Fairy Tales Volume 2
of Hans Christian Anderson
PREFACE
THE present volume is the second
of the selected stories
from Hans Andersen.
Together the books include what,
out
of a larger number,
are the best
for children’s use.
The story-telling activity
of this inimitable genius covered a period
of more
than forty years.
Besides these shorter juvenile tales,
there are a few
which deserve
to survive.
“The Ice Maiden” is a standard,
if not a classic,
and “The Sandhills
of Jutland” was pronounced
by Ruskin the most perfect story
that he knew.
, , , ,
It adds a charm
to the little stories
of these two volumes
to know
that the genial author traveled widely
for a man
of his time
and everywhere was urged
to tell the tales himself.
This he did
with equal charm
in the kitchens
of the humble and
in the courts
and palaces
of nobles.
, , , ,
As was said
in the preface
to the first volume,
wherever
there are children
to read,
the stories
of Hans Christian Andersen
will be read
and loved.
, , , ,
CONTENTS
THE FLAX
THE DAISY
THE PEA BLOSSOM
THE STORKS
THE WILD SWANS
THE LAST DREAM
of THE OLD OAK
THE PORTUGUESE DUCK
THE SNOW MAN
THE FARMYARD COCK
and THE WEATHERCOCK
THE RED SHOES
THE LITTLE MERMAID
BUCKWHEAT
WHAT HAPPENED
to THE THISTLE
THE PEN
and THE INKSTAND
THE TEAPOT
SOUP
from A SAUSAGE SKEWER
WHAT THE GOODMAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT
THE OLD STREET LAMP
THE SHEPHERDESS
and THE CHIMNEY SWEEP
THE DROP
of WATER
THE SWINEHERD
THE METAL PIG
THE FLYING TRUNK
THE BUTTERFLY
THE GOBLIN
and THE HUCKSTER
EVERYTHING
in ITS RIGHT PLACE
THE REAL PRINCESS
THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES
GREAT CLAUS
and LITTLE CLAUS
NOTES
HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES
THE FLAX
THE flax was
in full bloom;
it had pretty little blue flowers,
as delicate
as the wings
of a moth.
The sun shone
on it
and the showers watered it;
and this was
as good
for the flax
as it is
for little children
to be washed
and
then kissed
by their mothers.
They look much prettier
for it,
and so did the flax.
, , , ,
“People say
that I look exceedingly well,”
said the flax,
“and
that I am so fine
and long
that I shall make a beautiful piece
of linen.
How fortunate I am!
It makes me so happy
to know
that something
can be made
of me.
How the sunshine cheers me,
and
how sweet
and refreshing is the rain!
My happiness overpowers me;
no one
in the world
can feel happier
than I.”
, , , ,
“Ah,
yes,
no doubt,”
said the fern,
“but you do not know the world yet
as well
as I do,
for my sticks are knotty”;
and
then it sang quite mournfully:
“Snip,
snap,
snurre,
Basse lurre.
The song is ended.”
, , , ,
“No,
it is not ended,”
said the flax.
“To-morrow the sun
will shine
or the rain descend.
I feel
that I am growing.
I feel
that I am
in full blossom.
I am the happiest
of all creatures,
for I may some day come
to something.”
, , , ,
Well,
one day some people came,
who took hold
of the flax
and pulled it up
by the roots,
which was very painful.
Then it was laid
in water,
as
if it were
to be drowned,
and after
that placed near a fire,
as
if it were
to be roasted.
All this was very shocking.
, , , ,
“We cannot expect
to be happy always,”
said the flax.
“By experiencing evil
as well
as good we become wise.”
And certainly
there was plenty
of evil
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 it was put
on the spinning wheel.
“Whir,
whir,”
went the wheel,
so quickly
that the flax
could not collect its thoughts.
, , , ,
“Well,
I have been very happy,”
it thought
in the midst
of its pain,
“and must be contented
with the past.”
And contented it remained,
till it was put
on the 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,
this is quite wonderful,”
said the flax.
“I
could not have believed
that I
should be so favored
by fortune.
The fern was not wrong
when it sang,
‘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 made something
of
at last!
I am the luckiest person
in the world
--so strong
and fine.
And
how white
and long I am!
This is far better
than being a mere plant
and bearing flowers.
Then I had no attention,
nor any water
unless it rained;
now I am watched
and cared for.
Every morning the maid turns me over,
and I have a shower bath
from the watering-pot every evening.
Yes,
and the clergyman’s wife noticed me
and said I was the best piece
of linen
in the whole parish.
I cannot be happier
than I am now.”
, , , ,
After some time the linen was taken
into the house,
and
there cut
with the scissors
and torn
into pieces
and
then pricked
with needles.
This certainly was not pleasant,
but
at last it was made
into twelve garments
of the kind
that everybody wears.
“See now,
then,”
said the flax,
“I have become something
of importance.
This was my destiny;
it is quite a blessing.
Now I shall be
of some use
in the world,
as every one ought
to be;
it is the only way
to be happy.
I am now divided
into twelve pieces,
and yet the whole dozen is all one
and the same.
It is most extraordinary good fortune.”
, , , ,
Years passed away,
and
at last the linen was so worn it
could scarcely hold together.
“It must end very soon,”
said the pieces
to each other.
“We
would gladly have held together a little longer,
but it is useless
to expect impossibilities.”
And
at length they fell
into rags
and tatters
and thought it was all over
with them,
for they were torn
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 themselves beautiful white paper.
“Well,
now,
this is a surprise
--a glorious surprise too,”
said the paper.
“Now I am finer
than ever,
and
who
can tell
what fine things I may have written upon me?
This is wonderful luck!”
And so it was,
for the most beautiful stories
and poetry were written upon it,
and only once was
there a blot,
which was remarkable good fortune.
Then people heard the stories
and poetry read,
and it made them wiser
and better;
for all
that was written had a good
and sensible meaning,
and a great blessing was contained
in it.
, , , ,
“I never imagined anything
like this
when I was only a little blue flower growing
in the fields,”
said the paper.
“How
could I know
that I
should ever be the means
of bringing knowledge
and joy
to men?
I cannot understand it myself,
and yet it is really so.
Heaven knows
that I have done nothing myself
but
what I was obliged
to do
with my weak powers
for my own preservation;
and yet I have been promoted
from one joy
and honor
to another.
Each time I think
that the song is ended,
and
then something higher
and better begins
for me.
I suppose now I shall be sent out
to journey
about the world,
so
that people may read me.
It cannot be otherwise,
for I have more splendid thoughts written upon me
than I had pretty flowers
in olden times.
I am happier
than ever.”
, , , ,
But the paper did not go
on its travels.
It was sent
to the printer,
and all the words written upon it were set up
in type
to make a book,
--or rather many hundreds
of books,
--for many more persons
could derive pleasure
and profit
from a printed book than
from the written paper;
and
if the paper had been sent
about the world,
it
would have been worn out
before it had half finished its journey.
, , , ,
“Yes,
this is certainly the wisest plan,”
said the written paper;
“I really did not think
of this.
I shall remain
at home
and be held
in honor
like some old grandfather,
as I really am
to all these new books.
They
will do some good.
I
could not have wandered about
as they can,
yet he
who wrote all this has looked
at me
as every word flowed
from his pen upon my surface.
I am the most honored
of all.”
, , , ,
Then the paper was tied
in a bundle
with other papers
and thrown
into a tub
that stood
in the washhouse.
, , , ,
“After work,
it is well
to rest,”
said the paper,
“and a very good opportunity
to collect one’s thoughts.
Now I am able,
for the first time,
to learn
what is
in me;
and
to know one’s self is true progress.
What
will be done
with me now,
I wonder?
No doubt I shall still go forward.
I have always progressed hitherto,
I know quite well.”
, , , ,
Now it happened one day
that all the paper
in the tub was taken out
and laid
on the hearth
to be burned.
People said it
could not be sold
at the shop,
to wrap up butter
and sugar,
because it had been written upon.
The children
in the house stood round the hearth
to watch the blaze,
for paper always flamed up so prettily,
and afterwards,
among the ashes,
there were so many red sparks
to be seen running one after the other,
here
and there,
as quick
as the wind.
They called it seeing the children come out
of school,
and the last spark,
they said,
was the schoolmaster.
They
would often think the last spark had come,
and one
would cry,
“There goes the schoolmaster,”
but the next moment another spark
would appear,
bright
and beautiful.
How they wanted
to know
where all the sparks went to!
Perhaps they
will find out some day.
, , , ,
The whole bundle
of paper had been placed
on the fire
and was soon burning.
“Ugh!”
cried the paper
as it burst
into a bright flame;
“ugh!”
It was certainly not very pleasant
to be burned.
But
when the whole was wrapped
in flames,
the sparks mounted up
into the air,
higher
than the flax had ever been able
to raise its little blue flowers,
and they glistened
as the white linen never
could have glistened.
All the written letters became quite red
in a moment,
and all the words
and thoughts turned
to fire.
, , , ,
“Now I am mounting straight up
to the sun,”
said a voice
in the flames;
and it was
as
if a thousand voices echoed the words
as the flames darted up
through the chimney
and went out
at the top.
Then a number
of tiny beings,
as many
as the flowers
on the flax had been,
and invisible
to mortal eyes,
floated
above the children.
They were
even lighter
and more delicate
than the blue flowers
from
which they were born;
and
as the flames died out
and nothing remained
of the paper
but black ashes,
these little beings danced upon it,
and wherever they touched it,
bright red sparks appeared.
, , , ,
“The children are all out
of school,
and the schoolmaster was the last
of all,”
said the children.
It was good fun,
and they sang
over the dead ashes:
“Snip,
snap,
snurre,
Basse lurre.
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;
nor
should they,
for children must not know everything.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE DAISY
NOW listen.
Out
in the country,
close
by the roadside,
stood a pleasant house;
you have seen one
like it,
no doubt,
very often.
In front lay a little fenced-in garden,
full
of blooming flowers.
Near the hedge,
in the soft green grass,
grew a little daisy.
The sun shone
as brightly
and warmly upon her
as upon the large
and beautiful garden flowers,
so the daisy grew
from hour
to hour.
Every morning she unfolded her little white petals,
like shining rays round the little golden sun
in the center
of the flower.
She never seemed
to think
that she was unseen down
in the grass
or
that she was only a poor,
insignificant flower.
She felt too happy
to care
for that.
Merrily she turned
toward the warm sun,
looked up
to the blue sky,
and listened
to the lark singing high
in the air.
, , , ,
One day the little flower was
as joyful
as
if it had been a great holiday,
although it was only Monday.
All the children were
at school,
and
while they sat
on their benches learning their lessons,
she,
on her little stem,
learned also
from the warm sun
and
from everything
around her
how good God is,
and it made her happy
to hear the lark expressing
in his song her own glad feelings.
The daisy admired the happy bird
who
could warble so sweetly
and fly so high,
and she was not
at all sorrowful
because she
could not do the same.
, , , ,
“I
can see
and hear,”
thought she;
“the sun shines upon me,
and the wind kisses me;
what else do I need
to make me happy?”
, , , ,
Within the garden grew a number
of aristocratic flowers;
the less scent they had the more they flaunted.
The peonies considered it a grand thing
to be so large,
and puffed themselves out
to be larger
than the roses.
The tulips knew
that they were marked
with beautiful colors,
and held themselves bolt upright so
that they might be seen more plainly.
, , , ,
They did not notice the little daisy outside,
but she looked
at them
and thought:
“How rich
and beautiful they are!
No wonder the pretty bird flies down
to visit them.
How glad I am
that I grow so near them,
that I may admire their beauty!”
Just
at this moment the lark flew down,
crying “Tweet,”
but he did not go
to the tall peonies
and tulips;
he hopped
into the grass near the lowly daisy.
She trembled
for joy
and
hardly knew what
to think.
The little bird hopped round the daisy,
singing,
“Oh,
what sweet,
soft grass,
and
what a lovely little flower,
with gold
in its heart
and silver
on its dress!”
For the yellow center
in the daisy looked
like gold,
and the leaves
around were glittering white,
like silver.
, , , ,
How happy the little daisy felt,
no one
can describe.
The bird kissed her
with his beak,
sang
to her,
and
then flew up again
into the blue air above.
It was
at least a quarter
of an hour
before the daisy
could recover herself.
Half ashamed,
yet happy
in herself,
she glanced
at the other flowers;
they must have seen the honor she had received,
and
would understand her delight
and pleasure.
, , , ,
But the tulips looked prouder
than ever;
indeed,
they were evidently quite vexed
about it.
The peonies were disgusted,
and
could they have spoken,
the poor little daisy
would no doubt have received a good scolding.
She
could see they were all out
of temper,
and it made her very sorry.
, , , ,
At this moment
there came
into the garden a girl
with a large,
glittering knife
in her hand.
She went straight
to the tulips
and cut off several
of them.
, , , ,
“O dear,”
sighed the daisy,
“how shocking!
It is all over
with them now.”
The girl carried the tulips away,
and the daisy felt very glad
to grow outside
in the grass and
to be only a poor little flower.
When the sun set,
she folded up her leaves
and went
to sleep.
She dreamed the whole night long
of the warm sun
and the pretty little bird.
, , , ,
The next morning,
when she joyfully stretched out her white leaves once more
to the warm air
and the light,
she recognized the voice
of the bird,
but his song sounded mournful
and sad.
, , , ,
Alas!
he had good reason
to be sad:
he had been caught
and made a prisoner
in a cage
that hung close
by the open window.
He sang
of the happy time
when he
could fly
in the air,
joyous
and free;
of the young green corn
in the fields,
from
which he
would spring higher
and higher
to sing his glorious song
--but now he was a prisoner
in a cage.
, , , ,
The little daisy wished very much
to help him.
But
what
could she do?
In her anxiety she forgot all the beautiful things
around her,
the warm sunshine,
and her own pretty,
shining,
white leaves.
Alas!
she
could think
of nothing
but the captive bird
and her own inability
to help him.
, , , ,
Two boys came out
of the garden;
one
of them carried a sharp knife
in his hand,
like the one
with
which the girl had cut the tulips.
They went straight
to the little daisy,
who
could not think
what they were going
to do.
, , , ,
“We
can cut out a nice piece
of turf
for the lark here,”
said one
of the boys;
and he began
to cut a square piece round the daisy,
so
that she stood just
in the center.
, , , ,
[Illustration:
So the daisy remained,
and was put
with the turf
in the lark’s cage.]
“Pull up the flower,”
said the other boy;
and the daisy trembled
with fear,
for
to pluck her up
would destroy her life
and she wished so much
to live and
to be taken
to the captive lark
in his cage.
, , , ,
“No,
let it stay
where it is,”
said the boy,
“it looks so pretty.”
So the daisy remained,
and was put
with the turf
in the lark’s cage.
The poor bird was complaining loudly
about his lost freedom,
beating his wings
against the iron bars
of his prison.
The little daisy
could make no sign
and utter no word
to console him,
as she
would gladly have done.
The whole morning passed
in this manner.
, , , ,
“There is no water here,”
said the captive lark;
“they have all gone out
and have forgotten
to give me a drop
to drink.
My throat is hot
and dry;
I feel
as
if I had fire
and ice within me,
and the air is so heavy.
Alas!
I must die.
I must bid farewell
to the warm sunshine,
the fresh green,
and all the beautiful things
which God has created.”
And
then he thrust his beak
into the cool turf
to refresh himself a little
with the fresh grass,
and,
as he did so,
his eye fell upon the daisy.
The bird nodded
to her
and kissed her
with his beak
and said:
“You also
will wither here,
you poor little flower!
They have given you
to me,
with the little patch
of green grass
on
which you grow,
in exchange
for the whole world
which was mine out there.
Each little blade
of grass is
to me
as a great tree,
and each
of your white leaves a flower.
Alas!
you only show me
how much I have lost.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
if I
could only comfort him!”
thought the daisy,
but she
could not move a leaf.
The perfume
from her leaves was stronger
than is usual
in these flowers,
and the bird noticed it,
and though he was fainting
with thirst,
and
in his pain pulled up the green blades
of grass,
he did not touch the flower.
, , , ,
The evening came,
and yet no one had come
to bring the bird a drop
of water.
Then he stretched out his pretty wings
and shook convulsively;
he
could only sing “Tweet,
tweet,”
in a weak,
mournful tone.
His little head bent down
toward the flower;
the bird’s heart was broken
with want
and pining.
Then the flower
could not fold her leaves
as she had done the evening before
when she went
to sleep,
but,
sick
and sorrowful,
drooped
toward the earth.
, , , ,
Not
till morning did the boys come,
and
when they found the bird dead,
they wept many
and bitter tears.
They dug a pretty grave
for him
and adorned it
with leaves
of flowers.
The bird’s lifeless body was placed
in a smart red box
and was buried
with great honor.
, , , ,
Poor bird!
while he was alive
and
could sing,
they forgot him
and allowed him
to sit
in his cage
and suffer want,
but now
that he was dead,
they mourned
for him
with many tears
and buried him
in royal state.
, , , ,
But the turf
with the daisy
on it was thrown out
into the dusty road.
No one thought
of the little flower
that had felt more
for the poor bird
than had any one else
and
that
would have been so glad
to help
and comfort him
if she had been able.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE PEA BLOSSOM
THERE were once five peas
in one shell;
they were green,
and the shell was green,
and so they believed
that the whole world must be green also,
which was a very natural conclusion.
, , , ,
The shell grew,
and the peas grew;
and
as they grew they arranged themselves all
in a row.
The sun shone without
and warmed the shell,
and the rain made it clear
and transparent;
it looked mild
and agreeable
in broad daylight
and dark
at night,
just
as it should.
And the peas,
as they sat there,
grew bigger
and bigger,
and more thoughtful
as they mused,
for they felt
there must be something
for them
to do.
, , , ,
“Are we
to sit here forever?”
asked one.
“Shall we not become hard,
waiting here so long?
It seems
to me
there must be something outside;
I feel sure
of it.”
, , , ,
Weeks passed by;
the peas became yellow,
and the shell became yellow.
, , , ,
“All the world is turning yellow,
I suppose,”
said they
--and perhaps they were right.
, , , ,
Suddenly they felt a pull
at the shell.
It was torn off
and held
in human hands;
then it was slipped
into the pocket
of a jacket,
together
with other full pods.
, , , ,
“Now we shall soon be let out,”
said one,
and
that was just
what they all wanted.
, , , ,
“I
should like
to know which
of us
will travel farthest,”
said the smallest
of the five;
“and we shall soon see.”
, , , ,
“What is
to happen
will happen,”
said the largest pea.
, , , ,
“Crack!”
went the shell,
and the five peas rolled out
into the bright sunshine.
There they lay
in a child’s hand.
A little boy was holding them tightly.
He said they were fine peas
for his pea-shooter,
and immediately he put one
in
and shot it out.
, , , ,
“Now I am flying out
into the wide world,”
said the pea.
“Catch me
if you can.”
And he was gone
in a moment.
, , , ,
“I intend
to fly straight
to the sun,”
said the second.
“That is a shell that
will suit me exactly,
for it lets itself be seen.”
And away he went.
, , , ,
“We
will go
to sleep wherever we find ourselves,”
said the next two;
“we shall still be rolling onwards.”
And they did fall
to the floor
and roll about,
but they got
into the pea-shooter
for all that.
“We
will go farthest
of any,”
said they.
, , , ,
“What is
to happen
will happen,”
exclaimed the last one,
as he was shot out
of the pea-shooter.
