at the princess. "Every one says she is verybeautiful," thought he to himself; "but what is the use of that if sheis to be shut up in a copper castle surrounded by so many towers.Can I by any means get to see her. Stop! where is my tinder-box?" Thenhe struck a light, and in a moment the dog, with eyes as big asteacups, stood before him.

"It is midnight," said the soldier, "yet I should very much liketo see the princess, if only for a moment."

The dog disappeared instantly, and before the soldier could evenlook round, he returned with the princess. She was lying on thedog's back asleep, and looked so lovely, that every one who saw herwould know she was a real princess. The soldier could not help kissingher, true soldier as he was. Then the dog ran back with theprincess; but in the morning, while at breakfast with the king andqueen, she told them what a singular dream she had had during thenight, of a dog and a soldier, that she had ridden on the dog'sback, and been kissed by the soldier.

"That is a very pretty story, indeed," said the queen. So the nextnight one of the old ladies of the court was set to watch by theprincess's bed, to discover whether it really was a dream, or whatelse it might be.

The soldier longed very much to see the princess once more, sohe sent for the dog again in the night to fetch her, and to run withher as fast as ever he could. But the old lady put on water boots, andran after him as quickly as he did, and found that he carried theprincess into a large house. She thought it would help her to rememberthe place if she made a large cross on the door with a piece of chalk.Then she went home to bed, and the dog presently returned with theprincess. But when he saw that a cross had been made on the door ofthe house, where the soldier lived, he took another piece of chalk andmade crosses on all the doors in the town, so that the lady-in-waitingmight not be able to find out the right door.

Early the next morning the king and queen accompanied the lady andall the officers of the household, to see where the princess had been.

"Here it is," said the king, when they came to the first door witha cross on it.

No, my dear husband, it must be that one," said the queen,pointing to a second door having a cross also.

"And here is one, and there is another!" they all exclaimed; forthere were crosses on all the doors in every direction.

So they felt it would be useless to search any farther. But thequeen was a very clever woman; she could do a great deal more thanmerely ride in a carriage. She took her large gold scissors, cut apiece of silk into squares, and made a neat little bag. This bag shefilled with buckwheat flour, and tied it round the princess's neck;and then she cut a small hole in the bag, so that the flour might bescattered on the ground as the princess went along. During thenight, the dog came again and carried the princess on his back, andran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and wishedthat he had been a prince, so that he might have her for a wife. Thedog did not observe how the flour ran out of the bag all the wayfrom the castle wall to the soldier's house, and even up to thewindow, where he had climbed with the princess. Therefore in themorning the king and queen found out where their daughter had been,and the soldier was taken up and put in prison. Oh, how dark anddisagreeable it was as he sat there, and the people said to him,"To-morrow you will be hanged." It was not very pleasant news, andbesides, he had left the tinder-box at the inn. In the morning hecould see through the iron grating of the little window how the peoplewere hastening out of the town to see him hanged; he heard the drumsbeating, and saw the soldiers marching. Every one ran out to look atthem. and a shoemaker's boy, with a leather apron and slippers on,galloped by so fast, that one of his slippers flew off and struckagainst the wall where the soldier sat looking through the irongrating. "Hallo, you shoemaker's boy, you need not be in such ahurry," cried the soldier to him. "There will be nothing to see till Icome; but if you will run to the house where I have been living, andbring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shillings, but you mustput your best foot foremost."

The shoemaker's boy liked the idea of getting the fourshillings, so he ran very fast and fetched the tinder-box, and gave itto the soldier. And now we shall see what happened. Outside the town alarge gibbet had been erected, round which stood the soldiers andseveral thousands of people. The king and the queen sat on splendidthrones opposite to the judges and the whole council. The soldieralready stood on the ladder; but as they were about to place therope around his neck, he said that an innocent request was oftengranted to a poor criminal before he suffered death. He wished verymuch to smoke a pipe, as it would be the last pipe he should eversmoke in the world. The king could not refuse this request, so thesoldier took his tinder-box, and struck fire, once, twice, thrice,-and there in a moment stood all the dogs;- the one with eyes as big asteacups, the one with eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the third,whose eyes were like towers. "Help me now, that I may not behanged," cried the soldier.

And the dogs fell upon the judges and all the councillors;seized one by the legs, and another by the nose, and tossed themmany feet high in the air, so that they fell down and were dashed topieces.

"I will not be touched," said the king. But the largest dog seizedhim, as well as the queen, and threw them after the others. Then thesoldiers and all the people were afraid, and cried, "Good soldier, youshall be our king, and you shall marry the beautiful princess."

So they placed the soldier in the king's carriage, and the threedogs ran on in front and cried "Hurrah!" and the little boyswhistled through their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. Theprincess came out of the copper castle, and became queen, which wasvery pleasing to her. The wedding festivities lasted a whole week, andthe dogs sat at the table, and stared with all their eyes.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE TOAD

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE well was deep, and therefore the rope had to be a long one; itwas heavy work turning the handle when any one had to raise abucketful of water over the edge of the well. Though the water wasclear, the sun never looked down far enough into the well to mirroritself in the waters; but as far as its beams could reach, greenthings grew forth between the stones in the sides of the well.

Down below dwelt a family of the Toad race. They had, in fact,come head-over-heels down the well, in the person of the oldMother-Toad, who was still alive. The green Frogs, who had beenestablished there a long time, and swam about in the water, calledthem "well-guests." But the new-comers seemed determined to stay wherethey were, for they found it very agreeable living "in a dry place,"as they called the wet stones.

The Mother-Frog had once been a traveller. She happened to be inthe water-bucket when it was drawn up, but the light became too strongfor her, and she got a pain in her eyes. Fortunately she scrambled outof the bucket; but she fell into the water with a terrible flop, andhad to lie sick for three days with pains in her back. She certainlyhad not much to tell of the things up above, but she knew this, andall the Frogs knew it, that the well was not all the world. TheMother-Toad might have told this and that, if she had chosen, butshe never answered when they asked her anything, and so they leftoff asking.

"She's thick, and fat and ugly," said the young green Frogs;"and her children will be just as ugly as she is."

"That may be," retorted the mother-Toad, "but one of them has ajewel in his head, or else I have the jewel."

The young frogs listened and stared; and as these words did notplease them, they made grimaces and dived down under the water. Butthe little Toads kicked up their hind legs from mere pride, for eachof them thought that he must have the jewel; and then they sat andheld their heads quite still. But at length they asked what it wasthat made them so proud, and what kind of a thing a jewel might be.

"Oh, it is such a splendid and precious thing, that I cannotdescribe it," said the Mother-Toad. "It's something which onecarries about for one's own pleasure, and that makes other peopleangry. But don't ask me any questions, for I shan't answer you."

"Well, I haven't got the jewel," said the smallest of the Toads;she was as ugly as a toad can be. "Why should I have such a preciousthing? And if it makes others angry, it can't give me any pleasure.No, I only wish I could get to the edge of the well, and look out;it must be beautiful up there."

"You'd better stay where you are," said the old Mother-Toad,"for you know everything here, and you can tell what you have. Takecare of the bucket, for it will crush you to death; and even if youget into it safely, you may fall out. And it's not every one who fallsso cleverly as I did, and gets away with whole legs and whole bones.

"Quack!" said the little Toad; and that's just as if one of uswere to say, "Aha!"

She had an immense desire to get to the edge of the well, and tolook over; she felt such a longing for the green, up there; and thenext morning, when it chanced that the bucket was being drawn up,filled with water, and stopped for a moment just in front of the stoneon which the Toad sat, the little creature's heart moved within it,and our Toad jumped into the filled bucket, which presently wasdrawn to the top, and emptied out.

"Ugh, you beast!" said the farm laborer who emptied the bucket,when he saw the toad. "You're the ugliest thing I've seen for onewhile." And he made a kick with his wooden shoe at the toad, whichjust escaped being crushed by managing to scramble into the nettleswhich grew high by the well's brink. Here she saw stem by stem, butshe looked up also; the sun shone through the leaves, which were quitetransparent; and she felt as a person would feel who steps suddenlyinto a great forest, where the sun looks in between the branches andleaves.

"It's much nicer here than down in the well! I should like to stayhere my whole life long!" said the little Toad. So she lay there foran hour, yes, for two hours. "I wonder what is to be found up here? AsI have come so far, I must try to go still farther." And so shecrawled on as fast as she could crawl, and got out upon the highway,where the sun shone upon her, and the dust powdered her all over asshe marched across the way.

"I've got to a dry place. now, and no mistake," said the Toad."It's almost too much of a good thing here; it tickles one so."

She came to the ditch; and forget-me-nots were growing there,and meadow-sweet; and a very little way off was a hedge of whitethorn,and elder bushes grew there, too, and bindweed with white flowers. Gaycolors were to be seen here, and a butterfly, too, was flitting by.The Toad thought it was a flower which had broken loose that itmight look about better in the world, which was quite a naturalthing to do.

"If one could only make such a journey as that!" said the Toad."Croak! how capital that would be."

Eight days and eight nights she stayed by the well, andexperienced no want of provisions. On the ninth day she thought,"Forward! onward!" But what could she find more charming andbeautiful? Perhaps a little toad or a few green frogs. During the lastnight there had been a sound borne on the breeze, as if there werecousins in the neighborhood.

"It's a glorious thing to live! glorious to get out of the well,and to lie among the stinging-nettles, and to crawl along the dustyroad. But onward, onward! that we may find frogs or a little toad.We can't do without that; nature alone is not enough for one." Andso she went forward on her journey.

She came out into the open field, to a great pond, round aboutwhich grew reeds; and she walked into it.

"It will be too damp for you here," said the Frogs; "but you arevery welcome! Are you a he or a she? But it doesn't matter; you areequally welcome."

And she was invited to the concert in the evening- the familyconcert; great enthusiasm and thin voices; we know the sort ofthing. No refreshments were given, only there was plenty to drink, forthe whole pond was free.

"Now I shall resume my journey," said the little Toad; for shealways felt a longing for something better.

She saw the stars shining, so large and so bright, and she saw themoon gleaming; and then she saw the sun rise, and mount higher andhigher.

"Perhaps after all, I am still in a well, only in a larger well. Imust get higher yet; I feel a great restlessness and longing." Andwhen the moon became round and full, the poor creature thought, "Iwonder if that is the bucket which will be let down, and into whichI must step to get higher up? Or is the sun the great bucket? Howgreat it is! how bright it is! It can take up all. I must look out,that I may not miss the opportunity. Oh, how it seems to shine in myhead! I don't think the jewel can shine brighter. But I haven't thejewel; not that I cry about that- no, I must go higher up, intosplendor and joy! I feel so confident, and yet I am afraid. It's adifficult step to take, and yet it must be taken. Onward, therefore,straight onward!"

She took a few steps, such as a crawling animal may take, and soonfound herself on a road beside which people dwelt; but there wereflower gardens as well as kitchen gardens. And she sat down to rest bya kitchen garden.

"What a number of different creatures there are that I never knew!and how beautiful and great the world is! But one must look round init, and not stay in one spot." And then she hopped into the kitchengarden. "How green it is here! how beautiful it is here!"

"I know that," said the Caterpillar, on the leaf, "my leaf isthe largest here. It hides half the world from me, but I don't carefor the world."

"Cluck, cluck!" And some fowls came. They tripped about in thecabbage garden. The Fowl who marched at the head of them had a longsight, and she spied the Caterpillar on the green leaf, and peckedat it, so that the Caterpillar fell on the ground, where it twistedand writhed.

The Fowl looked at it first with one eye and then with theother, for she did not know what the end of this writhing would be.

"It doesn't do that with a good will," thought the Fowl, andlifted up her head to peck at the Caterpillar.

The Toad was so horrified at this, that she came crawling straightup towards the Fowl.

"Aha, it has allies," quoth the Fowl. "Just look at the crawlingthing!" And then the Fowl turned away. "I don't care for the littlegreen morsel; it would only tickle my throat." The other fowls tookthe same view of it, and they all turned away together.

"I writhed myself free," said the Caterpillar. "What a goodthing it is when one has presence of mind! But the hardest thingremains to be done, and that is to get on my leaf again. Where is it?"

And the little Toad came up and expressed her sympathy. She wasglad that in her ugliness she had frightened the fowls.

"What do you mean by that?" cried the Caterpillar. "I wriggledmyself free from the Fowl. You are very disagreeable to look at.Cannot I be left in peace on my own property? Now I smell cabbage; nowI am near my leaf. Nothing is so beautiful as property. But I mustgo higher up."

"Yes, higher up," said the little Toad; "higher-up! She feels justas I do; but she's not in a good humor to-day. That's because of thefright. We all want to go higher up." And she looked up as high asever she could.

The stork sat in his nest on the roof of the farm-house. Heclapped with his beak, and the Mother-stork clapped with hers.

"How high up they live!" thought the Toad. "If one could onlyget as high as that!"

In the farm-house lived two young students; the one was a poet andthe other a scientific searcher into the secrets of nature. The onesang and wrote joyously of everything that God had created, and how itwas mirrored in his heart. He sang it out clearly, sweetly, richly, inwell-sounding verses; while the other investigated created matteritself, and even cut it open where need was. He looked upon God'screation as a great sum in arithmetic- subtracted, multiplied, andtried to know it within and without, and to talk with understandingconcerning it; and that was a very sensible thing; and he spokejoyously and cleverly of it. They were good, joyful men, those two,

"There sits a good specimen of a toad," said the naturalist. "Imust have that fellow in a bottle of spirits."

"You have two of them already," replied the poet. "Let the thingsit there and enjoy its life."

"But it's so wonderfully ugly," persisted the first.

"Yes, if we could find the jewel in its head," said the poet, "Itoo should be for cutting it open.'

"A jewel!" cried the naturalist. "You seem to know a great dealabout natural history."

"But is there not something beautiful in the popular belief thatjust as the toad is the ugliest of animals, it should often carrythe most precious jewel in its head? Is it not just the same thingwith men? What a jewel that was that Aesop had, and still more,Socrates!"

The Toad did not hear any more, nor did she understand half ofwhat she had heard. The two friends walked on, and thus she escapedthe fate of being bottled up in spirits.

"Those two also were speaking of the jewel," said the Toad toherself. "What a good thing that I have not got it! I might havebeen in a very disagreeable position."

Now there was a clapping on the roof of the farm-house.Father-Stork was making a speech to his family, and his family wasglancing down at the two young men in the kitchen garden.

"Man is the most conceited creature!" said the Stork. "Listenhow their jaws are wagging; and for all that they can't clap properly.They boast of their gifts of eloquence and their language! Yes, a finelanguage truly! Why, it changes in every day's journey we make. One ofthem doesn't understand another. Now, we can speak our language overthe whole earth- up in the North and in Egypt. And then men are notable to fly, moreover. They rush along by means of an invention theycall 'railway;' but they often break their necks over it. It makesmy beak turn cold when I think of it. The world could get on withoutmen. We could do without them very well, so long as we only keep frogsand earth-worms."

"That was a powerful speech," thought the little Toad. "What agreat man that is yonder! and how high he sits! Higher than ever I sawany one sit yet; and how he can swim!" she cried, as the Storksoared away through the air with outspread pinions.

And the Mother-Stork began talking in the nest, and told aboutEgypt and the waters of the Nile, and the incomparable mud that was tobe found in that strange land; and all this sounded new and verycharming to the little Toad.

"I must go to Egypt!" said she. "If the Stork or one of hisyoung ones would only take me! I would oblige him in return. Yes, Ishall get to Egypt, for I feel so happy! All the longing and all thepleasure that I feel is much better than having a jewel in one'shead."

And it was just she who had the jewel. That jewel was thecontinual striving and desire to go upward- ever upward. It gleamed inher head, gleamed in joy, beamed brightly in her longing.

Then, suddenly, up came the Stork. He had seen the Toad in thegrass, and stooped down and seized the little creature anything butgently. The Stork's beak pinched her, and the wind whistled; it wasnot exactly agreeable, but she was going upward- upward towards Egypt-and she knew it; and that was why her eyes gleamed, and a spark seemedto fly out of them.

"Quunk!- ah!"

The body was dead- the Toad was killed! But the spark that hadshot forth from her eyes; what became of that?

The sunbeam took it up; the sunbeam carried the jewel from thehead of the toad. Whither?

Ask not the naturalist; rather ask the poet. He will tell itthee under the guise of a fairy tale; and the Caterpillar on thecabbage, and the Stork family belong to the story. Think! theCaterpillar is changed, and turns into a beautiful butterfly; theStork family flies over mountains and seas, to the distant Africa, andyet finds the shortest way home to the same country- to the same roof.Nay, that is almost too improbable; and yet it is true. You may askthe naturalist, he will confess it is so; and you know it yourself,for you have seen it.

But the jewel in the head of the toad?

Seek it in the sun; see it there if you can.

The brightness is too dazzling there. We have not yet such eyes ascan see into the glories which God has created, but we shall receivethem by-and-by; and that will be the most beautiful story of all,and we shall all have our share in it.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE TOP AND BALL

by Hans Christian Andersen

A WHIPPING TOP and a little ball lay together in a box, amongother toys, and the top said to the ball, "Shall we be married, aswe live in the same box?"

But the ball, which wore a dress of morocco leather, and thoughtas much of herself as any other young lady, would not evencondescend to reply.

The next day came the little boy to whom the playthingsbelonged, and he painted the top red and yellow, and drove abrass-headed nail into the middle, so that while the top wasspinning round it looked splendid.

"Look at me," said the top to the ball. "What do you say now?Shall we be engaged to each other? We should suit so well; you spring,and I dance. No one could be happier than we should be."

"Indeed! do you think so? Perhaps you do not know that my fatherand mother were morocco slippers, and that I have a Spanish cork in mybody."

"Yes; but I am made of mahogany," said the top. "The major himselfturned me. He has a turning lathe of his own, and it is a greatamusement to him."

"Can I believe it?" asked the ball.

"May I never be whipped again," said the top, "if I am not tellingyou the truth."

"You certainly know how to speak for yourself very well," said theball; "but I cannot accept your proposal. I am almost engaged to aswallow. Every time I fly up in the air, he puts his head out of thenest, and says, 'Will you?' and I have said, 'Yes,' to myselfsilently, and that is as good as being half engaged; but I willpromise never to forget you."

"Much good that will be to me," said the top; and they spoke toeach other no more.

Next day the ball was taken out by the boy. The top saw itflying high in the air, like a bird, till it would go quite out ofsight. Each time it came back, as it touched the earth, it gave ahigher leap than before, either because it longed to fly upwards, orfrom having a Spanish cork in its body. But the ninth time it rosein the air, it remained away, and did not return. The boy searchedeverywhere for it, but he searched in vain, for it could not be found;it was gone.

"I know very well where she is," sighed the top; "she is in theswallow's nest, and has married the swallow."

The more the top thought of this, the more he longed for the ball.His love increased the more, just because he could not get her; andthat she should have been won by another, was the worst of all. Thetop still twirled about and hummed, but he continued to think of theball; and the more he thought of her, the more beautiful she seemed tohis fancy.

Thus several years passed by, and his love became quite old. Thetop, also, was no longer young; but there came a day when he lookedhandsomer than ever; for he was gilded all over. He was now a goldentop, and whirled and danced about till he hummed quite loud, and wassomething worth looking at; but one day he leaped too high, and thenhe, also, was gone. They searched everywhere, even in the cellar,but he was nowhere to be found. Where could he be? He had jumpedinto the dust-bin, where all sorts of rubbish were lying:cabbage-stalks, dust, and rain-droppings that had fallen down from thegutter under the roof.

"Now I am in a nice place," said he; "my gilding will soon bewashed off here. Oh dear, what a set of rabble I have got amongst!"And then he glanced at a curious round thing like an old apple,which lay near a long, leafless cabbage-stalk. It was, however, not anapple, but an old ball, which had lain for years in the gutter, andwas soaked through with water.

"Thank goodness, here comes one of my own class, with whom I cantalk," said the ball, examining the gilded top. "I am made ofmorocco," she said. "I was sewn together by a young lady, and I have aSpanish cork in my body; but no one would think it, to look at me now.I was once engaged to a swallow; but I fell in here from the gutterunder the roof, and I have lain here more than five years, and havebeen thoroughly drenched. Believe me, it is a long time for a youngmaiden."

The top said nothing, but he thought of his old love; and the moreshe said, the more clear it became to him that this was the same ball.

The servant then came to clean out the dust-bin.

"Ah," she exclaimed, "here is a gilt top." So the top wasbrought again to notice and honor, but nothing more was heard of thelittle ball. He spoke not a word about his old love; for that soondied away. When the beloved object has lain for five years in agutter, and has been drenched through, no one cares to know heragain on meeting her in a dust-bin.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE TRAVELLING COMPANION

by Hans Christian Andersen

POOR John was very sad; for his father was so ill, he had nohope of his recovery. John sat alone with the sick man in the littleroom, and the lamp had nearly burnt out; for it was late in the night.

"You have been a good son, John," said the sick father, "and Godwill help you on in the world." He looked at him, as he spoke, withmild, earnest eyes, drew a deep sigh, and died; yet it appeared asif he still slept.

John wept bitterly. He had no one in the wide world now; neitherfather, mother, brother, nor sister. Poor John! he knelt down by thebed, kissed his dead father's hand, and wept many, many bittertears. But at last his eyes closed, and he fell asleep with his headresting against the hard bedpost. Then he dreamed a strange dream;he thought he saw the sun shining upon him, and his father alive andwell, and even heard him laughing as he used to do when he was veryhappy. A beautiful girl, with a golden crown on her head, and long,shining hair, gave him her hand; and his father said, "See what abride you have won. She is the loveliest maiden on the whole earth."Then he awoke, and all the beautiful things vanished before hiseyes, his father lay dead on the bed, and he was all alone. Poor John!

During the following week the dead man was buried. The sonwalked behind the coffin which contained his father, whom he so dearlyloved, and would never again behold. He heard the earth fall on thecoffin-lid, and watched it till only a corner remained in sight, andat last that also disappeared. He felt as if his heart would breakwith its weight of sorrow, till those who stood round the grave sang apsalm, and the sweet, holy tones brought tears into his eyes, whichrelieved him. The sun shone brightly down on the green trees, as if itwould say, "You must not be so sorrowful, John. Do you see thebeautiful blue sky above you? Your father is up there, and he prays tothe loving Father of all, that you may do well in the future."

"I will always be good," said John, "and then I shall go to bewith my father in heaven. What joy it will be when we see each otheragain! How much I shall have to relate to him, and how many thingshe will be able to explain to me of the delights of heaven, andteach me as he once did on earth. Oh, what joy it will be!"

He pictured it all so plainly to himself, that he smiled evenwhile the tears ran down his cheeks.

The little birds in the chestnut-trees twittered, "Tweet,tweet;" they were so happy, although they had seen the funeral; butthey seemed as if they knew that the dead man was now in heaven, andthat he had wings much larger and more beautiful than their own; andhe was happy now, because he had been good here on earth, and theywere glad of it. John saw them fly away out of the green trees intothe wide world, and he longed to fly with them; but first he cut out alarge wooden cross, to place on his father's grave; and when hebrought it there in the evening, he found the grave decked out withgravel and flowers. Strangers had done this; they who had known thegood old father who was now dead, and who had loved him very much.

Early the next morning, John packed up his little bundle ofclothes, and placed all his money, which consisted of fifty dollarsand a few shillings, in his girdle; with this he determined to try hisfortune in the world. But first he went into the churchyard; and, byhis father's grave, he offered up a prayer, and said, "Farewell."

As he passed through the fields, all the flowers looked freshand beautiful in the warm sunshine, and nodded in the wind, as if theywished to say, "Welcome to the green wood, where all is fresh andbright."

Then John turned to have one more look at the old church, in whichhe had been christened in his infancy, and where his father hadtaken him every Sunday to hear the service and join in singing thepsalms. As he looked at the old tower, he espied the ringer standingat one of the narrow openings, with his little pointed red cap onhis head, and shading his eyes from the sun with his bent arm. Johnnodded farewell to him, and the little ringer waved his red cap,laid his hand on his heart, and kissed his hand to him a great manytimes, to show that he felt kindly towards him, and wished him aprosperous journey.

John continued his journey, and thought of all the wonderfulthings he should see in the large, beautiful world, till he foundhimself farther away from home than ever he had been before. He didnot even know the names of the places he passed through, and couldscarcely understand the language of the people he met, for he wasfar away, in a strange land. The first night he slept on a haystack,out in the fields, for there was no other bed for him; but it seemedto him so nice and comfortable that even a king need not wish for abetter. The field, the brook, the haystack, with the blue sky above,formed a beautiful sleeping-room. The green grass, with the little redand white flowers, was the carpet; the elder-bushes and the hedgesof wild roses looked like garlands on the walls; and for a bath hecould have the clear, fresh water of the brook; while the rushes bowedtheir heads to him, to wish him good morning and good evening. Themoon, like a large lamp, hung high up in the blue ceiling, and hehad no fear of its setting fire to his curtains. John slept here quitesafely all night; and when he awoke, the sun was up, and all thelittle birds were singing round him, "Good morning, good morning.Are you not up yet?"

It was Sunday, and the bells were ringing for church. As thepeople went in, John followed them; he heard God's word, joined insinging the psalms, and listened to the preacher. It seemed to himjust as if he were in his own church, where he had been christened,and had sung the psalms with his father. Out in the churchyard wereseveral graves, and on some of them the grass had grown very high.John thought of his father's grave, which he knew at last would looklike these, as he was not there to weed and attend to it. Then heset to work, pulled up the high grass, raised the wooden crosses whichhad fallen down, and replaced the wreaths which had been blown awayfrom their places by the wind, thinking all the time, "Perhaps someone is doing the same for my father's grave, as I am not there to doit "

Outside the church door stood an old beggar, leaning on hiscrutch. John gave him his silver shillings, and then he continuedhis journey, feeling lighter and happier than ever. Towards evening,the weather became very stormy, and he hastened on as quickly as hecould, to get shelter; but it was quite dark by the time he reacheda little lonely church which stood on a hill. "I will go in here,"he said, "and sit down in a corner; for I am quite tired, and wantrest."

So he went in, and seated himself; then he folded his hands, andoffered up his evening prayer, and was soon fast asleep anddreaming, while the thunder rolled and the lightning flashedwithout. When he awoke, it was still night; but the storm hadceased, and the moon shone in upon him through the windows. Then hesaw an open coffin standing in the centre of the church, whichcontained a dead man, waiting for burial. John was not at all timid;he had a good conscience, and he knew also that the dead can neverinjure any one. It is living wicked men who do harm to others. Twosuch wicked persons stood now by the dead man, who had been brought tothe church to be buried. Their evil intentions were to throw thepoor dead body outside the church door, and not leave him to rest inhis coffin.

"Why do you do this?" asked John, when he saw what they were goingto do; "it is very wicked. Leave him to rest in peace, in Christ'sname."

"Nonsense," replied the two dreadful men. "He has cheated us; heowed us money which he could not pay, and now he is dead we shallnot get a penny; so we mean to have our revenge, and let him lielike a dog outside the church door."

"I have only fifty dollars," said John, "it is all I possess inthe world, but I will give it to you if you will promise me faithfullyto leave the dead man in peace. I shall be able to get on withoutthe money; I have strong and healthy limbs, and God will always helpme."

"Why, of course," said the horrid men, "if you will pay his debtwe will both promise not to touch him. You may depend upon that;"and then they took the money he offered them, laughed at him for hisgood nature, and went their way.

Then he laid the dead body back in the coffin, folded the hands,and took leave of it; and went away contentedly through the greatforest. All around him he could see the prettiest little elves dancingin the moonlight, which shone through the trees. They were notdisturbed by his appearance, for they knew he was good and harmlessamong men. They are wicked people only who can never obtain aglimpse of fairies. Some of them were not taller than the breadth of afinger, and they wore golden combs in their long, yellow hair. Theywere rocking themselves two together on the large dew-drops with whichthe leaves and the high grass were sprinkled. Sometimes thedew-drops would roll away, and then they fell down between the stemsof the long grass, and caused a great deal of laughing and noise amongthe other little people. It was quite charming to watch them atplay. Then they sang songs, and John remembered that he had learntthose pretty songs when he was a little boy. Large speckled spiders,with silver crowns on their heads, were employed to spin suspensionbridges and palaces from one hedge to another, and when the tiny dropsfell upon them, they glittered in the moonlight like shining glass.This continued till sunrise. Then the little elves crept into theflower-buds, and the wind seized the bridges and palaces, andfluttered them in the air like cobwebs.

As John left the wood, a strong man's voice called after him,"Hallo, comrade, where are you travelling?"

"Into the wide world," he replied; "I am only a poor lad, I haveneither father nor mother, but God will help me."

"I am going into the wide world also," replied the stranger;"shall we keep each other company?"

"With all my heart," he said, and so they went on together. Soonthey began to like each other very much, for they were both good;but John found out that the stranger was much more clever thanhimself. He had travelled all over the world, and could describealmost everything. The sun was high in the heavens when they seatedthemselves under a large tree to eat their breakfast, and at thesame moment an old woman came towards them. She was very old andalmost bent double. She leaned upon a stick and carried on her backa bundle of firewood, which she had collected in the forest; her apronwas tied round it, and John saw three great stems of fern and somewillow twigs peeping out. just as she came close up to them, herfoot slipped and she fell to the ground screaming loudly; poor oldwoman, she had broken her leg! John proposed directly that they shouldcarry the old woman home to her cottage; but the stranger opened hisknapsack and took out a box, in which he said he had a salve thatwould quickly make her leg well and strong again, so that she would beable to walk home herself, as if her leg had never been broken. Andall that he would ask in return was the three fern stems which shecarried in her apron.

"That is rather too high a price," said the old woman, nodding herhead quite strangely. She did not seem at all inclined to part withthe fern stems. However, it was not very agreeable to lie there with abroken leg, so she gave them to him; and such was the power of theointment, that no sooner had he rubbed her leg with it than the oldmother rose up and walked even better than she had done before. Butthen this wonderful ointment could not be bought at a chemist's.

"What can you want with those three fern rods?" asked John ofhis fellow-traveller.

"Oh, they will make capital brooms," said he; "and I like thembecause I have strange whims sometimes." Then they walked ontogether for a long distance.

"How dark the sky is becoming," said John; "and look at thosethick, heavy clouds."

"Those are not clouds," replied his fellow-traveller; "they aremountains- large lofty mountains- on the tops of which we should beabove the clouds, in the pure, free air. Believe me, it isdelightful to ascend so high, tomorrow we shall be there." But themountains were not so near as they appeared; they had to travel awhole day before they reached them, and pass through black forests andpiles of rock as large as a town. The journey had been so fatiguingthat John and his fellow-traveller stopped to rest at a roadsideinn, so that they might gain strength for their journey on the morrow.In the large public room of the inn a great many persons wereassembled to see a comedy performed by dolls. The showman had justerected his little theatre, and the people were sitting round the roomto witness the performance. Right in front, in the very best place,sat a stout butcher, with a great bull-dog by his side who seemed verymuch inclined to bite. He sat staring with all his eyes, and so indeeddid every one else in the room. And then the play began. It was apretty piece, with a king and a queen in it, who sat on a beautifulthrone, and had gold crowns on their heads. The trains to theirdresses were very long, according to the fashion; while theprettiest of wooden dolls, with glass eyes and large mustaches,stood at the doors, and opened and shut them, that the fresh air mightcome into the room. It was a very pleasant play, not at allmournful; but just as the queen stood up and walked across thestage, the great bull-dog, who should have been held back by hismaster, made a spring forward, and caught the queen in the teeth bythe slender wrist, so that it snapped in two. This was a very dreadfuldisaster. The poor man, who was exhibiting the dolls, was muchannoyed, and quite sad about his queen; she was the prettiest dollhe had, and the bull-dog had broken her head and shoulders off. Butafter all the people were gone away, the stranger, who came with John,said that he could soon set her to rights. And then he brought out hisbox and rubbed the doll with some of the salve with which he had curedthe old woman when she broke her leg. As soon as this was done thedoll's back became quite right again; her head and shoulders werefixed on, and she could even move her limbs herself: there was nowno occasion to pull the wires, for the doll acted just like a livingcreature, excepting that she could not speak. The man to whom the showbelonged was quite delighted at having a doll who could dance ofherself without being pulled by the wires; none of the other dollscould do this.

During the night, when all the people at the inn were gone to bed,some one was heard to sigh so deeply and painfully, and the sighingcontinued for so long a time, that every one got up to see whatcould be the matter. The showman went at once to his little theatreand found that it proceeded from the dolls, who all lay on the floorsighing piteously, and staring with their glass eyes; they allwanted to be rubbed with the ointment, so that, like the queen, theymight be able to move of themselves. The queen threw herself on herknees, took off her beautiful crown, and, holding it in her hand,cried, "Take this from me, but do rub my husband and his courtiers."

The poor man who owned the theatre could scarcely refrain fromweeping; he was so sorry that he could not help them. Then heimmediately spoke to John's comrade, and promised him all the money hemight receive at the next evening's performance, if he would onlyrub the ointment on four or five of his dolls. But thefellow-traveller said he did not require anything in return, exceptingthe sword which the showman wore by his side. As soon as he receivedthe sword he anointed six of the dolls with the ointment, and theywere able immediately to dance so gracefully that all the living girlsin the room could not help joining in the dance. The coachman dancedwith the cook, and the waiters with the chambermaids, and all thestrangers joined; even the tongs and the fire-shovel made anattempt, but they fell down after the first jump. So after all itwas a very merry night. The next morning John and his companion leftthe inn to continue their journey through the great pine-forests andover the high mountains. They arrived at last at such a great heightthat towns and villages lay beneath them, and the church steepleslooked like little specks between the green trees. They could seefor miles round, far away to places they had never visited, and Johnsaw more of the beautiful world than he had ever known before. The sunshone brightly in the blue firmament above, and through the clearmountain air came the sound of the huntsman's horn, and the soft,sweet notes brought tears into his eyes, and he could not helpexclaiming, "How good and loving God is to give us all this beauty andloveliness in the world to make us happy!"

His fellow-traveller stood by with folded hands, gazing on thedark wood and the towns bathed in the warm sunshine. At this momentthere sounded over their heads sweet music. They looked up, anddiscovered a large white swan hovering in the air, and singing asnever bird sang before. But the song soon became weaker and weaker,the bird's head drooped, and he sunk slowly down, and lay dead attheir feet.

"It is a beautiful bird," said the traveller, "and these largewhite wings are worth a great deal of money. I will take them with me.You see now that a sword will be very useful."

So he cut off the wings of the dead swan with one blow, andcarried them away with him.

They now continued their journey over the mountains for manymiles, till they at length reached a large city, containing hundredsof towers, that shone in the sunshine like silver. In the midst of thecity stood a splendid marble palace, roofed with pure red gold, inwhich dwelt the king. John and his companion would not go into thetown immediately; so they stopped at an inn outside the town, tochange their clothes; for they wished to appear respectable as theywalked through the streets. The landlord told them that the king was avery good man, who never injured any one: but as to his daughter,"Heaven defend us!"

She was indeed a wicked princess. She possessed beauty enough-nobody could be more elegant or prettier than she was; but what ofthat? for she was a wicked witch; and in consequence of her conductmany noble young princes had lost their lives. Any one was atliberty to make her an offer; were he a prince or a beggar, itmattered not to her. She would ask him to guess three things which shehad just thought of, and if he succeed, he was to marry her, and beking over all the land when her father died; but if he could not guessthese three things, then she ordered him to be hanged or to have hishead cut off. The old king, her father, was very much grieved at herconduct, but he could not prevent her from being so wicked, because heonce said he would have nothing more to do with her lovers; shemight do as she pleased. Each prince who came and tried the threeguesses, so that he might marry the princess, had been unable tofind them out, and had been hanged or beheaded. They had all beenwarned in time, and might have left her alone, if they would. Theold king became at last so distressed at all these dreadfulcircumstances, that for a whole day every year he and his soldiersknelt and prayed that the princess might become good; but shecontinued as wicked as ever. The old women who drank brandy wouldcolor it quite black before they drank it, to show how they mourned;and what more could they do?

"What a horrible princess!" said John; "she ought to be wellflogged. If I were the old king, I would have her punished in someway."

Just then they heard the people outside shouting, "Hurrah!" and,looking out, they saw the princess passing by; and she was really sobeautiful that everybody forgot her wickedness, and shouted"Hurrah!" Twelve lovely maidens in white silk dresses, holdinggolden tulips in their hands, rode by her side on coal-black horses.The princess herself had a snow-white steed, decked with diamondsand rubies. Her dress was of cloth of gold, and the whip she held inher hand looked like a sunbeam. The golden crown on her head glitteredlike the stars of heaven, and her mantle was formed of thousands ofbutterflies' wings sewn together. Yet she herself was more beautifulthan all.

When John saw her, his face became as red as a drop of blood,and he could scarcely utter a word. The princess looked exactly likethe beautiful lady with the golden crown, of whom he had dreamed onthe night his father died. She appeared to him so lovely that he couldnot help loving her.

"It could not be true," he thought, "that she was really awicked witch, who ordered people to be hanged or beheaded, if theycould not guess her thoughts. Every one has permission to go and askher hand, even the poorest beggar. I shall pay a visit to the palace,"he said; "I must go, for I cannot help myself."

Then they all advised him not to attempt it; for he would besure to share the same fate as the rest. His fellow-traveller alsotried to persuade him against it; but John seemed quite sure ofsuccess. He brushed his shoes and his coat, washed his face and hishands, combed his soft flaxen hair, and then went out alone into thetown, and walked to the palace.

"Come in," said the king, as John knocked at the door. John openedit, and the old king, in a dressing gown and embroidered slippers,came towards him. He had the crown on his head, carried his sceptre inone hand, and the orb in the other. "Wait a bit," said he, and heplaced the orb under his arm, so that he could offer the other hand toJohn; but when he found that John was another suitor, he began to weepso violently, that both the sceptre and the orb fell to the floor, andhe was obliged to wipe his eyes with his dressing gown. Poor old king!"Let her alone," he said; "you will fare as badly as all the others.Come, I will show you." Then he led him out into the princess'spleasure gardens, and there he saw a frightful sight. On every treehung three or four king's sons who had wooed the princess, but had notbeen able to guess the riddles she gave them. Their skeletonsrattled in every breeze, so that the terrified birds never dared toventure into the garden. All the flowers were supported by human bonesinstead of sticks, and human skulls in the flower-pots grinnedhorribly. It was really a doleful garden for a princess. "Do you seeall this?" said the old king; "your fate will be the same as those whoare here, therefore do not attempt it. You really make me veryunhappy,- I take these things to heart so very much."

John kissed the good old king's hand, and said he was sure itwould be all right, for he was quite enchanted with the beautifulprincess. Then the princess herself came riding into the palace yardwith all her ladies, and he wished her "Good morning." She lookedwonderfully fair and lovely when she offered her hand to John, andhe loved her more than ever. How could she be a wicked witch, as allthe people asserted? He accompanied her into the hall, and thelittle pages offered them gingerbread nuts and sweetmeats, but the oldking was so unhappy he could eat nothing, and besides, gingerbreadnuts were too hard for him. It was decided that John should come tothe palace the next day, when the judges and the whole of thecounsellors would be present, to try if he could guess the firstriddle. If he succeeded, he would have to come a second time; but ifnot, he would lose his life,- and no one had ever been able to guesseven one. However, John was not at all anxious about the result of histrial; on the contrary, he was very merry. He thought only of thebeautiful princess, and believed that in some way he should have help,but how he knew not, and did not like to think about it; so hedanced along the high-road as he went back to the inn, where he hadleft his fellow-traveller waiting for him. John could not refrain fromtelling him how gracious the princess had been, and how beautifulshe looked. He longed for the next day so much, that he might go tothe palace and try his luck at guessing the riddles. But his comradeshook his head, and looked very mournful. "I do so wish you to dowell," said he; "we might have continued together much longer, and nowI am likely to lose you; you poor dear John! I could shed tears, but Iwill not make you unhappy on the last night we may be together. Wewill be merry, really merry this evening; to-morrow, after you aregone, shall be able to weep undisturbed."

It was very quickly known among the inhabitants of the town thatanother suitor had arrived for the princess, and there was greatsorrow in consequence. The theatre remained closed, the women who soldsweetmeats tied crape round the sugar-sticks, and the king and thepriests were on their knees in the church. There was a greatlamentation, for no one expected John to succeed better than those whohad been suitors before.

In the evening John's comrade prepared a large bowl of punch,and said, "Now let us be merry, and drink to the health of theprincess." But after drinking two glasses, John became so sleepy, thathe could not keep his eyes open, and fell fast asleep. Then hisfellow-traveller lifted him gently out of his chair, and laid him onthe bed; and as soon as it was quite dark, he took the two large wingswhich he had cut from the dead swan, and tied them firmly to his ownshoulders. Then he put into his pocket the largest of the three rodswhich he had obtained from the old woman who had fallen and broken herleg. After this he opened the window, and flew away over the town,straight towards the palace, and seated himself in a corner, under thewindow which looked into the bedroom of the princess.

The town was perfectly still when the clocks struck a quarter totwelve. Presently the window opened, and the princess, who had largeblack wings to her shoulders, and a long white mantle, flew awayover the city towards a high mountain. The fellow-traveller, who hadmade himself invisible, so that she could not possibly see him, flewafter her through the air, and whipped the princess with his rod, sothat the blood came whenever he struck her. Ah, it was a strangeflight through the air! The wind caught her mantle, so that itspread out on all sides, like the large sail of a ship, and the moonshone through it. "How it hails, to be sure!" said the princess, ateach blow she received from the rod; and it served her right to bewhipped.

At last she reached the side of the mountain, and knocked. Themountain opened with a noise like the roll of thunder, and theprincess went in. The traveller followed her; no one could see him, ashe had made himself invisible. They went through a long, wide passage.A thousand gleaming spiders ran here and there on the walls, causingthem to glitter as if they were illuminated with fire. They nextentered a large hall built of silver and gold. Large red and blueflowers shone on the walls, looking like sunflowers in size, but noone could dare to pluck them, for the stems were hideous poisonoussnakes, and the flowers were flames of fire, darting out of theirjaws. Shining glow-worms covered the ceiling, and sky-blue batsflapped their transparent wings. Altogether the place had afrightful appearance. In the middle of the floor stood a thronesupported by four skeleton horses, whose harness had been made byfiery-red spiders. The throne itself was made of milk-white glass, andthe cushions were little black mice, each biting the other's tail.Over it hung a canopy of rose-colored spider's webs, spotted withthe prettiest little green flies, which sparkled like precious stones.On the throne sat an old magician with a crown on his ugly head, and asceptre in his hand. He kissed the princess on the forehead, seatedher by his side on the splendid throne, and then the musiccommenced. Great black grasshoppers played the mouth organ, and theowl struck herself on the body instead of a drum. It was altogethera ridiculous concert. Little black goblins with false lights intheir caps danced about the hall; but no one could see thetraveller, and he had placed himself just behind the throne where hecould see and hear everything. The courtiers who came in afterwardslooked noble and grand; but any one with common sense could see whatthey really were, only broomsticks, with cabbages for heads. Themagician had given them life, and dressed them in embroidered robes.It answered very well, as they were only wanted for show. Afterthere had been a little dancing, the princess told the magician thatshe had a new suitor, and asked him what she could think of for thesuitor to guess when he came to the castle the next morning.

"Listen to what I say," said the magician, "you must choosesomething very easy, he is less likely to guess it then. Think ofone of your shoes, he will never imagine it is that. Then cut his headoff; and mind you do not forget to bring his eyes with you to-morrownight, that I may eat them."

The princess curtsied low, and said she would not forget the eyes.

The magician then opened the mountain and she flew home again, butthe traveller followed and flogged her so much with the rod, thatshe sighed quite deeply about the heavy hail-storm, and made as muchhaste as she could to get back to her bedroom through the window.The traveller then returned to the inn where John still slept, tookoff his wings and laid down on the bed, for he was very tired. Earlyin the morning John awoke, and when his fellow-traveller got up, hesaid that he had a very wonderful dream about the princess and hershoe, he therefore advised John to ask her if she had not thought ofher shoe. Of course the traveller knew this from what the magicianin the mountain had said.

"I may as well say that as anything," said John. "Perhaps yourdream may come true; still I will say farewell, for if I guess wrong Ishall never see you again."

Then they embraced each other, and John went into the town andwalked to the palace. The great hall was full of people, and thejudges sat in arm-chairs, with eider-down cushions to rest their headsupon, because they had so much to think of. The old king stood near,wiping his eyes with his white pocket-handkerchief. When theprincess entered, she looked even more beautiful than she had appearedthe day before, and greeted every one present most gracefully; butto John she gave her hand, and said, "Good morning to you."

Now came the time for John to guess what she was thinking of;and oh, how kindly she looked at him as she spoke. But when he utteredthe single word shoe, she turned as pale as a ghost; all her wisdomcould not help her, for he had guessed rightly. Oh, how pleased theold king was! It was quite amusing to see how he capered about. Allthe people clapped their hands, both on his account and John's, whohad guessed rightly the first time. His fellow-traveller was gladalso, when he heard how successful John had been. But John foldedhis hands, and thanked God, who, he felt quite sure, would help himagain; and he knew he had to guess twice more. The evening passedpleasantly like the one preceding. While John slept, his companionflew behind the princess to the mountain, and flogged her evenharder than before; this time he had taken two rods with him. No onesaw him go in with her, and he heard all that was said. The princessthis time was to think of a glove, and he told John as if he had againheard it in a dream. The next day, therefore, he was able to guesscorrectly the second time, and it caused great rejoicing at thepalace. The whole court jumped about as they had seen the king dothe day before, but the princess lay on the sofa, and would not saya single word. All now depended upon John. If he only guessedrightly the third time, he would marry the princess, and reign overthe kingdom after the death of the old king: but if he failed, hewould lose his life, and the magician would have his beautiful blueeyes. That evening John said his prayers and went to bed very early,and soon fell asleep calmly. But his companion tied on his wings tohis shoulders, took three rods, and, with his sword at his side,flew to the palace. It was a very dark night, and so stormy that thetiles flew from the roofs of the houses, and the trees in the gardenupon which the skeletons hung bent themselves like reeds before thewind. The lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled in onelong-continued peal all night. The window of the castle opened, andthe princess flew out. She was pale as death, but she laughed at thestorm as if it were not bad enough. Her white mantle fluttered inthe wind like a large sail, and the traveller flogged her with thethree rods till the blood trickled down, and at last she couldscarcely fly; she contrived, however, to reach the mountain. "What ahail-storm!" she said, as she entered; "I have never been out insuch weather as this."

"Yes, there may be too much of a good thing sometimes," said themagician.

Then the princess told him that John had guessed rightly thesecond time, and if he succeeded the next morning, he would win, andshe could never come to the mountain again, or practice magic as shehad done, and therefore she was quite unhappy. "I will find outsomething for you to think of which he will never guess, unless heis a greater conjuror than myself. But now let us be merry."

Then he took the princess by both hands, and they danced withall the little goblins and Jack-o'-lanterns in the room. The redspiders sprang here and there on the walls quite as merrily, and theflowers of fire appeared as if they were throwing out sparks. Theowl beat the drum, the crickets whistled and the grasshoppers playedthe mouth-organ. It was a very ridiculous ball. After they haddanced enough, the princess was obliged to go home, for fear sheshould be missed at the palace. The magician offered to go with her,that they might be company to each other on the way. Then they flewaway through the bad weather, and the traveller followed them, andbroke his three rods across their shoulders. The magician had neverbeen out in such a hail-storm as this. Just by the palace the magicianstopped to wish the princess farewell, and to whisper in her ear,"To-morrow think of my head."

But the traveller heard it, and just as the princess slippedthrough the window into her bedroom, and the magician turned roundto fly back to the mountain, he seized him by the long black beard,and with his sabre cut off the wicked conjuror's head just behindthe shoulders, so that he could not even see who it was. He threwthe body into the sea to the fishes, and after dipping the head intothe water, he tied it up in a silk handkerchief, took it with him tothe inn, and then went to bed. The next morning he gave John thehandkerchief, and told him not to untie it till the princess asked himwhat she was thinking of. There were so many people in the greathall of the palace that they stood as thick as radishes tiedtogether in a bundle. The council sat in their arm-chairs with thewhite cushions. The old king wore new robes, and the golden crownand sceptre had been polished up so that he looked quite smart. Butthe princess was very pale, and wore a black dress as if she weregoing to a funeral.

"What have I thought of?" asked the princess, of John. Heimmediately untied the handkerchief, and was himself quitefrightened when he saw the head of the ugly magician. Every oneshuddered, for it was terrible to look at; but the princess sat like astatue, and could not utter a single word. At length she rose and gaveJohn her hand, for he had guessed rightly.

She looked at no one, but sighed deeply, and said, "You are mymaster now; this evening our marriage must take place."

"I am very pleased to hear it," said the old king. "It is justwhat I wish."

Then all the people shouted "Hurrah." The band played music in thestreets, the bells rang, and the cake-women took the black crape offthe sugar-sticks. There was universal joy. Three oxen, stuffed withducks and chickens, were roasted whole in the market-place, whereevery one might help himself to a slice. The fountains spouted forththe most delicious wine, and whoever bought a penny loaf at thebaker's received six large buns, full of raisins, as a present. In theevening the whole town was illuminated. The soldiers fired offcannons, and the boys let off crackers. There was eating and drinking,dancing and jumping everywhere. In the palace, the high-born gentlemenand beautiful ladies danced with each other, and they could be heardat a great distance singing the following song:-

"Here are maidens, young and fair,

Dancing in the summer air;

Like two spinning-wheels at play,

Pretty maidens dance away-

Dance the spring and summer through

Till the sole falls from your shoe."

But the princess was still a witch, and she could not love John.His fellow-traveller had thought of that, so he gave John threefeathers out of the swan's wings, and a little bottle with a few dropsin it. He told him to place a large bath full of water by theprincess's bed, and put the feathers and the drops into it. Then, atthe moment she was about to get into bed, he must give her a littlepush, so that she might fall into the water, and then dip her threetimes. This would destroy the power of the magician, and she wouldlove him very much. John did all that his companion told him to do.The princess shrieked aloud when he dipped her under the water thefirst time, and struggled under his hands in the form of a great blackswan with fiery eyes. As she rose the second time from the water,the swan had become white, with a black ring round its neck. Johnallowed the water to close once more over the bird, and at the sametime it changed into a most beautiful princess. She was more lovelyeven than before, and thanked him, while her eyes sparkled with tears,for having broken the spell of the magician. The next day, the kingcame with the whole court to offer their congratulations, and stayedtill quite late. Last of all came the travelling companion; he had hisstaff in his hand and his knapsack on his back. John kissed him manytimes and told him he must not go, he must remain with him, for he wasthe cause of all his good fortune. But the traveller shook his head,and said gently and kindly, "No: my time is up now; I have only paidmy debt to you. Do you remember the dead man whom the bad peoplewished to throw out of his coffin? You gave all you possessed thathe might rest in his grave; I am that man." As he said this, hevanished.

The wedding festivities lasted a whole month. John and hisprincess loved each other dearly, and the old king lived to see many ahappy day, when he took their little children on his knees and letthem play with his sceptre. And John became king over the wholecountry.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE UGLY DUCKLING

by Hans Christian Andersen

IT was lovely summer weather in the country, and the goldencorn, the green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows lookedbeautiful. The stork walking about on his long red legs chattered inthe Egyptian language, which he had learnt from his mother. Thecorn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midstof which were deep pools. It was, indeed, delightful to walk aboutin the country. In a sunny spot stood a pleasant old farm-houseclose by a deep river, and from the house down to the water sidegrew great burdock leaves, so high, that under the tallest of them alittle child could stand upright. The spot was as wild as the centreof a thick wood. In this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest, watchingfor her young brood to hatch; she was beginning to get tired of hertask, for the little ones were a long time coming out of their shells,and she seldom had any visitors. The other ducks liked much betterto swim about in the river than to climb the slippery banks, and situnder a burdock leaf, to have a gossip with her. At length one shellcracked, and then another, and from each egg came a living creaturethat lifted its head and cried, "Peep, peep." "Quack, quack," said themother, and then they all quacked as well as they could, and lookedabout them on every side at the large green leaves. Their motherallowed them to look as much as they liked, because green is goodfor the eyes. "How large the world is," said the young ducks, whenthey found how much more room they now had than while they were insidethe egg-shell. "Do you imagine this is the whole world?" asked themother; "Wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches far beyondthat to the parson's field, but I have never ventured to such adistance. Are you all out?" she continued, rising; "No, I declare, thelargest egg lies there still. I wonder how long this is to last, Iam quite tired of it;" and she seated herself again on the nest.

"Well, how are you getting on?" asked an old duck, who paid hera visit.

"One egg is not hatched yet," said the duck, "it will not break.But just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest littleducklings you ever saw? They are the image of their father, who isso unkind, he never comes to see."

"Let me see the egg that will not break," said the duck; "I haveno doubt it is a turkey's egg. I was persuaded to hatch some once, andafter all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid ofthe water. I quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. I could notget them to venture in. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that is aturkey's egg; take my advice, leave it where it is and teach the otherchildren to swim."

"I think I will sit on it a little while longer," said the duck;"as I have sat so long already, a few days will be nothing."

"Please yourself," said the old duck, and she went away.

At last the large egg broke, and a young one crept forth crying,"Peep, peep." It was very large and ugly. The duck stared at it andexclaimed, "It is very large and not at all like the others. Iwonder if it really is a turkey. We shall soon find it out, howeverwhen we go to the water. It must go in, if I have to push it myself."

On the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shonebrightly on the green burdock leaves, so the mother duck took heryoung brood down to the water, and jumped in with a splash. "Quack,quack," cried she, and one after another the little ducklings jumpedin. The water closed over their heads, but they came up again in aninstant, and swam about quite prettily with their legs paddlingunder them as easily as possible, and the ugly duckling was also inthe water swimming with them.

"Oh," said the mother, "that is not a turkey; how well he uses hislegs, and how upright he holds himself! He is my own child, and heis not so very ugly after all if you look at him properly. Quack,quack! come with me now, I will take you into grand society, andintroduce you to the farmyard, but you must keep close to me or youmay be trodden upon; and, above all, beware of the cat."

When they reached the farmyard, there was a great disturbance, twofamilies were fighting for an eel's head, which, after all, wascarried off by the cat. "See, children, that is the way of the world,"said the mother duck, whetting her beak, for she would have likedthe eel's head herself. "Come, now, use your legs, and let me seehow well you can behave. You must bow your heads prettily to thatold duck yonder; she is the highest born of them all, and hasSpanish blood, therefore, she is well off. Don't you see she has a redflag tied to her leg, which is something very grand, and a great honorfor a duck; it shows that every one is anxious not to lose her, as shecan be recognized both by man and beast. Come, now, don't turn yourtoes, a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, just likehis father and mother, in this way; now bend your neck, and say'quack.'"

The ducklings did as they were bid, but the other duck stared, andsaid, "Look, here comes another brood, as if there were not enoughof us already! and what a queer looking object one of them is; wedon't want him here," and then one flew out and bit him in the neck.

"Let him alone," said the mother; "he is not doing any harm."

"Yes, but he is so big and ugly," said the spiteful duck "andtherefore he must be turned out."

"The others are very pretty children," said the old duck, with therag on her leg, "all but that one; I wish his mother could improve hima little."

"That is impossible, your grace," replied the mother; "he is notpretty; but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well oreven better than the others. I think he will grow up pretty, andperhaps be smaller; he has remained too long in the egg, and thereforehis figure is not properly formed;" and then she stroked his neckand smoothed the feathers, saying, "It is a drake, and therefore notof so much consequence. I think he will grow up strong, and able totake care of himself."

"The other ducklings are graceful enough," said the old duck. "Nowmake yourself at home, and if you can find an eel's head, you canbring it to me."

And so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor duckling,who had crept out of his shell last of all, and looked so ugly, wasbitten and pushed and made fun of, not only by the ducks, but by allthe poultry. "He is too big," they all said, and the turkey cock,who had been born into the world with spurs, and fancied himselfreally an emperor, puffed himself out like a vessel in full sail,and flew at the duckling, and became quite red in the head withpassion, so that the poor little thing did not know where to go, andwas quite miserable because he was so ugly and laughed at by the wholefarmyard. So it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse.The poor duckling was driven about by every one; even his brothers andsisters were unkind to him, and would say, "Ah, you ugly creature, Iwish the cat would get you," and his mother said she wished he hadnever been born. The ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, andthe girl who fed the poultry kicked him with her feet. So at last heran away, frightening the little birds in the hedge as he flew overthe palings.

"They are afraid of me because I am ugly," he said. So he closedhis eyes, and flew still farther, until he came out on a large moor,inhabited by wild ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feelingvery tired and sorrowful.

In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they staredat their new comrade. "What sort of a duck are you?" they all said,coming round him.

He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be, but he did notreply to their question. "You are exceedingly ugly," said the wildducks, "but that will not matter if you do not want to marry one ofour family."

Poor thing! he had no thoughts of marriage; all he wanted waspermission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on themoor. After he had been on the moor two days, there came two wildgeese, or rather goslings, for they had not been out of the egglong, and were very saucy. "Listen, friend," said one of them to theduckling, "you are so ugly, that we like you very well. Will you gowith us, and become a bird of passage? Not far from here is anothermoor, in which there are some pretty wild geese, all unmarried. Itis a chance for you to get a wife; you may be lucky, ugly as you are."