Up he flew
against an old board
under a garret window
and fell
into a little crevice
which was
almost filled
with moss
and soft earth.
The moss closed itself
about him,
and
there he lay
--a captive indeed,
but not unnoticed
by God.
, , , ,
“What is
to happen
will happen,”
said he
to himself.
, , , ,
Within the little garret lived a poor woman,
who went out
to clean stoves,
chop wood
into small pieces,
and do other hard work,
for she was both 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,
and it seemed
as
if she
could neither die nor get well.
, , , ,
“She is going
to her little sister,”
said the woman.
“I had only the two children,
and it was not an easy thing
to support them;
but the good God provided
for one
of them
by taking her home
to himself.
The other was left
to me,
but I suppose they are not
to be separated,
and my sick girl
will soon go
to her sister
in heaven.”
, , , ,
All day long the sick girl lay quietly
and patiently,
while her mother went out
to earn money.
, , , ,
Spring came,
and early one morning the sun shone
through the little window
and threw his rays mildly
and pleasantly
over the floor
of the room.
Just
as the mother was going
to her work,
the sick girl fixed her gaze
on the lowest pane
of the window.
“Mother,”
she exclaimed,
“what
can
that little green thing be
that peeps
in
at the window?
It is moving
in the wind.”
, , , ,
The mother stepped
to the window
and half opened it.
“Oh!”
she said,
“there is actually a little pea
that has taken root
and is putting 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 she might see the budding plant;
and the mother went forth
to her work.
, , , ,
“Mother,
I believe I shall get well,”
said the sick child
in the evening.
“The sun has shone
in here so bright
and warm to-day,
and the little pea is growing so fast,
that I feel better,
too,
and think I shall get up
and go out
into the warm sunshine again.”
, , , ,
“God grant it!”
said the mother,
but she did not believe it
would be so.
She took a little stick
and propped up the green plant
which had given her daughter such pleasure,
so
that it might not be broken
by the winds.
She tied the piece
of string
to the window-sill and
to the upper part
of the frame,
so
that the pea tendrils might have something
to twine round.
And the plant shot up so fast
that one
could
almost see it grow
from day
to day.
, , , ,
“A flower is really coming,”
said the mother one morning.
At last she was beginning
to let herself hope
that her little sick daughter might indeed recover.
She remembered that
for some time the child had spoken more cheerfully,
and
that during the last few days she had raised herself
in bed
in the morning
to look
with sparkling eyes
at her little garden
which contained
but a single pea plant.
, , , ,
A week later the invalid sat up
by the open window a whole hour,
feeling quite happy
in the warm sunshine,
while outside grew the little plant,
and
on it a pink pea blossom
in full bloom.
The little maiden bent down
and gently kissed the delicate leaves.
This day was
like a festival
to her.
, , , ,
“Our heavenly Father himself has planted
that pea
and made it grow
and flourish,
to bring joy
to you
and hope
to me,
my blessed child,”
said the happy mother,
and she smiled
at the flower
as
if it had been an angel
from God.
, , , ,
[Illustration:
On it a pink pea blossom ...
in full bloom.]
But
what became
of the other peas?
Why,
the one
who flew out
into the wide world
and said,
“Catch me
if you can,”
fell
into a gutter
on the roof
of a house
and ended his travels
in the crop
of a pigeon.
The two lazy ones were carried quite
as far
and were
of some use,
for they also were eaten
by pigeons;
but the fourth,
who wanted
to reach the sun,
fell
into a sink
and lay there
in the dirty water
for days
and weeks,
till he had swelled
to a great size.
, , , ,
“I am getting beautifully fat,”
said the pea;
“I expect I shall burst
at last;
no pea
could do more
than that,
I think.
I am the most remarkable
of all the five
that were
in the shell.”
And the sink agreed
with the pea.
, , , ,
But the young girl,
with sparkling eyes
and the rosy hue
of health upon her cheeks,
stood
at the open garret window and,
folding her thin hands
over the pea blossom,
thanked God
for
what He had done.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE STORKS
ON the last house
in the village
there lay a stork’s nest.
The mother stork sat
in it
with her four little ones,
who were stretching out their heads
with their pointed black bills
that had not yet turned red.
At a little distance,
on the top
of the roof,
stood the father stork,
bolt upright and
as stiff
as
could be.
That he might not appear quite idle
while standing sentry,
he had drawn one leg up
under him,
as is the manner
of storks.
One might have taken him
to be carved
in marble,
so still did he stand.
, , , ,
“It must look very grand
for my wife
to have a sentinel
to guard her nest,”
he thought.
“They can’t know
that I am her husband
and will,
of course,
conclude
that I am commanded
to stand here
by her nest.
It looks aristocratic!”
Below,
in the street,
a crowd
of children were playing.
When they chanced
to catch sight
of the storks,
one
of the boldest
of the boys began
to sing the old song
about the stork.
The others soon joined him,
but each sang the words
that he happened
to have heard.
This is one
of the ways:
“Stork,
stork,
fly away;
Stand not
on one leg to-day.
Thy dear wife sits
in the nest,
To lull the little ones
to rest.
, , , ,
“There’s a halter
for one,
There’s a stake
for another,
For the third there’s a gun,
And a spit
for his brother!”
“Only listen,”
said the young storks,
“to
what the boys are singing.
Do you hear them say we’re
to be hanged
and shot?”
, , , ,
“Don’t listen
to
what they say;
if you
don’t mind,
it
won’t hurt you,”
said the mother.
, , , ,
But the boys went
on singing,
and pointed mockingly
at the sentinel stork.
Only one boy,
whom they called Peter,
said it was a shame
to make game
of animals,
and he
would not join
in the singing
at all.
, , , ,
The mother stork tried
to comfort her young ones.
“Don’t mind them,”
she said;
“see
how quiet your father stands
on one leg there.”
, , , ,
“But we are afraid,”
said the little ones,
drawing back their beaks
into the nest.
, , , ,
The children assembled again
on the next day,
and no sooner did they see the storks
than they again began their song:
“The first
will be hanged,
The second be hit.”
, , , ,
“Tell us,
are we
to be hanged
and burned?”
asked the young storks.
, , , ,
“No,
no;
certainly not,”
replied the mother.
“You are
to learn
to fly,
and
then we shall pay a visit
to the frogs.
They
will bow
to us
in the water
and sing ‘Croak!
croak!’
and we shall eat them up,
and that
will be a great treat.”
, , , ,
“And
then what?”
questioned the young storks.
, , , ,
“Oh,
then all the storks
in the land
will assemble,
and the autumn sports
will begin;
only
then one must be able
to fly well,
for
that is very important.
Whoever does not fly
as he should
will be pierced
to death
by the general’s beak,
so mind
that you learn well,
when the drill begins.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
but then,
after that,
we shall be killed,
as the boys say.
Hark!
they are singing it again.”
, , , ,
“Attend
to me
and not
to them,”
said the mother stork.
“After the great review we shall fly away
to warm countries,
far
from here,
over hills
and forests.
To Egypt we shall fly,
where are the three-cornered houses
of stone,
one point
of
which reaches
to the clouds;
they are called pyramids
and are older
than a stork
can imagine.
In
that same land
there is a river
which overflows its banks
and turns the whole country
into mire.
We shall go
into the mire
and eat frogs.”
, , , ,
“Oh!
oh!”
exclaimed all the youngsters.
, , , ,
“Yes,
it is indeed a delightful place.
We need do nothing all day long
but eat;
and
while we are feasting
there so comfortably,
in this country
there is not a green leaf left
on the trees.
It is so cold here
that the very clouds freeze
in lumps
or fall down
in little white rags.”
It was hail
and snow
that she meant,
but she did not know how
to say it better.
, , , ,
“And
will the naughty boys freeze
in lumps?”
asked the young storks.
, , , ,
“No,
they
will not freeze
in lumps,
but they
will come near it,
and they
will sit moping
and cowering
in gloomy rooms
while you are flying about
in foreign lands,
amid bright flowers
and warm sunshine.”
, , , ,
Some time passed,
and the nestlings had grown so large
and strong
that they
could stand upright
in the nest
and look all
about them.
Every day the father stork came
with delicious frogs,
nice little snakes,
and other such dainties
that storks delight in.
How funny it was
to see the clever feats he performed
to amuse them!
He
would lay his head right round upon his tail;
and sometimes he
would clatter
with his beak,
as
if it were a little rattle;
or he
would tell them stories,
all relating
to swamps
and fens.
, , , ,
“Come,
children,”
said the mother stork one day,
“now you must learn
to fly.”
And all the four young storks had
to go out
on the ridge
of the roof.
How they did totter
and stagger about!
They tried
to balance themselves
with their wings,
but came very near falling
to the ground.
, , , ,
“Look
at me!”
said the mother.
“This is the way
to hold your head.
And thus you must place your feet.
Left!
right!
left!
right!
that’s what
will help you on
in the world.”
, , , ,
Then she flew a little way,
and the young ones took a clumsy little leap.
Bump!
plump!
down they fell,
for their bodies were still too heavy
for them.
, , , ,
“I
will not fly,”
said one
of the young storks,
as he crept back
to the nest.
“I
don’t care
about going
to warm countries.”
, , , ,
“Do you want
to stay here
and freeze
when the winter comes?
Will you wait
till the boys come
to hang,
to burn,
or
to roast you?
Well,
then,
I’ll call them.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
no!”
cried the timid stork,
hopping back
to the roof
with the rest.
, , , ,
By the third day they actually began
to fly a little.
Then they had no doubt
that they
could soar
or hover
in the air,
upborne
by their wings.
And this they attempted
to do,
but down they fell,
flapping their wings
as fast
as they could.
, , , ,
Again the boys came
to the street,
singing their song,
“Storks,
storks,
fly home
and rest.”
, , , ,
“Shall we fly down
and peck them?”
asked the young ones.
, , , ,
“No,
leave them alone.
Attend
to me;
that’s far more important.
One
--two
--three!
now we fly round
to the right.
One
--two
--three!
now
to the left,
round the chimney.
There!
that was very good.
That last flap
with your wings
and the kick
with your feet were so graceful
and proper
that to-morrow you shall fly
with me
to the marsh.
Several
of the nicest stork families
will be there
with their children.
Let me see
that mine are the best bred
of all.
Carry your heads high
and mind you strut
about proudly,
for
that looks well
and helps
to make one respected.”
, , , ,
“But shall we not take revenge upon the naughty boys?”
asked the young storks.
, , , ,
“No,
no;
let them scream away,
as much
as they please.
You are
to fly up
to the clouds
and away
to the land
of the pyramids,
while they are freezing
and
can neither see a green leaf nor taste a sweet apple.”
, , , ,
“But we
will revenge ourselves,”
they whispered one
to another.
And
then the training began again.
, , , ,
Among all the children down
in the street the one
that seemed most bent upon singing the song
that made game
of the storks was the boy
who had begun it,
and he was a little fellow
hardly more
than six years old.
The young storks,
to be sure,
thought he was
at least a hundred,
for he was much bigger
than their parents,
and,
besides,
what did they know
about the ages
of either children
or grown men?
Their whole vengeance was
to be aimed
at this one boy.
It was always he
who began the song
and persisted
in mocking them.
The young storks were very angry,
and
as they grew larger they also grew less patient
under insult,
and their mother was
at last obliged
to promise them
that they might be revenged
--but not
until the day
of their departure.
, , , ,
“We must first see
how you carry yourselves
at the great review.
If you do so badly
that the general runs his beak
through you,
then the boys
will be
in the right
--at least
in one way.
We must wait
and see!”
“Yes,
you shall see!”
cried all the young storks;
and they took the greatest pains,
practicing every day,
until they flew so evenly
and so lightly
that it was a pleasure
to see them.
, , , ,
The autumn now set in;
all the storks began
to assemble,
in order
to start
for the warm countries
and leave winter
behind them.
And such exercises
as
there were!
Young fledglings were set
to fly
over forests
and villages,
to see
if they were equal
to the long journey
that was
before them.
So well did our young storks acquit themselves,
that,
as a proof
of the satisfaction they had given,
the mark they got was,
“Remarkably well,”
with a present
of a frog
and a snake,
which they lost no time
in eating.
, , , ,
“Now,”
said they,
“we
will be revenged.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
certainly,”
said their mother;
“and I have thought
of a way that
will surely be the fairest.
I know a pond
where all the little human children lie
till the stork comes
to take them
to their parents.
There lie the pretty little babies,
dreaming more sweetly
than they ever dream afterwards.
All the parents are wishing
for one
of these little ones,
and the children all want a sister
or a brother.
Now we’ll fly
to the pond
and bring back a baby
for every child
who did not sing the naughty song
that made game
of the storks.”
, , , ,
“But the very naughty boy
who was the first
to begin the song,”
cried the young storks,
“what shall we do
with him?”
, , , ,
“There is a little dead child
in the pond
--one
that has dreamed itself
to death.
We
will bring that
for him.
Then he
will cry
because we have brought a little dead brother
to him.
, , , ,
“But
that good boy,
--you have not forgotten him!
--the one
who said it was a shame
to mock
at the animals;
for him we
will bring both a brother
and a sister.
And
because his name is Peter,
all
of you shall be called Peter,
too.”
, , , ,
All was done
as the mother had said;
the storks were named Peter,
and so they are called
to this day.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE WILD SWANS
FAR away,
in the land
to
which the swallows fly
when it is winter,
dwelt a king
who had eleven sons,
and one daughter,
named Eliza.
, , , ,
The eleven brothers were princes,
and each went
to school
with a star
on his breast
and a sword
by his side.
They wrote
with diamond pencils
on golden slates
and learned their lessons so quickly
and read so easily
that every one knew they were princes.
Their sister Eliza sat
on a little stool
of plate-glass
and had a book full
of pictures,
which had cost
as much
as half a kingdom.
, , , ,
Happy,
indeed,
were these children;
but they were not long
to remain so,
for their father,
the king,
married a queen
who did not love the children,
and
who proved
to be a wicked sorceress.
, , , ,
The queen began
to show her unkindness the very first day.
While the great festivities were taking place
in the palace,
the children played
at receiving company;
but the queen,
instead
of sending them the cakes
and apples
that were left
from the feast,
as was customary,
gave them some sand
in a teacup
and told them
to pretend it was something good.
The next week she sent the little Eliza
into the country
to a peasant
and his wife.
Then she told the king so many untrue things
about the young princes
that he gave himself no more trouble
about them.
, , , ,
“Go out
into the world
and look after yourselves,”
said the queen.
“Fly
like great birds without a voice.”
But she
could not make it so bad
for them
as she
would have liked,
for they were turned
into eleven beautiful wild swans.
, , , ,
With a strange cry,
they flew
through the windows
of the palace,
over the park,
to the forest beyond.
It was yet early morning
when they passed the peasant’s cottage
where their sister lay asleep
in her room.
They hovered
over the roof,
twisting their long necks
and flapping their wings,
but no one heard them
or saw them,
so they
at last flew away,
high up
in the clouds,
and
over the wide world they sped
till they came
to a thick,
dark wood,
which stretched far away
to the seashore.
, , , ,
Poor little Eliza was alone
in the peasant’s room playing
with a green leaf,
for she had no other playthings.
She pierced a hole
in the leaf,
and
when she looked
through it
at the sun she seemed
to see her brothers’ clear eyes,
and
when the warm sun shone
on her cheeks she thought
of all the kisses they had given her.
, , , ,
One day passed just
like another.
Sometimes the winds rustled
through the leaves
of the rosebush
and whispered
to the roses,
“Who
can be more beautiful
than you?”
And the roses
would shake their heads
and say,
“Eliza is.”
And
when the old woman sat
at the cottage door
on Sunday
and read her hymn book,
the wind
would flutter the leaves
and say
to the book,
“Who
can be more pious
than you?”
And
then the hymn book
would answer,
“Eliza.”
And the roses
and the hymn book told the truth.
, , , ,
When she was fifteen she returned home,
but
because she was so beautiful the witch-queen became full
of spite
and hatred
toward her.
Willingly
would she have turned her
into a swan
like her brothers,
but she did not dare
to do so
for fear
of the king.
, , , ,
Early one morning the queen went
into the bathroom;
it was built
of marble
and had soft cushions trimmed
with the most beautiful tapestry.
She took three toads
with her,
and kissed them,
saying
to the first,
“When Eliza comes
to bathe seat yourself upon her head,
that she may become
as stupid
as you are.”
To the second toad she said,
“Place yourself
on her forehead,
that she may become
as ugly
as you are,
and
that her friends may not know her.”
“Rest
on her heart,”
she whispered
to the third;
“then she
will have evil inclinations
and suffer because
of them.”
So she put the toads
into the clear water,
which
at once turned green.
She next called Eliza
and helped her undress
and get
into the bath.
, , , ,
As Eliza dipped her head
under the water one
of the toads sat
on her hair,
a second
on her forehead,
and a third
on her breast.
But she did not seem
to notice them,
and
when she rose
from the water
there were three red poppies floating upon it.
Had not the creatures been venomous
or had they not been kissed
by the witch,
they
would have become red roses.
At all events they became flowers,
because they had rested
on Eliza’s head and
on her heart.
She was too good
and too innocent
for sorcery
to have any power
over her.
, , , ,
When the wicked queen saw this,
she rubbed Eliza’s face
with walnut juice,
so
that she was quite brown;
then she tangled her beautiful hair
and smeared it
with disgusting ointment
until it was quite impossible
to recognize her.
, , , ,
The king was shocked,
and declared she was not his daughter.
No one
but the watchdog
and the swallows knew her,
and they were only poor animals
and
could say nothing.
Then poor Eliza wept
and thought
of her eleven brothers
who were far away.
Sorrowfully she stole
from the palace
and walked the whole day
over fields
and moors,
till she came
to the great forest.
She knew not
in
what direction
to go,
but she was so unhappy
and longed so
for her brothers,
who,
like herself,
had been driven out
into the world,
that she was determined
to seek them.
, , , ,
She had been
in the wood only a short time
when night came
on
and she quite lost the path;
so she laid herself down
on the soft moss,
offered up her evening prayer,
and leaned her head
against the stump
of a tree.
All nature was silent,
and the soft,
mild air fanned her forehead.
The light
of hundreds
of glowworms shone amidst the grass
and the moss
like green fire,
and
if she touched a twig
with her hand,
ever so lightly,
the brilliant insects fell down
around her
like shooting stars.
, , , ,
All night long she dreamed
of her brothers.
She thought they were all children again,
playing together.
She saw them writing
with their diamond pencils
on golden slates,
while she looked
at the beautiful picture book
which had cost half a kingdom.
They were not writing lines
and letters,
as they used
to do,
but descriptions
of the noble deeds they had performed and
of all
that they had discovered
and seen.
In the picture book,
too,
everything was living.
The birds sang,
and the people came out
of the book
and spoke
to Eliza
and her brothers;
but
as the leaves were turned
over they darted back again
to their places,
that all might be
in order.
, , , ,
When she awoke,
the sun was high
in the heavens.
She
could not see it,
for the lofty trees spread their branches thickly overhead,
but its gleams here
and
there shone
through the leaves
like a gauzy golden mist.
There was a sweet fragrance
from the fresh verdure,
and the birds came near
and
almost perched
on her shoulders.
She heard water rippling
from a number
of springs,
all flowing
into a lake
with golden sands.
Bushes grew thickly round the lake,
and
at one spot,
where an opening had been made
by a deer,
Eliza went down
to the water.