"Pop, pop," sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell deadamong the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood. "Pop, pop,"echoed far and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geeserose up from the rushes. The sound continued from every direction, forthe sportsmen surrounded the moor, and some were even seated onbranches of trees, overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from theguns rose like clouds over the dark trees, and as it floated awayacross the water, a number of sporting dogs bounded in among therushes, which bent beneath them wherever they went. How they terrifiedthe poor duckling! He turned away his head to hide it under hiswing, and at the same moment a large terrible dog passed quite nearhim. His jaws were open, his tongue hung from his mouth, and hiseyes glared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to the duckling,showing his sharp teeth, and then, "splash, splash," he went intothe water without touching him, "Oh," sighed the duckling, "howthankful I am for being so ugly; even a dog will not bite me." Andso he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes,and gun after gun was fired over him. It was late in the day beforeall became quiet, but even then the poor young thing did not dare tomove. He waited quietly for several hours, and then, after lookingcarefully around him, hastened away from the moor as fast as he could.He ran over field and meadow till a storm arose, and he could hardlystruggle against it. Towards evening, he reached a poor little cottagethat seemed ready to fall, and only remained standing because it couldnot decide on which side to fall first. The storm continued soviolent, that the duckling could go no farther; he sat down by thecottage, and then he noticed that the door was not quite closed inconsequence of one of the hinges having given way. There was thereforea narrow opening near the bottom large enough for him to slip through,which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. A woman, atom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. The tom cat, whom themistress called, "My little son," was a great favorite; he could raisehis back, and purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if itwere stroked the wrong way. The hen had very short legs, so she wascalled "Chickie short legs." She laid good eggs, and her mistressloved her as if she had been her own child. In the morning, thestrange visitor was discovered, and the tom cat began to purr, and thehen to cluck.

"What is that noise about?" said the old woman, looking roundthe room, but her sight was not very good; therefore, when she saw theduckling she thought it must be a fat duck, that had strayed fromhome. "Oh what a prize!" she exclaimed, "I hope it is not a drake, forthen I shall have some duck's eggs. I must wait and see." So theduckling was allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but therewere no eggs. Now the tom cat was the master of the house, and the henwas mistress, and they always said, "We and the world," for theybelieved themselves to be half the world, and the better half too. Theduckling thought that others might hold a different opinion on thesubject, but the hen would not listen to such doubts. "Can you layeggs?" she asked. "No." "Then have the goodness to hold yourtongue." "Can you raise your back, or purr, or throw out sparks?" saidthe tom cat. "No." "Then you have no right to express an opinionwhen sensible people are speaking." So the duckling sat in a corner,feeling very low spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air cameinto the room through the open door, and then he began to feel sucha great longing for a swim on the water, that he could not helptelling the hen.

"What an absurd idea," said the hen. "You have nothing else to do,therefore you have foolish fancies. If you could purr or lay eggs,they would pass away."

"But it is so delightful to swim about on the water," said theduckling, "and so refreshing to feel it close over your head, whileyou dive down to the bottom."

"Delightful, indeed!" said the hen, "why you must be crazy! Askthe cat, he is the cleverest animal I know, ask him how he wouldlike to swim about on the water, or to dive under it, for I will notspeak of my own opinion; ask our mistress, the old woman- there isno one in the world more clever than she is. Do you think she wouldlike to swim, or to let the water close over her head?"

"You don't understand me," said the duckling.

"We don't understand you? Who can understand you, I wonder? Do youconsider yourself more clever than the cat, or the old woman? I willsay nothing of myself. Don't imagine such nonsense, child, and thankyour good fortune that you have been received here. Are you not in awarm room, and in society from which you may learn something. Butyou are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. Believeme, I speak only for your own good. I may tell you unpleasanttruths, but that is a proof of my friendship. I advise you, therefore,to lay eggs, and learn to purr as quickly as possible."

"I believe I must go out into the world again," said the duckling.

"Yes, do," said the hen. So the duckling left the cottage, andsoon found water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided byall other animals, because of its ugly appearance. Autumn came, andthe leaves in the forest turned to orange and gold. then, as winterapproached, the wind caught them as they fell and whirled them inthe cold air. The clouds, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, hung low inthe sky, and the raven stood on the ferns crying, "Croak, croak." Itmade one shiver with cold to look at him. All this was very sad forthe poor little duckling. One evening, just as the sun set amidradiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out of thebushes. The duckling had never seen any like them before. They wereswans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their softplumage shown with dazzling whiteness. They uttered a singular cry, asthey spread their glorious wings and flew away from those cold regionsto warmer countries across the sea. As they mounted higher andhigher in the air, the ugly little duckling felt quite a strangesensation as he watched them. He whirled himself in the water like awheel, stretched out his neck towards them, and uttered a cry sostrange that it frightened himself. Could he ever forget thosebeautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of his sight,he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself withexcitement. He knew not the names of these birds, nor where they hadflown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any otherbird in the world. He was not envious of these beautiful creatures,but wished to be as lovely as they. Poor ugly creature, how gladlyhe would have lived even with the ducks had they only given himencouragement. The winter grew colder and colder; he was obliged toswim about on the water to keep it from freezing, but every nightthe space on which he swam became smaller and smaller. At length itfroze so hard that the ice in the water crackled as he moved, andthe duckling had to paddle with his legs as well as he could, tokeep the space from closing up. He became exhausted at last, and laystill and helpless, frozen fast in the ice.

Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw whathad happened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, andcarried the duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poorlittle creature; but when the children wanted to play with him, theduckling thought they would do him some harm; so he started up interror, fluttered into the milk-pan, and splashed the milk about theroom. Then the woman clapped her hands, which frightened him stillmore. He flew first into the butter-cask, then into the meal-tub,and out again. What a condition he was in! The woman screamed, andstruck at him with the tongs; the children laughed and screamed, andtumbled over each other, in their efforts to catch him; but luckily heescaped. The door stood open; the poor creature could just manage toslip out among the bushes, and lie down quite exhausted in the newlyfallen snow.

It would be very sad, were I to relate all the misery andprivations which the poor little duckling endured during the hardwinter; but when it had passed, he found himself lying one morningin a moor, amongst the rushes. He felt the warm sun shining, and heardthe lark singing, and saw that all around was beautiful spring. Thenthe young bird felt that his wings were strong, as he flapped themagainst his sides, and rose high into the air. They bore himonwards, until he found himself in a large garden, before he well knewhow it had happened. The apple-trees were in full blossom, and thefragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the streamwhich wound round a smooth lawn. Everything looked beautiful, in thefreshness of early spring. From a thicket close by came threebeautiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightlyover the smooth water. The duckling remembered the lovely birds, andfelt more strangely unhappy than ever.

"I will fly to those royal birds," he exclaimed, "and they willkill me, because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them; but itdoes not matter: better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks,beaten by the hens, pushed about by the maiden who feeds thepoultry, or starved with hunger in the winter."

Then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans.The moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him withoutstretched wings.

"Kill me," said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to thesurface of the water, and awaited death.

But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; nolonger a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but agraceful and beautiful swan. To be born in a duck's nest, in afarmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from aswan's egg. He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble,because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure andhappiness around him; for the great swans swam round the new-comer,and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome.

Into the garden presently came some little children, and threwbread and cake into the water.

"See," cried the youngest, "there is a new one;" and the rest weredelighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clappingtheir hands, and shouting joyously, "There is another swan come; a newone has arrived."

Then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, "Thenew one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty."And the old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; forhe did not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud.He had been persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heardthem say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even theelder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sunshone warm and bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved hisslender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, "Inever dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an uglyduckling."

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE WICKED PRINCE

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE lived once upon a time a wicked prince whose heart andmind were set upon conquering all the countries of the world, and onfrightening the people; he devastated their countries with fire andsword, and his soldiers trod down the crops in the fields anddestroyed the peasants' huts by fire, so that the flames licked thegreen leaves off the branches, and the fruit hung dried up on thesinged black trees. Many a poor mother fled, her naked baby in herarms, behind the still smoking walls of her cottage; but also therethe soldiers followed her, and when they found her, she served asnew nourishment to their diabolical enjoyments; demons could notpossibly have done worse things than these soldiers! The prince was ofopinion that all this was right, and that it was only the naturalcourse which things ought to take. His power increased day by day, hisname was feared by all, and fortune favoured his deeds.

He brought enormous wealth home from the conquered towns, andgradually accumulated in his residence riches which could nowhere beequalled. He erected magnificent palaces, churches, and halls, and allwho saw these splendid buildings and great treasures exclaimedadmiringly: "What a mighty prince!" But they did not know what endlessmisery he had brought upon other countries, nor did they hear thesighs and lamentations which rose up from the debris of thedestroyed cities.

The prince often looked with delight upon his gold and hismagnificent edifices, and thought, like the crowd: "What a mightyprince! But I must have more- much more. No power on earth mustequal mine, far less exceed it."

He made war with all his neighbours, and defeated them. Theconquered kings were chained up with golden fetters to his chariotwhen he drove through the streets of his city. These kings had tokneel at his and his courtiers' feet when they sat at table, andlive on the morsels which they left. At last the prince had his ownstatue erected on the public places and fixed on the royal palaces;nay, he even wished it to be placed in the churches, on the altars,but in this the priests opposed him, saying: "Prince, you are mightyindeed, but God's power is much greater than yours; we dare not obeyyour orders."

"Well," said the prince. "Then I will conquer God too." And in hishaughtiness and foolish presumption he ordered a magnificent ship tobe constructed, with which he could sail through the air; it wasgorgeously fitted out and of many colours; like the tail of a peacock,it was covered with thousands of eyes, but each eye was the barrelof a gun. The prince sat in the centre of the ship, and had only totouch a spring in order to make thousands of bullets fly out in alldirections, while the guns were at once loaded again. Hundreds ofeagles were attached to this ship, and it rose with the swiftness ofan arrow up towards the sun. The earth was soon left far below, andlooked, with its mountains and woods, like a cornfield where theplough had made furrows which separated green meadows; soon itlooked only like a map with indistinct lines upon it; and at last itentirely disappeared in mist and clouds. Higher and higher rose theeagles up into the air; then God sent one of his numberless angelsagainst the ship. The wicked prince showered thousands of bullets uponhim, but they rebounded from his shining wings and fell down likeordinary hailstones. One drop of blood, one single drop, came out ofthe white feathers of the angel's wings and fell upon the ship inwhich the prince sat, burnt into it, and weighed upon it likethousands of hundredweights, dragging it rapidly down to the earthagain; the strong wings of the eagles gave way, the wind roaredround the prince's head, and the clouds around- were they formed bythe smoke rising up from the burnt cities?- took strange shapes,like crabs many, many miles long, which stretched their claws outafter him, and rose up like enormous rocks, from which rollingmasses dashed down, and became fire-spitting dragons.

The prince was lying half-dead in his ship, when it sank at lastwith a terrible shock into the branches of a large tree in the wood.

"I will conquer God!" said the prince. "I have sworn it: my willmust be done!"

And he spent seven years in the construction of wonderful ships tosail through the air, and had darts cast from the hardest steel tobreak the walls of heaven with. He gathered warriors from allcountries, so many that when they were placed side by side theycovered the space of several miles. They entered the ships and theprince was approaching his own, when God sent a swarm of gnats- oneswarm of little gnats. They buzzed round the prince and stung his faceand hands; angrily he drew his sword and brandished it, but he onlytouched the air and did not hit the gnats. Then he ordered hisservants to bring costly coverings and wrap him in them, that thegnats might no longer be able to reach him. The servants carried outhis orders, but one single gnat had placed itself inside one of thecoverings, crept into the prince's ear and stung him. The placeburnt like fire, and the poison entered into his blood. Mad with pain,he tore off the coverings and his clothes too, flinging them far away,and danced about before the eyes of his ferocious soldiers, who nowmocked at him, the mad prince, who wished to make war with God, andwas overcome by a single little gnat.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE WILD SWANS

by Hans Christian Andersen

FAR away in the land to which the swallows fly when it iswinter, dwelt a king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, namedEliza. The eleven brothers were princes, and each went to schoolwith a star on his breast, and a sword by his side. They wrote withdiamond pencils on gold slates, and learnt their lessons so quicklyand read so easily that every one might know they were princes.Their sister Eliza sat on a little stool of plate-glass, and had abook full of pictures, which had cost as much as half a kingdom. Oh,these children were indeed happy, but it was not to remain soalways. Their father, who was king of the country, married a verywicked queen, who did not love the poor children at all. They knewthis from the very first day after the wedding. In the palace therewere great festivities, and the children played at receivingcompany; but instead of having, as usual, all the cakes and applesthat were left, she gave them some sand in a tea-cup, and told them topretend it was cake. The week after, she sent little Eliza into thecountry to a peasant and his wife, and then she told the king somany untrue things about the young princes, that he gave himself nomore trouble respecting them.

"Go out into the world and get your own living," said the queen."Fly like great birds, who have no voice." But she could not make themugly as she wished, for they were turned into eleven beautiful wildswans. Then, with a strange cry, they flew through the windows ofthe palace, over the park, to the forest beyond. It was earlymorning when they passed the peasant's cottage, where their sisterEliza lay asleep in her room. They hovered over the roof, twistedtheir long necks and flapped their wings, but no one heard them or sawthem, so they were at last obliged to fly away, high up in the clouds;and over the wide world they flew till they came to a thick, darkwood, which stretched far away to the seashore. Poor little Elizawas alone in her room playing with a green leaf, for she had noother playthings, and she pierced a hole through the leaf, andlooked through it at the sun, and it was as if she saw her brothers'clear eyes, and when the warm sun shone on her cheeks, she thoughtof all the kisses they had given her. One day passed just likeanother; sometimes the winds rustled through the leaves of therose-bush, and would whisper to the roses, "Who can be morebeautiful than you!" But the roses would shake their heads, and say,"Eliza is." And when the old woman sat at the cottage door onSunday, and read her hymn-book, the wind would flutter the leaves, andsay to the book, "Who can be more pious than you?" and then thehymn-book would answer "Eliza." And the roses and the hymn-book toldthe real truth. At fifteen she returned home, but when the queen sawhow beautiful she was, she became full of spite and hatred towardsher. Willingly would she have turned her into a swan, like herbrothers, but she did not dare to do so yet, because the king wishedto see his daughter. Early one morning the queen went into thebath-room; it was built of marble, and had soft cushions, trimmed withthe most beautiful tapestry. She took three toads with her, and kissedthem, and said to one, "When Eliza comes to the bath, seat yourselfupon her head, that she may become as stupid as you are." Then shesaid to another, "Place yourself on her forehead, that she maybecome as ugly as you are, and that her father may not know her.""Rest on her heart," she whispered to the third, "then she will haveevil inclinations, and suffer in consequence." So she put the toadsinto the clear water, and they turned green immediately. She nextcalled Eliza, and helped her to undress and get into the bath. AsEliza dipped her head under the water, one of the toads sat on herhair, a second on her forehead, and a third on her breast, but she didnot seem to notice them, and when she rose out of the water, therewere three red poppies floating upon it. Had not the creatures beenvenomous or been kissed by the witch, they would have been changedinto red roses. At all events they became flowers, because they hadrested on Eliza's head, and on her heart. She was too good and tooinnocent for witchcraft to have any power over her. When the wickedqueen saw this, she rubbed her face with walnut-juice, so that she wasquite brown; then she tangled her beautiful hair and smeared it withdisgusting ointment, till it was quite impossible to recognize thebeautiful Eliza.

When her father saw her, he was much shocked, and declared she wasnot his daughter. No one but the watch-dog and the swallows knewher; and they were only poor animals, and could say nothing. Then poorEliza wept, and thought of her eleven brothers, who were all away.Sorrowfully, she stole away from the palace, and walked, the wholeday, over fields and moors, till she came to the great forest. Sheknew not in what direction to go; but she was so unhappy, and longedso for her brothers, who had been, like herself, driven out into theworld, that she was determined to seek them. She had been but ashort time in the wood when night came on, and she quite lost thepath; so she laid herself down on the soft moss, offered up herevening prayer, and leaned her head against the stump of a tree. Allnature was still, and the soft, mild air fanned her forehead. Thelight of hundreds of glow-worms shone amidst the grass and the moss,like green fire; and if she touched a twig with her hand, ever solightly, the brilliant insects fell down around her, likeshooting-stars.

All night long she dreamt of her brothers. She and they werechildren again, playing together. She saw them writing with theirdiamond pencils on golden slates, while she looked at the beautifulpicture-book which had cost half a kingdom. They were not writinglines and letters, as they used to do; but descriptions of the nobledeeds they had performed, and of all they had discovered and seen.In the picture-book, too, everything was living. The birds sang, andthe people came out of the book, and spoke to Eliza and herbrothers; but, as the leaves turned over, they darted back again totheir places, that all might be in order.

When she awoke, the sun was high in the heavens; yet she could notsee him, for the lofty trees spread their branches thickly over herhead; but his beams were glancing through the leaves here and there,like a golden mist. There was a sweet fragrance from the fresh greenverdure, and the birds almost perched upon her shoulders. She heardwater rippling from a number of springs, all flowing in a lake withgolden sands. Bushes grew thickly round the lake, and at one spot anopening had been made by a deer, through which Eliza went down tothe water. The lake was so clear that, had not the wind rustled thebranches of the trees and the bushes, so that they moved, they wouldhave appeared as if painted in the depths of the lake; for everyleaf was reflected in the water, whether it stood in the shade orthe sunshine. As soon as Eliza saw her own face, she was quiteterrified at finding it so brown and ugly; but when she wetted herlittle hand, and rubbed her eyes and forehead, the white skingleamed forth once more; and, after she had undressed, and dippedherself in the fresh water, a more beautiful king's daughter could notbe found in the wide world. As soon as she had dressed herselfagain, and braided her long hair, she went to the bubbling spring, anddrank some water out of the hollow of her hand. Then she wanderedfar into the forest, not knowing whither she went. She thought ofher brothers, and felt sure that God would not forsake her. It isGod who makes the wild apples grow in the wood, to satisfy the hungry,and He now led her to one of these trees, which was so loaded withfruit, that the boughs bent beneath the weight. Here she held hernoonday repast, placed props under the boughs, and then went intothe gloomiest depths of the forest. It was so still that she couldhear the sound of her own footsteps, as well as the rustling ofevery withered leaf which she crushed under her feet. Not a bird wasto be seen, not a sunbeam could penetrate through the large, darkboughs of the trees. Their lofty trunks stood so close together, that,when she looked before her, it seemed as if she were enclosed withintrellis-work. Such solitude she had never known before. The nightwas very dark. Not a single glow-worm glittered in the moss.

Sorrowfully she laid herself down to sleep; and, after a while, itseemed to her as if the branches of the trees parted over her head,and that the mild eyes of angels looked down upon her from heaven.When she awoke in the morning, she knew not whether she had dreamtthis, or if it had really been so. Then she continued her wandering;but she had not gone many steps forward, when she met an old womanwith berries in her basket, and she gave her a few to eat. ThenEliza asked her if she had not seen eleven princes riding throughthe forest.

"No," replied the old woman, "But I saw yesterday eleven swans,with gold crowns on their heads, swimming on the river close by." Thenshe led Eliza a little distance farther to a sloping bank, and atthe foot of it wound a little river. The trees on its banksstretched their long leafy branches across the water towards eachother, and where the growth prevented them from meeting naturally, theroots had torn themselves away from the ground, so that the branchesmight mingle their foliage as they hung over the water. Eliza bade theold woman farewell, and walked by the flowing river, till shereached the shore of the open sea. And there, before the youngmaiden's eyes, lay the glorious ocean, but not a sail appeared onits surface, not even a boat could be seen. How was she to go farther?She noticed how the countless pebbles on the sea-shore had beensmoothed and rounded by the action of the water. Glass, iron,stones, everything that lay there mingled together, had taken itsshape from the same power, and felt as smooth, or even smoother thanher own delicate hand. "The water rolls on without weariness," shesaid, till all that is hard becomes smooth; so will I be unweariedin my task. Thanks for your lessons, bright rolling waves; my hearttells me you will lead me to my dear brothers." On the foam-coveredsea-weeds, lay eleven white swan feathers, which she gathered up andplaced together. Drops of water lay upon them; whether they weredew-drops or tears no one could say. Lonely as it was on thesea-shore, she did not observe it, for the ever-moving sea showed morechanges in a few hours than the most varying lake could produce duringa whole year. If a black heavy cloud arose, it was as if the sea said,"I can look dark and angry too;" and then the wind blew, and the wavesturned to white foam as they rolled. When the wind slept, and theclouds glowed with the red sunlight, then the sea looked like a roseleaf. But however quietly its white glassy surface rested, there wasstill a motion on the shore, as its waves rose and fell like thebreast of a sleeping child. When the sun was about to set, Eliza saweleven white swans with golden crowns on their heads, flying towardsthe land, one behind the other, like a long white ribbon. Then Elizawent down the slope from the shore, and hid herself behind the bushes.The swans alighted quite close to her and flapped their great whitewings. As soon as the sun had disappeared under the water, thefeathers of the swans fell off, and eleven beautiful princes,Eliza's brothers, stood near her. She uttered a loud cry, for,although they were very much changed, she knew them immediately. Shesprang into their arms, and called them each by name. Then, howhappy the princes were at meeting their little sister again, forthey recognized her, although she had grown so tall and beautiful.They laughed, and they wept, and very soon understood how wickedlytheir mother had acted to them all. "We brothers," said the eldest,"fly about as wild swans, so long as the sun is in the sky; but assoon as it sinks behind the hills, we recover our human shape.Therefore must we always be near a resting place for our feet beforesunset; for if we should be flying towards the clouds at the time werecovered our natural shape as men, we should sink deep into thesea. We do not dwell here, but in a land just as fair, that liesbeyond the ocean, which we have to cross for a long distance; there isno island in our passage upon which we could pass, the night;nothing but a little rock rising out of the sea, upon which we canscarcely stand with safety, even closely crowded together. If thesea is rough, the foam dashes over us, yet we thank God even forthis rock; we have passed whole nights upon it, or we should neverhave reached our beloved fatherland, for our flight across the seaoccupies two of the longest days in the year. We have permission tovisit out home once in every year, and to remain eleven days, duringwhich we fly across the forest to look once more at the palace whereour father dwells, and where we were born, and at the church, whereour mother lies buried. Here it seems as if the very trees andbushes were related to us. The wild horses leap over the plains aswe have seen them in our childhood. The charcoal burners sing theold songs, to which we have danced as children. This is ourfatherland, to which we are drawn by loving ties; and here we havefound you, our dear little sister., Two days longer we can remainhere, and then must we fly away to a beautiful land which is not ourhome; and how can we take you with us? We have neither ship nor boat."

"How can I break this spell?" said their sister. And then shetalked about it nearly the whole night, only slumbering for a fewhours. Eliza was awakened by the rustling of the swans' wings asthey soared above. Her brothers were again changed to swans, andthey flew in circles wider and wider, till they were far away; but oneof them, the youngest swan, remained behind, and laid his head inhis sister's lap, while she stroked his wings; and they remainedtogether the whole day. Towards evening, the rest came back, and asthe sun went down they resumed their natural forms. "To-morrow,"said one, "we shall fly away, not to return again till a whole yearhas passed. But we cannot leave you here. Have you courage to gowith us? My arm is strong enough to carry you through the wood; andwill not all our wings be strong enough to fly with you over the sea?"

"Yes, take me with you," said Eliza. Then they spent the wholenight in weaving a net with the pliant willow and rushes. It wasvery large and strong. Eliza laid herself down on the net, and whenthe sun rose, and her brothers again became wild swans, they took upthe net with their beaks, and flew up to the clouds with their dearsister, who still slept. The sunbeams fell on her face, thereforeone of the swans soared over her head, so that his broad wings mightshade her. They were far from the land when Eliza woke. She thoughtshe must still be dreaming, it seemed so strange to her to feelherself being carried so high in the air over the sea. By her side laya branch full of beautiful ripe berries, and a bundle of sweetroots; the youngest of her brothers had gathered them for her, andplaced them by her side. She smiled her thanks to him; she knew it wasthe same who had hovered over her to shade her with his wings. Theywere now so high, that a large ship beneath them looked like a whitesea-gull skimming the waves. A great cloud floating behind themappeared like a vast mountain, and upon it Eliza saw her own shadowand those of the eleven swans, looking gigantic in size. Altogether itformed a more beautiful picture than she had ever seen; but as the sunrose higher, and the clouds were left behind, the shadowy picturevanished away. Onward the whole day they flew through the air like awinged arrow, yet more slowly than usual, for they had their sister tocarry. The weather seemed inclined to be stormy, and Eliza watched thesinking sun with great anxiety, for the little rock in the ocean wasnot yet in sight. It appeared to her as if the swans were making greatefforts with their wings. Alas! she was the cause of their notadvancing more quickly. When the sun set, they would change to men,fall into the sea and be drowned. Then she offered a prayer from herinmost heart, but still no appearance of the rock. Dark clouds camenearer, the gusts of wind told of a coming storm, while from athick, heavy mass of clouds the lightning burst forth flash afterflash. The sun had reached the edge of the sea, when the swansdarted down so swiftly, that Eliza's head trembled; she believedthey were falling, but they again soared onward. Presently shecaught sight of the rock just below them, and by this time the sun washalf hidden by the waves. The rock did not appear larger than a seal'shead thrust out of the water. They sunk so rapidly, that at the momenttheir feet touched the rock, it shone only like a star, and at lastdisappeared like the last spark in a piece of burnt paper. Then shesaw her brothers standing closely round her with their arms linkedtogether. There was but just room enough for them, and not thesmallest space to spare. The sea dashed against the rock, andcovered them with spray. The heavens were lighted up with continualflashes, and peal after peal of thunder rolled. But the sister andbrothers sat holding each other's hands, and singing hymns, from whichthey gained hope and courage. In the early dawn the air became calmand still, and at sunrise the swans flew away from the rock withEliza. The sea was still rough, and from their high position in theair, the white foam on the dark green waves looked like millions ofswans swimming on the water. As the sun rose higher, Eliza sawbefore her, floating on the air, a range of mountains, with shiningmasses of ice on their summits. In the centre, rose a castleapparently a mile long, with rows of columns, rising one aboveanother, while, around it, palm-trees waved and flowers bloomed aslarge as mill wheels. She asked if this was the land to which theywere hastening. The swans shook their heads, for what she beheldwere the beautiful ever-changing cloud palaces of the "FataMorgana," into which no mortal can enter. Eliza was still gazing atthe scene, when mountains, forests, and castles melted away, andtwenty stately churches rose in their stead, with high towers andpointed gothic windows. Eliza even fancied she could hear the tones ofthe organ, but it was the music of the murmuring sea which sheheard. As they drew nearer to the churches, they also changed into afleet of ships, which seemed to be sailing beneath her; but as shelooked again, she found it was only a sea mist gliding over the ocean.So there continued to pass before her eyes a constant change of scene,till at last she saw the real land to which they were bound, withits blue mountains, its cedar forests, and its cities and palaces.Long before the sun went down, she sat on a rock, in front of alarge cave, on the floor of which the over-grown yet delicate greencreeping plants looked like an embroidered carpet. "Now we shallexpect to hear what you dream of to-night," said the youngest brother,as he showed his sister her bedroom.

"Heaven grant that I may dream how to save you," she replied.And this thought took such hold upon her mind that she prayedearnestly to God for help, and even in her sleep she continued topray. Then it appeared to her as if she were flying high in the air,towards the cloudy palace of the "Fata Morgana," and a fairy cameout to meet her, radiant and beautiful in appearance, and yet verymuch like the old woman who had given her berries in the wood, and whohad told her of the swans with golden crowns on their heads. "Yourbrothers can be released," said she, "if you have only courage andperseverance. True, water is softer than your own delicate hands,and yet it polishes stones into shapes; it feels no pain as yourfingers would feel, it has no soul, and cannot suffer such agony andtorment as you will have to endure. Do you see the stinging nettlewhich I hold in my hand? Quantities of the same sort grow round thecave in which you sleep, but none will be of any use to you unlessthey grow upon the graves in a churchyard. These you must gathereven while they burn blisters on your hands. Break them to pieces withyour hands and feet, and they will become flax, from which you mustspin and weave eleven coats with long sleeves; if these are thenthrown over the eleven swans, the spell will be broken. Butremember, that from the moment you commence your task until it isfinished, even should it occupy years of your life, you must notspeak. The first word you utter will pierce through the hearts of yourbrothers like a deadly dagger. Their lives hang upon your tongue.Remember all I have told you." And as she finished speaking, shetouched her hand lightly with the nettle, and a pain, as of burningfire, awoke Eliza.

It was broad daylight, and close by where she had been sleepinglay a nettle like the one she had seen in her dream. She fell on herknees and offered her thanks to God. Then she went forth from the caveto begin her work with her delicate hands. She groped in amongst theugly nettles, which burnt great blisters on her hands and arms, butshe determined to bear it gladly if she could only release her dearbrothers. So she bruised the nettles with her bare feet and spun theflax. At sunset her brothers returned and were very much frightenedwhen they found her dumb. They believed it to be some new sorcery oftheir wicked step-mother. But when they saw her hands theyunderstood what she was doing on their behalf, and the youngestbrother wept, and where his tears fell the pain ceased, and theburning blisters vanished. She kept to her work all night, for shecould not rest till she had released her dear brothers. During thewhole of the following day, while her brothers were absent, she sat insolitude, but never before had the time flown so quickly. One coat wasalready finished and she had begun the second, when she heard thehuntsman's horn, and was struck with fear. The sound came nearer andnearer, she heard the dogs barking, and fled with terror into thecave. She hastily bound together the nettles she had gathered into abundle and sat upon them. Immediately a great dog came boundingtowards her out of the ravine, and then another and another; theybarked loudly, ran back, and then came again. In a very few minutesall the huntsmen stood before the cave, and the handsomest of them wasthe king of the country. He advanced towards her, for he had neverseen a more beautiful maiden.

"How did you come here, my sweet child?" he asked. But Eliza shookher head. She dared not speak, at the cost of her brothers' lives. Andshe hid her hands under her apron, so that the king might not seehow she must be suffering.

"Come with me," he said; "here you cannot remain. If you are asgood as you are beautiful, I will dress you in silk and velvet, I willplace a golden crown upon your head, and you shall dwell, and rule,and make your home in my richest castle." And then he lifted her onhis horse. She wept and wrung her hands, but the king said, "I wishonly for your happiness. A time will come when you will thank me forthis." And then he galloped away over the mountains, holding herbefore him on this horse, and the hunters followed behind them. As thesun went down, they approached a fair royal city, with churches, andcupolas. On arriving at the castle the king led her into marble halls,where large fountains played, and where the walls and the ceilingswere covered with rich paintings. But she had no eyes for all theseglorious sights, she could only mourn and weep. Patiently sheallowed the women to array her in royal robes, to weave pearls inher hair, and draw soft gloves over her blistered fingers. As shestood before them in all her rich dress, she looked so dazzinglybeautiful that the court bowed low in her presence. Then the kingdeclared his intention of making her his bride, but the archbishopshook his head, and whispered that the fair young maiden was only awitch who had blinded the king's eyes and bewitched his heart. But theking would not listen to this; he ordered the music to sound, thedaintiest dishes to be served, and the loveliest maidens to dance.After-wards he led her through fragrant gardens and lofty halls, butnot a smile appeared on her lips or sparkled in her eyes. She lookedthe very picture of grief. Then the king opened the door of a littlechamber in which she. was to sleep; it was adorned with rich greentapestry, and resembled the cave in which he had found her. On thefloor lay the bundle of flax which she had spun from the nettles,and under the ceiling hung the coat she had made. These things hadbeen brought away from the cave as curiosities by one of the huntsmen.

"Here you can dream yourself back again in the old home in thecave," said the king; "here is the work with which you employedyourself. It will amuse you now in the midst of all this splendor tothink of that time."

When Eliza saw all these things which lay so near her heart, asmile played around her mouth, and the crimson blood rushed to hercheeks. She thought of her brothers, and their release made her sojoyful that she kissed the king's hand. Then he pressed her to hisheart. Very soon the joyous church bells announced the marriage feast,and that the beautiful dumb girl out of the wood was to be made thequeen of the country. Then the archbishop whispered wicked words inthe king's ear, but they did not sink into his heart. The marriage wasstill to take place, and the archbishop himself had to place the crownon the bride's head; in his wicked spite, he pressed the narrowcirclet so tightly on her forehead that it caused her pain. But aheavier weight encircled her heart- sorrow for her brothers. Shefelt not bodily pain. Her mouth was closed; a single word would costthe lives of her brothers. But she loved the kind, handsome king,who did everything to make her happy more and more each day; she lovedhim with all her heart, and her eyes beamed with the love she darednot speak. Oh! if she had only been able to confide in him and tellhim of her grief. But dumb she must remain till her task was finished.Therefore at night she crept away into her little chamber, which hadbeen decked out to look like the cave, and quickly wove one coat afteranother. But when she began the seventh she found she had no moreflax. She knew that the nettles she wanted to use grew in thechurchyard, and that she must pluck them herself. How should she getout there? "Oh, what is the pain in my fingers to the torment which myheart endures?" said she. "I must venture, I shall not be deniedhelp from heaven." Then with a trembling heart, as if she were aboutto perform a wicked deed, she crept into the garden in the broadmoonlight, and passed through the narrow walks and the desertedstreets, till she reached the churchyard. Then she saw on one of thebroad tombstones a group of ghouls. These hideous creatures took offtheir rags, as if they intended to bathe, and then clawing open thefresh graves with their long, skinny fingers, pulled out the deadbodies and ate the flesh! Eliza had to pass close by them, and theyfixed their wicked glances upon her, but she prayed silently, gatheredthe burning nettles, and carried them home with her to the castle. Oneperson only had seen her, and that was the archbishop- he was awakewhile everybody was asleep. Now he thought his opinion was evidentlycorrect. All was not right with the queen. She was a witch, and hadbewitched the king and all the people. Secretly he told the kingwhat he had seen and what he feared, and as the hard words came fromhis tongue, the carved images of the saints shook their heads as ifthey would say. "It is not so. Eliza is innocent."

But the archbishop interpreted it in another way; he believed thatthey witnessed against her, and were shaking their heads at herwickedness. Two large tears rolled down the king's cheeks, and he wenthome with doubt in his heart, and at night he pretended to sleep,but there came no real sleep to his eyes, for he saw Eliza get upevery night and disappear in her own chamber. From day to day his browbecame darker, and Eliza saw it and did not understand the reason, butit alarmed her and made her heart tremble for her brothers. Her hottears glittered like pearls on the regal velvet and diamonds, whileall who saw her were wishing they could be queens. In the mean timeshe had almost finished her task; only one coat of mail was wanting,but she had no flax left, and not a single nettle. Once more only, andfor the last time, must she venture to the churchyard and pluck afew handfuls. She thought with terror of the solitary walk, and of thehorrible ghouls, but her will was firm, as well as her trust inProvidence. Eliza went, and the king and the archbishop followedher. They saw her vanish through the wicket gate into thechurchyard, and when they came nearer they saw the ghouls sitting onthe tombstone, as Eliza had seen them, and the king turned away hishead, for he thought she was with them- she whose head had rested onhis breast that very evening. "The people must condemn her," saidhe, and she was very quickly condemned by every one to suffer death byfire. Away from the gorgeous regal halls was she led to a dark, drearycell, where the wind whistled through the iron bars. Instead of thevelvet and silk dresses, they gave her the coats of mail which she hadwoven to cover her, and the bundle of nettles for a pillow; butnothing they could give her would have pleased her more. She continuedher task with joy, and prayed for help, while the street-boys sangjeering songs about her, and not a soul comforted her with a kindword. Towards evening, she heard at the grating the flutter of aswan's wing, it was her youngest brother- he had found his sister, andshe sobbed for joy, although she knew that very likely this would bethe last night she would have to live. But still she could hope, forher task was almost finished, and her brothers were come. Then thearchbishop arrived, to be with her during her last hours, as he hadpromised the king. But she shook her head, and begged him, by looksand gestures, not to stay; for in this night she knew she mustfinish her task, otherwise all her pain and tears and sleepless nightswould have been suffered in vain. The archbishop withdrew, utteringbitter words against her; but poor Eliza knew that she was innocent,and diligently continued her work.

The little mice ran about the floor, they dragged the nettles toher feet, to help as well as they could; and the thrush sat outsidethe grating of the window, and sang to her the whole night long, assweetly as possible, to keep up her spirits.

It was still twilight, and at least an hour before sunrise, whenthe eleven brothers stood at the castle gate, and demanded to bebrought before the king. They were told it could not be, it was yetalmost night, and as the king slept they dared not disturb him. Theythreatened, they entreated. Then the guard appeared, and even the kinghimself, inquiring what all the noise meant. At this moment the sunrose. The eleven brothers were seen no more, but eleven wild swansflew away over the castle.

And now all the people came streaming forth from the gates ofthe city, to see the witch burnt. An old horse drew the cart onwhich she sat. They had dressed her in a garment of coarsesackcloth. Her lovely hair hung loose on her shoulders, her cheekswere deadly pale, her lips moved silently, while her fingers stillworked at the green flax. Even on the way to death, she would not giveup her task. The ten coats of mail lay at her feet, she was workinghard at the eleventh, while the mob jeered her and said, "See thewitch, how she mutters! She has no hymn-book in her hand. She sitsthere with her ugly sorcery. Let us tear it in a thousand pieces."

And then they pressed towards her, and would have destroyed thecoats of mail, but at the same moment eleven wild swans flew over her,and alighted on the cart. Then they flapped their large wings, and thecrowd drew on one side in alarm.

"It is a sign from heaven that she is innocent," whispered many ofthem; but they ventured not to say it aloud.

As the executioner seized her by the hand, to lift her out ofthe cart, she hastily threw the eleven coats of mail over the swans,and they immediately became eleven handsome princes; but theyoungest had a swan's wing, instead of an arm; for she had not beenable to finish the last sleeve of the coat.

"Now I may speak," she exclaimed. "I am innocent."

Then the people, who saw what happened, bowed to her, as beforea saint; but she sank lifeless in her brothers' arms, overcome withsuspense, anguish, and pain.

"Yes, she is innocent," said the eldest brother; and then herelated all that had taken place; and while he spoke there rose in theair a fragrance as from millions of roses. Every piece of faggot inthe pile had taken root, and threw out branches, and appeared athick hedge, large and high, covered with roses; while above allbloomed a white and shining flower, that glittered like a star. Thisflower the king plucked, and placed in Eliza's bosom, when she awokefrom her swoon, with peace and happiness in her heart. And all thechurch bells rang of themselves, and the birds came in great troops.And a marriage procession returned to the castle, such as no kinghad ever before seen.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE WILL-O-THE WISP IS IN THE TOWN,

SAYS THE MOOR WOMAN

by Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was a man who once knew many stories, but they had slippedaway from him- so he said. The Story that used to visit him of its ownaccord no longer came and knocked at his door. And why did it comeno longer? It is true enough that for days and years the man had notthought of it, had not expected it to come and knock; and if he hadexpected it, it would certainly not have come; for without there waswar, and within was the care and sorrow that war brings with it.

The stork and the swallows came back from their long journey,for they thought of no danger; and, behold, when they arrived, thenest was burnt, the habitations of men were burnt, the hedges were allin disorder, and everything seemed gone, and the enemy's horses werestamping in the old graves. Those were hard, gloomy times, but theycame to an end.

And now they were past and gone- so people said; yet no Story cameand knocked at the door, or gave any tidings of its presence.

"I suppose it must be dead, or gone away with many otherthings," said the man.

But the story never dies. And more than a whole year went by,and he longed- oh, so very much!- for the Story.

"I wonder if the Story will ever come back again and knock?"

And he remembered it so well in all the various forms in whichit had come to him, sometimes young and charming, like springitself, sometimes as a beautiful maiden, with a wreath of thyme in herhair, and a beechen branch in her hand, and with eyes that gleamedlike deep woodland lakes in the bright sunshine.

Sometimes it had come to him in the guise of a peddler, and hadopened its box and let silver ribbon come fluttering out, withverses and inscriptions of old remembrances.

But it was most charming of all when it came as an oldgrandmother, with silvery hair, and such large, sensible eyes. Sheknew so well how to tell about the oldest times, long before theprincesses spun with the golden spindles, and the dragons layoutside the castles, guarding them. She told with such an air oftruth, that black spots danced before the eyes of all who heard her,and the floor became black with human blood; terrible to see and tohear, and yet so entertaining, because such a long time had passedsince it all happened.

"Will it ever knock at my door again?" said the man, and hegazed at the door, so that black spots came before his eyes and uponthe floor; he did not know if it was blood, or mourning crape from thedark heavy days.

And as he sat thus, the thought came upon him whether the Storymight not have hidden itself, like the princess in the old tale. Andhe would now go in search of it; if he found it, it would beam innew splendor, lovelier than ever.

"Who knows? Perhaps it has hidden itself in the straw thatbalances on the margin of the well. Carefully, carefully! Perhaps itlies hidden in a certain flower- that flower in one of the great bookson the book-shelf."

And the man went and opened one of the newest books, to gaininformation on this point; but there was no flower to be found.There he read about Holger Danske; and the man read that the talehad been invented and put together by a monk in France, that it wasa romance, "translated into Danish and printed in that language;" thatHolger Danske had never really lived, and consequently could nevercome again, as we have sung, and have been so glad to believe. AndWilliam Tell was treated just like Holger Danske. These were allonly myths- nothing on which we could depend; and yet it is allwritten in a very learned book.

"Well, I shall believe what I believe!" said the man. "There growsno plantain where no foot has trod."

And he closed the book and put it back in its place, and went tothe fresh flowers at the window. Perhaps the Story might have hiddenitself in the red tulips, with the golden yellow edges, or in thefresh rose, or in the beaming camellia. The sunshine lay among theflowers, but no Story.

The flowers which had been here in the dark troublous time hadbeen much more beautiful; but they had been cut off, one afteranother, to be woven into wreaths and placed in coffins, and theflag had waved over them! Perhaps the Story had been buried with theflowers; but then the flowers would have known of it, and the coffinwould have heard it, and every little blade of grass that shot forthwould have told of it. The Story never dies.

Perhaps it has been here once, and has knocked; but who had eyesor ears for it in those times? People looked darkly, gloomily, andalmost angrily at the sunshine of spring, at the twittering birds, andall the cheerful green; the tongue could not even bear the oldmerry, popular songs, and they were laid in the coffin with so muchthat our heart held dear. The Story may have knocked without obtaininga hearing; there was none to bid it welcome, and so it may have goneaway.

"I will go forth and seek it. Out in the country! out in the wood!and on the open sea beach!"

Out in the country lies an old manor house, with red walls,pointed gables, and a red flag that floats on the tower. Thenightingale sings among the finely-fringed beech-leaves, looking atthe blooming apple trees of the garden, and thinking that they bearroses. Here the bees are mightily busy in the summer-time, and hoverround their queen with their humming song. The autumn has much to tellof the wild chase, of the leaves of the trees, and of the races of menthat are passing away together. The wild swans sing atChristmas-time on the open water, while in the old hall the guestsby the fireside gladly listen to songs and to old legends.

Down into the old part of the garden, where the great avenue ofwild chestnut trees lures the wanderer to tread its shades, went theman who was in search of the Story; for here the wind had oncemurmured something to him of "Waldemar Daa and his Daughters." TheDryad in the tree, who was the Story-mother herself, had here told himthe "Dream of the Old Oak Tree." Here, in the time of the ancestralmother, had stood clipped hedges, but now only ferns and stingingnettles grew there, hiding the scattered fragments of old sculpturedfigures; the moss is growing in their eyes, but they can see as wellas ever, which was more than the man could do who was in search of theStory, for he could not find that. Where could it be?

The crows flew past him by hundreds across the old trees, andscreamed, "Krah! da!- Krah! da!"

And he went out of the garden and over the grass-plot of the yard,into the alder grove; there stood a little six-sided house, with apoultry-yard and a duck-yard. In the middle of the room sat the oldwoman who had the management of the whole, and who knew accuratelyabout every egg that was laid, and about every chicken that couldcreep out of an egg. But she was not the Story of which the man was insearch; that she could attest with a Christian certificate ofbaptism and of vaccination that lay in her drawer.

Without, not far from the house, is a hill covered withred-thorn and broom. Here lies an old grave-stone, which was broughthere many years ago from the churchyard of the provincial town, aremembrance of one of the most honored councillors of the place; hiswife and his five daughters, all with folded hands and stiff ruffs,stand round him. One could look at them so long, that it had an effectupon the thoughts, and these reacted upon the stones, as if theywere telling of old times; at least it had been so with the man whowas in search of the Story.

As he came nearer, he noticed a living butterfly sitting on theforehead of the sculptured councillor. The butterfly flapped itswings, and flew a little bit farther, and then returned fatigued tosit upon the grave-stone, as if to point out what grew there.Four-leaved shamrocks grew there; there were seven specimens closeto each other. When fortune comes, it comes in a heap. He pluckedthe shamrocks and put them in his pocket.

"Fortune is as good as red gold, but a new charming story would bebetter still," thought the man; but he could not find it here.

And the sun went down, round and large; the meadow was coveredwith vapor. The moor-woman was at her brewing.

It was evening. He stood alone in his room, and looked out uponthe sea, over the meadow, over moor and coast. The moon shonebright, a mist was over the meadow, making it look like a greatlake; and, indeed, it was once so, as the legend tells- and in themoonlight the eye realizes these myths.

Then the man thought of what he had been reading in the town, thatWilliam Tell and Holger Danske never really lived, but yet live inpopular story, like the lake yonder, a living evidence for such myths.Yes, Holger Danske will return again!

As he stood thus and thought, something beat quite stronglyagainst the window. Was it a bird, a bat or an owl? Those are notlet in, even when they knock. The window flew open of itself, and anold woman looked in at the man.

"What's your pleasure?" said he. "Who are you? You're looking inat the first floor window. Are you standing on a ladder?"

"You have a four-leaved shamrock in your pocket," she replied."Indeed, you have seven, and one of them is a six-leaved one."

"Who are you?" asked the man again.

"The Moor-woman," she replied. "The Moor-woman who brews. I was atit. The bung was in the cask, but one of the little moor-imps pulledit out in his mischief, and flung it up into the yard, where it beatagainst the window; and now the beer's running out of the cask, andthat won't do good to anybody."

"Pray tell me some more!" said the man.

"Yes, wait a little," answered the Moor-woman. "I've somethingelse to do just now." And she was gone.

The man was going to shut the window, when the woman already stoodbefore him again.

"Now it's done," she said; "but I shall have half the beer to brewover again to-morrow, if the weather is suitable. Well, what haveyou to ask me? I've come back, for I always keep my word, and you haveseven four-leaved shamrocks in your pocket, and one of them is asix-leaved one. That inspires respect, for that's an order thatgrows beside the sandy way; but that every one does not find. Whathave you to ask me? Don't stand there like a ridiculous oaf, for Imust go back again directly to my bung and my cask."

And the man asked about the Story, and inquired if theMoor-woman had met it in her journeyings.

"By the big brewing-vat!" exclaimed the woman, "haven't you gotstories enough? I really believe that most people have enough of them.Here are other things to take notice of, other things to examine. Eventhe children have gone beyond that. Give the little boy a cigar, andthe little girl a new crinoline; they like that much better. To listento stories! No, indeed, there are more important things to be donehere, and other things to notice!"

"What do you mean by that?" asked the man, "and what do you knowof the world? You don't see anything but frogs and Will-o'-the-Wisps!"

"Yes, beware of the Will-o'-the-Wisps," said the Moor-woman,"for they're out- they're let loose- that's what we must talk about!Come to me in the moor, where my presence is necessary, and I willtell you all about it; but you must make haste, and come while yourseven four-leaved shamrocks, for which one has six leaves, are stillfresh, and the moon stands high!"

And the Moor-woman was gone.

It struck twelve in the town, and before the last stroke haddied away, the man was out in the yard, out in the garden, and stoodin the meadow. The mist had vanished, and the Moor-woman stopped herbrewing.

"You've been a long time coming!" said the Moor-woman. "Witchesget forward faster than men, and I'm glad that I belong to the witchfolk!"

"What have you to say to me now?" asked the man. "Is it anythingabout the Story?"

"Can you never get beyond asking about that?" retorted the woman.

"Can you tell me anything about the poetry of the future?" resumedthe man.

"Don't get on your stilts," said the crone, "and I'll answeryou. You think of nothing but poetry, and only ask about that Story,as if she were the lady of the whole troop. She's the oldest of usall, but she takes precedence of the youngest. I know her well. I'vebeen young, too, and she's no chicken now. I was once quite a prettyelf-maiden, and have danced in my time with the others in themoonlight, and have heard the nightingale, and have gone into theforest and met the Story-maiden, who was always to be found out there,running about. Sometimes she took up her night's lodging in ahalf-blown tulip, or in a field flower; sometimes she would slipinto the church, and wrap herself in the mourning crape that hung downfrom the candles on the altar."

"You are capitally well-informed," said the man.

"I ought at least to know as much as you," answered theMoor-woman. "Stories and poetry- yes, they're like two yards of thesame piece of stuff; they can go and lie down where they like, and onecan brew all their prattle, and have it all the better and cheaper.You shall have it from me for nothing. I have a whole cupboard-full ofpoetry in bottles. It makes essences; and that's the best of it-bitter and sweet herbs. I have everything that people want ofpoetry, in bottles, so that I can put a little on my handkerchief,on holidays, to smell."

"Why, these are wonderful things that you're telling!" said theman. "You have poetry in bottles?"

"More than you can require," said the woman. "I suppose you knowthe history of 'the Girl who Trod on the Loaf, so that she might notsoil her shoes'? That has been written, and printed too."

"I told that story myself," said the man.

"Yes, then you must know it; and you must know also that thegirl sank into the earth directly, to the Moor-woman, just as OldBogey's grandmother was paying her morning visit to inspect thebrewery. She saw the girl gliding down, and asked to have her as aremembrance of her visit, and got her too; while I received apresent that's of no use to me- a travelling druggist's shop- awhole cupboard-full of poetry in bottles. Grandmother told me wherethe cupboard was to be placed, and there it's standing still. Justlook! You've your seven four-leaved shamrocks in your pocket, one ofwhich is a six-leaved one, and so you will be able to see it."

And really in the midst of the moor lay something like a greatknotted block of alder, and that was the old grandmother's cupboard.The Moor-woman said that this was always open to her and to everyone in the land, if they only knew where the cupboard stood. Itcould be opened either at the front or at the back, and at everyside and corner- a perfect work of art, and yet only an old alderstump in appearance. The poets of all lands, and especially those ofour own country, had been arranged here; the spirit of them had beenextracted, refined, criticised and renovated, and then stored up inbottles. With what may be called great aptitude, if it was notgenius the grandmother had taken as it were the flavor of this andof that poet, and had added a little devilry, and then corked up thebottles for use during all future times.

"Pray let me see," said the man.

"Yes, but there are more important things to hear," replied theMoor-woman.

"But now we are at the cupboard!" said the man. And he lookedin. "Here are bottles of all sizes. What is in this one? and what inthat one yonder?"

"Here is what they call may-balm," replied the woman. "I havenot tried it myself. But I have not yet told you the 'moreimportant' thing you were to hear. THE WILL-O'-THE-WISP'S IN THE TOWN!That's of much more consequence than poetry and stories. I ought,indeed, to hold my tongue; but there must be a necessity- a fate- asomething that sticks in my throat, and that wants to come out. Takecare, you mortals!"

"I don't understand a word of all this!" cried the man.

"Be kind enough to seat yourself on that cupboard," sheretorted, "but take care you don't fall through and break the bottles-you know what's inside of them. I must tell of the great event. Itoccurred no longer ago than the day before yesterday. It did nothappen earlier. It has now three hundred and sixty-three days to runabout. I suppose you know how many days there are in a year?"

And this is what the Moor-woman told:

"There was a great commotion yesterday out here in the marsh!There was a christening feast! A little Will-o'-the-Wisp was bornhere- in fact, twelve of them were born all together; and they havepermission, if they choose to use it, to go abroad among men, and tomove about and command among them, just as if they were bornmortals. That was a great event in the marsh, and accordingly allthe Will-o'-the-Wisps, male and female, went dancing like littlelights across the moor. There are some of them of the dog species, butthose are not worth mentioning. I sat there on the cupboard, and hadall the twelve little new-born Will-o'-the-Wisps upon my lap. Theyshone like glow-worms; they already began to hop, and increased insize every moment, so that before a quarter of an hour had elapsed,each of them looked just as large as his father or his uncle. Now,it's an old-established regulation and favor, that when the moonstands just as it did yesterday, and the wind blows just as it blewthen, it is allowed and accorded to all Will-o'-the-Wisps- that is, toall those who are born at that minute of time- to become mortals,and individually to exert their power for the space of one year.

"The Will-o'-the-Wisp may run about in the country and through theworld, if it is not afraid of falling into the sea, or of beingblown out by a heavy storm. It can enter into a person and speak forhim, and make all the movements it pleases. The Will-o'-the-Wisp maytake whatever form he likes, of man or woman, and can act in theirspirit and in their disguise in such a way that he can effect whateverhe wishes to do. But he must manage, in the course of the year, tolead three hundred and sixty-five people into a bad way, and in agrand style, too. To lead them away from the right and the truth;and then he reaches the highest point. Such a Will-o'-the-Wisp canattain to the honor of being a runner before the devil's statecoach; and then he'll wear clothes of fiery yellow, and breatheforth flames out of his throat. That's enough to make a simpleWill-o'-the-Wisp smack his lips. But there's some danger in this,and a great deal of work for a Will-o'-the-Wisp who aspires to play sodistinguished a part. If the eyes of the man are opened to what he is,and if the man can then blow him away, it's all over with him, andhe must come back into the marsh; or if, before the year is up, theWill-o'-the-Wisp is seized with a longing to see his family, and soreturns to it and gives the matter up, it is over with him likewise,and he can no longer burn clear, and soon becomes extinguished, andcannot be lit up again; and when the year has elapsed, and he hasnot led three hundred and sixty-five people away from the truth andfrom all that is grand and noble, he is condemned to be imprisonedin decayed wood, and to lie glimmering there, without being able tomove; and that's the most terrible punishment that can be inflicted ona lively Will-o'-the-Wisp.

"Now, all this I know, and all this I told to the twelve littleWill-o'-the-Wisps whom I had on my lap, and who seemed quite crazywith joy.

"I told them that the safest and most convenient course was togive up the honor, and do nothing at all; but the little flameswould not agree to this, and already fancied themselves clad infiery yellow clothes, breathing flames from their throats.

"'Stay with us,' said some of the older ones.

"'Carry on your sport with mortals,' said the others.

"'The mortals are drying up our meadows; they've taken todraining. What will our successors do?'

"'We want to flame; we will flame- flame!' cried the new-bornWill-o'the-Wisps.

"And thus the affair was settled.

"And now a ball was given, a minute long; it could not well beshorter. The little elf-maidens whirled round three times with therest, that they might not appear proud, but they preferred dancingwith one another.

"And now the sponsors' gifts were presented, and presents werethrown them. These presents flew like pebbles across the sea-water.Each of the elf-maidens gave a little piece of her veil.

"'Take that,' they said, 'and then you'll know the higher dance,the most difficult turns and twists- that is to say, if you shouldfind them necessary. You'll know the proper deportment, and then youcan show yourself in the very pick of society.'

"The night raven taught each of the young Will-o'-the-Wisps tosay, 'Goo-goo-good,' and to say it in the right place; and that's agreat gift which brings its own reward.

"The owl and the stork- but they said it was not worth mentioning,and so we won't mention it.

"King Waldemar's wild chase was just then rushing over the moor,and when the great lords heard of the festivities that were goingon, they sent a couple of handsome dogs, which hunt on the spoor ofthe wind, as a present; and these might carry two or three of theWill-o'-the-Wisps. A couple of old Alpas, spirits who occupythemselves with Alp-pressing, were also at the feast; and from thesethe young Will-o'-the-Wisps learned the art of slipping throughevery key-hole, as if the door stood open before them. These Alpasoffered to carry the youngsters to the town, with which they were wellacquainted. They usually rode through the atmosphere on their own backhair, which is fastened into a knot, for they love a hard seat; butnow they sat sideways on the wild hunting dogs, took the youngWill-o'-the-Wisps in their laps, who wanted to go into the town tomislead and entice mortals, and, whisk! away they were. Now, this iswhat happened last night. To-day the Will-o'-the-Wisps are in thetown, and have taken the matter in hand- but where and how? Ah, canyou tell me that? Still, I've a lightning conductor in my great toe,and that will always tell me something."

"Why, this is a complete story," exclaimed the man.

"Yes, but it is only the beginning," replied the woman. "Can youtell me how the Will-o'-the-Wisps deport themselves, and how theybehave? and in what shapes they have aforetime appeared and led peopleinto crooked paths?"

"I believe," replied the man, "that one could tell quite a romanceabout the Will-o'-the-Wisps, in twelve parts; or, better still, onemight make quite a popular play of them."

"You might write that," said the woman, "but it's best let alone."

"Yes, that's better and more agreeable," the man replied, "forthen we shall escape from the newspapers, and not be tied up bythem, which is just as uncomfortable as for a Will-o'-the-Wisp tolie in decaying wood, to have to gleam, and not to be able to stir."