, , , ,
The lake was so clear
that had not the wind rustled the branches
of the trees
and the bushes so
that they moved,
they
would have seemed painted
in the depths
of the lake;
for every leaf,
whether
in the shade or
in the sunshine,
was reflected
in the water.
, , , ,
When Eliza saw her own face she was quite terrified
at finding it so brown
and ugly,
but after she had wet her little hand
and rubbed her eyes
and forehead,
the white skin gleamed forth once more;
and
when she had undressed
and dipped herself
in the fresh water,
a more beautiful king’s daughter
could not have been found anywhere
in the wide world.
, , , ,
As soon
as she had dressed herself again
and braided her long hair,
she went
to the bubbling spring
and drank some water out
of the hollow
of her hand.
Then she wandered far
into the forest,
not knowing whither she went.
She thought
of her brothers and
of her father
and mother
and felt sure
that God
would not forsake her.
It is God
who makes the wild apples grow
in the wood
to satisfy the hungry,
and He now showed her one
of these trees,
which was so loaded
with fruit
that the boughs bent
beneath the weight.
Here she ate her noonday meal,
and
then placing props
under the boughs,
she went
into the gloomiest depths
of the forest.
, , , ,
It was so still
that she
could hear the sound
of her own footsteps,
as well
as the rustling
of every withered leaf
which she crushed
under her feet.
Not a bird was
to be seen,
not a sunbeam
could penetrate the large,
dark boughs
of the trees.
The lofty trunks stood so close together that
when she looked
before her it seemed
as
if she were enclosed within trelliswork.
Here was such solitude
as she had never known before!
The night was very dark.
Not a glowworm was glittering
in the moss.
Sorrowfully Eliza laid herself down
to sleep.
After a
while it seemed
to her
as
if the branches
of the trees parted
over her head
and the mild eyes
of angels looked down upon her
from heaven.
, , , ,
In the morning,
when she awoke,
she knew not whether this had really been so
or whether she had dreamed it.
She continued her wandering,
but she had not gone far
when she met an old woman
who had berries
in her basket
and
who gave her a few
to eat.
Eliza asked her
if she had not seen eleven princes riding
through the forest.
, , , ,
“No,”
replied the old woman,
“but I saw yesterday eleven swans
with gold crowns
on their heads,
swimming
in the river close by.”
Then she led Eliza a little distance
to a sloping bank,
at the foot
of
which ran a little river.
The trees
on its banks stretched their long leafy branches
across the water
toward each other,
and
where they did not meet naturally the roots had torn themselves away
from the ground,
so
that the branches might mingle their foliage
as they hung
over the water.
, , , ,
Eliza bade the old woman farewell
and walked
by the flowing river
till she reached the shore
of the open sea.
And there,
before her eyes,
lay the glorious ocean,
but not a sail appeared
on its surface;
not
even a boat
could be seen.
How was she
to go farther?
She noticed
how the countless pebbles
on the shore had been smoothed
and rounded
by the action
of the water.
Glass,
iron,
stones,
everything
that lay
there mingled together,
had been shaped
by the same power
until they were
as smooth
as her own delicate hand.
, , , ,
“The water rolls
on without weariness,”
she said,
“till all
that is hard becomes smooth;
so
will I be unwearied
in my task.
Thanks
for your lesson,
bright rolling waves;
my heart tells me you
will one day lead me
to my dear brothers.”
, , , ,
[Illustration:
Eliza asked her
if she had not seen eleven princes riding
through the forest ....]
On the foam-covered seaweeds lay eleven white swan feathers,
which she gathered
and carried
with her.
Drops
of water lay upon them;
whether they were dewdrops
or tears no one
could say.
It was lonely
on the seashore,
but she did not know it,
for the ever-moving sea showed more changes
in a few hours
than the most varying lake
could produce
in a whole year.
When 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 waves turned
to white foam
as they rolled.
When the wind slept
and the clouds glowed
with the red sunset,
the sea looked
like a rose leaf.
Sometimes it became green
and sometimes white.
But,
however quietly it lay,
the waves were always restless
on the shore
and rose
and fell
like the breast
of a sleeping child.
, , , ,
When the sun was about
to set,
Eliza saw eleven white swans,
with golden crowns
on their heads,
flying
toward the land,
one
behind the other,
like a long white ribbon.
She went down the slope
from the shore
and hid herself
behind the bushes.
The swans alighted quite close
to her,
flapping their great white wings.
As soon
as the sun had disappeared
under the water,
the feathers
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.
She sprang
into their arms
and called them each
by name.
Very happy the princes were
to see their little sister again;
they knew her,
although she had grown so tall
and beautiful.
They laughed
and wept
and told each other
how cruelly they had been treated
by their stepmother.
, , , ,
“We brothers,”
said the eldest,
“fly about
as wild swans
while the sun is
in the sky,
but
as soon
as it sinks
behind the hills we recover our human shape.
Therefore we must always be near a resting place
before sunset;
for
if we were flying
toward the clouds
when we recovered our human form,
we
should sink deep
into the sea.
, , , ,
“We do not dwell here,
but
in a land just
as fair
that lies far
across the ocean;
the way is long,
and
there is no island upon
which we
can pass the night
--nothing
but a little rock rising out
of the sea,
upon which,
even crowded together,
we
can scarcely stand
with safety.
If the sea is rough,
the foam dashes
over us;
yet we thank God
for this rock.
We have passed whole nights upon it,
or we
should never have reached our beloved fatherland,
for our flight
across the sea occupies two
of the longest days
in the year.
, , , ,
“We have permission
to visit our home once every year and
to remain eleven days.
Then we fly
across the forest
to look once more
at the palace
where our father dwells
and
where we were born,
and
at the church
beneath whose shade our mother lies buried.
The very trees
and bushes here seem related
to us.
The wild horses leap
over the plains
as we have seen them
in our childhood.
The charcoal burners sing the old songs
to
which we have danced
as children.
This is our fatherland,
to
which we are drawn
by loving ties;
and here we have found you,
our dear little sister.
Two days longer we
can remain here,
and
then we must fly away
to a beautiful land
which is not our home.
How
can we take you
with us?
We have neither ship nor boat.”
, , , ,
“How
can I break this spell?”
asked the sister.
And they talked
about it nearly the whole night,
slumbering only a few hours.
, , , ,
Eliza was awakened
by the rustling
of the wings
of swans soaring
above her.
Her brothers were again changed
to swans.
They flew
in circles,
wider
and wider,
till they were far away;
but one
of them,
the youngest,
remained behind
and laid his head
in his sister’s lap,
while she stroked his wings.
They remained together the whole day.
, , , ,
Towards evening the rest came back,
and
as the sun went down they resumed their natural forms.
“To-morrow,”
said one,
“we shall fly away,
not
to return again
till a whole year has passed.
But we cannot leave you here.
Have you courage
to go
with us?
My arm is strong enough
to carry you
through the wood,
and
will not all our wings be strong enough
to bear you
over the sea?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
take me
with you,”
said Eliza.
They spent the whole night
in weaving a large,
strong net
of the pliant willow
and rushes.
On this Eliza laid herself down
to sleep,
and
when the sun rose
and her brothers again became wild swans,
they took up the net
with their beaks,
and flew up
to the clouds
with their dear sister,
who still slept.
When the sunbeams fell
on her face,
one
of the swans soared
over her head so
that his broad wings might shade her.
, , , ,
They were far
from the land
when Eliza awoke.
She thought she must still be dreaming,
it seemed so strange
to feel herself being carried high
in the air
over the sea.
By her side lay a branch full
of beautiful ripe berries
and a bundle
of sweet-tasting roots;
the youngest
of her brothers had gathered them
and placed them there.
She smiled her thanks
to him;
she knew it was the same one
that was hovering
over her
to shade her
with his wings.
They were now so high
that a large ship
beneath them looked
like a white sea gull skimming the waves.
A great cloud floating
behind them appeared
like a vast mountain,
and upon it Eliza saw her own shadow
and those
of the eleven swans,
like gigantic flying things.
Altogether it formed a more beautiful picture
than she had ever
before seen;
but
as the sun rose higher
and the clouds were left behind,
the picture vanished.
, , , ,
Onward the whole day they flew
through the air
like winged arrows,
yet more slowly
than usual,
for they had their sister
to carry.
The weather grew threatening,
and Eliza watched the sinking sun
with great anxiety,
for the little rock
in the ocean was not yet
in sight.
It seemed
to her
as
if the swans were exerting themselves
to the utmost.
Alas!
she was the cause
of their not advancing more quickly.
When the sun set they
would change
to men,
fall
into the sea,
and be drowned.
, , , ,
Then she offered a prayer
from her inmost heart,
but still no rock appeared.
Dark clouds came nearer,
the gusts
of wind told
of the coming storm,
while
from a thick,
heavy mass
of clouds the lightning burst forth,
flash after flash.
The sun had reached the edge
of the sea,
when the swans darted down so swiftly
that Eliza’s heart trembled;
she believed they were falling,
but they again soared onward.
, , , ,
Presently,
and
by this time the sun was half hidden
by the waves,
she caught sight
of the rock just below them.
It did not look larger
than a seal’s head thrust out
of the water.
The sun sank so rapidly that
at the moment their feet touched the rock it shone only
like a star,
and
at last disappeared
like the dying spark
in a piece
of burnt paper.
Her brothers stood close
around her
with arms linked together,
for
there was not the smallest space
to spare.
The sea dashed
against the rock
and covered them
with spray.
The heavens were lighted up
with continual flashes,
and thunder rolled
from the clouds.
But the sister
and brothers stood holding each other’s hands,
and singing hymns.
, , , ,
In the early dawn the air became calm
and still,
and
at sunrise the swans flew away
from the rock,
bearing their sister
with them.
The sea was still rough,
and
from their great height the white foam
on the dark-green waves looked
like millions
of swans swimming
on the water.
As the sun rose higher,
Eliza saw
before her,
floating
in the air,
a range
of mountains
with shining masses
of ice
on their summits.
In the center rose a castle
that seemed a mile long,
with rows
of columns rising one
above another,
while
around it palm trees waved
and flowers
as large
as mill wheels bloomed.
She asked
if this was the land
to
which they were hastening.
The swans shook their heads,
for
what she beheld were the beautiful,
ever-changing cloud-palaces
of the Fata Morgana,
into
which no mortal
can enter.
, , , ,
Eliza was still gazing
at the scene,
when mountains,
forests,
and castles melted away,
and twenty stately churches rose
in their stead,
with high towers
and pointed Gothic windows.
She
even fancied she
could hear the tones
of the organ,
but it was the music
of the murmuring sea.
As they drew nearer
to the churches,
these too were changed
and became a fleet
of ships,
which seemed
to be sailing
beneath her;
but
when she looked again she saw only a sea mist gliding
over the ocean.
, , , ,
One scene melted
into another,
until
at last she saw the real land
to
which they were bound,
with its blue mountains,
its cedar forests,
and its cities
and palaces.
Long
before the sun went down she was sitting
on a rock
in front
of a large cave,
the floor
of
which was overgrown
with delicate green creeping plants,
like an embroidered carpet.
, , , ,
“Now we shall expect
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 release you!”
she replied.
And this thought took such hold upon her mind
that she prayed earnestly
to God
for help,
and even
in her sleep she continued
to pray.
Then it seemed
to her
that she was flying high
in the air
toward the cloudy palace
of the Fata Morgana,
and
that a fairy came out
to meet her,
radiant
and beautiful,
yet much
like the old woman
who had given her berries
in the wood,
and
who had told her
of the swans
with golden crowns
on their heads.
, , , ,
“Your brothers
can be released,”
said she,
“if you only have courage
and perseverance.
Water is softer
than your own delicate hands,
and yet it polishes
and shapes stones.
But it feels no pain such
as your fingers
will feel;
it has no soul
and cannot suffer such agony
and torment
as you
will have
to endure.
Do you see the stinging nettle
which I hold
in my hand?
Quantities
of the same sort grow round the cave
in
which you sleep,
but only these,
and those
that grow
on the graves
of a churchyard,
will be
of any use
to you.
These you must gather,
even
while they burn blisters
on your hands.
Break them
to pieces
with your hands
and feet,
and they
will become flax,
from
which you must spin
and weave eleven coats
with long sleeves;
if these are
then thrown
over the eleven swans,
the spell
will be broken.
But remember well,
that
from the moment you commence your task
until it is finished,
even though it occupy years
of your life,
you must not speak.
The first word you utter
will pierce the hearts
of your brothers
like a deadly dagger.
Their lives hang upon your tongue.
Remember all
that I have told you.”
, , , ,
And
as she finished speaking,
she touched Eliza’s hand lightly
with the nettle,
and a pain as
of burning fire awoke her.
, , , ,
It was broad daylight,
and near her lay a nettle
like the one she had seen
in her dream.
She fell
on her knees
and offered thanks
to God.
Then she went forth
from the cave
to begin work
with her delicate hands.
She groped
in amongst the ugly nettles,
which burned great blisters
on her hands
and arms,
but she determined
to bear the pain gladly
if she
could only release her dear brothers.
So she bruised the nettles
with her bare feet
and spun the flax.
, , , ,
At sunset her brothers returned,
and were much frightened
when she did not speak.
They believed her
to be
under the spell
of some new sorcery,
but
when they saw her hands they understood
what she was doing
in their behalf.
The youngest brother wept,
and
where his tears touched her the pain ceased
and the burning blisters vanished.
Eliza kept
to her work all night,
for she
could not rest
till she had released her brothers.
During the whole
of the following day,
while her brothers were absent,
she sat
in solitude,
but never
before had the time flown so quickly.
, , , ,
One coat was already finished
and she had begun the second,
when she heard a huntsman’s horn
and was struck
with fear.
As the sound came nearer
and nearer,
she also heard dogs barking,
and fled
with terror
into the cave.
She hastily bound together the nettles she had gathered,
and sat upon them.
In a moment
there came bounding
toward her out
of the ravine a great dog,
and
then another
and another;
they ran back
and forth barking furiously,
until
in a few minutes all the huntsmen stood
before the cave.
The handsomest
of them was the king
of the country,
who,
when he saw the beautiful maiden,
advanced
toward her,
saying,
“How did you come here,
my sweet child?”
, , , ,
Eliza shook her head.
She dared not speak,
for it
would cost her brothers their deliverance
and their lives.
And she hid her hands
under her apron,
so
that the king might not see
how she was suffering.
, , , ,
“Come
with me,”
he said;
“here you cannot remain.
If you are
as good
as you are beautiful,
I
will dress you
in silk
and velvet,
I
will place a golden crown
on your head,
and you shall rule
and make your home
in my richest castle.”
Then he lifted her
onto his horse.
She wept
and wrung her hands,
but the king said:
“I wish only your happiness.
A time
will come
when you
will thank me
for this.”
, , , ,
He galloped away
over the mountains,
holding her
before him
on his horse,
and the hunters followed
behind them.
As the sun went down they approached a fair,
royal city,
with churches
and cupolas.
On arriving
at the castle,
the king led her
into marble halls,
where large fountains played
and
where the walls
and the ceilings were covered
with rich paintings.
But she had no eyes
for all these glorious sights;
she
could only mourn
and weep.
Patiently she allowed the women
to array her
in royal robes,
to weave pearls
in her hair,
and
to draw soft gloves
over her blistered fingers.
As she stood arrayed
in her rich dress,
she looked so dazzlingly beautiful
that the court bowed low
in her presence.
, , , ,
Then the king declared his intention
of making her his bride,
but the archbishop shook his head
and whispered
that the fair young maiden was only a witch,
who had blinded the king’s eyes
and ensnared his heart.
The king
would not listen
to him,
however,
and ordered the music
to sound,
the daintiest dishes
to be served,
and the loveliest maidens
to dance
before them.
, , , ,
Afterwards he led her
through fragrant gardens
and lofty halls,
but not a smile appeared
on her lips
or sparkled
in her eyes.
She looked the very picture
of grief.
Then the king opened the door
of a little chamber
in
which she was
to sleep.
It was adorned
with rich green tapestry
and resembled the cave
in
which he had found her.
On the floor lay the bundle
of flax
which she had spun
from the nettles,
and
under the ceiling hung the coat she had made.
These things had been brought away
from the cave
as curiosities,
by one
of the huntsmen.
, , , ,
“Here you
can dream yourself back again
in the old home
in the cave,”
said the king;
“here is the work
with
which you employed yourself.
It
will amuse you now,
in the midst
of all this splendor,
to think
of
that time.”
, , , ,
When Eliza saw all these things
which lay so near her heart,
a smile played
around her mouth,
and the crimson blood rushed
to her cheeks.
The thought
of her brothers
and their release made her so joyful
that she kissed the king’s hand.
Then he pressed her
to his heart.
, , , ,
Very soon the joyous church bells announced the marriage feast;
the beautiful dumb girl
of the woods was
to be made queen
of the country.
A single word
would cost her brothers their lives,
but she loved the kind,
handsome king,
who did everything
to make her happy,
more
and more each day;
she loved him
with her whole heart,
and her eyes beamed
with the love she dared not speak.
Oh!
if she
could only confide
in him
and tell him
of her grief.
But dumb she must remain
till her task was finished.
, , , ,
Therefore
at night she crept away
into her little chamber
which had been decked out
to look
like the cave
and quickly wove one coat after another.
But
when she began the seventh,
she found she had no more flax.
She knew
that the nettles she wanted
to use grew
in the churchyard
and
that she must pluck them herself.
How
should she get out there?
“Oh,
what is the pain
in my fingers
to the torment
which my heart endures?”
thought she.
“I must venture;
I shall not be denied help
from heaven.”
, , , ,
Then
with a trembling heart,
as
if she were about
to perform a wicked deed,
Eliza crept
into the garden
in the broad moonlight,
and passed
through the narrow walks
and the deserted streets
till she reached the churchyard.
She prayed silently,
gathered the burning nettles,
and carried them home
with her
to the castle.
, , , ,
One person only had seen her,
and
that was the archbishop
--he was awake
while others slept.
Now he felt sure
that his suspicions were correct;
all was not right
with the queen;
she was a witch
and had bewitched the king
and all the people.
Secretly he told the king
what he had seen
and
what he feared,
and
as the hard words came
from his tongue,
the carved images
of the saints shook their heads
as
if they
would say,
“It is not so;
Eliza is innocent.”
, , , ,
But the archbishop interpreted it
in another way;
he believed
that they witnessed
against her
and were shaking their heads
at her wickedness.
Two tears rolled down the king’s cheeks.
He went home
with doubt
in his heart,
and
at night pretended
to sleep.
But no real sleep came
to his eyes,
for every night he saw Eliza get up
and disappear
from her chamber.
Day
by day his brow became darker,
and Eliza saw it,
and
although she did not understand the reason,
it alarmed her
and made her heart tremble
for her brothers.
Her hot tears glittered
like pearls
on the regal velvet
and diamonds,
while all
who saw her were wishing they
could be queen.
, , , ,
In the meantime she had
almost finished her task;
only one
of her brothers’ coats was wanting,
but she had no flax left
and not a single nettle.
Once more only,
and
for the last time,
must she venture
to the churchyard
and pluck a few handfuls.
She went,
and the king
and the archbishop followed her.
The king turned away his head
and said,
“The people must condemn her.”
Quickly she was condemned
to suffer death
by fire.
, , , ,
Away
from the gorgeous regal halls she was led
to a dark,
dreary cell,
where the wind whistled
through the iron bars.