"I don't care about it either way," cried the woman. "Let the restwrite, those who can, and those who cannot likewise. I'll grant you anold bung from my cask that will open the cupboard where poetry'skept in bottles, and you may take from that whatever may be wanting.But you, my good man, seem to have blotted your hands sufficientlywith ink, and to have come to that age of satiety that you need not berunning about every year for stories, especially as there are muchmore important things to be done. You must have understood what isgoing on?"

"The Will-o'-the-Wisp is in town," said the man. "I've heard it,and I have understood it. But what do you think I ought to do? Ishould be thrashed if I were to go to the people and say, 'Look,yonder goes a Will-o'-the-Wisp in his best clothes!'

"They also go in undress," replied the woman. "TheWill-o'-the-Wisp can assume all kinds of forms, and appear in everyplace. He goes into the church, but not for the sake of the service;and perhaps he may enter into one or other of the priests. He speaksin the Parliament, not for the benefit of the country, but only forhimself. He's an artist with the color-pot as well as in thetheatre; but when he gets all the power into his own hands, then thepot's empty! I chatter and chatter, but it must come out, what'ssticking in my throat, to the disadvantage of my own family. But Imust now be the woman that will save a good many people. It is notdone with my good will, or for the sake of a medal. I do the mostinsane things I possibly can, and then I tell a poet about it, andthus the whole town gets to know of it directly."

"The town will not take that to heart," observed the man; "thatwill not disturb a single person; for they will all think I'm onlytelling them a story if I say, 'The Will-o'-the-Wisp is in the town,says the Moor-woman. Take care of yourselves!'"

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THE WINDMILL

by Hans Christian Andersen

A WINDMILL stood upon the hill, proud to look at, and it was proudtoo.

"I am not proud at all," it said, "but I am very muchenlightened without and within. I have sun and moon for my outwarduse, and for inward use too; and into the bargain I have stearinecandles, train oil and lamps, and tallow candles. I may well saythat I'm enlightened. I'm a thinking being, and so well constructedthat it's quite delightful. I have a good windpipe in my chest, andI have four wings that are placed outside my head, just beneath myhat. The birds have only two wings, and are obliged to carry them ontheir backs. I am a Dutchman by birth, that may be seen by myfigure- a flying Dutchman. They are considered supernatural beings,I know, and yet I am quite natural. I have a gallery round my chest,and house-room beneath it; that's where my thoughts dwell. Mystrongest thought, who rules and reigns, is called by others 'TheMan in the Mill.' He knows what he wants, and is lord over the mealand the bran; but he has his companion, too, and she calls herself'Mother.' She is the very heart of me. She does not run about stupidlyand awkwardly, for she knows what she wants, she knows what she cando, she's as soft as a zephyr and as strong as a storm; she knowshow to begin a thing carefully, and to have her own way. She is mysoft temper, and the father is my hard one. They are two, and yet one;they each call the other 'My half.' These two have some little boys,young thoughts, that can grow. The little ones keep everything inorder. When, lately, in my wisdom, I let the father and the boysexamine my throat and the hole in my chest, to see what was going onthere,- for something in me was out of order, and it's well to examineone's self,- the little ones made a tremendous noise. The youngestjumped up into my hat, and shouted so there that it tickled me. Thelittle thoughts may grow- I know that very well; and out in theworld thoughts come too, and not only of my kind, for as far as Ican see, I cannot discern anything like myself; but the winglesshouses, whose throats make no noise, have thoughts too, and these cometo my thoughts, and make love to them, as it is called. It's wonderfulenough- yes, there are many wonderful things. Something has comeover me, or into me,- something has changed in the mill-work. It seemsas if the one half, the father, had altered, and had received a bettertemper and a more affectionate helpmate- so young and good, and yetthe same, only more gentle and good through the course of time. Whatwas bitter has passed away, and the whole is much more comfortable.

"The days go on, and the days come nearer and nearer toclearness and to joy; and then a day will come when it will be overwith me; but not over altogether. I must be pulled down that I maybe built up again; I shall cease, but yet shall live on. To becomequite a different being, and yet remain the same! That's difficult forme to understand, however enlightened I may be with sun, moon,stearine, train oil, and tallow. My old wood-work and my oldbrick-work will rise again from the dust!

"I will hope that I may keep my old thoughts, the father in themill, and the mother, great ones and little ones- the family; for Icall them all, great and little, the company of thoughts, because Imust, and cannot refrain from it.

"And I must also remain 'myself,' with my throat in my chest, mywings on my head, the gallery round my body; else I should not knowmyself, nor could the others know me, and say, 'There's the mill onthe hill, proud to look at, and yet not proud at all.'"

That is what the mill said. Indeed, it said much more, but that isthe most important part.

And the days came, and the days went, and yesterday was the lastday.

Then the mill caught fire. The flames rose up high, and beat outand in, and bit at the beams and planks, and ate them up. The millfell, and nothing remained of it but a heap of ashes. The smokedrove across the scene of the conflagration, and the wind carried itaway.

Whatever had been alive in the mill remained, and what had beengained by it has nothing to do with this story.

The miller's family- one soul, many thoughts, and yet only one-built a new, a splendid mill, which answered its purpose. It was quitelike the old one, and people said, "Why, yonder is the mill on thehill, proud to look at!" But this mill was better arranged, moreaccording to the time than the last, so that progress might be made.The old beams had become worm-eaten and spongy- they lay in dust andashes. The body of the mill did not rise out of the dust as they hadbelieved it would do. They had taken it literally, and all thingsare not to be taken literally.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

THERE IS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT

by Hans Christian Andersen

THAT was a terrible affair!" said a hen, and in a quarter of thetown, too, where it had not taken place. "That was a terrible affairin a hen-roost. I cannot sleep alone to-night. It is a good thing thatmany of us sit on the roost together." And then she told a storythat made the feathers on the other hens bristle up, and the cock'scomb fall. There was no doubt about it.

But we will begin at the beginning, and that is to be found in ahen-roost in another part of the town. The sun was setting, and thefowls were flying on to their roost; one hen, with white feathersand short legs, used to lay her eggs according to the regulations, andwas, as a hen, respectable in every way. As she was flying upon theroost, she plucked herself with her beak, and a little feather cameout.

"There it goes," she said; "the more I pluck, the more beautifuldo I get." She said this merrily, for she was the best of the hens,and, moreover, as had been said, very respectable. With that shewent to sleep.

It was dark all around, and hen sat close to hen, but the onewho sat nearest to her merry neighbour did not sleep. She had heardand yet not heard, as we are often obliged to do in this world, inorder to live at peace; but she could not keep it from her neighbouron the other side any longer. "Did you hear what was said? I mentionno names, but there is a hen here who intends to pluck herself inorder to look well. If I were a cock, I should despise her."

Just over the fowls sat the owl, with father owl and the littleowls. The family has sharp ears, and they all heard every word thattheir neighbour had said. They rolled their eyes, and mother owl,beating her wings, said: "Don't listen to her! But I suppose you heardwhat was said? I heard it with my own ears, and one has to hear agreat deal before they fall off. There is one among the fowls whohas so far forgotten what is becoming to a hen that she plucks out allher feathers and lets the cock see it."

"Prenez garde aux enfants!" said father owl; "children shouldnot hear such things."

"But I must tell our neighbour owl about it; she is such anestimable owl to talk to." And with that she flew away.

"Too-whoo! Too-whoo!" they both hooted into the neighbour'sdove-cot to the doves inside. "Have you heard? Have you heard?Too-whoo! There is a hen who has plucked out all her feathers forthe sake of the cock; she will freeze to death, if she is not frozenalready. Too-whoo!"

"Where? where?" cooed the doves.

"In the neighbour's yard. I have as good as seen it myself. Itis almost unbecoming to tell the story, but there is no doubt aboutit."

"Believe every word of what we tell you," said the doves, andcooed down into their poultry-yard. "There is a hen- nay, some saythat there are two- who have plucked out all their feathers, inorder not to look like the others, and to attract the attention of thecock. It is a dangerous game, for one can easily catch cold and diefrom fever, and both of these are dead already."

"Wake up! wake up!" crowed the cock, and flew upon his board.Sleep was still in his eyes, but yet he crowed out: "Three hens havedied of their unfortunate love for a cock. They had plucked out alltheir feathers. It is a horrible story: I will not keep it tomyself, but let it go farther."

"Let it go farther," shrieked the bats, and the hens clucked andthe cocks crowed, "Let it go farther! Let it go farther!" In thisway the story travelled from poultry-yard to poultry-yard, and at lastcame back to the place from which it had really started.

"Five hens," it now ran, "have plucked out all their feathers toshow which of them had grown leanest for love of the cock, and thenthey all pecked at each other till the blood ran down and they felldown dead, to the derision and shame of their family, and to the greatloss of their owner."

The hen who had lost the loose little feather naturally did notrecognise her own story, and being a respectable hen, said: "I despisethose fowls; but there are more of that kind. Such things ought not tobe concealed, and I will do my best to get the story into thepapers, so that it becomes known throughout the land; the hens haverichly deserved it, and their family too."

It got into the papers, it was printed; and there is no doubtabout it, one little feather may easily grow into five hens.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

TWO BROTHERS

by Hans Christian Andersen

ON one of the Danish islands, where old Thingstones, the seatsof justice of our forefathers, still stand in the cornfields, and hugetrees rise in the forests of beech, there lies a little town whose lowhouses are covered with red tiles. In one of these houses strangethings were brewing over the glowing coals on the open hearth; therewas a boiling going on in glasses, and a mixing and distilling,while herbs were being cut up and pounded in mortars. An elderly manlooked after it all.

"One must only do the right thing," he said; "yes, the right-the correct thing. One must find out the truth concerning everycreated particle, and keep to that."

In the room with the good housewife sat her two sons; they werestill small, but had great thoughts. Their mother, too, had alwaysspoken to them of right and justice, and exhorted them to keep tothe truth, which she said was the countenance of the Lord in thisworld.

The elder of the boys looked roguish and enterprising. He took adelight in reading of the forces of nature, of the sun and the moon;no fairy tale pleased him so much. Oh, how beautiful it must be, hethought, to go on voyages of discovery, or to find out how toimitate the wings of birds and then to be able to fly! Yes, to findthat out was the right thing. Father was right, and mother wasright- truth holds the world together.

The younger brother was quieter, and buried himself entirely inhis books. When he read about Jacob dressing himself in sheep-skins topersonify Esau, and so to usurp his brother's birthright, he wouldclench his little fist in anger against the deceiver; when he readof tyrants and of the injustice and wickedness of the world, tearswould come into his eyes, and he was quite filled with the thoughtof the justice and truth which must and would triumph.

One evening he was lying in bed, but the curtains were not yetdrawn close, and the light streamed in upon him; he had taken his bookinto bed with him, for he wanted to finish reading the story of Solon.His thoughts lifted and carried him away a wonderful distance; itseemed to him as if the bed had become a ship flying along underfull sail. Was he dreaming, or what was happening? It glided overthe rolling waves and across the ocean of time, and to him came thevoice of Solon; spoken in a strange tongue, yet intelligible to him,he heard the Danish motto: "By law the land is ruled."

The genius of the human race stood in the humble room, bent downover the bed and imprinted a kiss on the boy's forehead: "Be thoustrong in fame and strong in the battle of life! With truth in thyheart fly toward the land of truth!"

The elder brother was not yet in bed; he was standing at thewindow looking out at the mist which rose from the meadows. Theywere not elves dancing out there, as their old nurse had told him;he knew better- they were vapours which were warmer than the air,and that is why they rose. A shooting star lit up the sky, and theboy's thoughts passed in a second from the vapours of the earth upto the shining meteor. The stars gleamed in the heavens, and it seemedas if long golden threads hung down from them to the earth.

"Fly with me," sang a voice, which the boy heard in his heart. Andthe mighty genius of mankind, swifter than a bird and than an arrow-swifter than anything of earthly origin- carried him out into space,where the heavenly bodies are bound together by the rays that passfrom star to star. Our earth revolved in the thin air, and thecities upon it seemed to lie close to each other. Through thespheres echoed the words:

"What is near, what is far, when thou art lifted by the mightygenius of mind?"

And again the boy stood by the window, gazing out, whilst hisyounger brother lay in bed. Their mother called them by their names:"Anders Sandoe" and "Hans Christian."

Denmark and the whole world knows them- the two brothers Oersted.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

TWO MAIDENS

by Hans Christian Andersen

HAVE you ever seen a maiden? I mean what our pavers call a maiden,a thing with which they ram down the paving-stones in the roads. Amaiden of this kind is made altogether of wood, broad below, andgirt round with iron rings. At the top she is narrow, and has astick passed across through her waist, and this stick forms the armsof the maiden.

In the shed stood two Maidens of this kind. They had their placeamong shovels, hand-carts, wheelbarrows, and measuring-tapes; and toall this company the news had come that the Maidens were no longerto be called "maidens," but "hand-rammers," which word was thenewest and the only correct designation among the pavers for the thingwe all know from the old times by the name of "the maiden."

Now, there are among us human creatures certain individuals whoare known as "emancipated women," as, for instance, principals ofinstitutions, dancers who stand professionally on one leg,milliners, and sick-nurses; and with this class of emancipated womenthe two Maidens in the shed associated themselves. They were "maidens"among the paver folk, and determined not to give up this honorableappellation, and let themselves be miscalled "rammers.

"Maiden is a human name, but hand-rammer is a thing, and wewon't be called things- that's insulting us."

"My lover would be ready to give up his engagement," said theyoungest, who was betrothed to a paver's hammer; and the hammer is thething which drives great piles into the earth, like a machine, andtherefore does on a large scale what ten maidens effect in a similarway. "He wants to marry me as a maiden, but whether he would have mewere I a hand-rammer is a question, so I won't have my name changed."

"And I," said the elder one, "would rather have both my armsbroken off."

But the Wheelbarrow was of a different opinion; and theWheelbarrow was looked upon as of some consequence, for heconsidered himself a quarter of a coach, because he went about uponone wheel.

"I must submit to your notice," he said, "that the name 'maiden'is common enough, and not nearly so refined as 'hand-rammer,' or'stamper,' which latter has also been proposed, and through whichyou would be introduced into the category of seals; and only thinkof the great stamp of state, which impresses the royal seal that giveseffect to the laws! No, in your case I would surrender my maidenname."

"No, certainly not!" exclaimed the elder. "I am too old for that."

"I presume you have never heard of what is called 'Europeannecessity?'" observed the honest Measuring Tape. "One must be ableto adapt one's self to time and circumstances, and if there is a lawthat the 'maiden' is to be called 'hand-rammer,' why, she must becalled 'hand-rammer,' and no pouting will avail, for everything hasits measure."

"No; if there must be a change," said the younger, "I shouldprefer to be called 'Missy,' for that reminds one a little ofmaidens."

"But I would rather be chopped to chips," said the elder.

At last they all went to work. The Maidens rode- that is, theywere put in a wheelbarrow, and that was a distinction; but stillthey were called "hand-rammers."

"Mai-!" they said, as they were bumped upon the pavement."Mai-!" and they were very nearly pronouncing the whole word "maiden;"but they broke off short, and swallowed the last syllable; for aftermature deliberation they considered it beneath their dignity toprotest. But they always called each other "maiden," and praised thegood old days in which everything had been called by its right name,and those who were maidens were called maidens. And they remained asthey were; for the hammer really broke off his engagement with theyounger one, for nothing would suit him but he must have a maidenfor his bride.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

UNDER THE WILLOW-TREE

by Hans Christian Andersen

THE region round the little town of Kjoge is very bleak andcold. The town lies on the sea shore, which is always beautiful; buthere it might be more beautiful than it is, for on every side thefields are flat, and it is a long way to the forest. But whenpersons reside in a place and get used to it, they can always findsomething beautiful in it,- something for which they long, even in themost charming spot in the world which is not home. It must be ownedthat there are in the outskirts of the town some humble gardens on thebanks of a little stream that runs on towards the sea, and in summerthese gardens look very pretty. Such indeed was the opinion of twolittle children, whose parents were neighbors, and who played in thesegardens, and forced their way from one garden to the other through thegooseberry-bushes that divided them. In one of the gardens grew anelder-tree, and in the other an old willow, under which the childrenwere very fond of playing. They had permission to do so, althoughthe tree stood close by the stream, and they might easily havefallen into the water; but the eye of God watches over the littleones, otherwise they would never be safe. At the same time, thesechildren were very careful not to go too near the water; indeed, theboy was so afraid of it, that in the summer, while the otherchildren were splashing about in the sea, nothing could entice himto join them. They jeered and laughed at him, and he was obliged tobear it all as patiently as he could. Once the neighbor's little girl,Joanna, dreamed that she was sailing in a boat, and the boy- Knudwas his name- waded out in the water to join her, and the water cameup to his neck, and at last closed over his head, and in a moment hehad disappeared. When little Knud heard this dream, it seemed as if hecould not bear the mocking and jeering again; how could he dare togo into the water now, after Joanna's dream! He never would do it, forthis dream always satisfied him. The parents of these children, whowere poor, often sat together while Knud and Joanna played in thegardens or in the road. Along this road- a row of willow-trees hadbeen planted to separate it from a ditch on one side of it. Theywere not very handsome trees, for the tops had been cut off;however, they were intended for use, and not for show. The oldwillow-tree in the garden was much handsomer, and therefore thechildren were very fond of sitting under it. The town had a largemarket-place; and at the fair-time there would be whole rows, likestreets, of tents and booths containing silks and ribbons, and toysand cakes, and everything that could be wished for. There werecrowds of people, and sometimes the weather would be rainy, and splashwith moisture the woollen jackets of the peasants; but it did notdestroy the beautiful fragrance of the honey-cakes and gingerbreadwith which one booth was filled; and the best of it was, that theman who sold these cakes always lodged during the fair-time withlittle Knud's parents. So every now and then he had a present ofgingerbread, and of course Joanna always had a share. And, moredelightful still, the gingerbread seller knew all sorts of things totell and could even relate stories about his own gingerbread. So oneevening he told them a story that made such a deep impression on thechildren that they never forgot it; and therefore I think we may aswell hear it too, for it is not very long.

"Once upon a time," said he, "there lay on my counter twogingerbread cakes, one in the shape of a man wearing a hat, theother of a maiden without a bonnet. Their faces were on the sidethat was uppermost, for on the other side they looked verydifferent. Most people have a best side to their characters, whichthey take care to show to the world. On the left, just where the heartis, the gingerbread man had an almond stuck in to represent it, butthe maiden was honey cake all over. They were placed on the counter assamples, and after lying there a long time they at last fell in lovewith each other; but neither of them spoke of it to the other, as theyshould have done if they expected anything to follow. 'He is a man, heought to speak the first word,' thought the gingerbread maiden; butshe felt quite happy- she was sure that her love was returned. But histhoughts were far more ambitious, as the thoughts of a man oftenare. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he possessedfour real pennies, and that he had bought the gingerbread lady, andate her up. And so they lay on the counter for days and weeks, tillthey grew hard and dry; but the thoughts of the maiden became evermore tender and womanly. 'Ah well, it is enough for me that I havebeen able to live on the same counter with him,' said she one day;when suddenly, 'crack,' and she broke in two. 'Ah,' said thegingerbread man to himself, 'if she had only known of my love, shewould have kept together a little longer.' And here they both are, andthat is their history," said the cake man. "You think the history oftheir lives and their silent love, which never came to anything,very remarkable; and there they are for you." So saying, he gaveJoanna the gingerbread man, who was still quite whole- and to Knud thebroken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by thestory, that they had not the heart to eat the lovers up.

The next day they went into the churchyard, and took the twocake figures with them, and sat down under the church wall, whichwas covered with luxuriant ivy in summer and winter, and looked asif hung with rich tapestry. They stuck up the two gingerbreadfigures in the sunshine among the green leaves, and then told thestory, and all about the silent love which came to nothing, to a groupof children. They called it, "love," because the story was solovely, and the other children had the same opinion. But when theyturned to look at the gingerbread pair, the broken maiden was gone!A great boy, out of wickedness, had eaten her up. At first thechildren cried about it; but afterwards, thinking very probably thatthe poor lover ought not to be left alone in the world, they ate himup too: but they never forgot the story.

The two children still continued to play together by theelder-tree, and under the willow; and the little maiden sang beautifulsongs, with a voice that was as clear as a bell. Knud, on thecontrary, had not a note of music in him, but knew the words of thesongs, and that of course is something. The people of Kjoge, andeven the rich wife of the man who kept the fancy shop, would stand andlisten while Joanna was singing, and say, "She has really a very sweetvoice."

Those were happy days; but they could not last forever. Theneighbors were separated, the mother of the little girl was dead,and her father had thoughts of marrying again and of residing in thecapital, where he had been promised a very lucrative appointment asmessenger. The neighbors parted with tears, the children wept sadly;but their parents promised that they should write to each other atleast once a year.

After this, Knud was bound apprentice to a shoemaker; he wasgrowing a great boy, and could not be allowed to run wild anylonger. Besides, he was going to be confirmed. Ah, how happy hewould have been on that festal day in Copenhagen with little Joanna;but he still remained at Kjoge, and had never seen the great city,though the town is not five miles from it. But far across the bay,when the sky was clear, the towers of Copenhagen could be seen; and onthe day of his confirmation he saw distinctly the golden cross onthe principal church glittering in the sun. How often his thoughtswere with Joanna! but did she think of him? Yes. About Christmascame a letter from her father to Knud's parents, which stated thatthey were going on very well in Copenhagen, and mentioningparticularly that Joanna's beautiful voice was likely to bring her abrilliant fortune in the future. She was engaged to sing at a concert,and she had already earned money by singing, out of which she sent herdear neighbors at Kjoge a whole dollar, for them to make merry onChristmas eve, and they were to drink her health. She had herselfadded this in a postscript, and in the same postscript she wrote,"Kind regards to Knud."

The good neighbors wept, although the news was so pleasant; butthey wept tears of joy. Knud's thoughts had been daily with Joanna,and now he knew that she also had thought of him; and the nearer thetime came for his apprenticeship to end, the clearer did it appearto him that he loved Joanna, and that she must be his wife; and asmile came on his lips at the thought, and at one time he drew thethread so fast as he worked, and pressed his foot so hard againstthe knee strap, that he ran the awl into his finger; but what did hecare for that? He was determined not to play the dumb lover as boththe gingerbread cakes had done; the story was a good lesson to him.

At length he become a journeyman; and then, for the first time, heprepared for a journey to Copenhagen, with his knapsack packed andready. A master was expecting him there, and he thought of Joanna, andhow glad she would be to see him. She was now seventeen, and henineteen years old. He wanted to buy a gold ring for her in Kjoge, butthen he recollected how far more beautiful such things would be inCopenhagen. So he took leave of his parents, and on a rainy day,late in the autumn, wandered forth on foot from the town of his birth.The leaves were falling from the trees; and, by the time he arrived athis new master's in the great metropolis, he was wet through. On thefollowing Sunday he intended to pay his first visit to Joanna'sfather. When the day came, the new journeyman's clothes were broughtout, and a new hat, which he had brought in Kjoge. The hat becamehim very well, for hitherto he had only worn a cap. He found the housethat he sought easily, but had to mount so many stairs that hebecame quite giddy; it surprised him to find how people lived over oneanother in this dreadful town.

On entering a room in which everything denoted prosperity,Joanna's father received him very kindly. The new wife was astranger to him, but she shook hands with him, and offered him coffee.

"Joanna will be very glad to see you," said her father. "Youhave grown quite a nice young man, you shall see her presently; she isa good child, and is the joy of my heart, and, please God, she willcontinue to be so; she has her own room now, and pays us rent for it."And the father knocked quite politely at a door, as if he were astranger, and then they both went in. How pretty everything was inthat room! a more beautiful apartment could not be found in thewhole town of Kjoge; the queen herself could scarcely be betteraccommodated. There were carpets, and rugs, and window curtainshanging to the ground. Pictures and flowers were scattered about.There was a velvet chair, and a looking-glass against the wall, intowhich a person might be in danger of stepping, for it was as largeas a door. All this Knud saw at a glance, and yet, in truth, he sawnothing but Joanna. She was quite grown up, and very different fromwhat Knud had fancied her, and a great deal more beautiful. In allKjoge there was not a girl like her; and how graceful she looked,although her glance at first was odd, and not familiar; but for amoment only, then she rushed towards him as if she would have kissedhim; she did not, however, although she was very near it. Yes, shereally was joyful at seeing the friend of her childhood once more, andthe tears even stood in her eyes. Then she asked so many questionsabout Knud's parents, and everything, even to the elder-tree and thewillow, which she called "elder-mother and willow-father," as ifthey had been human beings; and so, indeed, they might be, quite asmuch as the gingerbread cakes. Then she talked about them, and thestory of their silent love, and how they lay on the counter togetherand split in two; and then she laughed heartily; but the bloodrushed into Knud's cheeks, and his heart beat quickly. Joanna wasnot proud at all; he noticed that through her he was invited by herparents to remain the whole evening with them, and she poured outthe tea and gave him a cup herself; and afterwards she took a book andread aloud to them, and it seemed to Knud as if the story was allabout himself and his love, for it agreed so well with his ownthoughts. And then she sang a simple song, which, through her singing,became a true story, and as if she poured forth the feelings of herown heart.

"Oh," he thought, "she knows I am fond of her." The tears he couldnot restrain rolled down his cheeks, and he was unable to utter asingle word; it seemed as if he had been struck dumb.

When he left, she pressed his hand, and said, "You have a kindheart, Knud: remain always as you are now." What an evening ofhappiness this had been; to sleep after it was impossible, and Knuddid not sleep.

At parting, Joanna's father had said, "Now, you won't quite forgetus; you must not let the whole winter go by without paying usanother visit;" so that Knud felt himself free to go again thefollowing Sunday evening, and so he did. But every evening afterworking hours- and they worked by candle-light then- he walked outinto the town, and through the street in which Joanna lived, to lookup at her window. It was almost always lighted up; and one eveninghe saw the shadow of her face quite plainly on the window blind;that was a glorious evening for him. His master's wife did not likehis always going out in the evening, idling, wasting time, as shecalled it, and she shook her head.

But his master only smiled, and said, "He is a young man, my dear,you know."

"On Sunday I shall see her," said Knud to himself, "and I willtell her that I love her with my whole heart and soul, and that shemust be my little wife. I know I am now only a poor journeymanshoemaker, but I will work and strive, and become a master in time.Yes, I will speak to her; nothing comes from silent love. I learntthat from the gingerbread-cake story."

Sunday came, but when Knud arrived, they were all unfortunatelyinvited out to spend the evening, and were obliged to tell him so.

Joanna pressed his hand, and said, "Have you ever been to thetheatre? you must go once; I sing there on Wednesday, and if youhave time on that day, I will send you a ticket; my father knows whereyour master lives." How kind this was of her! And on Wednesday,about noon, Knud received a sealed packet with no address, but theticket was inside; and in the evening Knud went, for the first time inhis life, to a theatre. And what did he see? He saw Joanna, and howbeautiful and charming she looked! He certainly saw her beingmarried to a stranger, but that was all in the play, and only apretence; Knud well knew that. She could never have the heart, hethought, to send him a ticket to go and see it, if it had been real.So he looked on, and when all the people applauded and clapped theirhands, he shouted "hurrah." He could see that even the king smiledat Joanna, and seemed delighted with her singing. How small Knud felt;but then he loved her so dearly, and thought she loved him, and theman must speak the first word, as the gingerbread maiden hadthought. Ah, how much there was for him in that childish story. Assoon as Sunday arrived, he went again, and felt as if he were about toenter on holy ground. Joanna was alone to welcome him, nothing couldbe more fortunate.

"I am so glad you are come," she said. I was thinking of sendingmy father for you, but I had a presentiment that you would be herethis evening. The fact is, I wanted to tell you that I am going toFrance. I shall start on Friday. It is necessary for me to go there,if I wish to become a first-rate performer."

Poor Knud! it seemed to him as if the whole room was whirlinground with him. His courage failed, and he felt as if his heartwould burst. He kept down the tears, but it was easy to see howsorrowful he was.

"You honest, faithful soul," she exclaimed; and the words loosenedKnud's tongue, and he told her how truly he had loved her, and thatshe must be his wife; and as he said this, he saw Joanna change color,and turn pale. She let his hand fall, and said, earnestly andmournfully, "Knud, do not make yourself and me unhappy. I willalways be a good sister to you, one in whom you can trust; but I cannever be anything more." And she drew her white hand over hisburning forehead, and said, "God gives strength to bear a greatdeal, if we only strive ourselves to endure."

At this moment her stepmother came into the room, and Joannasaid quickly, "Knud is so unhappy, because I am going away;" and itappeared as if they had only been talking of her journey. "Come, bea man" she added, placing her hand on his shoulder; "you are still achild, and you must be good and reasonable, as you were when we wereboth children, and played together under the willow-tree."

Knud listened, but he felt as if the world had slid out of itscourse. His thoughts were like a loose thread fluttering to and fro inthe wind. He stayed, although he could not tell whether she hadasked him to do so. But she was kind and gentle to him; she poured outhis tea, and sang to him; but the song had not the old tone in it,although it was wonderfully beautiful, and made his heart feel readyto burst. And then he rose to go. He did not offer his hand, but sheseized it, and said-

"Will you not shake hands with your sister at parting, my oldplayfellow?" and she smiled through the tears that were rolling downher cheeks. Again she repeated the word "brother," which was a greatconsolation certainly; and thus they parted.

She sailed to France, and Knud wandered about the muddy streets ofCopenhagen. The other journeymen in the shop asked him why he lookedso gloomy, and wanted him to go and amuse himself with them, as he wasstill a young man. So he went with them to a dancing-room. He saw manyhandsome girls there, but none like Joanna; and here, where he thoughtto forget her, she was more life-like before his mind than ever."God gives us strength to bear much, if we try to do our best," shehad said; and as he thought of this, a devout feeling came into hismind, and he folded his hands. Then, as the violins played and thegirls danced round the room, he started; for it seemed to him as if hewere in a place where he ought not to have brought Joanna, for she washere with him in his heart; and so he went out at once. As he wentthrough the streets at a quick pace, he passed the house where sheused to live; it was all dark, empty, and lonely. But the world wenton its course, and Knud was obliged to go on too.

Winter came; the water was frozen, and everything seemed buried ina cold grave. But when spring returned, and the first steamer preparedto sail, Knud was seized with a longing to wander forth into theworld, but not to France. So he packed his knapsack, and travelledthrough Germany, going from town to town, but finding neither restor peace. It was not till he arrived at the glorious old town ofNuremberg that he gained the mastery over himself, and rested hisweary feet; and here he remained.

Nuremberg is a wonderful old city, and looks as if it had been cutout of an old picture-book. The streets seem to have arrangedthemselves according to their own fancy, and as if the houses objectedto stand in rows or rank and file. Gables, with little towers,ornamented columns, and statues, can be seen even to the city gate;and from the singular-shaped roofs, waterspouts, formed likedragons, or long lean dogs, extend far across to the middle of thestreet. Here, in the market-place, stood Knud, with his knapsack onhis back, close to one of the old fountains which are so beautifullyadorned with figures, scriptural and historical, and which spring upbetween the sparkling jets of water. A pretty servant-maid was justfilling her pails, and she gave Knud a refreshing draught; she had ahandful of roses, and she gave him one, which appeared to him like agood omen for the future. From a neighboring church came the sounds ofmusic, and the familiar tones reminded him of the organ at home atKjoge; so he passed into the great cathedral. The sunshine streamedthrough the painted glass windows, and between two lofty slenderpillars. His thoughts became prayerful, and calm peace rested on hissoul. He next sought and found a good master in Nuremberg, with whomhe stayed and learnt the German language.

The old moat round the town had been converted into a number oflittle kitchen gardens; but the high walls, with their heavy-lookingtowers, are still standing. Inside these walls the ropemaker twistedhis ropes along a walk built like a gallery, and in the cracks andcrevices of the walls elderbushes grow and stretch their greenboughs over the small houses which stand below. In one of these houseslived the master for whom Knud worked; and over the little garretwindow where he sat, the elder-tree waved its branches. Here hedwelt through one summer and winter, but when spring came again, hecould endure it no longer. The elder was in blossom, and its fragrancewas so homelike, that he fancied himself back again in the gardensof Kjoge. So Knud left his master, and went to work for another wholived farther in the town, where no elder grew. His workshop was quiteclose to one of the old stone bridges, near to a water-mill, roundwhich the roaring stream rushed and foamed always, yet restrained bythe neighboring houses, whose old, decayed balconies hung over, andseemed ready to fall into the water. Here grew no elder; here wasnot even a flower-pot, with its little green plant; but justopposite the workshop stood a great willow-tree, which seemed tohold fast to the house for fear of being carried away by the water. Itstretched its branches over the stream just as those of thewillow-tree in the garden at Kjoge had spread over the river. Yes,he had indeed gone from elder-mother to willow-father. There was asomething about the tree here, especially in the moonlight nights,that went direct to his heart; yet it was not in reality themoonlight, but the old tree itself. However, he could not endure it:and why? Ask the willow, ask the blossoming elder! At all events, hebade farewell to Nuremberg and journeyed onwards. He never spoke ofJoanna to any one; his sorrow was hidden in his heart. The oldchildish story of the two cakes had a deep meaning for him. Heunderstood now why the gingerbread man had a bitter almond in his leftside; his was the feeling of bitterness, and Joanna, so mild andfriendly, was represented by the honeycake maiden. As he thoughtupon all this, the strap of his knapsack pressed across his chest sothat he could hardly breathe; he loosened it, but gained no relief. Hesaw but half the world around him; the other half he carried withhim in his inward thoughts; and this is the condition in which he leftNuremberg. Not till he caught sight of the lofty mountains did theworld appear more free to him; his thoughts were attracted to outerobjects, and tears came into his eyes. The Alps appeared to him likethe wings of earth folded together; unfolded, they would display thevariegated pictures of dark woods, foaming waters, spreading clouds,and masses of snow. "At the last day," thought he, "the earth willunfold its great wings, and soar upwards to the skies, there toburst like a soap-bubble in the radiant glance of the Deity. Oh,"sighed he, "that the last day were come!"

Silently he wandered on through the country of the Alps, whichseemed to him like a fruit garden, covered with soft turf. From thewooden balconies of the houses the young lacemakers nodded as hepassed. The summits of the mountains glowed in the red evening sunset,and the green lakes beneath the dark trees reflected the glow. Then hethought of the sea coast by the bay Kjoge, with a longing in his heartthat was, however, without pain. There, where the Rhine rolls onwardlike a great billow, and dissolves itself into snowflakes, whereglistening clouds are ever changing as if here was the place oftheir creation, while the rainbow flutters about them like amany-colored ribbon, there did Knud think of the water-mill atKjoge, with its rushing, foaming waters. Gladly would he have remainedin the quiet Rhenish town, but there were too many elders andwillow-trees.

So he travelled onwards, over a grand, lofty chain of mountains,over rugged,- rocky precipices, and along roads that hung on themountain's side like a swallow's nest. The waters foamed in the depthsbelow him. The clouds lay beneath him. He wandered on, treading uponAlpine roses, thistles, and snow, with the summer sun shining uponhim, till at length he bid farewell to the lands of the north. Then hepassed on under the shade of blooming chestnut-trees, throughvineyards, and fields of Indian corn, till conscious that themountains were as a wall between him and his early recollections;and he wished it to be so.

Before him lay a large and splendid city, called Milan, and herehe found a German master who engaged him as a workman. The masterand his wife, in whose workshop he was employed, were an old, piouscouple; and the two old people became quite fond of the quietjourneyman, who spoke but little, but worked more, and led a pious,Christian life; and even to himself it seemed as if God had removedthe heavy burden from his heart. His greatest pleasure was to climb,now and then, to the roof of the noble church, which was built ofwhite marble. The pointed towers, the decorated and open cloisters,the stately columns, the white statues which smiled upon him fromevery corner and porch and arch,- all, even the church itself,seemed to him to have been formed from the snow of his native land.Above him was the blue sky; below him, the city and the wide-spreadingplains of Lombardy; and towards the north, the lofty mountains,covered with perpetual snow. And then he thought of the church ofKjoge, with its red, ivy-clad walls, but he had no longing to gothere; here, beyond the mountains, he would die and be buried.

Three years had passed away since he left his home; one year ofthat time he had dwelt at Milan.

One day his master took him into the town; not to the circus inwhich riders performed, but to the opera, a large building, itself asight well worth seeing. The seven tiers of boxes, which reachedfrom the ground to a dizzy height, near the ceiling, were hung withrich, silken curtains; and in them were seated elegantly-dressedladies, with bouquets of flowers in their hands. The gentlemen werealso in full dress, and many of them wore decorations of gold andsilver. The place was so brilliantly lighted that it seemed likesunshine, and glorious music rolled through the building. Everythinglooked more beautiful than in the theatre at Copenhagen, but thenJoanna had been there, and- could it be? Yes- it was like magic,-she was here also: for, when the curtain rose, there stood Joanna,dressed in silk and gold, and with a golden crown upon her head. Shesang, he thought, as only an angel could sing; and then she steppedforward to the front and smiled, as only Joanna could smile, andlooked directly at Knud. Poor Knud! he seized his master's hand, andcried out loud, "Joanna," but no one heard him, excepting hismaster, for the music sounded above everything.

"Yes, yes, it is Joanna," said his master; and he drew forth aprinted bill, and pointed to her name, which was there in full. Thenit was not a dream. All the audience applauded her, and threwwreaths of flowers at her; and every time she went away they calledfor her again, so that she was always coming and going. In thestreet the people crowded round her carriage, and drew it awaythemselves without the horses. Knud was in the foremost row, andshouted as joyously as the rest; and when the carriage stoppedbefore a brilliantly lighted house, Knud placed himself close to thedoor of her carriage. It flew open, and she stepped out; the lightfell upon her dear face, and he could see that she smiled as shethanked them, and appeared quite overcome. Knud looked straight in herface, and she looked at him, but she did not recognize him. A man,with a glittering star on his breast, gave her his arm, and peoplesaid the two were engaged to be married. Then Knud went home andpacked up his knapsack; he felt he must return to the home of hischildhood, to the elder-tree and the willow. "Ah, under thatwillow-tree!" A man may live a whole life in one single hour.

The old couple begged him to remain, but words were useless. Invain they reminded him that winter was coming, and that the snow hadalready fallen on the mountains. He said he could easily follow thetrack of the closely-moving carriages, for which a path must be keptclear, and with nothing but his knapsack on his back, and leaning onhis stick, he could step along briskly. So he turned his steps tothe mountains, ascended one side and descended the other, stillgoing northward till his strength began to fail, and not a house orvillage could be seen. The stars shone in the sky above him, anddown in the valley lights glittered like stars, as if another sky werebeneath him; but his head was dizzy and his feet stumbled, and he feltill. The lights in the valley grew brighter and brighter, and morenumerous, and he could see them moving to and fro, and then heunderstood that there must be a village in the distance; so he exertedhis failing strength to reach it, and at length obtained shelter ina humble lodging. He remained there that night and the whole of thefollowing day, for his body required rest and refreshment, and inthe valley there was rain and a thaw. But early in the morning ofthe third day, a man came with an organ and played one of the melodiesof home; and after that Knud could remain there no longer, so hestarted again on his journey toward the north. He travelled for manydays with hasty steps, as if he were trying to reach home before allwhom he remembered should die; but he spoke to no one of this longing.No one would have believed or understood this sorrow of his heart, thedeepest that can be felt by human nature. Such grief is not for theworld; it is not entertaining even to friends, and poor Knud had nofriends; he was a stranger, wandering through strange lands to hishome in the north.

He was walking one evening through the public roads, the countryaround him was flatter, with fields and meadows, the air had afrosty feeling. A willow-tree grew by the roadside, everythingreminded him of home. He felt very tired; so he sat down under thetree, and very soon began to nod, then his eyes closed in sleep. Yetstill he seemed conscious that the willow-tree was stretching itsbranches over him; in his dreaming state the tree appeared like astrong, old man- the "willow-father" himself, who had taken histired son up in his arms to carry him back to the land of home, to thegarden of his childhood, on the bleak open shores of Kjoge. And thenhe dreamed that it was really the willow-tree itself from Kjoge, whichhad travelled out in the world to seek him, and now had found himand carried him back into the little garden on the banks of thestreamlet; and there stood Joanna, in all her splendor, with thegolden crown on her head, as he had last seen her, to welcome himback. And then there appeared before him two remarkable shapes,which looked much more like human beings than when he had seen them inhis childhood; they were changed, but he remembered that they were thetwo gingerbread cakes, the man and the woman, who had shown their bestsides to the world and looked so good.

"We thank you," they said to Knud, "for you have loosened ourtongues; we have learnt from you that thoughts should be spokenfreely, or nothing will come of them; and now something has come ofour thoughts, for we are engaged to be married." Then they walkedaway, hand-in-hand, through the streets of Kjoge, looking veryrespectable on the best side, which they were quite right to show.They turned their steps to the church, and Knud and Joanna followedthem, also walking hand-in-hand; there stood the church, as of old,with its red walls, on which the green ivy grew.

The great church door flew open wide, and as they walked up thebroad aisle, soft tones of music sounded from the organ. "Our masterfirst," said the gingerbread pair, making room for Knud and Joanna. Asthey knelt at the altar, Joanna bent her head over him, and cold,icy tears fell on his face from her eyes. They were indeed tears ofice, for her heart was melting towards him through his strong love,and as her tears fell on his burning cheeks he awoke. He was stillsitting under the willow-tree in a strange land, on a cold winterevening, with snow and hail falling from the clouds, and beatingupon his face.

"That was the most delightful hour of my life," said he, "althoughit was only a dream. Oh, let me dream again." Then he closed hiseyes once more, and slept and dreamed.

Towards morning there was a great fall of snow; the wind driftedit over him, but he still slept on. The villagers came forth to goto church; by the roadside they found a workman seated, but he wasdead! frozen to death under a willow-tree.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

WHAT ONE CAN INVENT

by Hans Christian Andersen

There was once a young man who was studying to be a poet. Hewanted to become one by Easter, and to marry, and to live by poetry.To write poems, he knew, only consists in being able to inventsomething; but he could not invent anything. He had been born toolate- everything had been taken up before he came into the world,and everything had been written and told about.

"Happy people who were born a thousand years ago!" said he. "Itwas an easy matter for them to become immortal. Happy even was hewho was born a hundred years ago, for then there was still somethingabout which a poem could be written. Now the world is written out, andwhat can I write poetry about?"

Then he studied till he became ill and wretched, the wretched man!No doctor could help him, but perhaps the wise woman could. Shelived in the little house by the wayside, where the gate is that sheopened for those who rode and drove. But she could do more than unlockthe gate. She was wiser than the doctor who drives in his own carriageand pays tax for his rank.

"I must go to her," said the young man.

The house in which she dwelt was small and neat, but dreary tobehold, for there were no flowers near it- no trees. By the door stooda bee-hive, which was very useful. There was also a littlepotato-field, very useful, and an earth bank, with sloe bushes uponit, which had done blossoming, and now bore fruit, sloes, that drawone's mouth together if one tastes them before the frost has touchedthem.

"That's a true picture of our poetryless time, that I see beforeme now," thought the young man; and that was at least a thought, agrain of gold that he found by the door of the wise woman.

"Write that down!" said she. "Even crumbs are bread. I know whyyou come hither. You cannot invent anything, and yet you want to bea poet by Easter."

"Everything has been written down," said he. "Our time is notthe old time."

"No," said the woman. "In the old time wise women were burnt,and poets went about with empty stomachs, and very much out at elbows.The present time is good, it is the best of times; but you have notthe right way of looking at it. Your ear is not sharpened to hear, andI fancy you do not say the Lord's Prayer in the evening. There isplenty here to write poems about, and to tell of, for any one whoknows the way. You can read it in the fruits of the earth, you candraw it from the flowing and the standing water; but you mustunderstand how- you must understand how to catch a sunbeam. Now justyou try my spectacles on, and put my ear-trumpet to your ear, and thenpray to God, and leave off thinking of yourself"

The last was a very difficult thing to do- more than a wisewoman ought to ask.

He received the spectacles and the ear-trumpet, and was postedin the middle of the potato-field. She put a great potato into hishand. Sounds came from within it; there came a song with words, thehistory of the potato, an every-day story in ten parts, an interestingstory. And ten lines were enough to tell it in.

And what did the potato sing?

She sang of herself and of her family, of the arrival of thepotato in Europe, of the misrepresentation to which she had beenexposed before she was acknowledged, as she is now, to be a greatertreasure than a lump of gold.

"We were distributed, by the King's command, from thecouncil-houses through the various towns, and proclamation was made ofour great value; but no one believed in it, or even understood howto plant us. One man dug a hole in the earth and threw in his wholebushel of potatoes; another put one potato here and another there inthe ground, and expected that each was to come up a perfect tree, fromwhich he might shake down potatoes. And they certainly grew, andproduced flowers and green watery fruit, but it all withered away.Nobody thought of what was in the ground- the blessing- the potato.Yes, we have endured and suffered, that is to say, our forefathershave; they and we, it is all one."

What a story it was!

"Well, and that will do," said the woman. "Now look at the sloebush."

"We have also some near relations in the home of the potatoes, buthigher towards the north than they grew," said the Sloes. "Therewere Northmen, from Norway, who steered westward through mist andstorm to an unknown land, where, behind ice and snow, they foundplants and green meadows, and bushes with blue-black grapes- sloebushes. The grapes were ripened by the frost just as we are. Andthey called the land 'wine-land,' that is, 'Groenland,' or'Sloeland.'"

"That is quite a romantic story," said the young man.

"Yes, certainly. But now come with me," said the wise woman, andshe led him to the bee-hive.

He looked into it. What life and labor! There were bees standingin all the passages, waving their wings, so that a wholesome draughtof air might blow through the great manufactory; that was theirbusiness. Then there came in bees from without, who had been born withlittle baskets on their feet; they brought flower-dust, which waspoured out, sorted, and manufactured into honey and wax. They flewin and out. The queen-bee wanted to fly out, but then all the otherbees must have gone with her. It was not yet the time for that, butstill she wanted to fly out; so the others bit off her majesty'swings, and she had to stay where she was.

"Now get upon the earth bank," said the wise woman. "Come and lookout over the highway, where you can see the people."

"What a crowd it is!" said the young man. "One story afteranother. It whirls and whirls! It's quite a confusion before myeyes. I shall go out at the back."

"No, go straight forward," said the woman. "Go straight into thecrowd of people; look at them in the right way. Have an ear to hearand the right heart to feel, and you will soon invent something.But, before you go away, you must give me my spectacles and myear-trumpet again."

And so saying, she took both from him.

"Now I do not see the smallest thing," said the young man, "andnow I don't hear anything more."

"Why, then, you can't be a poet by Easter," said the wise woman.

"But, by what time can I be one?" asked he.

"Neither by Easter nor by Whitsuntide! You will not learn how toinvent anything."

"What must I do to earn my bread by poetry?"

"You can do that before Shrove Tuesday. Hunt the poets! Kill theirwritings and thus you will kill them. Don't be put out of countenance.Strike at them boldly, and you'll have carnival cake, on which you cansupport yourself and your wife too."

"What one can invent!" cried the young man. And so he hit outboldly at every second poet, because he could not be a poet himself.

We have it from the wise woman. She knows WHAT ONE CAN INVENT.

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

WHAT THE MOON SAW

by Hans Christian AndersenINTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION

IT is a strange thing, when I feel most fervently and most deeply,my hands and my tongue seem alike tied, so that I cannot rightlydescribe or accurately portray the thoughts that are rising within me;and yet I am a painter; my eye tells me as much as that, and all myfriends who have seen my sketches and fancies say the same.

I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; butI do not want for light, as my room is high up in the house, with anextensive prospect over the neighbouring roofs. During the first fewdays I went to live in the town, I felt low-spirited and solitaryenough. Instead of the forest and the green hills of former days, Ihad here only a forest of chimney-pots to look out upon. And then Ihad not a single friend; not one familiar face greeted me.

So one evening I sat at the window, in a desponding mood; andpresently I opened the casement and looked out. Oh, how my heartleaped up with joy! Here was a well-known face at last- a round,friendly countenance, the face of a good friend I had known at home.In, fact, it was the MOON that looked in upon me. He was quiteunchanged, the dear old Moon, and had the same face exactly that heused to show when he peered down upon me through the willow trees onthe moor. I kissed my hand to him over and over again, as he shone farinto my little room; and he, for his part, promised me that everyevening, when he came abroad, he would look in upon me for a fewmoments. This promise he has faithfully kept. It is a pity that he canonly stay such a short time when he comes. Whenever he appears, hetells me of one thing or another that he has seen on the previousnight, or on that same evening. "Just paint the scenes I describe toyou"- this is what he said to me- "and you will have a very prettypicture-book." I have followed his injunction for many evenings. Icould make up a new "Thousand and One Nights," in my own way, out ofthese pictures, but the number might be too great, after all. Thepictures I have here given have not been chosen at random, butfollow in their proper order, just as they were described to me.Some great gifted painter, or some poet or musician, may makesomething more of them if he likes; what I have given here are onlyhasty sketches, hurriedly put upon the paper, with some of my ownthoughts, interspersed; for the Moon did not come to me every evening-a cloud sometimes hid his face from me.

FIRST EVENING

"Last night"- I am quoting the Moon's own words- "last night I wasgliding through the cloudless Indian sky. My face was mirrored inthe waters of the Ganges, and my beams strove to pierce through thethick intertwining boughs of the bananas, arching beneath me likethe tortoise's shell. Forth from the thicket tripped a Hindoo maid,light as a gazelle, beautiful as Eve. Airy and etherial as a vision,and yet sharply defined amid the surrounding shadows, stood thisdaughter of Hindostan: I could read on her delicate brow the thoughtthat had brought her hither. The thorny creeping plants tore hersandals, but for all that she came rapidly forward. The deer thathad come down to the river to quench her thirst, sprang by with astartled bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted lamp. Icould see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she spread themfor a screen before the dancing flame. She came down to the stream,and set the lamp upon the water, and let it float away. The flameflickered to and fro, and seemed ready to expire; but still the lampburned on, and the girl's black sparkling eyes, half veiled behindtheir long silken lashes, followed it with a gaze of earnestintensity. She knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long asshe could keep it in sight, her betrothed was still alive; but ifthe lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. And the lamp burnedbravely on, and she fell on her knees, and prayed. Near her in thegrass lay a speckled snake, but she heeded it not- she thought only ofBramah and of her betrothed. 'He lives!' she shouted joyfully, 'helives!' And from the mountains the echo came back upon her, 'helives!"

SECOND EVENING

"Yesterday," said the Moon to me, "I looked down upon a smallcourtyard surrounded on all sides by houses. In the courtyard sat aclucking hen with eleven chickens; and a pretty little girl wasrunning and jumping around them. The hen was frightened, and screamed,and spread out her wings over the little brood. Then the girl's fathercame out and scolded her; and I glided away and thought no more of thematter.

"But this evening, only a few minutes ago, I looked down intothe same courtyard. Everything was quiet. But presently the littlegirl came forth again, crept quietly to the hen-house, pushed back thebolt, and slipped into the apartment of the hen and chickens. Theycried out loudly, and came fluttering down from their perches, and ranabout in dismay, and the little girl ran after them. I saw it quiteplainly, for I looked through a hole in the hen-house wall. I wasangry with the willful child, and felt glad when her father came outand scolded her more violently than yesterday, holding her roughlyby the arm; she held down her head, and her blue eyes were full oflarge tears. 'What are you about here?' he asked. She wept and said,'I wanted to kiss the hen and beg her pardon for frightening heryesterday; but I was afraid to tell you.'

"And the father kissed the innocent child's forehead, and I kissedher on the mouth and eyes."

THIRD EVENING

"In the narrow street round the corner yonder- it is so narrowthat my beams can only glide for a minute along the walls of thehouse, but in that minute I see enough to learn what the world is madeof- in that narrow street I saw a woman. Sixteen years ago thatwoman was a child, playing in the garden of the old parsonage, inthe country. The hedges of rose-bush were old, and the flowers werefaded. They straggled wild over the paths, and the ragged branchesgrew up among the boughs of the apple trees; here and there were a fewroses still in bloom- not so fair as the queen of flowers generallyappears, but still they had colour and scent too. The clergyman'slittle daughter appeared to me a far lovelier rose, as she sat onher stool under the straggling hedge, hugging and caressing her dollwith the battered pasteboard cheeks.

"Ten years afterwards I saw her again. I beheld her in asplendid ballroom: she was the beautiful bride of a rich merchant. Irejoiced at her happiness, and sought her on calm quiet evenings-ah, nobody thinks of my clear eye and my silent glance! Alas! myrose ran wild, like the rose bushes in the garden of the parsonage.There are tragedies in every-day life, and tonight I saw the lastact of one.

"She was lying in bed in a house in that narrow street: she wassick unto death, and the cruel landlord came up, and tore away thethin coverlet, her only protection against the cold. 'Get up!' saidhe; 'your face is enough to frighten one. Get up and dress yourself,give me money, or I'll turn you out into the street! Quick- get up!'She answered, 'Alas! death is gnawing at my heart. Let me rest.' Buthe forced her to get up and bathe her face, and put a wreath ofroses in her hair; and he placed her in a chair at the window, witha candle burning beside her, and went away.

"I looked at her, and she was sitting motionless, with her handsin her lap. The wind caught the open window and shut it with acrash, so that a pane came clattering down in fragments; but still shenever moved. The curtain caught fire, and the flames played abouther face; and I saw that she was dead. There at the open window satthe dead woman, preaching a sermon against sin- my poor faded rose outof the parsonage garden!"

FOURTH EVENING

"This evening I saw a German play acted," said the Moon. "It wasin a little town. A stable had been turned into a theatre; that isto say, the stable had been left standing, and had been turned intoprivate boxes, and all the timber work had been covered withcoloured paper. A little iron chandelier hung beneath the ceiling, andthat it might be made to disappear into the ceiling, as it does ingreat theatres, when the ting-ting of the prompter's bell is heard,a great inverted tub has been placed just above it.

"'Ting-ting!' and the little iron chandelier suddenly rose atleast half a yard and disappeared in the tub; and that was the signthat the play was going to begin. A young nobleman and his lady, whohappened to be passing through the little town, were present at theperformance, and consequently the house was crowded. But under thechandelier was a vacant space like a little crater: not a singlesoul sat there, for the tallow was dropping, drip, drip! I saweverything, for it was so warm in there that every loophole had beenopened. The male and female servants stood outside, peeping throughthe chinks, although a real policeman was inside, threatening themwith a stick. Close by the orchestra could be seen the noble youngcouple in two old arm-chairs, which were usually occupied by hisworship the mayor and his lady; but these latter were to-day obligedto content themselves with wooden forms, just as if they had beenordinary citizens; and the lady observed quietly to herself, 'Onesees, now, that there is rank above rank;' and this incident gave anair of extra festivity to the whole proceedings. The chandelier gavelittle leaps, the crowd got their knuckles rapped, and I, the Moon,was present at the performance from beginning to end."

FIFTH EVENING

"Yesterday," began the Moon, "I looked down upon the turmoil ofParis. My eye penetrated into an apartment of the Louvre. An oldgrandmother, poorly clad- she belonged to the working class- wasfollowing one of the under-servants into the great emptythrone-room, for this was the apartment she wanted to see- that shewas resolved to see; it had cost her many a little sacrifice, and manya coaxing word, to penetrate thus far. She folded her thin hands,and looked round with an air of reverence, as if she had been in achurch.

"'Here it was!' she said, 'here!' and she approached the throne,from which hung the rich velvet fringed with gold lace. 'There,' sheexclaimed, 'there!' and she knelt and kissed the purple carpet. Ithink she was actually weeping.

"'But it was not this very velvet!' observed the footman, and asmile played about his mouth. 'True, but it was this very place,'replied the woman, 'and it must have looked just like this. 'It lookedso, and yet it did not,' observed the man: 'the windows were beatenin, and the doors were off their hinges, and there was blood uponthe floor.' 'But for all that you can say, my grandson died upon thethrone of France. Died!' mournfully repeated the old woman. I do notthink another word was spoken, and they soon quitted the hall. Theevening twilight faded and my light shone doubly vivid upon the richvelvet that covered the throne of France.

"Now who do you think this poor woman was? Listen, I will tell youa story.

"It happened, in the Revolution of July, on the evening of themost brilliantly victorious day, when every house was a fortress,every window a breastwork. The people stormed the Tuileries. Evenwomen and children were to be found among the combatants. Theypenetrated into the apartments and halls of the palace. A poorhalf-grown boy in a ragged blouse fought among the older insurgents.Mortally wounded with several bayonet thrusts, he sank down. Thishappened in the throne-room. They laid the bleeding youth upon thethrone of France, wrapped the velvet around his wounds, and hisblood streamed forth upon the imperial purple. There was a picture!The splendid hall, the fighting groups! A torn flag upon the ground,the tricolor was waving above the bayonets, and on the throne laythe poor lad with the pale glorified countenance, his eyes turnedtowards the sky, his limbs writhing in the death agony, his breastbare, and his poor tattered clothing half hidden by the rich velvetembroidered with silver lilies. At the boy's cradle a prophecy hadbeen spoken: 'He will die on the throne of France!' The mother's heartdreamt of a second Napoleon.