Instead
of the velvet
and silk dresses,
they gave her the ten coats
which she had woven,
to cover her,
and the bundle
of nettles
for a pillow.
But they
could have given her nothing
that
would have pleased her more.
She continued her task
with joy
and prayed
for help,
while the street boys sang jeering songs
about her
and not a soul comforted her
with a kind word.
, , , ,
Toward evening she heard
at the grating the flutter
of a swan’s wing;
it was her youngest brother.
He had found his sister,
and she sobbed
for joy,
although she knew
that probably this was the last night she had
to live.
Still,
she had hope,
for her task was
almost finished
and her brothers were come.
, , , ,
Then the archbishop arrived,
to be
with her during her last hours
as he had promised the king.
She shook her head
and begged him,
by looks
and gestures,
not
to stay;
for
in this night she knew she must finish her task,
otherwise all her pain
and tears
and sleepless nights
would have been suffered
in vain.
The archbishop withdrew,
uttering bitter words
against her,
but she knew
that she was innocent
and diligently continued her work.
, , , ,
Little mice ran
about the floor,
dragging the nettles
to her feet,
to help
as much
as they could;
and a thrush,
sitting outside the grating
of the window,
sang
to her the whole night long
as sweetly
as possible,
to keep up her spirits.
, , , ,
It was still twilight,
and
at least an hour
before sunrise,
when the eleven brothers stood
at the castle gate
and demanded
to be brought
before the king.
They were told it
could not be;
it was yet night;
the king slept
and
could not be disturbed.
They threatened,
they entreated,
until the guard appeared,
and
even the king himself,
inquiring
what all the noise meant.
At this moment the sun rose,
and the eleven brothers were seen no more,
but eleven wild swans flew away
over the castle.
, , , ,
Now all the people came streaming forth
from the gates
of the city
to see the witch burned.
An old horse drew the cart
on
which she sat.
They had dressed her
in a garment
of coarse sackcloth.
Her lovely hair hung loose
on her shoulders,
her cheeks were deadly pale,
her lips moved silently
while her fingers still worked
at the green flax.
Even
on the way
to death she
would not give up her task.
The ten finished coats lay
at her feet;
she was working hard
at the eleventh,
while the mob jeered her
and said:
“See the witch;
how she mutters!
She has no hymn book
in her hand;
she sits there
with her ugly sorcery.
Let us tear it
into a thousand pieces.”
, , , ,
They pressed
toward her,
and doubtless
would have destroyed the coats had not,
at
that moment,
eleven wild swans flown
over her
and alighted
on the cart.
They flapped their large wings,
and the crowd drew back
in alarm.
, , , ,
“It is a sign
from Heaven
that she is innocent,”
whispered many
of them;
but they did not venture
to say it aloud.
, , , ,
As the executioner seized her
by the hand
to lift her out
of the cart,
she hastily threw the eleven coats
over the eleven swans,
and they immediately became eleven handsome princes;
but the youngest had a swan’s wing instead
of an arm,
for she had not been able
to finish the last sleeve
of the coat.
, , , ,
“Now I may speak,”
she exclaimed.
“I am innocent.”
, , , ,
[Illustration:
Even
on the way
to death she
would not give up her task.]
Then the people,
who saw
what had happened,
bowed
to her
as
before a saint;
but she sank unconscious
in her brothers’ arms,
overcome
with suspense,
anguish,
and pain.
, , , ,
“Yes,
she is innocent,”
said the eldest brother,
and related all
that had taken place.
While he spoke,
there rose
in the air a fragrance
as
from millions
of roses.
Every piece
of fagot
in the pile made
to burn her had taken root,
and threw out branches
until the whole appeared
like a thick hedge,
large
and high,
covered
with roses;
while
above all bloomed a white,
shining flower
that glittered
like a star.
This flower the king plucked,
and
when he placed it
in Eliza’s bosom she awoke
from her swoon
with peace
and happiness
in her heart.
Then all the church bells rang
of themselves,
and the birds came
in great flocks.
And a marriage procession,
such
as no king had ever
before seen,
returned
to the castle.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE LAST DREAM
of THE OLD OAK
IN THE forest,
high up
on the steep shore
and not far
from the open seacoast,
stood a very old oak tree.
It was just three hundred
and sixty-five years old,
but
that long time was
to the tree
as the same 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 is obliged
to keep awake
through three seasons
of the year
and does not get any sleep
till winter comes.
Winter is its time
for rest
--its night after the long day
of spring,
summer,
and autumn.
, , , ,
During many a warm summer,
the Ephemeras,
which are 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 the large,
fresh leaves,
the tree
would always say:
“Poor little creature!
your whole life consists
of
but a single day.
How very short!
It must be quite melancholy.”
, , , ,
“Melancholy!
what do you mean?”
the little creature
would always reply.
“Why do you say that?
Everything
around me is so wonderfully bright
and warm
and beautiful
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’?
Are you ‘all over’ too?”
, , , ,
“No,
I shall very likely live
for thousands
of your days,
and my day is whole seasons long;
indeed,
it is so long
that you
could never reckon it up.”
, , , ,
“No?
then I
don’t understand you.
You may have thousands
of my days,
but I have thousands
of moments
in
which I
can be merry
and happy.
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 think of.”
, , , ,
“Well,
then,”
said the little fly,
“we have the same time
to live,
only we reckon differently.”
And the little creature danced
and floated
in the air,
rejoicing
in its delicate wings
of gauze
and velvet,
rejoicing
in the balmy breezes laden
with the fragrance
from the clover fields
and wild roses,
elder blossoms
and honeysuckle,
and
from the garden hedges
of wild thyme,
primroses,
and mint.
The perfume
of all these was so strong
that it
almost intoxicated the little fly.
The long
and beautiful day had been so full
of joy
and sweet delights,
that,
when the sun sank,
the fly felt tired
of all its happiness
and enjoyment.
Its wings
could sustain it no longer,
and gently
and slowly it glided down
to the soft,
waving blades
of grass,
nodded its little head
as well
as it could,
and slept peacefully
and sweetly.
The fly was dead.
, , , ,
“Poor little Ephemera!”
said the oak;
“what a short life!”
And so
on every summer day the dance was repeated,
the same questions were asked
and the same answers given,
and
there was the same peaceful falling asleep
at sunset.
This continued
through many generations
of Ephemeras,
and all
of them felt merry
and happy.
, , , ,
The oak remained awake
through the morning
of spring,
the noon
of summer,
and the evening
of autumn;
its time
of rest,
its night,
drew near
--its winter was coming.
Here fell a leaf
and
there fell a leaf.
Already the storms were singing:
“Good night,
good night.
We
will rock you
and lull you.
Go
to sleep,
go
to sleep.
We
will sing you
to sleep,
and shake you
to sleep,
and it
will do your old twigs good;
they
will
even crackle
with pleasure.
Sleep sweetly,
sleep sweetly,
it is your three hundred
and sixty-fifth night.
You are still very young
in the world.
Sleep sweetly;
the clouds
will drop snow upon you,
which
will be your coverlid,
warm
and sheltering
to your feet.
Sweet sleep
to you,
and pleasant dreams.”
, , , ,
And
there stood the oak,
stripped
of all its leaves,
left
to rest during the whole
of a long winter,
and
to dream many dreams
of events
that had happened,
just
as men dream.
, , , ,
The great tree had once been small;
indeed,
in its cradle it had been an acorn.
According
to human reckoning,
it was now
in the fourth century
of its existence.
It was the largest
and best tree
in the forest.
Its summit towered
above all the other trees
and
could be seen far out
at sea,
so
that it served
as a landmark
to the sailors.
It had no idea
how many eyes looked eagerly
for it.
In its topmost branches the wood pigeon built her nest,
and the cuckoo sang his well-known song,
the familiar notes echoing
among the boughs;
and
in autumn,
when the leaves looked
like beaten copper plates,
the birds
of passage came
and rested
on the branches
before beginning their flight
across the sea.
, , , ,
But now
that it was winter,
the tree stood leafless,
so
that every one
could see
how crooked
and bent were the branches
that sprang forth
from the trunk.
Crows
and rooks came
by turns
and sat
on them,
and talked
of the hard times
that were beginning,
and
how difficult it was
in winter
to obtain a living.
, , , ,
It was just
at the holy Christmas time
that the tree dreamed a dream.
The tree had doubtless a feeling
that the festive time had arrived,
and
in its dream fancied it heard the bells
of the churches ringing.
And yet it seemed
to be a beautiful summer’s day,
mild
and warm.
The tree’s mighty summit was crowned
with spreading,
fresh green foliage;
the sunbeams played
among its leaves
and branches,
and the air was full
of fragrance
from herb
and blossom;
painted butterflies chased each other;
the summer flies danced
around it
as
if the world had been created merely
that they might dance
and be merry.
All
that had happened
to the tree during all the years
of its life seemed
to pass
before it
as if
in a festive pageant.
, , , ,
It saw the knights
of olden times
and noble ladies ride
through the wood
on their gallant steeds,
with plumes waving
in their hats
and
with falcons
on their wrists,
while the hunting horn sounded
and the dogs barked.
It saw hostile warriors,
in colored dress
and glittering armor,
with spear
and halberd,
pitching their tents
and again taking them down;
the watchfires blazed,
and men sang
and slept
under the hospitable shelter
of the tree.
It saw lovers meet
in quiet happiness near it
in the moonshine,
and carve the initials
of their names
in the grayish-green bark
of its trunk.
, , , ,
[Illustration:
It saw lovers meet
in quiet happiness near it
in the moonshine ....]
Once,
but long years had passed
since then,
guitars
and Æolian harps had been hung
on its boughs
by merry travelers;
now they seemed
to hang
there again,
and their marvelous notes sounded again.
The wood pigeons cooed
as if
to express the feelings
of the tree,
and the cuckoo called out
to tell it
how many summer days it had yet
to live.
, , , ,
Then it appeared
to it
that new life was thrilling
through every fiber
of root
and stem
and leaf,
rising even
to its highest branches.
The tree felt itself stretching
and spreading out,
while
through the root
beneath the earth ran the warm vigor
of life.
As it grew higher
and still higher
and its strength increased,
the topmost boughs became broader
and fuller;
and
in proportion
to its growth its self-satisfaction increased,
and
there came a joyous longing
to grow higher
and higher
--to reach even
to the warm,
bright sun itself.
, , , ,
Already had its topmost branches pierced the clouds,
which floated
beneath them
like troops
of birds
of passage
or large white swans;
every leaf seemed gifted
with sight,
as
if it possessed eyes
to see.
The stars became visible
in broad daylight,
large
and sparkling,
like clear
and gentle eyes.
They brought
to the tree’s memory the light
that it had seen
in the eyes
of a child and
in the eyes
of lovers
who had once met
beneath the branches
of the old oak.
, , , ,
These were wonderful
and happy moments
for the old oak,
full
of peace
and joy;
and yet amidst all this happiness,
the tree felt a yearning desire
that all the other trees,
bushes,
herbs,
and flowers
beneath it might also be able
to rise higher,
to see all this splendor
and experience the same happiness.
The grand,
majestic oak
could not be quite happy
in its enjoyment
until all the rest,
both great
and small,
could share it.
And this feeling
of yearning trembled
through every branch,
through every leaf,
as warmly
and fervently
as
through a human heart.
, , , ,
The summit
of the tree waved
to
and fro
and bent downwards,
as if
in its silent longing it sought something.
Then
there came
to it the fragrance
of thyme
and the more powerful scent
of honeysuckle
and violets,
and the tree fancied it heard the note
of the cuckoo.
, , , ,
At length its longing was satisfied.
Up
through the clouds came the green summits
of the forest trees,
and the oak watched them rising higher
and higher.
Bush
and herb shot upward,
and some
even tore themselves up
by the roots
to rise more quickly.
The quickest
of all was the birch tree.
Like a lightning flash the slender stem shot upwards
in a zigzag line,
the branches spreading round it
like green gauze
and banners.
Every native
of the 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 a grasshopper cleaning its wings
with its legs.
May beetles hummed,
bees murmured,
birds sang
--each
in its own way;
the air was filled
with the sounds
of song
and gladness.
, , , ,
“But
where is the little blue flower
that grows
by the water,
and the purple bellflower,
and the daisy?”
asked the oak.
“I want them all.”
, , , ,
“Here we are;
here we are,”
came the reply
in words and
in song.
, , , ,
“But the beautiful thyme
of last summer,
where is that?
And
where are the lilies
of the valley
which last year covered the earth
with their bloom,
and the wild apple tree
with its fragrant blossoms,
and all the glory
of the wood,
which has flourished year after year?
And
where is even
what may have
but just been born?”
, , , ,
“We are here;
we are here,”
sounded voices high up
in the air,
as
if they had flown
there beforehand.
, , , ,
“Why,
this is beautiful,
too beautiful
to be believed,”
cried the oak
in a joyful tone.
“I have them all here,
both great
and small;
not one has been forgotten.
Can such happiness be imagined?
It seems
almost impossible.”
, , , ,
“In heaven
with the Eternal God it
can be imagined,
for all things are possible,”
sounded the reply
through the air.
, , , ,
And the old tree,
as it still grew upwards
and onwards,
felt
that its roots were loosening themselves
from the earth.
, , , ,
“It is right so;
it is best,”
said the tree.
“No fetters hold me now.
I
can fly up
to the very highest point
in light
and glory.
And all I love are
with me,
both small
and great.
All
--all are here.”
, , , ,
Such was the dream
of the old oak
at the holy Christmas time.
And
while it dreamed,
a mighty storm came rushing
over land
and sea.
The sea rolled
in great billows
toward the shore.
A cracking
and crushing was heard
in the tree.
Its roots were torn
from the ground,
just
at the moment when
in its dream it was being loosened
from the earth.
It fell;
its three hundred
and sixty-five years were ended
like the single day
of the Ephemera.
, , , ,
On the morning
of Christmas Day,
when the sun rose,
the storm had ceased.
From all the churches sounded the festive bells,
and
from every hearth,
even
of the smallest hut,
rose the smoke
into the blue sky,
like the smoke
from the festive thank-offerings
on the Druids’ altars.
The sea gradually became calm,
and
on board a great ship
that had withstood the tempest during the night,
all the flags were displayed
as a token
of joy
and festivity.
, , , ,
“The tree is down!
the old oak
--our landmark
on the coast!”
exclaimed the sailors.
“It must have fallen
in the storm
of last night.
Who
can replace it?
Alas!
no one.”
This was the old tree’s funeral oration,
brief
but well said.
, , , ,
There it lay stretched
on the snow-covered shore,
and
over it sounded the notes
of a song
from the ship
--a song
of Christmas joy,
of the redemption
of the soul
of man,
and
of eternal life
through Christ.
, , , ,
Sing aloud
on this 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 Christmas carol,
and every one
on board the ship felt his thoughts elevated
through the song
and the prayer,
even
as the old tree had felt lifted up
in its last beautiful dream
on
that Christmas morn.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE PORTUGUESE DUCK
A DUCK once arrived
from Portugal.
There were some
who said she came
from Spain,
but
that is
almost the same thing.
At all events,
she was called the Portuguese duck,
and she laid eggs,
was killed
and cooked,
and
that was the end
of her.
, , , ,
The ducklings
which crept forth
from her eggs were also called Portuguese ducks,
and about
that
there may be some question.
But
of all the family only one remained
in the duck yard,
which may be called a farmyard,
since the chickens were admitted
to it
and the cock strutted about
in a very hostile manner.
, , , ,
“He annoys me
with his loud crowing,”
said the Portuguese duck,
“but still,
he’s a handsome bird,
there’s no denying that,
even
if he is not a duck.
He ought
to moderate his voice,
like those little birds
who 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 they sing there;
it is quite a pleasure
to listen
to them!
I call it Portuguese singing.
If I only had such a little singing bird,
I’d be
as kind
and good
to him
as a mother,
for it’s
in my Portuguese nature.”
, , , ,
While she was speaking,
one
of the little singing birds came tumbling head
over heels
from the roof
into the yard.
The cat was after him,
but he had escaped
from her
with a broken wing
and so came fluttering
into the yard.
“That’s just
like the cat;
she’s a villain,”
said the Portuguese duck.
“I remember her ways
when I had children
of my own.
How
can such a creature be allowed
to live
and wander
about upon the roofs?
I
don’t think they allow such things
in Portugal.”
, , , ,
She pitied the little singing bird,
and so did all the other ducks,
who were not Portuguese.
, , , ,
“Poor little creature!”
they said,
one after another,
as they came up.
“We can’t sing,
certainly;
but we have a sounding board,
or something
of the kind,
within us,
though we
don’t talk
about it.”
, , , ,
“But I
can talk,”
said the Portuguese duck.
“I’ll do something
for the little fellow;
it’s my duty.”
So she stepped
into the watering trough
and beat her wings upon the water so strongly
that the little bird was nearly drowned.
But the duck meant it kindly.
“That is a good deed,”
she said;
“I hope the others
will take example
from it.”
, , , ,
“Tweet,
tweet!”
said the little bird.
One
of his wings was broken
and he found it difficult
to shake himself,
but he quite understood
that the bath was meant kindly,
so he said,
“You are very kind-hearted,
madam.”
But he did not wish
for a second bath.
, , , ,
“I have never thought
about my heart,”
replied the Portuguese duck;
“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 my ducklings.
But pray make yourself
at home;
it is easy
to make oneself comfortable.
I myself am
from a foreign country,
as you may see
by my bearing
and my feathery dress.
My husband is a native
of these parts;
he’s not
of my race,
but I am not proud
on
that account.
If any one here
can understand you,
I may say positively
that I am
that person.”
, , , ,
“She’s quite full
of _portulak_,”
said a little common duck,
who was witty.
All the common ducks considered the word “portulak” a good joke,
for it sounded
like “Portugal.”
They nudged each other
and said,
“Quack!
that was witty!”
Then the other ducks began
to notice the newcomer.
“The Portuguese has certainly a great flow
of language,”
they said
to the little bird.
“For our part,
we
don’t care
to fill our beaks
with such long words,
but we sympathize
with you quite
as much.
If we
don’t do anything else,
we
can walk about
with you everywhere;
that is the best we
can do.”
, , , ,
“You have a lovely voice,”
said one
of the eldest ducks;
“it must be a great satisfaction
to you
to be able
to give
as much pleasure
as you do.
I am certainly no judge
of your singing,
so I keep my beak shut,
which is better
than talking nonsense
as others do.”
, , , ,
“Don’t plague him so,”
interrupted the Portuguese duck;
“he requires rest
and nursing.
My little singing bird,
do you wish me
to prepare another bath
for you?”
, , , ,
“Oh,
no!
no!
pray let me be 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 fowls
from the neighborhood
will soon be here
to pay you a visit.
There are two Cochin-Chinese
among 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 the others.”
, , , ,
Then the fowls arrived,
and the cock was polite enough
to keep
from being rude.
“You are a real songster,”
he said,
“and you do
as much
with your little voice
as it is possible
to do;
but more noise
and shrillness is necessary
if one wishes others
to know
who he is.”
, , , ,
The two Chinese were quite enchanted
with the appearance
of the singing bird.
His feathers had been much ruffled
by his bath,
so
that he seemed
to them quite
like a tiny Chinese fowl.
“He’s charming,”
they said
to each other,
and began a conversation
with him
in whispers,
using the most aristocratic Chinese dialect.
, , , ,
“We are
of the same race
as yourself,”
they said.