"My beams have kissed the wreath of immortelles on his grave,and this night they kissed the forehead of the old grandame, whilein a dream the picture floated before her which thou mayest draw-the poor boy on the throne of France."

SIXTH EVENING

"I've been in Upsala," said the Moon: "I looked down upon thegreat plain covered with coarse grass, and upon the barren fields. Imirrored my face in the Tyris river, while the steamboat drove thefish into the rushes. Beneath me floated the waves, throwing longshadows on the so-called graves of Odin, Thor, and Friga. In thescanty turf that covers the hill-side names have been cut. There is nomonument here, no memorial on which the traveller can have his namecarved, no rocky wall on whose surface he can get it painted; sovisitors have the turf cut away for that purpose. The naked earthpeers through in the form of great letters and names; these form anetwork over the whole hill. Here is an immortality, which laststill the fresh turf grows!

"Up on the hill stood a man, a poet. He emptied the mead horn withthe broad silver rim, and murmured a name. He begged the winds notto betray him, but I heard the name. I knew it. A count's coronetsparkles above it, and therefore he did not speak it out. I smiled,for I knew that a poet's crown adorns his own name. The nobility ofEleanora d'Este is attached to the name of Tasso. And I also knowwhere the Rose of Beauty blooms!"

Thus spake the Moon, and a cloud came between us. May no cloudseparate the poet from the rose!

SEVENTH EVENING

"Along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of firs andbeeches, and fresh and fragrant is this wood; hundreds of nightingalesvisit it every spring. Close beside it is the sea, the ever-changingsea, and between the two is placed the broad high-road. One carriageafter another rolls over it; but I did not follow them, for my eyeloves best to rest upon one point. A Hun's Grave lies there, and thesloe and blackthorn grow luxuriantly among the stones. Here is truepoetry in nature.

"And how do you think men appreciate this poetry? I will tellyou what I heard there last evening and during the night.

"First, two rich landed proprietors came driving by. 'Those areglorious trees!' said the first. 'Certainly; there are ten loads offirewood in each,' observed the other: 'it will be a hard winter,and last year we got fourteen dollars a load'- and they were gone.'The road here is wretched,' observed another man who drove past.'That's the fault of those horrible trees,' replied his neighbour;'there is no free current of air; the wind can only come from thesea'- and they were gone. The stage coach went rattling past. Allthe passengers were asleep at this beautiful spot. The postillion blewhis horn, but he only thought, 'I can play capitally. It sounds wellhere. I wonder if those in there like it?'- and the stage coachvanished. Then two young fellows came gallopping up on horseback.There's youth and spirit in the blood here! thought I; and, indeed,they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill and thick forest. 'Ishould not dislike a walk here with the miller's Christine,' said one-and they flew past.

"The flowers scented the air; every breath of air was hushed; itseemed as if the sea were a part of the sky that stretched above thedeep valley. A carriage rolled by. Six people were sitting in it. Fourof them were asleep; the fifth was thinking of his new summer coat,which would suit him admirably; the sixth turned to the coachman andasked him if there were anything remarkable connected with yonder heapof stones. 'No,' replied the coachman, 'it's only a heap of stones;but the trees are remarkable.' 'How so?' 'Why I'll tell you how theyare very remarkable. You see, in winter, when the snow lies very deep,and has hidden the whole road so that nothing is to be seen, thosetrees serve me for a landmark. I steer by them, so as not to driveinto the sea; and you see that is why the trees are remarkable.'

"Now came a painter. He spoke not a word, but his eyes sparkled.He began to whistle. At this the nightingales sang louder than ever.'Hold your tongues!' he cried testily; and he made accurate notes ofall the colours and transitions- blue, and lilac, and dark brown.'That will make a beautiful picture,' he said. He took it in just as amirror takes in a view; and as he worked he whistled a march ofRossini. And last of all came a poor girl. She laid aside the burdenshe carried, and sat down to rest upon the Hun's Grave. Her palehandsome face was bent in a listening attitude towards the forest. Hereyes brightened, she gazed earnestly at the sea and the sky, her handswere folded, and I think she prayed, 'Our Father.' She herself couldnot understand the feeling that swept through her, but I know thatthis minute, and the beautiful natural scene, will live within hermemory for years, far more vividly and more truly than the paintercould portray it with his colours on paper. My rays followed hertill the morning dawn kissed her brow."

EIGHTH EVENING

Heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the Moon did not make hisappearance at all. I stood in my little room, more lonely than ever,and looked up at the sky where he ought to have shown himself. Mythoughts flew far away, up to my great friend, who every eveningtold me such pretty tales, and showed me pictures. Yes, he has hadan experience indeed. He glided over the waters of the Deluge, andsmiled on Noah's ark just as he lately glanced down upon me, andbrought comfort and promise of a new world that was to spring forthfrom the old. When the Children of Israel sat weeping by the waters ofBabylon, he glanced mournfully upon the willows where hung thesilent harps. When Romeo climbed the balcony, and the promise oftrue love fluttered like a cherub toward heaven, the round Moonhung, half hidden among the dark cypresses, in the lucid air. He sawthe captive giant at St. Helena, looking from the lonely rock acrossthe wide ocean, while great thoughts swept through his soul. Ah!what tales the Moon can tell. Human life is like a story to him.To-night I shall not see thee again, old friend. Tonight I can draw nopicture of the memories of thy visit. And, as I looked dreamilytowards the clouds, the sky became bright. There was a glancing light,and a beam from the Moon fell upon me. It vanished again, and darkclouds flew past: but still it was a greeting, a friendly good-nightoffered to me by the Moon.

NINTH EVENING

The air was clear again. Several evenings had passed, and the Moonwas in the first quarter. Again he gave me an outline for a sketch.Listen to what he told me.

"I have followed the polar bird and the swimming whale to theeastern coast of Greenland. Gaunt ice-covered rocks and dark cloudshung over a valley, where dwarf willows and barberry bushes stoodclothed in green. The blooming lychnis exhaled sweet odours. Mylight was faint, my face pale as the water lily that, torn from itsstem, has been drifting for weeks with the tide. The crown-shapedNorthern Light burned fiercely in the sky. Its ring was broad, andfrom its circumference the rays shot like whirling shafts of fireacross the whole sky, flashing in changing radiance from green to red.The inhabitants of that icy region were assembling for dance andfestivity; but, accustomed to this glorious spectacle, they scarcelydeigned to glance at it. 'Let us leave the soul of the dead to theirball-play with the heads of the walruses,' they thought in theirsuperstition, and they turned their whole attention to the song anddance. In the midst of the circle, and divested of his furry cloak,stood a Greenlander, with a small pipe, and he played and sang asong about catching the seal, and the chorus around chimed in with,'Eia, Eia, Ah.' And in their white furs they danced about in thecircle, till you might fancy it was a polar bear's ball.

"And now a Court of Judgment was opened. Those Greenlanders whohad quarrelled stepped forward, and the offended person chantedforth the faults of his adversary in an extempore song, turning themsharply into ridicule, to the sound of the pipe and the measure of thedance. The defendant replied with satire as keen, while the audiencelaughed, and gave their verdict. The rocks heaved, the glaciersmelted, and great masses of ice and snow came crashing down, shiveringto fragments as they fall; it was a glorious Greenland summer night. Ahundred paces away, under the open tent of hides, lay a sick man. Lifestill flowed through his warm blood, but still he was to die- hehimself felt it, and all who stood round him knew it also; thereforehis wife was already sewing round him the shroud of furs, that shemight not afterwards be obliged to touch the dead body. And she asked,'Wilt thou be buried on the rock, in the firm snow? I will deck thespot with thy kayak, and thy arrows, and the angekokk shall dance overit. Or wouldst thou rather be buried in the sea?' 'In the sea,' hewhispered, and nodded with a mournful smile. 'Yes, it is a pleasantsummer tent, the sea,' observed the wife. 'Thousands of seals sportthere, the walrus shall lie at thy feet, and the hunt will be safe andmerry!' And the yelling children tore the outspread hide from thewindow-hole, that the dead man might be carried to the ocean, thebillowy ocean, that had given him food in life, and that now, indeath, was to afford him a place of rest. For his monument, he had thefloating, ever-changing icebergs, whereon the seal sleeps, while thestorm bird flies round their gleaming summits!"

TENTH EVENING

"I knew an old maid," said the Moon. "Every winter she wore awrapper of yellow satin, and it always remained new, and was theonly fashion she followed. In summer she always wore the same strawhat, and I verily believe the very same gray-blue dress.

"She never went out, except across the street to an old femalefriend; and in later years she did not even take this walk, for theold friend was dead. In her solitude my old maid was always busy atthe window, which was adorned in summer with pretty flowers, and inwinter with cress, grown upon felt. During the last months I saw herno more at the window, but she was still alive. I knew that, for I hadnot yet seen her begin the 'long journey,' of which she often spokewith her friend. 'Yes, yes,' she was in the habit of saying, when Icome to die I shall take a longer journey than I have made my wholelife long. Our family vault is six miles from here. I shall be carriedthere, and shall sleep there among my family and relatives.' Lastnight a van stopped at the house. A coffin was carried out, and then Iknew that she was dead. They placed straw round the coffin, and thevan drove away. There slept the quiet old lady, who had not gone outof her house once for the last year. The van rolled out through thetown-gate as briskly as if it were going for a pleasant excursion.On the high-road the pace was quicker yet. The coachman lookednervously round every now and then- I fancy he half expected to seeher sitting on the coffin, in her yellow satin wrapper. And because hewas startled, he foolishly lashed his horses, while he held thereins so tightly that the poor beasts were in a foam: they wereyoung and fiery. A hare jumped across the road and startled them,and they fairly ran away. The old sober maiden, who had for yearsand years moved quietly round and round in a dull circle, was now,in death, rattled over stock and stone on the public highway. Thecoffin in its covering of straw tumbled out of the van, and was lefton the high-road, while horses, coachman, and carriage flew past inwild career. The lark rose up carolling from the field, twittering hermorning lay over the coffin, and presently perched upon it, pickingwith her beak at the straw covering, as though she would tear it up.The lark rose up again, singing gaily, and I withdrew behind the redmorning clouds."

ELEVENTH EVENING

"I will give you a picture of Pompeii," said the Moon. "I was inthe suburb in the Street of Tombs, as they call it, where the fairmonuments stand, in the spot where, ages ago, the merry youths,their temples bound with rosy wreaths, danced with the fair sisters ofLais. Now, the stillness of death reigned around. Germanmercenaries, in the Neapolitan service, kept guard, played cards,and diced; and a troop of strangers from beyond the mountains cameinto the town, accompanied by a sentry. They wanted to see the citythat had risen from the grave illumined by my beams; and I showed themthe wheel-ruts in the streets paved with broad lava slabs; I showedthem the names on the doors, and the signs that hung there yet: theysaw in the little courtyard the basins of the fountains, ornamentedwith shells; but no jet of water gushed upwards, no songs soundedforth from the richly-painted chambers, where the bronze dog keptthe door.

"It was the City of the Dead; only Vesuvius thundered forth hiseverlasting hymn, each separate verse of which is called by men aneruption. We went to the temple of Venus, built of snow-whitemarble, with its high altar in front of the broad steps, and theweeping willows sprouting freshly forth among the pillars. The air wastransparent and blue, and black Vesuvius formed the background, withfire ever shooting forth from it, like the stem of the pine tree.Above it stretched the smoky cloud in the silence of the night, likethe crown of the pine, but in a blood-red illumination. Among thecompany was a lady singer, a real and great singer. I have witnessedthe homage paid to her in the greatest cities of Europe. When theycame to the tragic theatre, they all sat down on the amphitheatresteps, and thus a small part of the house was occupied by an audience,as it had been many centuries ago. The stage still stood unchanged,with its walled side-scenes, and the two arches in the background,through which the beholders saw the same scene that had been exhibitedin the old times- a scene painted by nature herself, namely, themountains between Sorento and Amalfi. The singer gaily mounted theancient stage, and sang. The place inspired her, and she reminded meof a wild Arab horse, that rushes headlong on with snorting nostrilsand flying mane- her song was so light and yet so firm. Anon I thoughtof the mourning mother beneath the cross at Golgotha, so deep wasthe expression of pain. And, just as it had done thousands of yearsago, the sound of applause and delight now filled the theatre. 'Happy,gifted creature!' all the hearers exclaimed. Five minutes more, andthe stage was empty, the company had vanished, and not a sound morewas heard- all were gone. But the ruins stood unchanged, as theywill stand when centuries shall have gone by, and when none shall knowof the momentary applause and of the triumph of the fair songstress;when all will be forgotten and gone, and even for me this hour will bebut a dream of the past."

TWELFTH EVENING

"I looked through the windows of an editor's house," said theMoon. "It was somewhere in Germany. I saw handsome furniture, manybooks, and a chaos of newspapers. Several young men were present:the editor himself stood at his desk, and two little books, both byyoung authors, were to be noticed. 'This one has been sent to me,'said he. 'I have not read it yet; what think you of the contents?''Oh,' said the person addressed- he was a poet himself- 'it is goodenough; a little broad, certainly; but, you see, the author is stillyoung. The verses might be better, to be sure; the thoughts are sound,though there is certainly a good deal of common-place among them.But what will you have? You can't be always getting something new.That he'll turn out anything great I don't believe, but you may safelypraise him. He is well read, a remarkable Oriental scholar, and hasa good judgment. It was he who wrote that nice review of my'Reflections on Domestic Life.' We must be lenient towards the youngman."

"'But he is a complete hack!' objected another of the gentlemen.'Nothing worse in poetry than mediocrity, and he certainly does not gobeyond this.'

"'Poor fellow,' observed a third, 'and his aunt is so happyabout him. It was she, Mr. Editor, who got together so manysubscribers for your last translation.'

"'Ah, the good woman! Well, I have noticed the book briefly.Undoubted talent- a welcome offering- a flower in the garden ofpoetry- prettily brought out- and so on. But this other book- Isuppose the author expects me to purchase it? I hear it is praised. Hehas genius, certainly: don't you think so?'

"'Yes, all the world declares as much,' replied the poet, 'butit has turned out rather wildly. The punctuation of the book, inparticular, is very eccentric.'

"'It will be good for him if we pull him to pieces, and angerhim a little, otherwise he will get too good an opinion of himself.'

"'But that would be unfair,' objected the fourth. 'Let us not carpat little faults, but rejoice over the real and abundant good thatwe find here: he surpasses all the rest.'

"'Not so. If he is a true genius, he can bear the sharp voice ofcensure. There are people enough to praise him. Don't let us quiteturn his head.'

"'Decided talent,' wrote the editor, 'with the usual carelessness.that he can write incorrect verses may be seen in page 25, where thereare two false quantities. We recommend him to study the ancients,etc.'

"I went away," continued the Moon, "and looked through the windowsin the aunt's house. There sat the be-praised poet, the tame one;all the guests paid homage to him, and he was happy.

"I sought the other poet out, the wild one; him also I found ina great assembly at his patron's, where the tame poet's book was beingdiscussed.

"'I shall read yours also,' said Maecenas; 'but to speak honestly-you know I never hide my opinion from you- I don't expect much fromit, for you are much too wild, too fantastic. But it must be allowedthat, as a man, you are highly respectable.'

"A young girl sat in a corner; and she read in a book these words:

"'In the dust lies genius and glory,

But ev'ry-day talent will pay.

It's only the old, old story,

But the piece is repeated each day.'"

THIRTEENTH EVENING

The Moon said, "Beside the woodland path there are two smallfarm-houses. The doors are low, and some of the windows are placedquite high, and others close to the ground; and whitethorn andbarberry bushes grow around them. The roof of each house isovergrown with moss and with yellow flowers and houseleek. Cabbage andpotatoes are the only plants cultivated in the gardens, but out of thehedge there grows a willow tree, and under this willow tree sat alittle girl, and she sat with her eyes fixed upon the old oak treebetween the two huts.

"It was an old withered stem. It had been sawn off at the top, anda stork had built his nest upon it; and he stood in this nest clappingwith his beak. A little boy came and stood by the girl's side: theywere brother and sister.

"'What are you looking at?' he asked.

"'I'm watching the stork,' she replied: 'our neighbors told methat he would bring us a little brother or sister to-day; let us watchto see it come!'

"'The stork brings no such things,' the boy declared, 'you maybe sure of that. Our neighbor told me the same thing, but shelaughed when she said it, and so I asked her if she could say 'On myhonor,' and she could not; and I know by that the story about thestorks is not true, and that they only tell it to us children forfun.'

"'But where do babies come from, then?' asked the girl.

"'Why, an angel from heaven brings them under his cloak, but noman can see him; and that's why we never know when he brings them.'

"At that moment there was a rustling in the branches of the willowtree, and the children folded their hands and looked at one another:it was certainly the angel coming with the baby. They took eachother's hand, and at that moment the door of one of the houses opened,and the neighbour appeared.

"'Come in, you two,' she said. 'See what the stork has brought. Itis a little brother.'

"And the children nodded gravely at one another, for they had feltquite sure already that the baby was come."

FOURTEENTH EVENING

"I was gliding over the Luneburg Heath," the Moon said. "Alonely hut stood by the wayside, a few scanty bushes grew near it, anda nightingale who had lost his way sang sweetly. He died in thecoldness of the night: it was his farewell song that I heard.

"The morning dawn came glimmering red. I saw a caravan of emigrantpeasant families who were bound to Hamburgh, there to take ship forAmerica, where fancied prosperity would bloom for them. The motherscarried their little children at their backs, the elder onestottered by their sides, and a poor starved horse tugged at a cartthat bore their scanty effects. The cold wind whistled, andtherefore the little girl nestled closer to the mother, who, lookingup at my decreasing disc, thought of the bitter want at home, andspoke of the heavy taxes they had not been able to raise. The wholecaravan thought of the same thing; therefore, the rising dawn seemedto them a message from the sun, of fortune that was to gleambrightly upon them. They heard the dying nightingale sing; it was nofalse prophet, but a harbinger of fortune. The wind whistled,therefore they did not understand that the nightingale sung, 'Fareaway over the sea! Thou hast paid the long passage with all that wasthine, and poor and helpless shalt thou enter Canaan. Thou must sellthyself, thy wife, and thy children. But your griefs shall not lastlong. Behind the broad fragrant leaves lurks the goddess of Death, andher welcome kiss shall breathe fever into thy blood. Fare away, fareaway, over the heaving billows.' And the caravan listened well pleasedto the song of the nightingale, which seemed to promise goodfortune. Day broke through the light clouds; country people wentacross the heath to church; the black-gowned women with their whitehead-dresses looked like ghosts that had stepped forth from the churchpictures. All around lay a wide dead plain, covered with faded brownheath, and black charred spaces between the white sand hills. Thewomen carried hymn books, and walked into the church. Oh, pray, prayfor those who are wandering to find graves beyond the foamingbillows."

FIFTEENTH EVENING

"I know a Pulcinella," the Moon told me. "The public applaudvociferously directly they see him. Every one of his movements iscomic, and is sure to throw the house into convulsions of laughter;and yet there is no art in it all- it is complete nature. When hewas yet a little boy, playing about with other boys, he was alreadyPunch. Nature had intended him for it, and had provided him with ahump on his back, and another on his breast; but his inward man, hismind, on the contrary, was richly furnished. No one could surpasshim in depth of feeling or in readiness of intellect. The theatrewas his ideal world. If he had possessed a slender well-shaped figure,he might have been the first tragedian on any stage; the heroic, thegreat, filled his soul; and yet he had to become a Pulcinella. Hisvery sorrow and melancholy did but increase the comic dryness of hissharply-cut features, and increased the laughter of the audience,who showered plaudits on their favourite. The lovely Columbine wasindeed kind and cordial to him; but she preferred to marry theHarlequin. It would have been too ridiculous if beauty and uglinesshad in reality paired together.

"When Pulcinella was in very bad spirits, she was the only one whocould force a hearty burst of laughter, or even a smile from him:first she would be melancholy with him, then quieter, and at lastquite cheerful and happy. 'I know very well what is the matter withyou,' she said; 'yes, you're in love!' And he could not help laughing.'I and Love," he cried, "that would have an absurd look. How thepublic would shout!' 'Certainly, you are in love,' she continued;and added with a comic pathos, 'and I am the person you are in lovewith.' You see, such a thing may be said when it is quite out of thequestion- and, indeed, Pulcinella burst out laughing, and gave aleap into the air, and his melancholy was forgotten.

"And yet she had only spoken the truth. He did love her, loveher adoringly, as he loved what was great and lofty in art. At herwedding he was the merriest among the guests, but in the stillnessof night he wept: if the public had seen his distorted face then, theywould have applauded rapturously.

"And a few days ago, Columbine died. On the day of the funeral,Harlequin was not required to show himself on the boards, for he was adisconsolate widower. The director had to give a very merry piece,that the public might not too painfully miss the pretty Columbineand the agile Harlequin. Therefore Pulcinella had to be moreboisterous and extravagant than ever; and he danced and capered,with despair in his heart; and the audience yelled, and shouted'bravo, bravissimo!' Pulcinella was actually called before thecurtain. He was pronounced inimitable.

"But last night the hideous little fellow went out of the town,quite alone, to the deserted churchyard. The wreath of flowers onColumbine's grave was already faded, and he sat down there. It was astudy for a painter. As he sat with his chin on his hands, his eyesturned up towards me, he looked like a grotesque monument- a Punchon a grave- peculiar and whimsical! If the people could have seentheir favourite, they would have cried as usual, 'Bravo, Pulcinella;bravo, bravissimo!'"

SIXTEENTH EVENING

Hear what the Moon told me. "I have seen the cadet who had justbeen made an officer put on his handsome uniform for the first time; Ihave seen the young bride in her wedding dress, and the princessgirl-wife happy in her gorgeous robes; but never have I seen afelicity equal to that of a little girl of four years old, whom Iwatched this evening. She had received a new blue dress, and a newpink hat, the splendid attire had just been put on, and all werecalling for a candle, for my rays, shining in through the windows ofthe room, were not bright enough for the occasion, and furtherillumination was required. There stood the little maid, stiff andupright as a doll, her arms stretched painfully straight out away fromthe dress, and her fingers apart; and oh, what happiness beamed fromher eyes, and from her whole countenance! 'To-morrow you shall goout in your new clothes,' said her mother; and the little one lookedup at her hat, and down at her frock, and smiled brightly. 'Mother,'she cried, 'what will the little dogs think, when they see me in thesesplendid new things?'"

SEVENTEENTH EVENING

"I have spoken to you of Pompeii," said the Moon; "that corpseof a city, exposed in the view of living towns: I know another sightstill more strange, and this is not the corpse, but the spectre of acity. Whenever the jetty fountains splash into the marble basins, theyseem to me to be telling the story of the floating city. Yes, thespouting water may tell of her, the waves of the sea may sing of herfame! On the surface of the ocean a mist often rests, and that isher widow's veil. The bridegroom of the sea is dead, his palace andhis city are his mausoleum! Dost thou know this city? She has neverheard the rolling of wheels or the hoof-tread of horses in herstreets, through which the fish swim, while the black gondola glidesspectrally over the green water. I will show you the place," continuedthe Moon, "the largest square in it, and you will fancy yourselftransported into the city of a fairy tale. The grass grows rankamong the broad flagstones, and in the morning twilight thousands oftame pigeons flutter around the solitary lofty tower. On three sidesyou find yourself surrounded by cloistered walks. In these thesilent Turk sits smoking his long pipe, the handsome Greek leansagainst the pillar and gazes at the upraised trophies and lofty masts,memorials of power that is gone. The flags hang down like mourningscarves. A girl rests there: she has put down her heavy pails filledwith water, the yoke with which she has carried them rests on one ofher shoulders, and she leans against the mast of victory. That isnot a fairy palace you see before you yonder, but a church: the gildeddomes and shining orbs flash back my beams; the glorious bronze horsesup yonder have made journeys, like the bronze horse in the fairy tale:they have come hither, and gone hence, and have returned again. Do younotice the variegated splendour of the walls and windows? It looksas if Genius had followed the caprices of a child, in the adornment ofthese singular temples. Do you see the winged lion on the pillar?The gold glitters still, but his wings are tied- the lion is dead, forthe king of the sea is dead; the great halls stand desolate, and wheregorgeous paintings hung of yore, the naked wall now peers through. Thelazzarone sleeps under the arcade, whose pavement in old times wasto be trodden only by the feet of high nobility. From the deepwells, and perhaps from the prisons by the Bridge of Sighs, rise theaccents of woe, as at the time when the tambourine was heard in thegay gondolas, and the golden ring was cast from the Bucentaur toAdria, the queen of the seas. Adria! shroud thyself in mists; letthe veil of thy widowhood shroud thy form, and clothe in the weedsof woe the mausoleum of thy bridegroom- the marble, spectral Venice."

EIGHTEENTH EVENING

"I looked down upon a great theatre," said the Moon. "The housewas crowded, for a new actor was to make his first appearance thatnight. My rays glided over a little window in the wall, and I saw apainted face with the forehead pressed against the panes. It was thehero of the evening. The knighly beard curled crisply about thechin; but there were tears in the man's eyes, for he had been hissedoff, and indeed with reason. The poor Incapable! But Incapables cannotbe admitted into the empire of Art. He had deep feeling, and loved hisart enthusiastically, but the art loved not him. The prompter's bellsounded; 'the hero enters with a determined air,' so ran the stagedirection in his part, and he had to appear before an audience whoturned him into ridicule. When the piece was over, I saw a formwrapped in a mantle, creeping down the steps: it was the vanquishedknight of the evening. The scene-shifters whispered to one another,and I followed the poor fellow home to his room. To hang one's self isto die a mean death, and poison is not always at hand, I know; buthe thought of both. I saw how he looked at his pale face in the glass,with eyes half closed, to see if he should look well as a corpse. Aman may be very unhappy, and yet exceedingly affected. He thought ofdeath, of suicide; I believe he pitied himself, for he weptbitterly, and when a man has had his cry out he doesn't kill himself.

"Since that time a year had rolled by. Again a play was to beacted, but in a little theatre, and by a poor strolling company. AgainI saw the well-remembered face, with the painted cheeks and thecrisp beard. He looked up at me and smiled; and yet he had been hissedoff only a minute before- hissed off from a wretched theatre, by amiserable audience. And tonight a shabby hearse rolled out of thetown-gate. It was a suicide- our painted, despised hero. The driver ofthe hearse was the only person present, for no one followed exceptmy beams. In a corner of the churchyard the corpse of the suicidewas shovelled into the earth, and nettles will soon be growingrankly over his grave, and the sexton will throw thorns and weeds fromthe other graves upon it."

NINETEENTH EVENING

"I come from Rome," said the Moon. "In the midst of the city, uponone of the seven hills, lie the ruins of the imperial palace. The wildfig tree grows in the clefts of the wall, and covers the nakednessthereof with its broad grey-green leaves; trampling among heaps ofrubbish, the ass treads upon green laurels, and rejoices over the rankthistles. From this spot, whence the eagles of Rome once flewabroad, whence they 'came, saw, and conquered,' our door leads intoa little mean house, built of clay between two pillars; the wildvine hangs like a mourning garland over the crooked window. An oldwoman and her little granddaughter live there: they rule now in thepalace of the Caesars, and show to strangers the remains of its pastglories. Of the splendid throne-hall only a naked wall yet stands, anda black cypress throws its dark shadow on the spot where the throneonce stood. The dust lies several feet deep on the broken pavement;and the little maiden, now the daughter of the imperial palace,often sits there on her stool when the evening bells ring. The keyholeof the door close by she calls her turret window; through this she cansee half Rome, as far as the mighty cupola of St. Peter's.

"On this evening, as usual, stillness reigned around; and in thefull beam of my light came the little granddaughter. On her head shecarried an earthen pitcher of antique shape filled with water. Herfeet were bare, her short frock and her white sleeves were torn. Ikissed her pretty round shoulders, her dark eyes, and black shininghair. She mounted the stairs; they were steep, having been made upof rough blocks of broken marble and the capital of a fallen pillar.The coloured lizards slipped away, startled, from before her feet, butshe was not frightened at them. Already she lifted her hand to pullthe door-bell- a hare's foot fastened to a string formed thebell-handle of the imperial palace. She paused for a moment- of whatmight she be thinking? Perhaps of the beautiful Christ-child,dressed in gold and silver, which was down below in the chapel,where the silver candlesticks gleamed so bright, and where herlittle friends sung the hymns in which she also could join? I knownot. Presently she moved again- she stumbled: the earthen vesselfell from her head, and broke on the marble steps. She burst intotears. The beautiful daughter of the imperial palace wept over theworthless broken pitcher; with her bare feet she stood thereweeping; and dared not pull the string, the bell-rope of theimperial palace!"

TWENTIETH EVENING

It was more than a fortnight since the Moon had shone. Now hestood once more, round and bright, above the clouds, moving slowlyonward. Hear what the Moon told me.