“The ducks,
even the Portuguese,
are all aquatic birds,
as you must have noticed.
You do not know us yet
--very few,
even
of the fowls,
know us
or give themselves the trouble
to make our acquaintance,
though we were born
to occupy a higher position
in society
than most
of them.
But
that does not disturb us;
we quietly go our way
among them.
Their ideas are certainly not ours,
for we look
at the bright side
of things
and only speak
of
what is good,
although
that is sometimes difficult
to find
where none exists.
Except ourselves
and the cock,
there is not one
in the yard
who
can be called talented
or polite.
It cannot be said even
of the ducks,
and we warn you,
little bird,
not
to trust
that one yonder,
with the short tail feathers,
for she is cunning.
Then the curiously marked one,
with the crooked stripes
on her wings,
is a mischief-maker
and never lets any one have the last word,
though she is always
in the wrong.
The fat duck yonder speaks evil
of every one,
and
that is
against our principles;
if we have nothing good
to tell,
we close our beaks.
The Portuguese is the only 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 it annoys me.
We never speak
to them.”
, , , ,
Now the drake came up,
and he thought the little singing bird was a sparrow.
“Well,
I
don’t understand the difference,”
he said;
“it appears
to me all the same.
He’s only a plaything,
and
if people
will have playthings,
why let them,
I say.”
, , , ,
“Don’t take any notice
of
what he says,”
whispered the Portuguese;
“he is very well
in matters
of business,
and
with him business is first.
Now I shall lie down
and have a little rest.
It is a duty we owe
to ourselves,
so
that we shall be nice
and fat
when we come
to be embalmed
with sage
and onions
and apples.”
, , , ,
So she laid herself down
in the sun
and winked
with one eye.
She had a very comfortable place
and felt so
at ease
that she fell asleep.
The little singing bird busied himself
for some time
with his broken wing,
and
at last he too lay down,
quite close
to his protectress.
The sun shone warm
and bright,
and he found it a very good place.
But the fowls
of the neighborhood were all awake,
and,
to tell the truth,
they had paid a visit
to the duck yard solely
to find food
for themselves.
The Chinese were the first
to leave,
and the other fowls soon followed them.
, , , ,
The witty little duck said
of the Portuguese
that “the old lady” was getting
to be quite a “doting ducky.”
All the other ducks laughed
at this.
“‘Doting ducky,’” they whispered;
“oh,
that’s too witty!”
Then they repeated the joke
about “portulak”
and declared it was most amusing.
After
that they all lay down
to have a nap.
, , , ,
They had been lying asleep
for quite a while,
when suddenly something was thrown
into the yard
for them
to eat.
It came down
with such a bang
that the whole company started up
and clapped their wings.
The Portuguese awoke,
too,
and rushed over
to the other side
of the yard.
In doing this 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 must not 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 out
of my beak
before I knew it.”
, , , ,
The Portuguese did not listen
to him,
but began eating
as fast
as she could,
and made a good meal.
When she had finished she lay down again,
and the little bird,
who wished
to be amiable,
began
to sing:
“Chirp
and twitter,
The dewdrops 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.
“You must conform
to the rules
of the place
while you are here.
I want
to sleep now.”
, , , ,
The little bird was quite taken aback,
for he meant it kindly.
When madam awoke afterwards,
there he stood
before her
with a little corn he had found,
and laid it
at her feet;
but
as she had not slept well,
she was naturally
in a bad temper.
“Give that
to a chicken,”
she said,
“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 expressing yourself is not very polite.
I must call your attention
to
that fact.”
, , , ,
“There was sunshine here yesterday,”
said the little bird,
“but to-day it is cloudy
and the air is heavy.”
, , , ,
“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 I fell
into the yard yesterday.”
, , , ,
“Impertinent creature!”
exclaimed the Portuguese duck.
“Would you compare me
with the cat
--that beast
of prey?
There’s not a drop
of malicious blood
in me.
I’ve taken your part,
and now I’ll teach you better manners.”
So saying,
she made a bite
at the little singing-bird’s head,
and he fell
to the ground dead.
“Now whatever is the meaning
of this?”
she said.
“Could he not bear
even such a little peck
as I gave him?
Then,
certainly,
he was not made
for this world.
I’ve been
like a mother
to him,
I know that,
for I’ve a good heart.”
, , , ,
Then the cock
from the neighboring yard stuck his head
in
and crowed
with steam-engine power.
, , , ,
“You’ll kill me
with your crowing,”
she cried.
“It’s all your fault.
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 had manners
and education,
and he
could sing.
He was affectionate
and gentle,
and those are
as rare qualities
in animals as
in those
who call themselves human beings.”
, , , ,
Then all the ducks came crowding round the little dead bird.
Ducks have strong passions,
whether they feel envy
or pity.
There was nothing
to envy here,
so they all showed a great deal
of pity.
So also did the two Chinese.
“We shall never again have such a singing bird
among us;
he was
almost a Chinese,”
they whispered,
and
then they wept
with such a noisy,
clucking sound
that all the other fowls clucked too.
But the ducks went about
with redder eyes afterwards.
“We have hearts
of our own,”
they said;
“nobody
can deny that.”
, , , ,
“Hearts!”
repeated the Portuguese.
“Indeed you have
--almost
as tender
as the ducks
in Portugal.”
, , , ,
“Let us think
of getting something
to satisfy our hunger,”
said the drake;
“that’s the most important business.
If one
of our toys is broken,
why,
we have plenty more.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE SNOW MAN
“IT IS so delightfully cold
that it makes my whole body crackle,”
said the Snow Man.
“This is just the kind
of wind
to blow life
into one.
How
that great red thing up
there is staring
at me!”
He meant the sun,
which was just setting.
“It shall not make me wink.
I shall manage
to keep the pieces.”
, , , ,
He had two triangular pieces
of tile
in his head instead
of eyes,
and his mouth,
being made
of an old broken rake,
was therefore furnished
with teeth.
He had been brought
into existence amid the joyous shouts
of boys,
the jingling
of sleigh bells,
and the slashing
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 itself once more.
“Ah,
I have cured it
of staring.
Now it may hang up there
and shine,
so
that I may see myself.
If I only knew how
to manage
to move away
from this place
--I
should so like
to move!
If I could,
I
would slide
along yonder
on the ice,
as I have seen the boys do;
but I
don’t understand how.
I don’t
even know how
to run.”
, , , ,
“Away,
away!”
barked the old yard dog.
He was quite hoarse
and
could not pronounce “Bow-wow” properly.
He had once been an indoor dog
and lain
by the fire,
and he had been hoarse ever since.
“The sun
will make you run some day.
I saw it,
last winter,
make your predecessor run,
and his predecessor
before him.
Away,
away!
They all have
to go.”
, , , ,
“I
don’t understand you,
comrade,”
said the Snow Man.
“Is
that thing up yonder
to teach me
to run?
I saw it running itself,
a little
while ago,
and now it has come creeping up
from the other side.”
, , , ,
“You know nothing
at all,”
replied the yard dog.
“But then,
you’ve only lately been patched up.
What you see yonder is the moon,
and
what you saw
before was the sun.
It
will come again to-morrow
and most likely teach you
to run down
into the ditch
by the well,
for I think the weather is going
to change.
I
can feel such pricks
and stabs
in my left leg
that I am sure
there is going
to be a change.”
, , , ,
“I
don’t understand him,”
said the Snow Man
to himself,
“but I have a feeling
that he is talking
of something very disagreeable.
The thing
that stared so hard just now,
which he calls the sun,
is not my friend;
I
can feel
that too.”
, , , ,
“Away,
away!”
barked the yard dog,
and
then he turned round three times
and crept
into his kennel
to sleep.
, , , ,
There really was a change
in the weather.
Toward morning a thick fog covered the whole country
and a keen wind arose,
so
that the cold seemed
to freeze one’s bones.
But
when the sun rose,
a splendid sight was
to be seen.
Trees
and bushes were covered
with hoarfrost
and looked
like a forest
of white coral,
while
on every twig glittered frozen dewdrops.
The many delicate forms,
concealed
in summer
by luxuriant foliage,
were now clearly defined
and looked
like glittering lacework.
A white radiance glistened
from every twig.
The birches,
waving
in the wind,
looked
as full
of life as
in summer and
as wondrously beautiful.
Where the sun shone,
everything glittered
and sparkled
as
if diamond dust had been strewn about;
and the snowy carpet
of the earth seemed covered
with diamonds
from
which gleamed countless lights,
whiter even
than the snow itself.
, , , ,
“This is really beautiful,”
said a girl
who had come
into the garden
with a young friend;
and they both stood still near the Snow Man,
contemplating the glittering scene.
“Summer cannot show a more beautiful 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,
then tripped away
over the snow
with her friend.
The snow creaked
and crackled
beneath her feet,
as
if she had been treading
on starch.
, , , ,
“Who are those two?”
asked the Snow Man
of the yard dog.
“You have been here longer
than I;
do you know them?”
, , , ,
“Of course I know them,”
replied the yard dog;
“the girl has stroked my back many times,
and the young man has often given me a bone
of meat.
I never bite those two.”
, , , ,
“But
what are they?”
asked the Snow Man.
, , , ,
“They are lovers,”
he replied.
“They
will go
and live
in the same 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 Snow Man.
, , , ,
“Well,
they belong
to the master,”
retorted the yard dog.
“Certainly people know very little
who were only born yesterday.
I
can see that
in you.
I have age
and experience.
I know every one here
in the house,
and I know
there was once a time
when I did not lie out here
in the cold,
fastened
to a chain.
Away,
away!”
“The cold is delightful,”
said the Snow Man.
“But do tell me,
tell me;
only you must not clank your chain so,
for it jars within me
when you do that.”
, , , ,
“Away,
away!”
barked the yard dog.
“I’ll tell you:
they said I was a pretty little fellow,
once;
then I used
to lie
in a velvet-covered chair,
up
at the master’s house,
and sit
in the mistress’s lap;
they used
to kiss my nose,
and wipe my paws
with an embroidered handkerchief,
and I was called ‘Ami,
dear Ami,
sweet Ami.’
But after a
while I grew too big
for them,
and they sent me away
to the housekeeper’s room;
so I came
to live
on the lower story.
You
can look
into the room
from
where you stand,
and see
where I was once master
--for I was,
indeed,
master
to the housekeeper.
It was a much smaller room
than those upstairs,
but I was more comfortable,
for I was not continually being taken hold
of
and pulled about
by the children,
as I had been.
I received quite
as good food
and
even better.
I had my own cushion,
and
there was a stove
--it is the finest thing
in the world
at this season
of the year.
I used
to go
under the stove
and lie down.
Ah,
I still dream
of
that stove.
Away,
away!”
“Does a stove look beautiful?”
asked the Snow Man.
“Is it
at all
like me?”
, , , ,
“It is just the opposite
of you,”
said the dog.
“It’s
as black
as a crow
and has a long neck
and a brass knob;
it eats firewood,
and
that makes fire spurt out
of its mouth.
One has
to keep
on one side
or
under it,
to be comfortable.
You
can see it
through the window
from
where you stand.”
, , , ,
Then the Snow Man looked,
and saw a bright polished thing
with a brass knob,
and fire gleaming
from the lower part
of it.
The sight
of this gave the Snow Man a strange sensation;
it was very odd,
he knew not
what it meant,
and he
could not account
for it.
But
there are people
who are not men
of snow
who understand
what the feeling is.
“And
why did you leave her?”
asked the Snow Man,
for it seemed
to him
that the stove must be
of the female sex.
“How
could you give up such a comfortable place?”
, , , ,
“I was obliged to,”
replied the yard dog.
“They turned me out
of doors
and chained me up here.
I had bitten the youngest
of my master’s sons
in the leg,
because he kicked away the bone I was gnawing.
‘Bone
for bone,’
I thought.
But they were very angry,
and since
that time I have been fastened
to a chain
and have lost my voice.
Don’t you hear
how hoarse I am?
Away,
away!
I can’t talk
like other dogs any more.
Away,
away!
That was the end
of it all.”
, , , ,
But the Snow Man was no longer listening.
He was looking
into the housekeeper’s room
on the lower story,
where the stove,
which was
about the same size
as the Snow Man himself,
stood
on its four iron legs.
“What a strange crackling I feel within me,”
he said.
“Shall I ever get
in there?
It is an innocent wish,
and innocent wishes are sure
to be fulfilled.
I must go
in there
and lean
against her,
even
if I have
to break the window.”
, , , ,
“You must never go
in there,”
said the yard dog,
“for
if you approach the stove,
you
will melt away,
away.”
, , , ,
“I might
as well go,”
said the Snow Man,
“for I think I am breaking up
as it is.”
, , , ,
During the whole day the Snow Man stood looking
in
through the window,
and
in the twilight hour the room became still more inviting,
for
from the stove came a gentle glow,
not
like the sun
or the moon;
it was only the kind
of radiance that
can come
from a stove
when it has been well fed.
When the door
of the stove was opened,
the flames darted out
of its mouth,
--as is customary
with all stoves,
--and the light
of the flames fell
with a ruddy gleam directly
on the face
and breast
of the Snow Man.
“I
can endure it no longer,”
said he.
“How beautiful it looks
when it stretches out its tongue!”
The night was long,
but it did not appear so
to the Snow Man,
who stood
there enjoying his own reflections
and crackling
with the cold.
In the morning the window-panes
of the housekeeper’s room were covered
with ice.
They were the most beautiful ice flowers any Snow Man
could desire,
but they concealed the stove.
These window-panes
would not thaw,
and he
could see nothing
of the stove,
which he pictured
to himself
as
if it had been a beautiful human being.
The snow crackled
and the wind whistled
around him;
it was just the kind
of frosty weather a Snow Man ought
to enjoy thoroughly.
But he did not enjoy it.
How,
indeed,
could he enjoy anything
when he was so stove-sick?
, , , ,
“That is a terrible disease
for a Snow Man
to have,”
said the yard dog.
“I have suffered
from it myself,
but I got
over it.
Away,
away!”
he barked,
and
then added,
“The weather is going
to change.”
, , , ,
The weather did change.
It began
to thaw,
and
as the warmth increased,
the Snow Man decreased.
He said nothing
and made no complaint,
which is a sure sign.
, , , ,
One morning he broke
and sank down altogether;
and behold!
where he had stood,
something
that looked
like a broomstick remained sticking up
in the ground.
It was the pole round
which the boys had built him.
, , , ,
“Ah,
now I understand
why he had such a great longing
for the stove,”
said the yard dog.
“Why,
there’s the shovel
that is used
for cleaning out the stove,
fastened
to the pole.
The Snow Man had a stove scraper
in his body;
that was
what moved him so.
But it is all
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.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE FARMYARD COCK
and THE WEATHERCOCK
THERE were once two cocks;
one
of them stood
on a dunghill,
the other
on the roof.
Both were conceited,
but the question is,
Which
of the two was the more useful?
, , , ,
A wooden partition divided the poultry yard
from another yard,
in
which lay a heap
of manure sheltering a cucumber bed.
In this bed grew a large cucumber,
which was fully aware
that it was a plant
that
should be reared
in a hotbed.
, , , ,
“It is the privilege
of birth,”
said the Cucumber
to itself.
“All cannot be born cucumbers;
there must be other kinds
as well.
The fowls,
the ducks,
and the cattle
in the next yard are all different creatures,
and
there is the yard cock
--I
can look up
to him
when he is
on the wooden partition.
He is certainly
of much greater importance
than the weathercock,
who is so highly placed,
and
who can’t
even creak,
much less crow
--besides,
he has neither hens nor chickens,
and thinks only
of himself,
and perspires verdigris.
But the yard cock is something
like a cock.
His gait is
like a dance,
and his crowing is music,
and wherever he goes it is instantly known.
What a trumpeter he is!
If he
would only come
in here!
Even
if he were
to eat me up,
stalk
and all,
it
would be a pleasant death.”
So said the Cucumber.
, , , ,
During the night the weather became very bad;
hens,
chickens,
and
even the cock himself sought shelter.
The wind blew down
with a crash the partition
between the two yards,
and the tiles came tumbling
from the roof,
but the weathercock stood firm.
He did not
even turn round;
in fact,
he
could not,
although he was fresh
and newly cast.
He had been born full grown
and did not
at all resemble the birds,
such
as the sparrows
and swallows,
that fly
beneath the vault
of heaven.
He despised them
and looked upon them
as little twittering birds
that were made only
to sing.
The pigeons,
he admitted,
were large
and shone
in the sun
like mother-of-pearl.
They somewhat resembled weathercocks,
but were fat
and stupid
and thought only
of stuffing themselves
with food.
“Besides,”
said the weathercock,
“they are very tiresome things
to converse with.”
, , , ,
The birds
of passage often paid a visit
to the weathercock
and told him tales
of foreign lands,
of large flocks passing
through the air,
and
of encounters
with robbers
and birds
of prey.
These were very interesting
when heard
for the first time,
but the weathercock knew the birds always repeated themselves,
and
that made it tedious
to listen.
, , , ,
“They are tedious,
and so is every one else,”
said he;
“there is no one fit
to associate with.
One
and all
of them are wearisome
and stupid.
The whole world is worth nothing
--it is made up
of stupidity.”
, , , ,
The weathercock was
what is called “lofty,”
and
that quality alone
would have made him interesting
in the eyes
of the Cucumber,
had she known it.
But she had eyes only
for the yard cock,
who had actually made his appearance
in her yard;
for the violence
of the storm had passed,
but the wind had blown down the wooden palings.
, , , ,
“What do you think
of that
for crowing?”
asked the yard cock
of his hens
and chickens.
It was rather rough,
and wanted elegance,
but they did not say so,
as they stepped upon the dunghill
while the cock strutted about
as
if he had been a knight.
“Garden plant,”
he cried
to the Cucumber.
She heard the words
with deep feeling,
for they showed
that he understood
who she was,
and she forgot
that he was pecking
at her
and eating her up
--a happy death!
Then the hens came running up,
and the chickens followed,
for
where one runs the rest run also.
They clucked
and chirped
and looked
at the cock
and were proud
that they belonged
to him.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
crowed he;
“the chickens
in the poultry yard
will grow
to be large fowls
if I make my voice heard
in the world.”
, , , ,
And the hens
and chickens clucked
and chirped,
and the cock told them a great piece
of news.
“A cock
can lay an egg,”
he said.
“And
what do you think is
in
that egg?
In
that egg lies a basilisk.
No one
can endure the sight
of a basilisk.
Men know my power,
and now you know
what I am capable of,
also,
and
what a renowned bird I am.”
And
with this the yard cock flapped his wings,
erected his comb,
and crowed again,
till all the hens
and chickens trembled;
but they were proud
that one
of their race
should be
of such renown
in the world.
They clucked
and they chirped so
that the weathercock heard it;
he had heard it all,
but had not stirred.
, , , ,
“It’s all stupid stuff,”
said a voice within the weathercock.
“The yard cock does not lay eggs any more
than I do,
and I am too lazy.
I
could lay a wind egg
if I liked,
but the world is not worth a wind egg.
And now I
don’t intend
to sit here any longer.”
, , , ,
With that,
the weathercock broke off
and fell
into the yard.
He did not kill the yard cock,
although the hens said he intended
to do so.
, , , ,
And
what does the moral say?
“Better
to crow than
to be vainglorious
and break down
at last.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE RED SHOES
THERE was once a pretty,
delicate little girl,
who was so poor
that she had
to go barefoot
in summer
and wear coarse wooden shoes
in winter,
which made her little instep quite red.
, , , ,
In the center
of the village
there lived an old shoemaker’s wife.
One day this good woman made,
as well
as she could,
a little pair
of shoes out
of some strips
of old red cloth.
The shoes were clumsy enough,
to be sure,
but they fitted the little girl tolerably well,
and anyway the woman’s intention was kind.
The little girl’s name was Karen.
, , , ,
On the very day
that Karen received the shoes,
her mother was
to be buried.
They were not
at all suitable
for mourning,
but she had no others,
so she put them
on her little bare feet
and followed the poor plain coffin
to its last resting place.
, , , ,
Just
at
that time a large,
old-fashioned carriage happened
to pass by,
and the old lady
who sat
in it saw the little girl
and pitied her.
, , , ,
“Give me the little girl,”
she said
to the clergyman,
“and I
will take care
of her.”
, , , ,
Karen supposed
that all this happened because
of the red shoes,
but the old lady thought them frightful
and ordered them
to be burned.
Karen was
then dressed
in neat,
well-fitting clothes
and taught
to read
and sew.
People told her she was pretty,
but the mirror said,
“You are much more
than pretty
--you are beautiful.”
, , , ,
It happened not long afterwards
that the queen
and her little daughter,
the princess,
traveled
through the land.
All the people,
Karen
among the rest,
flocked
toward the palace
and crowded
around it,
while the little princess,
dressed
in white,
stood
at the window
for every one
to see.
She wore neither a train nor a golden crown,
but
on her feet were beautiful red morocco shoes,
which,
it must be admitted,
were prettier
than those the shoemaker’s wife had given
to little Karen.
Surely nothing
in the world
could be compared
to those red shoes.
, , , ,
Now
that Karen was old enough
to be confirmed,
she
of course had
to have a new frock
and new shoes.
The rich shoemaker
in the town took the measure
of her little feet
in his own house,
in a room
where stood great glass cases filled
with all sorts
of fine shoes
and elegant,
shining boots.
It was a pretty sight,
but the old lady
could not see well
and naturally did not take so much pleasure
in it
as Karen.
Among the shoes were a pair
of red ones,
just
like those worn
by the little princess.
Oh,
how gay they were!
The shoemaker said they had been made
for the child
of a count,
but had not fitted well.
, , , ,
“Are they
of polished leather,
that they shine so?”
asked the old lady.
, , , ,
“Yes,
indeed,
they do shine,”
replied Karen.
And
since they fitted her,
they were bought.
But the old lady had no idea
that they were red,
or she
would never
in the world have allowed Karen
to go
to confirmation
in them,
as she now did.
Every one,
of course,
looked
at Karen’s shoes;
and
when she walked up the nave
to the chancel it seemed
to her
that
even the antique figures
on the monuments,
the portraits
of clergymen
and their wives,
with their stiff ruffs
and long black robes,
were fixing their eyes
on her red shoes.
Even
when the bishop laid his hand upon her head
and spoke
of her covenant
with God and
how she must now begin
to be a full-grown Christian,
and
when the organ pealed forth solemnly
and the children’s fresh,
sweet voices joined
with those
of the choir
--still Karen thought
of nothing
but her shoes.
, , , ,
In the afternoon,
when the old lady heard every one speak
of the red shoes,
she said it was very shocking
and improper
and that,
in the future,
when Karen went
to church it must always be
in black shoes,
even
if they were old.
, , , ,
The next Sunday was Karen’s first Communion day.
She looked
at her black shoes,
and then
at her red ones,
then again
at the black and
at the red
--and the red ones were put on.
, , , ,
The sun shone very brightly,
and Karen
and the old lady walked
to church
through the cornfields,
for the road was very dusty.
, , , ,
At the door
of the church stood an old soldier,
who leaned upon a crutch
and had a marvelously long beard
that was not white
but red.
He bowed almost
to the ground
and asked the old lady
if he might dust her shoes.
Karen,
in her turn,
put out her little foot.
, , , ,
“Oh,
look,
what smart little dancing pumps!”
said the old soldier.
“Mind you do not let them slip off
when you dance,”
and he passed his hands
over them.
The old lady gave the soldier a half-penny
and went
with Karen
into the church.
, , , ,
As before,
every one saw Karen’s red shoes,
and all the carved figures too bent their gaze upon them.
When Karen knelt
at the chancel she thought only
of the shoes;
they floated
before her eyes,
and she forgot
to say her prayer
or sing her psalm.
, , , ,
At last all the people left the church,
and the old lady got
into her carriage.
As Karen lifted her foot
to step in,
the old soldier said,
“See
what pretty dancing shoes!”
And Karen,
in spite
of herself,
made a few dancing steps.
When she had once begun,
her feet went
on
of themselves;
it was
as though the shoes had received power
over her.
She danced round the church corner,
--she
could not help it,
--and the coachman had
to run behind
and catch her
to put her
into the carriage.
Still her feet went
on dancing,
so,
that she trod upon the good lady’s toes.
It was not
until the shoes were taken
from her feet
that she had rest.
, , , ,
The shoes were put away
in a closet,
but Karen
could not resist going
to look
at them every now
and then.
, , , ,
Soon after this the old lady lay ill
in bed,
and it was said
that she
could not recover.
She had
to be nursed
and waited on,
and this,
of course,
was no one’s duty so much
as it was Karen’s,
as Karen herself well knew.
But
there happened
to be a great ball
in the town,
and Karen was invited.
She looked
at the old lady,
who was very ill,
and she looked
at the red shoes.
She put them on,
for she thought
there
could not be any sin
in that,
and
of course
there was not
--but she went next
to the ball
and began
to dance.
, , , ,
Strange
to say,
when she wanted
to move
to the right the shoes bore her
to the left;
and
when she wished
to dance up the room the shoes persisted
in going down the room.
Down the stairs they carried her
at last,
into the street,
and out
through the town gate.
On and
on she danced,
for dance she must,
straight out
into the gloomy wood.
Up
among the trees something glistened.
She thought it was the round,
red moon,
for she saw a face;
but no,
it was the old soldier
with the red beard,
who sat
and nodded,
saying,
“See
what pretty dancing shoes!”
She was dreadfully frightened
and tried
to throw away the red shoes,
but they clung fast
and she
could not unclasp them.
They seemed
to have grown fast
to her feet.
So dance she must,
and dance she did,
over field
and meadow,
in rain and
in sunshine,
by night and
by day
--and
by night it was
by far more dreadful.
, , , ,
She danced out
into the open churchyard,
but the dead
there did not dance;
they were
at rest
and had much better things
to do.
She
would have liked
to sit down
on the poor man’s grave,
where the bitter tansy grew,
but
for her
there was no rest.
, , , ,
[Illustration:
She danced past the open church door ....]
She danced past the open church door,
and
there she saw an angel
in long white robes
and
with wings
that reached
from his shoulders
to the earth.
His look was stern
and grave,
and
in his hand he held a broad,
glittering sword.
, , , ,
“Thou shalt dance,”
he said,
“in thy red shoes,
till thou art pale
and cold,
and
till thy body is wasted
like a skeleton.
Thou shalt dance
from door
to door,
and wherever proud,
haughty children dwell thou shalt knock,
that,
hearing thee,
they may take warning.
Dance thou shalt
--dance on!”
“Mercy!”
cried Karen;
but she did not hear the answer
of the angel,
for the shoes carried her past the door and
on
into the fields.
, , , ,
One morning she danced past a well-known door.
Within was the sound
of a psalm,
and presently a coffin strewn
with flowers was borne out.
She knew
that her friend,
the old lady,
was dead,
and
in her heart she felt
that she was abandoned
by all
on earth
and condemned
by God’s angel
in heaven.
, , , ,
Still
on she danced
--for she
could not stop
--through thorns
and briers,
while her feet bled.
Finally,
she danced
to a lonely little house
where she knew
that the executioner dwelt,
and she tapped
at the window,
saying,
“Come out,
come out!
I cannot come in,
for I must dance.”
, , , ,
The man said,
“Do you know
who I am
and
what I do?”
, , , ,
“Yes,”
said Karen;
“but do not strike off my head,
for
then I
could not live
to repent
of my sin.
Strike off my feet,
that I may be rid
of my red shoes.”
, , , ,
Then she confessed her sin,
and the executioner struck off the red shoes,
which danced away
over the fields
and
into the deep wood.
To Karen it seemed
that the feet had gone
with the shoes,
for she had
almost lost the power
of walking.
, , , ,
“Now I have suffered enough
for the red shoes,”
she said;
“I
will go
to the church,
that people may see me.”
But no sooner had she hobbled
to the church door
than the shoes danced
before her
and frightened her back.
, , , ,
All
that week she endured the keenest sorrow
and shed many bitter tears.
When Sunday came,
she said:
“I am sure I must have suffered
and striven enough
by this time.
I am quite
as good,
I dare say,
as many
who are holding their heads high
in the church.”
So she took courage
and went again.
But
before she reached the churchyard gate the red shoes were dancing there,
and she turned back again
in terror,
more deeply sorrowful
than ever
for her sin.
, , , ,
She
then went
to the pastor’s house
and begged
as a favor
to be taken
into the family’s service,
promising
to be diligent
and faithful.
She did not want wages,
she said,
only a home
with good people.
The clergyman’s wife pitied her
and granted her request,
and she proved industrious
and very thoughtful.
, , , ,
Earnestly she listened when
at evening the preacher read aloud the Holy Scriptures.
All the children came
to love her,
but
when they spoke
of beauty
and finery,
she
would shake her head
and turn away.
, , , ,
On Sunday,
when they all went
to church,
they asked her
if she
would not go,
too,
but she looked sad
and bade them go without her.
Then she went
to her own little room,
and
as she sat
with the psalm book
in her hand,
reading its pages
with a gentle,
pious mind,
the wind brought
to her the notes
of the organ.
She raised her tearful eyes
and said,
“O God,
do thou help me!”
Then the sun shone brightly,
and
before her stood the white angel
that she had seen
at the church door.
He no longer bore the glittering sword,
but
in his hand was a beautiful branch
of roses.
He touched the ceiling
with it,
and the ceiling rose,
and
at each place
where the branch touched it
there shone a star.
He touched the walls,
and they widened so
that Karen
could see the organ
that was being played
at the church.
She saw,
too,
the old pictures
and statues
on the walls,
and the congregation sitting
in the seats
and singing psalms,
for the church itself had come
to the poor girl
in her narrow room,
or she
in her chamber had come
to it.
She sat
in the seat
with the rest
of the clergyman’s household,
and
when the psalm was ended,
they nodded
and said,
“Thou didst well
to come,
Karen!”
“This is mercy,”
said she.
“It is the grace
of God.”
, , , ,
The organ pealed,
and the chorus
of children’s voices mingled sweetly
with it.
The bright sunshine shed its warm light,
through the windows,
over the pew
in
which Karen sat.
Her heart was so filled
with sunshine,
peace,
and joy
that it broke,
and her soul was borne
by a sunbeam up
to God,
where
there was nobody
to ask
about the red shoes.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE LITTLE MERMAID
FAR out
in the ocean,
where the water is
as blue
as the prettiest cornflower and
as clear
as crystal,
it is very,
very deep;
so deep,
indeed,
that no cable
could sound it,
and many church steeples,
piled one upon another,
would not reach
from the ground beneath
to the surface
of the water above.
There dwell the Sea King
and his subjects.
, , , ,
We must not imagine
that
there is nothing
at the bottom
of the sea
but bare yellow sand.
No,
indeed,
for
on this sand grow the strangest flowers
and plants,
the leaves
and stems
of
which are so pliant
that the slightest agitation
of the water causes them
to stir
as
if they had life.
Fishes,
both large
and small,
glide
between the branches
as birds fly
among the trees here upon land.
, , , ,
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
of the clearest amber.
The roof is formed
of shells
that open
and close
as the water flows
over them.
Their appearance is very beautiful,
for
in each lies a glittering pearl
which
would be fit
for the diadem
of a queen.
, , , ,
The Sea King had been a widower
for many years,
and his aged mother kept house
for him.
She was a very sensible woman,
but exceedingly proud
of her high birth,
and
on
that account wore twelve oysters
on her tail,
while others
of high rank were only allowed
to wear six.
, , , ,
She was,
however,
deserving
of very great praise,
especially
for her care
of the little sea princesses,
her six granddaughters.
They were beautiful children,
but the youngest was the prettiest
of them all.
Her skin was
as clear
and delicate
as a rose leaf,
and her eyes
as blue
as the deepest sea;
but,
like all the 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
among the living flowers
that grew out
of the walls.
The large amber windows were open,
and the fish swam in,
just
as the swallows fly
into our houses
when we open the windows;
only the fishes swam up
to the princesses,
ate out
of their hands,
and allowed themselves
to be stroked.
, , , ,
Outside the castle
there was a beautiful garden,
in
which grew bright-red
and dark-blue flowers,
and blossoms
like flames
of fire;
the fruit glittered
like gold,
and the leaves
and stems waved
to
and fro continually.
The earth itself was the finest sand,
but blue
as the flame
of burning sulphur.
Over everything lay a peculiar blue radiance,
as
if the blue sky were everywhere,
above
and below,
instead
of the dark depths
of the sea.
In calm weather the sun
could be seen,
looking
like a reddish-purple flower
with light streaming
from the calyx.
, , , ,
Each
of the young princesses had a little plot
of ground
in the garden,
where she might dig
and plant
as she pleased.
One arranged her flower bed
in the form
of a whale;
another preferred
to make hers
like the figure
of a little mermaid;
while the youngest child made hers round,
like the sun,
and
in it grew flowers
as red
as his rays
at sunset.
, , , ,
She was a strange child,
quiet
and thoughtful.
While her sisters showed delight
at the wonderful things
which they obtained
from the wrecks
of vessels,
she cared only
for her pretty flowers,
red
like the sun,
and a beautiful marble statue.
It was the representation
of a handsome boy,
carved out
of pure white stone,
which had fallen
to the bottom
of the sea
from a wreck.
, , , ,
She planted
by the statue a rose-colored weeping willow.
It grew rapidly
and soon hung its fresh branches
over the statue,
almost down
to the blue sands.
The shadows had the color
of violet
and waved
to
and fro
like the branches,
so
that it seemed
as
if the crown
of the tree
and the root were
at play,
trying
to kiss each other.
, , , ,
Nothing gave her so much pleasure as
to hear
about the world
above the sea.
She made her old grandmother tell her all she knew
of the ships and
of the towns,
the people
and the animals.
To her it seemed most wonderful
and beautiful
to hear
that the flowers
of the land had fragrance,
while those below the sea had none;
that the trees
of the forest were green;
and
that the fishes
among the trees
could sing so sweetly
that it was a pleasure
to listen
to them.
Her grandmother called the birds fishes,
or the little mermaid
would not have understood
what was meant,
for she had never seen birds.
, , , ,
“When you have reached your fifteenth year,”
said the grandmother,
“you
will have permission
to rise up out
of the sea
and sit
on the rocks
in the moonlight,
while the great ships go sailing by.
Then you
will see both forests
and towns.”
, , , ,
In the following year,
one
of the sisters
would be fifteen,
but
as each was a year younger
than the other,
the youngest
would have
to wait five years
before her turn came
to rise up
from the bottom
of the ocean
to see the earth
as we do.
However,
each promised
to tell the others
what she saw
on her first visit
and
what she thought was most beautiful.
Their grandmother
could not tell them enough
--there were so many things about
which they wanted
to know.
, , , ,
None
of them longed so much
for her turn
to come
as the youngest
--she
who had the longest time
to wait
and
who was so quiet
and thoughtful.
Many nights she stood
by the open window,
looking up
through the dark blue water
and watching the fish
as they splashed about
with their fins
and tails.
She
could see the moon
and stars shining faintly,
but
through the water they looked larger
than they do
to our eyes.
When something
like a black cloud passed
between her
and them,
she knew
that it was either a whale swimming
over her head,
or a ship full
of human beings
who never imagined
that a pretty little mermaid was standing
beneath them,
holding out her white hands
towards the keel
of their ship.
, , , ,
At length the eldest was fifteen
and was allowed
to rise
to the surface
of the ocean.
, , , ,
When she returned she had hundreds
of things
to talk about.
But the finest thing,
she said,
was
to lie
on a sand bank
in the quiet moonlit sea,
near the shore,
gazing
at the lights
of the near-by town,
that twinkled
like hundreds
of stars,
and listening
to the sounds
of music,
the noise
of carriages,
the voices
of human beings,
and the merry pealing
of the bells
in the church steeples.
Because she
could not go near all these wonderful things,
she longed
for them all the more.
, , , ,
Oh,
how eagerly did the youngest sister listen
to all these descriptions!
And afterwards,
when she stood
at the open window looking up
through the dark-blue water,
she thought
of the great city,
with all its bustle
and noise,
and
even fancied she
could hear the sound
of the church bells down
in the depths
of the sea.
, , , ,
In another year the second sister received permission
to rise
to the surface
of the water and
to swim
about
where she pleased.
She rose just
as the sun was setting,
and this,
she said,
was the most beautiful sight
of all.
The whole sky looked
like gold,
and violet
and rose-colored clouds,
which she
could not describe,
drifted
across it.
And more swiftly
than the clouds,
flew a large flock
of wild swans
toward the setting sun,
like a long white veil
across the sea.
She also swam
towards the sun,
but it sank
into the waves,
and the rosy tints faded
from the clouds
and
from the sea.
, , , ,
The third sister’s turn followed,
and she was the boldest
of them all,
for she swam up a broad river
that emptied
into the sea.
On the banks she saw green hills covered
with beautiful vines,
and palaces
and castles peeping out
from amid the proud trees
of the forest.
She heard birds singing
and felt the rays
of the sun so strongly
that she was obliged often
to dive
under the water
to cool her burning face.
In a narrow creek she found a large group
of little human children,
almost naked,
sporting about
in the water.
She wanted
to play
with them,
but they fled
in a great fright;
and
then a little black animal
--it was a dog,
but she did not know it,
for she had never seen one before
--came
to the water
and barked
at her so furiously
that she became frightened
and rushed back
to the open sea.
But she said she
should never forget the beautiful forest,
the green hills,
and the pretty children
who
could swim
in the water
although they had no tails.
, , , ,
The fourth sister was more timid.
She remained
in the midst
of the sea,
but said it was quite
as beautiful there
as nearer the land.
She
could see many miles
around her,
and the sky
above looked
like a bell
of glass.
She had seen the ships,
but
at such a great distance
that they looked
like sea gulls.
The dolphins sported
in the waves,
and the great whales spouted water
from their nostrils
till it seemed
as
if a hundred fountains were playing
in every direction.
, , , ,
The fifth sister’s birthday occurred
in the winter,
so
when her turn came she saw
what the others had not seen the first time they went up.
The sea looked quite green,
and large icebergs were floating about,
each
like a pearl,
she said,
but larger
and loftier
than the churches built
by men.
They were
of the most singular shapes
and glittered
like diamonds.
She had seated herself
on one
of the largest
and let the wind play
with her long hair.
She noticed
that all the ships sailed past very rapidly,
steering
as far away
as they could,
as
if they were afraid
of the iceberg.
Towards evening,
as the sun went down,
dark clouds covered the sky,
the thunder rolled,
and the flashes
of lightning glowed red
on the icebergs
as they were tossed about
by the heaving sea.
On all the ships the sails were reefed
with fear
and trembling,
while she sat
on the floating iceberg,
calmly watching the lightning
as it darted its forked flashes
into the sea.