"From a town in Fezzan I followed a caravan. On the margin ofthe sandy desert, in a salt plain, that shone like a frozen lake,and was only covered in spots with light drifting sand, a halt wasmade. The eldest of the company- the water gourd hung at his girdle,and on his head was a little bag of unleavened bread- drew a square inthe sand with his staff, and wrote in it a few words out of the Koran,and then the whole caravan passed over the consecrated spot. A youngmerchant, a child of the East, as I could tell by his eye and hisfigure, rode pensively forward on his white snorting steed. Was hethinking, perchance, of his fair young wife? It was only two daysago that the camel, adorned with furs and with costly shawls, hadcarried her, the beauteous bride, round the walls of the city, whiledrums and cymbals had sounded, the women sang, and festive shots, ofwhich the bridegroom fired the greatest number, resounded round thecamel; and now he was journeying with the caravan across the desert.

"For many nights I followed the train. I saw them rest by thewellside among the stunted palms; they thrust the knife into thebreast of the camel that had fallen, and roasted its flesh by thefire. My beams cooled the glowing sands, and showed them the blackrocks, dead islands in the immense ocean of sand. No hostile tribesmet them in their pathless route, no storms arose, no columns ofsand whirled destruction over the journeying caravan. At home thebeautiful wife prayed for her husband and her father. 'Are they dead?'she asked of my golden crescent; 'Are they dead?' she cried to my fulldisc. Now the desert lies behind them. This evening they sit beneaththe lofty palm trees, where the crane flutters round them with itslong wings, and the pelican watches them from the branches of themimosa. The luxuriant herbage is trampled down, crushed by the feet ofelephants. A troop of negroes are returning from a market in theinterior of the land: the women, with copper buttons in their blackhair, and decked out in clothes dyed with indigo, drive theheavily-laden oxen, on whose backs slumber the naked black children. Anegro leads a young lion which he has brought, by a string. Theyapproach the caravan; the young merchant sits pensive andmotionless, thinking of his beautiful wife, dreaming, in the land ofthe blacks, of his white lily beyond the desert. He raises his head,and- " But at this moment a cloud passed before the Moon, and thenanother. I heard nothing more from him this evening.

TWENTY-FIRST EVENING

"I saw a little girl weeping," said the Moon; "she was weepingover the depravity of the world. She had received a most beautifuldoll as a present. Oh, that was a glorious doll, so fair and delicate!She did not seem created for the sorrows of this world. But thebrothers of the little girl, those great naughty boys, had set thedoll high up in the branches of a tree and had run away.

"The little girl could not reach up to the doll, and could nothelp her down, and that is why she was crying. The doll must certainlyhave been crying too, for she stretched out her arms among the greenbranches, and looked quite mournful. Yes, these are the troubles oflife of which the little girl had often heard tell. Alas, poor doll!it began to grow dark already; and suppose night were to come oncompletely! Was she to be left sitting on the bough all night long?No, the little maid could not make up her mind to that. 'I'll staywith you,' she said, although she felt anything but happy in her mind.She could almost fancy she distinctly saw little gnomes, with theirhigh-crowned hats, sitting in the bushes; and further back in the longwalk, tall spectres appeared to be dancing. They came nearer andnearer, and stretched out their hands towards the tree on which thedoll sat; they laughed scornfully, and pointed at her with theirfingers. Oh, how frightened the little maid was! 'But if one has notdone anything wrong,' she thought, 'nothing evil can harm one. Iwonder if I have done anything wrong?' And she considered. 'Oh, yes! Ilaughed at the poor duck with the red rag on her leg; she limped alongso funnily, I could not help laughing; but it's a sin to laugh atanimals.' And she looked up at the doll. 'Did you laugh at the ducktoo?' she asked; and it seemed as if the doll shook her head."

TWENTY-SECOND EVENING

"I looked down upon Tyrol," said the Moon, "and my beams causedthe dark pines to throw long shadows upon the rocks. I looked at thepictures of St. Christopher carrying the Infant Jesus that are paintedthere upon the walls of the houses, colossal figures reaching from theground to the roof. St. Florian was represented pouring water on theburning house, and the Lord hung bleeding on the great cross by thewayside. To the present generation these are old pictures, but I sawwhen they were put up, and marked how one followed the other. On thebrow of the mountain yonder is perched, like a swallow's nest, alonely convent of nuns. Two of the sisters stood up in the towertolling the bell; they were both young, and therefore their glancesflew over the mountain out into the world. A travelling coach passedby below, the postillion wound his horn, and the poor nuns lookedafter the carriage for a moment with a mournful glance, and a teargleamed in the eyes of the younger one. And the horn sounded faint andmore faintly, and the convent bell drowned its expiring echoes."

TWENTY-THIRD EVENING

Hear what the Moon told me. "Some years ago, here in Copenhagen, Ilooked through the window of a mean little room. The father and motherslept, but the little son was not asleep. I saw the flowered cottoncurtains of the bed move, and the child peep forth. At first I thoughthe was looking at the great clock, which was gaily painted in redand green. At the top sat a cuckoo, below hung the heavy leadenweights, and the pendulum with the polished disc of metal went toand fro, and said 'tick, tick.' But no, he was not looking at theclock, but at his mother's spinning wheel, that stood justunderneath it. That was the boy's favourite piece of furniture, but hedared not touch it, for if he meddled with it he got a rap on theknuckles. For hours together, when his mother was spinning, he wouldsit quietly by her side, watching the murmuring spindle and therevolving wheel, and as he sat he thought of many things. Oh, if hemight only turn the wheel himself! Father and mother were asleep; helooked at them, and looked at the spinning wheel, and presently alittle naked foot peered out of the bed, and then a second foot, andthen two little white legs. There he stood. He looked round once more,to see if father and mother were still asleep- yes, they slept; andnow he crept softly, softly, in his short little nightgown, to thespinning wheel, and began to spin. The thread flew from the wheel, andthe wheel whirled faster and faster. I kissed his fair hair and hisblue eyes, it was such a pretty picture.

"At that moment the mother awoke. The curtain shook, she lookedforth, and fancied she saw a gnome or some other kind of littlespectre. 'In Heaven's name!' she cried, and aroused her husband in afrightened way. He opened his eyes, rubbed them with his hands, andlooked at the brisk little lad. 'Why, that is Bertel,' said he. And myeye quitted the poor room, for I have so much to see. At the samemoment I looked at the halls of the Vatican, where the marble gods areenthroned. I shone upon the group of the Laocoon; the stone seemedto sigh. I pressed a silent kiss on the lips of the Muses, and theyseemed to stir and move. But my rays lingered longest about the Nilegroup with the colossal god. Leaning against the Sphinx, he lies therethoughtful and meditative, as if he were thinking on the rollingcenturies; and little love-gods sport with him and with thecrocodiles. In the horn of plenty sat with folded arms a little tinylove-god, contemplating the great solemn river-god, a true pictureof the boy at the spinning wheel- the features were exactly thesame. Charming and life-like stood the little marble form, and yet thewheel of the year has turned more than a thousand times since the timewhen it sprang forth from the stone. Just as often as the boy in thelittle room turned the spinning wheel had the great wheel murmured,before the age could again call forth marble gods equal to those heafterwards formed.

"Years have passed since all this happened," the Moon went on tosay. "Yesterday I looked upon a bay on the eastern coast of Denmark.Glorious woods are there, and high trees, an old knightly castlewith red walls, swans floating in the ponds, and in the backgroundappears, among orchards, a little town with a church. Many boats,the crews all furnished with torches, glided over the silentexpanse- but these fires had not been kindled for catching fish, foreverything had a festive look. Music sounded, a song was sung, andin one of the boats the man stood erect to whom homage was paid by therest, a tall sturdy man, wrapped in a cloak. He had blue eyes and longwhite hair. I knew him, and thought of the Vatican, and of the groupof the Nile, and the old marble gods. I thought of the simple littleroom where little Bertel sat in his night-shirt by the spinning wheel.The wheel of time has turned, and new gods have come forth from thestone. From the boats there arose a shout: 'Hurrah, hurrah forBertel Thorwaldsen!'"

TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING

"I will now give you a picture from Frankfort," said the Moon."I especially noticed one building there. It was not the house inwhich Goethe was born, nor the old Council House, through whose gratedwindows peered the horns of the oxen that were roasted and given tothe people when the emperors were crowned. No, it was a private house,plain in appearance, and painted green. It stood near the old Jews'Street. It was Rothschild's house.

"I looked through the open door. The staircase was brilliantlylighted: servants carrying wax candles in massive silvercandlesticks stood there, and bowed low before an old woman, who wasbeing brought downstairs in a litter. The proprietor of the housestood bare-headed, and respectfully imprinted a kiss on the hand ofthe old woman. She was his mother. She nodded in a friendly mannerto him and to the servants, and they carried her into the darknarrow street, into a little house, that was her dwelling. Here herchildren had been born, from hence the fortune of the family hadarisen. If she deserted the despised street and the little house,fortune would also desert her children. That was her firm belief."

The Moon told me no more; his visit this evening was far tooshort. But I thought of the old woman in the narrow despised street.It would have cost her but a word, and a brilliant house would havearisen for her on the banks of the Thames- a word, and a villa wouldhave been prepared in the Bay of Naples.

"If I deserted the lowly house, where the fortunes of my sonsfirst began to bloom, fortune would desert them!" It was asuperstition, but a superstition of such a class, that he who knowsthe story and has seen this picture, need have only two words placedunder the picture to make him understand it; and these two wordsare: "A mother."

TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING

"It was yesterday, in the morning twilight"- these are the wordsthe Moon told me- "in the great city no chimney was yet smoking- andit was just at the chimneys that I was looking. Suddenly a little heademerged from one of them, and then half a body, the arms resting onthe rim of the chimney-pot. 'Ya-hip! ya-hip!' cried a voice. It wasthe little chimney-sweeper, who had for the first time in his lifecrept through a chimney, and stuck out his head at the top. 'Ya-hip!ya-hip' Yes, certainly that was a very different thing to creepingabout in the dark narrow chimneys! the air blew so fresh, and he couldlook over the whole city towards the green wood. The sun was justrising. It shone round and great, just in his face, that beamed withtriumph, though it was very prettily blacked with soot.

"'The whole town can see me now,' he exclaimed, 'and the mooncan see me now, and the sun too. Ya-hip! ya-hip!' And he flourishedhis broom in triumph."

TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING

"Last night I looked down upon a town in China," said the Moon."My beams irradiated the naked walls that form the streets there.Now and then, certainly, a door is seen; but it is locked, for whatdoes the Chinaman care about the outer world? Close wooden shutterscovered the windows behind the walls of the houses; but through thewindows of the temple a faint light glimmered. I looked in, and sawthe quaint decorations within. From the floor to the ceilingpictures are painted, in the most glaring colours, and richly gilt-pictures representing the deeds of the gods here on earth. In eachniche statues are placed, but they are almost entirely hidden by thecoloured drapery and the banners that hang down. Before each idol (andthey are all made of tin) stood a little altar of holy water, withflowers and burning wax lights on it. Above all the rest stood Fo, thechief deity, clad in a garment of yellow silk, for yellow is herethe sacred colour. At the foot of the altar sat a living being, ayoung priest. He appeared to be praying, but in the midst of hisprayer he seemed to fall into deep thought, and this must have beenwrong, for his cheeks glowed and he held down his head. PoorSoui-Hong! Was he, perhaps, dreaming of working in the little flowergarden behind the high street wall? And did that occupation seemmore agreeable to him than watching the wax lights in the temple? Ordid he wish to sit at the rich feast, wiping his mouth with silverpaper between each course? Or was his sin so great that, if he daredutter it, the Celestial Empire would punish it with death? Had histhoughts ventured to fly with the ships of the barbarians, to theirhomes in far distant England? No, his thoughts did not fly so far, andyet they were sinful, sinful as thoughts born of young hearts,sinful here in the temple, in the presence of Fo and the other holygods.

"I know whither his thoughts had strayed. At the farther end ofthe city, on the flat roof paved with porcelain, on which stood thehandsome vases covered with painted flowers, sat the beauteous Pu,of the little roguish eyes, of the full lips, and of the tiny feet.The tight shoe pained her, but her heart pained her still more. Shelifted her graceful round arm, and her satin dress rustled. Before herstood a glass bowl containing four gold-fish. She stirred the bowlcarefully with a slender lacquered stick, very slowly, for she, too,was lost in thought. Was she thinking, perchance, how the fisheswere richly clothed in gold, how they lived calmly and peacefully intheir crystal world, how they were regularly fed, and yet how muchhappier they might be if they were free? Yes, that she could wellunderstand, the beautiful Pu. Her thoughts wandered away from herhome, wandered to the temple, but not for the sake of holy things.Poor Pu! Poor Soui-hong!

"Their earthly thoughts met, but my cold beam lay between the two,like the sword of the cherub."

TWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING

"The air was calm," said the Moon; "the water was transparent asthe purest ether through which I was gliding, and deep below thesurface I could see the strange plants that stretched up their longarms towards me like the gigantic trees of the forest. The fishes swamto and fro above their tops. High in the air a flight of wild swanswere winging their way, one of which sank lower and lower, withwearied pinions, his eyes following the airy caravan, that meltedfarther and farther into the distance. With outspread wings he sankslowly, as a soap bubble sinks in the still air, till he touched thewater. At length his head lay back between his wings, and silentlyhe lay there, like a white lotus flower upon the quiet lake. And agentle wind arose, and crisped the quiet surface, which gleamed likethe clouds that poured along in great broad waves; and the swan raisedhis head, and the glowing water splashed like blue fire over hisbreast and back. The morning dawn illuminated the red clouds, the swanrose strengthened, and flew towards the rising sun, towards the bluishcoast whither the caravan had gone; but he flew alone, with alonging in his breast. Lonely he flew over the blue swelling billows."

TWENTY-EIGHTH EVENING

"I will give you another picture of Sweden," said the Moon. "Amongdark pine woods, near the melancholy banks of the Stoxen, lies the oldconvent church of Wreta. My rays glided through the grating into theroomy vaults, where kings sleep tranquilly in great stone coffins.On the wall, above the grave of each, is placed the emblem ofearthly grandeur, a kingly crown; but it is made only of wood, paintedand gilt, and is hung on a wooden peg driven into the wall. Theworms have gnawed the gilded wood, the spider has spun her web fromthe crown down to the sand, like a mourning banner, frail andtransient as the grief of mortals. How quietly they sleep! I canremember them quite plainly. I still see the bold smile on their lips,that so strongly and plainly expressed joy or grief. When thesteamboat winds along like a magic snail over the lakes, a strangeroften comes to the church, and visits the burial vault; he asks thenames of the kings, and they have a dead and forgotten sound. Heglances with a smile at the worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to bea pious, thoughtful man, something of melancholy mingles with thesmile. Slumber on, ye dead ones! The Moon thinks of you, the Moon atnight sends down his rays into your silent kingdom, over which hangsthe crown of pine wood."

TWENTY-NINTH EVENING

"Close by the high-road," said the Moon, "is an inn, andopposite to it is a great waggon-shed, whose straw roof was just beingre-thatched. I looked down between the bare rafters and through theopen loft into the comfortless space below. The turkey-cock slept onthe beam, and the saddle rested in the empty crib. In the middle ofthe shed stood a travelling carriage; the proprietor was inside,fast asleep, while the horses were being watered. The coachmanstretched himself, though I am very sure that he had been mostcomfortably asleep half the last stage. The door of the servants' roomstood open, and the bed looked as if it had been turned over and over;the candle stood on the floor, and had burnt deep down into thesocket. The wind blew cold through the shed: it was nearer to the dawnthan to midnight. In the wooden frame on the ground slept a wanderingfamily of musicians. The father and mother seemed to be dreaming ofthe burning liquor that remained in the bottle. The little paledaughter was dreaming too, for her eyes were wet with tears. The harpstood at their heads, and the dog lay stretched at their feet."

THIRTIETH EVENING

"It was in a little provincial town," the Moon said; "it certainlyhappened last year, but that has nothing to do with the matter. Isaw it quite plainly. To-day I read about it in the papers, butthere it was not half so clearly expressed. In the taproom of thelittle inn sat the bear leader, eating his supper; the bear was tiedup outside, behind the wood pile- poor Bruin, who did nobody any harm,though he looked grim enough. Up in the garret three little childrenwere playing by the light of my beams; the eldest was perhaps sixyears old, the youngest certainly not more than two. 'Tramp, tramp'-somebody was coming upstairs: who might it be? The door was thrustopen- it was Bruin, the great, shaggy Bruin! He had got tired ofwaiting down in the courtyard, and had found his way to the stairs.I saw it all," said the Moon. "The children were very muchfrightened at first at the great shaggy animal; each of them creptinto a corner, but he found them all out, and smelt at them, but didthem no harm. 'This must be a great dog,' they said, and began tostroke him. He lay down upon the ground, the youngest boy clambered onhis back, and bending down a little head of golden curls, played athiding in the beast's shaggy skin. Presently the eldest boy took hisdrum, and beat upon it till it rattled again; the bear rose upon hishind legs, and began to dance. It was a charming sight to behold. Eachboy now took his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and heheld it up quite properly. Here was a capital playmate they had found;and they began marching- one, two; one, two.

"Suddenly some one came to the door, which opened, and themother of the children appeared. You should have seen her in herdumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her mouth half open, andher eyes fixed in a horrified stare. But the youngest boy nodded toher in great glee, and called out in his infantile prattle, 'We'replaying at soldiers.' And then the bear leader came running up."

THIRTY-FIRST EVENING

The wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly past;only for a moment now and then did the Moon become visible. He said,"I looked down from the silent sky upon the driving clouds, and sawthe great shadows chasing each other across the earth. I looked upon aprison. A closed carriage stood before it; a prisoner was to becarried away. My rays pierced through the grated window towards thewall; the prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a partingtoken; but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of hisheart. The door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed his eyesupon my round disc. Clouds passed between us, as if he were not to seehis face, nor I his. He stepped into the carriage, the door wasclosed, the whip cracked, and the horses gallopped off into thethick forest, whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as Iglanced through the grated window, my rays glided over the notes,his last farewell engraved on the prison wall- where words fail,sounds can often speak. My rays could only light up isolated notes, sothe greater part of what was written there will ever remain dark tome. Was it the death-hymn he wrote there? Were these the glad notes ofjoy? Did he drive away to meet death, or hasten to the embraces of hisbeloved? The rays of the Moon do not read all that is written bymortals."

THIRTY-SECOND EVENING

"I love the children," said the Moon, "especially the quite littleones- they are so droll. Sometimes I peep into the room, between thecurtain and the window frame, when they are not thinking of me. Itgives me pleasure to see them dressing and undressing. First, thelittle round naked shoulder comes creeping out of the frock, thenthe arm; or I see how the stocking is drawn off, and a plump littlewhite leg makes its appearance, and a white little foot that is fit tobe kissed, and I kiss it too.

"But about what I was going to tell you. This evening I lookedthrough a window, before which no curtain was drawn, for nobodylives opposite. I saw a whole troop of little ones, all of one family,and among them was a little sister. She is only four years old, butcan say her prayers as well as any of the rest. The mother sits by herbed every evening, and hears her say her prayers; and then she has akiss, and the mother sits by the bed till the little one has gone tosleep, which generally happens as soon as ever she can close her eyes.

"This evening the two elder children were a little boisterous. Oneof them hopped about on one leg in his long white nightgown, and theother stood on a chair surrounded by the clothes of all thechildren, and declared he was acting Grecian statues. The third andfourth laid the clean linen carefully in the box, for that is athing that has to be done; and the mother sat by the bed of theyoungest, and announced to all the rest that they were to be quiet,for little sister was going to say her prayers.

"I looked in, over the lamp, into the little maiden's bed, whereshe lay under the neat white coverlet, her hands folded demurely andher little face quite grave and serious. She was praying the Lord'sprayer aloud. But her mother interrupted her in the middle of herprayer. 'How is it,' she asked, 'that when you have prayed for dailybread, you always add something I cannot understand? You must tellme what that is.' The little one lay silent, and looked at hermother in embarrassment. 'What is it you say after our daily bread?''Dear mother, don't be angry: I only said, and plenty of butter onit.'"

THE END.

1872

FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT

by Hans Christian Andersen

I WILL tell you a story that was told me when I was a littleboy. Every time I thought of this story, it seemed to me more and morecharming; for it is with stories as it is with many people- theybecome better as they grow older.

I have no doubt that you have been in the country, and seen a veryold farmhouse, with a thatched roof, and mosses and small plantsgrowing wild upon it. There is a stork's nest on the ridge of thegable, for we cannot do without the stork. The walls of the houseare sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter ismade to open. The baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a greatknob. An elder-tree hangs over the palings; and beneath itsbranches, at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water, in which afew ducks are disporting themselves. There is a yard-dog too, whobarks at all corners. Just such a farmhouse as this stood in a countrylane; and in it dwelt an old couple, a peasant and his wife. Smallas their possessions were, they had one article they could not dowithout, and that was a horse, which contrived to live upon thegrass which it found by the side of the high road. The old peasantrode into the town upon this horse, and his neighbors often borrowedit of him, and paid for the loan of it by rendering some service tothe old couple. After a time they thought it would be as well tosell the horse, or exchange it for something which might be moreuseful to them. But what might this something be?

"You'll know best, old man," said the wife. "It is fair-dayto-day; so ride into town, and get rid of the horse for money, or makea good exchange; whichever you do will be right to me, so ride to thefair."

And she fastened his neckerchief for him; for she could do thatbetter than he could, and she could also tie it very prettily in adouble bow. She also smoothed his hat round and round with the palm ofher hand, and gave him a kiss. Then he rode away upon the horse thatwas to be sold or bartered for something else. Yes, the old man knewwhat he was about. The sun shone with great heat, and not a cloudwas to be seen in the sky. The road was very dusty; for a number ofpeople, all going to the fair, were driving, riding, or walking uponit. There was no shelter anywhere from the hot sunshine. Among therest a man came trudging along, and driving a cow to the fair. The cowwas as beautiful a creature as any cow could be.

"She gives good milk, I am certain," said the peasant tohimself. "That would be a very good exchange: the cow for the horse.Hallo there! you with the cow," he said. "I tell you what; I daresay a horse is of more value than a cow; but I don't care for that,- acow will be more useful to me; so, if you like, we'll exchange."

"To be sure I will," said the man.

Accordingly the exchange was made; and as the matter wassettled, the peasant might have turned back; for he had done thebusiness he came to do. But, having made up his mind to go to thefair, he determined to do so, if only to have a look at it; so on hewent to the town with his cow. Leading the animal, he strode onsturdily, and, after a short time, overtook a man who was driving asheep. It was a good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its back.

"I should like to have that fellow," said the peasant tohimself. "There is plenty of grass for him by our palings, and inthe winter we could keep him in the room with us. Perhaps it wouldbe more profitable to have a sheep than a cow. Shall I exchange?"

The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain wasquickly made. And then our peasant continued his way on thehigh-road with his sheep. Soon after this, he overtook another man,who had come into the road from a field, and was carrying a largegoose under his arm.

"What a heavy creature you have there!" said the peasant; "ithas plenty of feathers and plenty of fat, and would look well tiedto a string, or paddling in the water at our place. That would be veryuseful to my old woman; she could make all sorts of profits out of it.How often she has said, 'If now we only had a goose!' Now here is anopportunity, and, if possible, I will get it for her. Shall weexchange? I will give you my sheep for your goose, and thanks into thebargain."

The other had not the least objection, and accordingly theexchange was made, and our peasant became possessor of the goose. Bythis time he had arrived very near the town. The crowd on the highroad had been gradually increasing, and there was quite a rush ofmen and cattle. The cattle walked on the path and by the palings,and at the turnpike-gate they even walked into the toll-keeper'spotato-field, where one fowl was strutting about with a string tied toits leg, for fear it should take fright at the crowd, and run away andget lost. The tail-feathers of the fowl were very short, and it winkedwith both its eyes, and looked very cunning, as it said "Cluck,cluck." What were the thoughts of the fowl as it said this I cannottell you; but directly our good man saw it, he thought, "Why that'sthe finest fowl I ever saw in my life; it's finer than our parson'sbrood hen, upon my word. I should like to have that fowl. Fowls canalways pick up a few grains that lie about, and almost keepthemselves. I think it would be a good exchange if I could get itfor my goose. Shall we exchange?" he asked the toll-keeper.

"Exchange," repeated the man; "well, it would not be a bad thing."

And so they made an exchange,- the toll-keeper at theturnpike-gate kept the goose, and the peasant carried off the fowl.Now he had really done a great deal of business on his way to thefair, and he was hot and tired. He wanted something to eat, and aglass of ale to refresh himself; so he turned his steps to an inn.He was just about to enter when the ostler came out, and they met atthe door. The ostler was carrying a sack. "What have you in thatsack?" asked the peasant.

"Rotten apples," answered the ostler; "a whole sackful of them.They will do to feed the pigs with."

"Why that will be terrible waste," he replied; "I should like totake them home to my old woman. Last year the old apple-tree by thegrass-plot only bore one apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till itwas quite withered and rotten. It was always property, my old womansaid; and here she would see a great deal of property- a wholesackful; I should like to show them to her."

"What will you give me for the sackful?" asked the ostler.

"What will I give? Well, I will give you my fowl in exchange."

So he gave up the fowl, and received the apples, which hecarried into the inn parlor. He leaned the sack carefully againstthe stove, and then went to the table. But the stove was hot, and hehad not thought of that. Many guests were present- horse dealers,cattle drovers, and two Englishmen. The Englishmen were so rich thattheir pockets quite bulged out and seemed ready to burst; and theycould bet too, as you shall hear. "Hiss-s-s, hiss-s-s." What couldthat be by the stove? The apples were beginning to roast. "What isthat?" asked one.

"Why, do you know"- said our peasant. And then he told them thewhole story of the horse, which he had exchanged for a cow, and allthe rest of it, down to the apples.

"Well, your old woman will give it you well when you get home,"said one of the Englishmen. "Won't there be a noise?"

"What! Give me what?" said the peasant. "Why, she will kiss me,and say, 'what the old man does is always right.'"

"Let us lay a wager on it," said the Englishmen. "We'll wageryou a ton of coined gold, a hundred pounds to the hundred-weight."

"No; a bushel will be enough," replied the peasant. "I can onlyset a bushel of apples against it, and I'll throw myself and my oldwoman into the bargain; that will pile up the measure, I fancy."

"Done! taken!" and so the bet was made.

Then the landlord's coach came to the door, and the two Englishmenand the peasant got in, and away they drove, and soon arrived andstopped at the peasant's hut. "Good evening, old woman." "Goodevening, old man." "I've made the exchange."

"Ah, well, you understand what you're about," said the woman. Thenshe embraced him, and paid no attention to the strangers, nor didshe notice the sack.

"I got a cow in exchange for the horse."

"Thank Heaven," said she. "Now we shall have plenty of milk, andbutter, and cheese on the table. That was a capital exchange."

"Yes, but I changed the cow for a sheep."

"Ah, better still!" cried the wife. "You always think ofeverything; we have just enough pasture for a sheep. Ewe's milk andcheese, woollen jackets and stockings! The cow could not give allthese, and her hair only falls off. How you think of everything!"

"But I changed away the sheep for a goose."

"Then we shall have roast goose to eat this year. You dear oldman, you are always thinking of something to please me. This isdelightful. We can let the goose walk about with a string tied toher leg, so she will be fatter still before we roast her."

"But I gave away the goose for a fowl."

"A fowl! Well, that was a good exchange," replied the woman."The fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall have chickens; weshall soon have a poultry-yard. Oh, this is just what I was wishingfor."

"Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled apples."

"What! I really must give you a kiss for that!" exclaimed thewife. "My dear, good husband, now I'll tell you something. Do youknow, almost as soon as you left me this morning, I began to thinkof what I could give you nice for supper this evening, and then Ithought of fried eggs and bacon, with sweet herbs; I had eggs andbacon, but I wanted the herbs; so I went over to the schoolmaster's: Iknew they had plenty of herbs, but the schoolmistress is very mean,although she can smile so sweetly. I begged her to lend me a handfulof herbs. 'Lend!' she exclaimed, 'I have nothing to lend; nothing atall grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled apple; I could not evenlend you a shrivelled apple, my dear woman. But now I can lend herten, or a whole sackful, which I'm very glad of; it makes me laughto think about it;" and then she gave him a hearty kiss.

"Well, I like all this," said both the Englishmen; "always goingdown the hill, and yet always merry; it's worth the money to seeit." So they paid a hundred-weight of gold to the peasant, who,whatever he did, was not scolded but kissed.

Yes, it always pays best when the wife sees and maintains that herhusband knows best, and whatever he does is right.

That is a story which I heard when I was a child; and now you haveheard it too, and know that "What the old man does is always right."

THE END.

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