, , , ,
Each
of the sisters,
when first she had permission
to rise
to the surface,
was delighted
with the new
and beautiful sights.
Now
that they were grown-up girls
and
could go
when they pleased,
they had become quite indifferent
about it.
They soon wished themselves back again,
and after a month had passed they said it was much more beautiful down below
and pleasanter
to be
at home.
, , , ,
Yet often,
in the evening hours,
the five sisters
would twine their arms
about each other
and rise
to the surface together.
Their voices were more charming
than that
of any human being,
and
before the approach
of a storm,
when they feared
that a ship might be lost,
they swam
before the vessel,
singing enchanting songs
of the delights
to be found
in the depths
of the sea
and begging the voyagers not
to fear
if they sank
to the bottom.
But the sailors
could not understand the song
and thought it was the sighing
of the storm.
These things were never beautiful
to them,
for
if the ship sank,
the men were drowned
and their dead bodies alone reached the palace
of the Sea King.
, , , ,
When the sisters rose,
arm
in arm,
through the water,
their youngest sister
would stand quite alone,
looking after them,
ready
to cry
--only,
since mermaids have no tears,
she suffered more acutely.
, , , ,
“Oh,
were I
but fifteen years old!”
said she.
“I know
that I shall love the world up there,
and all the people
who live
in it.”
, , , ,
At last she reached her fifteenth year.
, , , ,
“Well,
now you are grown up,”
said the old dowager,
her grandmother.
“Come,
and let me adorn you
like your sisters.”
And she placed
in her hair a wreath
of white lilies,
of
which every flower leaf was half a pearl.
Then the old lady ordered eight great oysters
to attach themselves
to the tail
of the princess
to show her high rank.
, , , ,
“But they hurt me so,”
said the little mermaid.
, , , ,
“Yes,
I know;
pride must suffer pain,”
replied the old lady.
, , , ,
Oh,
how gladly she
would have shaken off all this grandeur
and laid aside the heavy wreath!
The red flowers
in her own garden
would have suited her much better.
But she
could not change herself,
so she said farewell
and rose
as lightly
as a bubble
to the surface
of the water.
, , , ,
The sun had just set
when she raised her head
above the waves.
The clouds were tinted
with crimson
and gold,
and
through the glimmering twilight beamed the evening star
in all its beauty.
The sea was calm,
and the air mild
and fresh.
A large ship
with three masts lay becalmed
on the water;
only one sail was set,
for not a breeze stirred,
and the sailors sat idle
on deck
or amidst the rigging.
There was music
and song
on board,
and
as darkness came on,
a hundred colored lanterns were lighted,
as
if the flags
of all nations waved
in the air.
, , , ,
The little mermaid swam close
to the cabin windows,
and now
and then,
as the waves lifted her up,
she
could look
in
through glass window-panes
and see a number
of gayly dressed people.
, , , ,
Among them,
and the most beautiful
of all,
was a young prince
with large,
black eyes.
He was sixteen years
of age,
and his birthday was being celebrated
with great display.
The sailors were dancing
on deck,
and
when the prince came out
of the cabin,
more
than a hundred rockets rose
in the air,
making it
as bright
as day.
The little mermaid was so startled
that she dived
under water,
and
when she again stretched out her head,
it looked
as
if all the stars
of heaven were falling
around her.
, , , ,
She had never seen such fireworks before.
Great suns spurted fire about,
splendid fireflies flew
into the blue air,
and everything was reflected
in the clear,
calm sea beneath.
The ship itself was so brightly illuminated
that all the people,
and
even the smallest rope,
could be distinctly seen.
How handsome the young prince looked,
as he pressed the hands
of all his guests
and smiled
at them,
while the music resounded
through the clear night air!
It was very late,
yet the little mermaid
could not take her eyes
from the ship
or
from the beautiful prince.
The colored lanterns had been extinguished,
no more rockets rose
in the air,
and the cannon had ceased firing;
but the sea became restless,
and a moaning,
grumbling sound
could be heard
beneath the waves.
Still the little mermaid remained
by the cabin window,
rocking up
and down
on the water,
so
that she
could look within.
After a
while the sails were quickly set,
and the ship went
on her way.
But soon the waves rose higher,
heavy clouds darkened the sky,
and lightning appeared
in the distance.
A dreadful storm was approaching.
Once more the sails were furled,
and the great ship pursued her flying course
over the raging sea.
The waves rose mountain high,
as
if they
would overtop the mast,
but the ship dived
like a swan
between them,
then rose again
on their lofty,
foaming crests.
To the little mermaid this was pleasant sport;
but not so
to the sailors.
At length the ship groaned
and creaked;
the thick planks gave way
under the lashing
of the sea,
as the waves broke
over the deck;
the mainmast snapped asunder
like a reed,
and
as the ship lay over
on her side,
the water rushed in.
, , , ,
The little mermaid now perceived
that the crew were
in danger;
even she was obliged
to be careful,
to avoid the beams
and planks
of the wreck
which lay scattered
on the water.
At one moment it was pitch dark so
that she
could not see a single object,
but
when a flash
of lightning came it revealed the whole scene;
she
could see every one
who had been
on board except the prince.
When the ship parted,
she had seen him sink
into the deep waves,
and she was glad,
for she thought he
would now be
with her.
Then she remembered
that human beings
could not live
in the water,
so that
when he got down
to her father’s palace he
would certainly be quite dead.
, , , ,
No,
he must not die!
So she swam
about
among the beams
and planks
which strewed the surface
of the sea,
forgetting
that they
could crush her
to pieces.
Diving deep
under the dark waters,
rising
and falling
with the waves,
she
at length managed
to reach the young prince,
who was fast losing the power
to swim
in
that stormy sea.
His limbs were failing him,
his beautiful eyes were closed,
and he
would have died had not the little mermaid come
to his assistance.
She held his head
above the water
and let the waves carry them
where they would.
, , , ,
In the morning the storm had ceased,
but
of the ship not a single fragment
could be seen.
The sun came up red
and shining out
of the water,
and its beams brought back the hue
of health
to the prince’s cheeks,
but his eyes remained closed.
The mermaid kissed his high,
smooth forehead
and stroked back his wet hair.
He seemed
to her
like the marble statue
in her little garden,
so she kissed him again
and wished
that he might live.
, , , ,
Presently they came
in sight
of land,
and she saw lofty blue mountains
on
which the white snow rested
as
if a flock
of swans were lying upon them.
Beautiful green forests were near the shore,
and close
by stood a large building,
whether a church
or a convent she
could not tell.
Orange
and citron trees grew
in the garden,
and
before the door stood lofty palms.
The sea here formed a little bay,
in
which the water lay quiet
and still,
but very deep.
She swam
with the handsome prince
to the beach,
which was covered
with fine white sand,
and
there she laid him
in the warm sunshine,
taking care
to raise his head higher
than his body.
Then bells sounded
in the large white building,
and some young girls came
into the garden.
The little mermaid swam out farther
from the shore
and hid herself
among some high rocks
that rose out
of the water.
Covering her head
and neck
with the foam
of the sea,
she watched there
to see
what
would become
of the poor prince.
, , , ,
It was not long
before she saw a young girl approach the spot
where the prince lay.
She seemed frightened
at first,
but only
for a moment;
then she brought a number
of people,
and the mermaid saw
that the prince came
to life again
and smiled upon those
who stood
about him.
But
to her he sent no smile;
he knew not
that she had saved him.
This made her very sorrowful,
and
when he was led away
into the great building,
she dived down
into the water
and returned
to her father’s castle.
, , , ,
She had always been silent
and thoughtful,
and now she was more so
than ever.
Her sisters asked her
what she had seen during her first visit
to the surface
of the water,
but she
could tell them nothing.
Many an evening
and morning did she rise
to the place
where she had left the prince.
She saw the fruits
in the garden ripen
and watched them gathered;
she watched the snow
on the mountain tops melt away;
but never did she see the prince,
and therefore she always returned home more sorrowful
than before.
, , , ,
It was her only comfort
to sit
in her own little garden
and fling her arm
around the beautiful marble statue,
which was
like the prince.
She gave up tending her flowers,
and they grew
in wild confusion
over the paths,
twining their long leaves
and stems round the branches
of the trees so
that the whole place 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 the secret,
and very soon it became known
to several mermaids,
one
of whom had an intimate friend
who happened
to know
about the prince.
She had also seen the festival
on board ship,
and she told them
where the prince came from
and
where his palace stood.
, , , ,
“Come,
little sister,”
said the other princesses.
Then they entwined their arms
and rose together
to the surface
of the water,
near the spot
where they knew the prince’s palace stood.
It was built
of bright-yellow,
shining stone
and had long flights
of marble steps,
one
of
which reached quite down
to the sea.
Splendid gilded cupolas rose
over the roof,
and
between the pillars
that surrounded the whole building stood lifelike statues
of marble.
Through the clear crystal
of the lofty windows
could be seen noble rooms,
with costly silk curtains
and hangings
of tapestry
and walls covered
with beautiful paintings.
In the center
of the largest salon a fountain threw its sparkling jets high up
into the glass cupola
of the ceiling,
through
which the sun shone
in upon the water
and upon the beautiful plants
that grew
in the basin
of the fountain.
, , , ,
Now
that the little mermaid knew
where the prince lived,
she spent many an evening
and many a night
on the water near the palace.
She
would swim much nearer the shore
than any
of the others had ventured,
and once she went up the narrow channel
under the marble balcony,
which threw a broad shadow
on the water.
Here she sat
and watched the young prince,
who thought himself alone
in the bright moonlight.
, , , ,
She often saw him evenings,
sailing
in a beautiful boat
on
which music sounded
and flags waved.
She peeped out
from
among the green rushes,
and
if the wind caught her long silvery-white veil,
those
who saw it believed it
to be a swan,
spreading out its wings.
, , , ,
Many a night,
too,
when the fishermen set their nets
by the light
of their torches,
she heard them relate many good things
about the young prince.
And this made her glad
that she had saved his life
when he was tossed
about half dead
on the waves.
She remembered
how his head had rested
on her bosom and
how heartily she had kissed him,
but he knew nothing
of all this
and
could not
even dream
of her.
, , , ,
She grew more
and more
to
like human beings
and wished more
and more
to be able
to wander about
with 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
which were far
above the clouds;
and the lands they possessed,
their woods
and their fields,
stretched far away beyond the reach
of her sight.
There was so much
that she wished
to know!
but her sisters were unable
to answer all her questions.
She
then went
to her old grandmother,
who knew all
about the upper world,
which she rightly 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 term
of life is
even shorter
than ours.
We sometimes live
for three hundred years,
but
when we cease
to exist here,
we become only foam
on the surface
of the water
and have not
even a grave
among those we love.
We have not immortal souls,
we shall never live again;
like the green seaweed
when once it has been cut off,
we
can never flourish more.
Human beings,
on the contrary,
have souls
which live forever,
even after the body has been turned
to dust.
They rise 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 never see.”
, , , ,
“Why have not we immortal souls?”
asked the little mermaid,
mournfully.
“I
would gladly give all the hundreds
of years
that I have
to live,
to be a human being only
for one day and
to have the hope
of knowing the happiness
of
that glorious world
above the stars.”
, , , ,
“You must not think that,”
said the old woman.
“We believe
that we are much happier
and much better off
than human beings.”
, , , ,
“So I shall die,”
said the little mermaid,
“and
as the foam
of the sea I shall be driven about,
never again
to hear the music
of the waves or
to see the pretty flowers
or the red sun?
Is
there anything I
can do
to win an immortal soul?”
, , , ,
“No,”
said the old woman;
“unless a man
should love you so much
that you were more
to him
than his father
or his mother,
and
if all his thoughts
and all his love were fixed upon you,
and the priest placed his right hand
in yours,
and he promised
to be true
to you here
and hereafter
--then his soul
would glide
into your body,
and you
would obtain a share
in the future happiness
of mankind.
He
would give
to you a soul
and retain his own
as well;
but this
can never happen.
Your fish’s tail,
which
among us is considered so beautiful,
on earth is thought
to be quite ugly.
They do not know any better,
and they think it necessary,
in order
to be handsome,
to have two stout props,
which they call legs.”
, , , ,
Then the little mermaid sighed
and looked sorrowfully
at her fish’s tail.
“Let us be happy,”
said the old lady,
“and dart
and spring
about during the three hundred years
that we have
to live,
which is really quite long enough.
After
that we
can rest ourselves all the better.
This evening we are going
to have a court ball.”
, , , ,
It was one
of those splendid sights
which we
can never see
on earth.
The walls
and the ceiling
of the large ballroom were
of thick
but transparent crystal.
Many hundreds
of colossal shells,
--some
of a deep red,
others
of a grass green,
--with blue fire
in them,
stood
in rows
on each side.
These lighted up the whole salon,
and shone
through the walls so
that the sea was also illuminated.
Innumerable fishes,
great
and small,
swam past the crystal walls;
on some
of them the scales glowed
with a purple brilliance,
and
on others shone
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 own sweet singing.
, , , ,
No one
on earth has such lovely voices
as they,
but the little mermaid sang more sweetly
than all.
The whole court applauded her
with hands
and tails,
and
for a moment her heart felt quite gay,
for she knew she had the sweetest voice either
on earth or
in the sea.
But soon she thought again
of the world
above her;
she
could not forget the charming prince,
nor her sorrow
that she had not an immortal soul
like his.
She crept away silently out
of her father’s palace,
and
while everything within was gladness
and song,
she sat
in her own little garden,
sorrowful
and alone.
Then she heard the bugle sounding
through the water
and thought:
“He is certainly sailing above,
he
in whom my wishes center and
in whose hands I
should like
to place the happiness
of my life.
I
will venture all
for him and
to win an immortal soul.
While my sisters are dancing
in my father’s palace I
will go
to the sea witch,
of whom I have always been so much afraid;
she
can give me counsel
and help.”
, , , ,
Then the little mermaid went out
from her garden
and took the road
to the foaming whirlpools,
behind
which the sorceress lived.
She had never been
that way before.
Neither flowers nor grass grew there;
nothing
but bare,
gray,
sandy ground stretched out
to the whirlpool,
where the water,
like foaming mill wheels,
seized everything
that came within its reach
and cast it
into the fathomless deep.
Through the midst
of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged
to pass
before she
could reach the dominions
of the sea witch.
Then,
for a long distance,
the road lay
across a stretch
of warm,
bubbling mire,
called
by the witch her turf moor.
, , , ,
Beyond this was the witch’s house,
which stood
in the center
of a strange forest,
where all the trees
and flowers were polypi,
half animals
and half plants.
They looked
like serpents
with a hundred heads,
growing out
of the ground.
The branches were long,
slimy arms,
with fingers
like flexible worms,
moving limb after limb
from the root
to the top.
All
that
could be reached
in the sea they seized upon
and held fast,
so
that it never escaped
from their clutches.
, , , ,
The little mermaid was so alarmed
at
what she saw
that she stood still
and her heart beat
with fear.
She came very near turning back,
but she thought
of the prince and
of the human soul
for
which she longed,
and her courage returned.
She fastened her long,
flowing hair round her head,
so
that the polypi
should not lay hold
of it.
She crossed her hands
on her bosom,
and
then darted forward
as a fish shoots
through the water,
between the supple arms
and fingers
of the ugly polypi,
which were stretched out
on each side
of her.
She saw
that they all held
in their grasp something they had seized
with their numerous little arms,
which were
as strong
as iron bands.
Tightly grasped
in their clinging arms were white skeletons
of human beings
who had perished
at sea
and had sunk down
into the deep waters;
skeletons
of land animals;
and oars,
rudders,
and chests,
of ships.
There was
even a little mermaid whom they had caught
and strangled,
and this seemed the most shocking
of all
to the little 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,
built
of the bones
of shipwrecked human beings.
There sat the sea witch,
allowing a toad
to eat
from her mouth just
as people sometimes feed a canary
with pieces
of sugar.
She called the ugly water snakes her little chickens
and allowed them
to crawl all
over her bosom.
, , , ,
“I know
what you want,”
said the sea witch.
“It is very stupid
of you,
but you shall have your way,
though it
will bring you
to sorrow,
my pretty princess.
You want
to get rid
of your fish’s tail and
to have two supports instead,
like human beings
on earth,
so
that the young prince may fall
in love
with you
and so
that you may have an immortal soul.”
And
then the witch laughed so loud
and so disgustingly
that the toad
and the snakes fell
to the ground
and lay
there wriggling.
, , , ,
“You are
but just
in time,”
said the witch,
“for after sunrise to-morrow I
should not be able
to help you
till the end
of another year.
I
will prepare a draft
for you,
with
which you must swim
to land to-morrow
before sunrise;
seat yourself there
and drink it.
Your tail
will
then disappear,
and shrink up into
what men call legs.
, , , ,
“You
will feel great pain,
as
if a sword were passing
through you.
But all
who see you
will say
that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw.
You
will still have the same floating gracefulness
of movement,
and no dancer
will ever tread so lightly.
Every step you take,
however,
will be
as
if you were treading upon sharp knives and
as
if 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,
as she thought
of the prince
and the immortal soul.
, , , ,
“But think again,”
said the witch,
“for
when once your shape has become
like a human being,
you
can no more be a mermaid.
You
will never return
through the water
to your sisters or
to your father’s palace again.
And
if you do not win the love
of the prince,
so
that he is willing
to forget his father
and mother
for your sake and
to love you
with his whole soul
and allow the priest
to join your hands
that you may be man
and wife,
then you
will never have an immortal soul.
The first morning after he marries another,
your heart
will break
and you
will become foam
on the crest
of the waves.”
, , , ,
“I
will do it,”
said the little mermaid,
and she became pale
as death.
, , , ,
“But I must be paid,
also,”
said the witch,
“and it is not a trifle
that I ask.
You have the sweetest voice
of any
who dwell here
in the depths
of the sea,
and you believe
that you
will be able
to charm the prince
with it.
But this voice you must give
to me.
The best thing you possess
will I have
as the price
of my costly draft,
which must be mixed
with my own blood so
that it may be
as sharp
as a two-edged sword.”
, , , ,
“But
if you take away my voice,”
said the little mermaid,
“what is left
for me?”
, , , ,
“Your beautiful form,
your graceful walk,
and your expressive eyes.
Surely
with these you
can enchain a man’s heart.
Well,
have you lost your courage?
Put out your little tongue,
that I may cut it off
as my payment;
then you shall have the powerful draft.”
, , , ,
“It shall be,”
said the little mermaid.
, , , ,
Then the witch placed her caldron
on the fire,
to prepare the magic draft.
, , , ,
“Cleanliness is a good thing,”
said she,
scouring the vessel
with snakes
which she had tied together
in a large knot.
Then she pricked herself
in the breast
and let the black blood drop
into the caldron.
The steam
that rose twisted itself
into such horrible shapes
that no one
could look
at them without fear.
Every moment the witch threw a new ingredient
into the vessel,
and
when it began
to boil,
the sound was
like the weeping
of a crocodile.
When
at last the magic draft was 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 she
would never again speak
or sing.
“If the polypi
should seize you
as you return
through the wood,”
said the witch,
“throw
over them a few drops
of the potion,
and their fingers
will be torn
into a thousand pieces.”
But the little mermaid had no occasion
to do this,
for the polypi sprang back
in terror
when they caught sight
of the glittering draft,
which shone
in her hand
like a twinkling star.
, , , ,
So she passed quickly
through the wood
and the marsh
and
between the rushing whirlpools.
She saw that
in her father’s palace the torches
in the ballroom were extinguished
and
that all within were asleep.
But she did not venture
to go
in
to them,
for now
that she was dumb
and going
to leave them forever she felt
as
if her heart
would break.
She stole
into the garden,
took a flower
from the flower bed
of each
of her sisters,
kissed her hand
towards the palace a thousand times,
and
then rose up
through the dark-blue waters.
, , , ,
The sun had not risen
when she came
in sight
of the prince’s palace
and approached the beautiful marble steps,
but the moon shone clear
and bright.
Then the little mermaid drank the magic draft,
and it seemed
as
if a two-edged sword went
through her delicate body.
She fell
into a swoon
and lay
like one dead.
When the sun rose
and shone
over the sea,
she recovered
and felt a sharp pain,
but
before her stood the handsome young prince.
, , , ,
He fixed his coal-black eyes upon her so earnestly
that she cast down her own
and
then became aware
that her fish’s tail was gone
and
that she had
as pretty a pair
of white legs
and tiny feet
as any little maiden
could have.
But she had no clothes,
so she wrapped herself
in her long,
thick hair.
The prince asked her
who she was
and whence she came.
She looked
at him mildly
and sorrowfully
with her deep blue eyes,
but
could not speak.
He took her
by the hand
and led her
to the palace.
, , , ,
[Illustration:
Before her stood the handsome young prince ....]
Every step she took was
as the witch had said it
would be;
she felt
as
if she were treading upon the points
of needles
or sharp knives.
She bore it willingly,
however,
and moved
at the prince’s side
as lightly
as a bubble,
so
that he
and all
who saw her wondered
at her graceful,
swaying movements.
She was very soon arrayed
in costly robes
of silk
and muslin
and was the most beautiful creature
in the palace;
but she was dumb
and
could neither speak nor sing.
, , , ,
Beautiful female slaves,
dressed
in silk
and gold,
stepped forward
and sang
before the prince
and his royal parents.
One sang better
than all the others,
and the prince clapped his hands
and smiled
at her.
This was a great sorrow
to the little mermaid,
for she knew
how much more sweetly she herself once
could sing,
and she thought,
“Oh,
if he
could only know
that I have given away my voice forever,
to be
with him!”
The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances,
to the sound
of beautiful music.
Then the little mermaid raised her lovely white arms,
stood
on the tips
of her toes,
glided
over the floor,
and danced
as no one yet had been able
to dance.
At each moment her beauty was more revealed,
and her expressive eyes appealed more directly
to the heart
than the songs
of the slaves.
Every one was enchanted,
especially the prince,
who called her his little foundling.
She danced again quite readily,
to please him,
though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed
as
if she trod
on sharp knives.
, , , ,
The prince said she
should remain
with him always,
and she was given permission
to sleep
at his door,
on a velvet cushion.
He had a page’s dress made
for her,
that she might accompany him
on horseback.
They rode together
through the sweet-scented woods,
where the green boughs touched their shoulders,
and the little birds sang
among the fresh leaves.
She climbed
with him
to the tops
of high mountains,
and
although her tender feet bled so
that
even her steps were marked,
she only smiled,
and followed him
till they
could see the clouds
beneath them
like a flock
of birds flying
to distant lands.
While
at the prince’s palace,
and
when all the household were asleep,
she
would go
and sit
on the broad marble steps,
for it eased her burning feet
to bathe them
in the cold sea water.
It was then
that she thought
of all those below
in the deep.
, , , ,
Once during the night her sisters came up arm
in arm,
singing sorrowfully
as they floated
on the water.
She beckoned
to them,
and they recognized her
and told her
how she had grieved them;
after that,
they came
to the same place every night.
Once she saw
in the distance her old grandmother,
who had not been
to the surface
of the sea
for many years,
and the old Sea King,
her father,
with his crown
on his head.
They stretched out their hands
towards her,
but did not venture so near the land
as her sisters had.
, , , ,
As the days passed she loved the prince more dearly,
and he loved her
as one
would love a little child.
The thought never came
to him
to make her his wife.
Yet
unless he married her,
she
could not receive an immortal soul,
and
on the morning after his marriage
with another,
she
would dissolve
into the foam
of the sea.
, , , ,
“Do you not love me the best
of them all?”
the eyes
of the little mermaid seemed
to say
when he took her
in his arms
and kissed her fair forehead.
, , , ,
“Yes,
you are dear
to me,”
said the prince,
“for you have the best heart
and you are the most devoted
to me.
You are
like a young maiden whom I once saw,
but whom I shall never meet again.
I was
in a ship
that was wrecked,
and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple
where several young maidens performed the service.
The youngest
of them 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 are
like her,
and you have
almost driven her image
from my mind.
She belongs
to the holy temple,
and good fortune has sent you
to me
in her stead.
We
will never part.
, , , ,
“Ah,
he knows not
that it was I
who saved his life,”
thought the little mermaid.
“I carried him
over the sea
to the wood
where the temple stands;
I sat
beneath the foam
and watched
till the human beings came
to help him.
I saw the pretty maiden
that he loves better
than he loves me.”
The mermaid sighed deeply,
but she
could not weep.
“He says the maiden belongs
to the holy temple,
therefore she
will never return
to the world
--they
will meet no more.
I am
by his side
and see him every day.
I
will take care
of him,
and love him,
and give up my life
for his sake.”
, , , ,
Very soon it was said
that the prince was
to marry
and
that the beautiful daughter
of a neighboring king
would be his wife,
for a fine ship was being fitted out.
Although the prince gave out
that he intended merely
to pay a visit
to the king,
it was generally supposed
that he went
to court the princess.
A great company were
to go
with him.
The little mermaid smiled
and shook her head.
She knew the prince’s thoughts better
than any
of the others.
, , , ,
“I must travel,”
he had said
to her;
“I must see this beautiful princess.
My parents desire it,
but they
will not oblige me
to bring her home
as my bride.
I cannot love her,
because she is not
like the beautiful maiden
in the temple,
whom you resemble.
If I were forced
to choose a bride,
I
would choose you,
my dumb foundling,
with those expressive eyes.”
Then he kissed her rosy mouth,
played
with her long,
waving hair,
and laid his head
on her heart,
while she dreamed
of human happiness
and an immortal soul.
, , , ,
“You are not afraid
of the sea,
my dumb child,
are you?”
he said,
as they stood
on the deck
of the noble ship
which was
to carry them
to the country
of the neighboring king.
Then he told her
of storm and
of calm,
of strange fishes
in the deep
beneath them,
and
of
what the divers had seen there.
She smiled
at his descriptions,
for she knew better
than any one
what wonders were
at the bottom
of the sea.
, , , ,
In the moonlight night,
when all
on board were asleep except the man
at the helm,
she sat
on deck,
gazing down
through the clear water.
She thought she
could distinguish her father’s castle,
and upon it her aged grandmother,
with the silver crown
on her head,
looking
through the rushing tide
at the keel
of the vessel.
Then her sisters came up
on the waves
and gazed
at her mournfully,
wringing their white hands.
She beckoned
to them,
and smiled,
and wanted
to tell them
how happy
and well off she was.
But the cabin boy approached,
and
when her sisters dived down,
he thought
what he saw was only the foam
of the sea.
, , , ,
The next morning the ship sailed
into the harbor
of a beautiful town belonging
to the king whom the prince was going
to visit.
The church bells were ringing,
and
from the high towers sounded a flourish
of trumpets.
Soldiers,
with flying colors
and glittering bayonets,
lined the roads through
which they passed.
Every day was a festival,
balls
and entertainments following one another.
But the princess had not yet appeared.
People said
that she had been brought up
and educated
in a religious house,
where she was learning every royal virtue.
, , , ,
At last she came.
Then the little mermaid,
who was anxious
to see whether she was really beautiful,
was obliged
to admit
that she had never seen a more perfect vision
of beauty.
Her skin was delicately fair,
and
beneath her long,
dark eyelashes her laughing blue eyes shone
with truth
and purity.
, , , ,
“It was you,”
said the prince,
“who saved my life
when I lay
as
if dead
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 hopes are now fulfilled.
You
will rejoice
at my happiness,
for your devotion
to me is great
and sincere.”
, , , ,
The little mermaid kissed his hand
and felt
as
if her heart were already broken.
His wedding morning
would bring death
to her,
and she
would change
into the foam
of the sea.
, , , ,
All the church bells rang,
and the heralds rode
through the town proclaiming the betrothal.
Perfumed oil was burned
in costly silver lamps
on every altar.
The priests waved the censers,
while the bride
and the bridegroom joined their hands
and received the blessing
of the bishop.
The little mermaid,
dressed
in silk
and gold,
held up the bride’s train;
but her ears heard nothing
of the festive music,
and her eyes saw not the holy ceremony.
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 bride
and bridegroom went
on board the ship.
Cannons were roaring,
flags waving,
and
in the center
of the ship a costly tent
of purple
and gold had been erected.
It contained elegant sleeping couches
for the bridal pair during the night.
The ship,
under a favorable wind,
with swelling sails,
glided away smoothly
and lightly
over the calm sea.
, , , ,
When it grew dark,
a number
of colored lamps were lighted
and the sailors danced merrily
on the deck.
The little mermaid
could not help thinking
of her first rising out
of the sea,
when she had seen similar joyful festivities,
so she too joined
in the dance,
poised herself
in the air
as a swallow
when he pursues his prey,
and all present cheered her wonderingly.
She had never danced so gracefully before.
Her tender feet felt
as
if cut
with sharp knives,
but she cared not
for the pain;
a sharper pang had pierced her heart.
, , , ,
She knew this was the last evening she
should ever see the prince
for whom she had forsaken her kindred
and her home.
She had given up her beautiful voice
and suffered unheard-of pain daily
for him,
while he knew nothing
of it.
This was the last evening
that she
should breathe the same air
with him
or gaze
on the starry sky
and the deep sea.
An eternal night,
without a thought
or a dream,
awaited her.
She had no soul,
and now
could never win one.
, , , ,
All was joy
and gaiety
on the ship
until long after midnight.
She smiled
and danced
with the rest,
while the thought
of death was
in her heart.
The prince kissed his beautiful bride
and she played
with his raven hair
till they went arm
in arm
to rest
in the sumptuous tent.
Then all became still
on board the ship,
and only the pilot,
who stood
at the helm,
was awake.
The little mermaid leaned her white arms
on the edge
of the vessel
and looked
towards the east
for the first blush
of morning
--for
that first ray
of the dawn
which was
to be her death.
She saw her sisters rising out
of the flood.
They were
as pale
as she,
but their beautiful hair no longer waved
in the wind;
it had been cut off.
, , , ,
“We have given our hair
to the witch,”
said they,
“to obtain help
for you,
that you may not die to-night.
She has given us a knife;
see,
it is very sharp.
Before the sun rises you must plunge it
into the heart
of the prince.
When the warm blood falls upon your feet they
will grow together again
into a fish’s tail,
and you
will once more be a mermaid
and
can return
to us
to live out your three hundred years
before you are changed
into the salt sea foam.
Haste,
then;
either he
or you must die
before sunrise.
Our old grandmother mourns so
for you
that her white hair is falling,
as ours fell
under the witch’s scissors.
Kill the prince,
and come back.
Hasten!
Do you not see the first red streaks
in the sky?
In a few minutes the sun
will rise,
and you must die.”
, , , ,
Then they sighed deeply
and mournfully,
and sank
beneath the waves.
, , , ,
The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain
of the tent
and beheld the fair bride,
whose head was resting
on the prince’s breast.
She bent down
and kissed his noble brow,
then looked
at the sky,
on
which the rosy dawn grew brighter
and brighter.
She glanced
at the sharp knife
and again fixed her eyes
on the prince,
who whispered the name
of his bride
in his dreams.
, , , ,
_She_ was
in his thoughts,
and the knife trembled
in the hand
of the little mermaid
--but she flung it far
from her
into the waves.
The water turned red
where it fell,
and the drops
that spurted up looked
like blood.
She cast one more lingering,
half-fainting glance
at the prince,
then threw herself
from the ship
into the sea
and felt her body dissolving
into foam.
, , , ,
The sun rose
above the waves,
and his warm rays fell
on the cold foam
of the little mermaid,
who did not feel
as
if she were dying.
She saw the bright sun,
and hundreds
of transparent,
beautiful creatures floating
around her
--she
could see
through them the white sails
of the ships
and the red clouds
in the sky.
Their speech was melodious,
but
could not be heard
by mortal ears
--just
as their bodies
could not be seen
by mortal eyes.
The little mermaid perceived
that she had a body
like theirs
and
that she continued
to rise higher
and higher out
of the foam.
“Where am I?”
asked she,
and her voice sounded ethereal,
like the voices
of those
who were
with her.
No earthly music
could imitate it.
, , , ,
“Among the daughters
of the air,”
answered one
of them.
“A mermaid has not an immortal soul,
nor
can she obtain one
unless she wins the love
of a human being.
On the will
of another hangs her eternal destiny.
But the daughters
of the air,
although they do not possess an immortal soul,
can,
by their good deeds,
procure one
for themselves.
We fly
to warm countries
and cool the sultry air
that destroys mankind
with the pestilence.
We carry the perfume
of the flowers
to spread health
and restoration.
, , , ,
“After we have striven
for three hundred years
to do all the good
in our power,
we receive an immortal soul
and take part
in the happiness
of mankind.
You,
poor little mermaid,
have tried
with your whole heart
to do
as we are doing.
You have suffered
and endured,
and raised yourself
to the spirit world
by your good deeds,
and now,
by striving
for three hundred years
in the same way,
you may obtain an immortal soul.”
, , , ,
The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes
toward the sun and,
for the first time,
felt them filling
with tears.
, , , ,
On the ship
in
which she had left the prince
there were life
and noise,
and she saw him
and his beautiful bride searching
for her.
Sorrowfully they gazed
at the pearly foam,
as
if they knew she had thrown herself
into the waves.
Unseen she kissed the forehead
of the bride
and fanned the prince,
and
then mounted
with the other children
of the air
to a rosy cloud
that floated above.
, , , ,
“After three hundred years,
thus shall we float
into the kingdom
of heaven,”
said she.
“And we may
even get
there sooner,”
whispered one
of her companions.
“Unseen we
can enter the houses
of men
where
there are children,
and
for every day
on
which we find a good child
that is the joy
of his parents
and deserves their love,
our time
of probation is shortened.
The child does not know,
when we fly
through the room,
that we smile
with joy
at his good conduct
--for we
can count one year less
of our three hundred years.
But
when we see a naughty
or a wicked child we shed tears
of sorrow,
and
for every tear a day is added
to our time
of trial.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
BUCKWHEAT
IF YOU
should chance,
after a tempest,
to cross a field
where buckwheat is growing,
you may observe
that it looks black
and singed,
as
if a flame
of fire had passed
over it.
And
should you ask the reason,
a farmer
will tell you,
“The lightning did that.”
, , , ,
But
how is it
that the lightning did it?
, , , ,
I
will tell you
what the sparrow told me,
and the sparrow heard it
from an aged willow
which stood
--and still stands
for
that matter
--close
to the field
of buckwheat.
, , , ,
This willow is tall
and venerable,
though old
and crippled.
Its trunk is split clear
through the middle,
and grass
and blackberry tendrils creep out
through the cleft.
The tree bends forward,
and its branches droop
like long,
green hair.
, , , ,
In the fields
around the willow grew rye,
wheat,
and oats
--beautiful oats that,
when ripe,
looked
like little yellow canary birds sitting
on a branch.
The harvest had been blessed,
and the fuller the ears
of grain the lower they bowed their heads
in reverent humility.
, , , ,
There was also a field
of buckwheat lying just
in front
of the old willow.
The buckwheat did not bow its head,
like the rest
of the grain,
but stood erect
in stiff-necked pride.
, , , ,
“I am quite
as rich
as the oats,”
it said;
“and,
moreover,
I am much more sightly.
My flowers are
as pretty
as apple blossoms.
It is a treat
to look
at me
and my companions.
Old willow,
do you know anything more beautiful
than we?”
, , , ,
The willow nodded his head,
as much as
to say,
“Indeed I do!”
But the buckwheat was so puffed
with pride
that it only said:
“The stupid tree!
He is so old
that grass is growing out
of his body.”
, , , ,
Now
there came
on a dreadful storm,
and the flowers
of the field folded their leaves
or bent their heads
as it passed
over them.
The buckwheat flower alone stood erect
in all its pride.
, , , ,
“Bow your heads,
as we do,”
called the flowers.
, , , ,
“There is no need
for me
to do that,”
answered the buckwheat.
, , , ,
“Bow your head
as we do,”
said the grain.
“The angel
of storms comes flying hither.
He has wings
that reach
from the clouds
to the earth;
he
will smite you
before you have time
to beg
for mercy.”
, , , ,
“But I do not choose
to bow down,”
said the buckwheat.
, , , ,
“Close your flowers
and fold your leaves,”
said the old willow.
“Do not look
at the lightning
when the cloud breaks.
Even human beings dare not do that,
for
in the midst
of the lightning one may look straight
into God’s heaven.
The sight strikes human beings blind,
so dazzling is it.
What
would not happen
to us,
mere plants
of the field,
who are so much humbler,
if we
should dare do so?”
, , , ,
“So much humbler!
Indeed!
If
there is a chance,
I shall look right
into God’s heaven.”
And
in its pride
and haughtiness it did so.
The flashes
of lightning were so awful
that it seemed
as
if the whole world were
in flames.
, , , ,
When the tempest was over,
both the grain
and the flowers,
greatly refreshed
by the rain,
again stood erect
in the pure,
quiet air.
But the buckwheat had been burned
as black
as a cinder
by the lightning
and stood
in the field
like a dead,
useless weed.
, , , ,
The old willow waved his branches
to
and fro
in the wind,
and large drops
of water fell
from his green leaves,
as
if he were shedding tears.
The sparrows asked:
“Why are you weeping
when all
around seems blest?
Do you not smell the sweet perfume
of flowers
and bushes?
The sun shines,
and the clouds have passed
from the sky.
Why do you weep,
old tree?”
, , , ,
Then the willow told them
of the buckwheat’s stubborn pride and
of the punishment
which followed.
, , , ,
I,
who tell this tale,
heard it
from the sparrows.
They told it
to me one evening
when I had asked them
for a story.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
WHAT HAPPENED
to THE THISTLE
AROUND a lordly old mansion was a beautiful,
well-kept garden,
full
of all kinds
of rare trees
and flowers.
Guests always expressed their delight
and admiration
at the sight
of its wonders.
The people
from far
and near used
to come
on Sundays
and holidays
and ask permission
to see it.
Even whole schools made excursions
for the sole purpose
of seeing its beauties.
, , , ,
Near the fence
that separated the garden
from the meadow stood an immense thistle.
It was an uncommonly large
and fine thistle,
with several branches spreading out just
above the root,
and altogether was so strong
and full as
to make it well worthy
of the name “thistle bush.”
, , , ,
No one ever noticed it,
save the old donkey
that pulled the milk cart
for the dairymaids.
He stood grazing
in the meadow hard
by
and stretched his old neck
to reach the thistle,
saying:
“You are beautiful!
I
should like
to eat you!”
But the tether was too short
to allow him
to reach the thistle,
so he did not eat it.
, , , ,
There were guests
at the Hall,
fine,
aristocratic relatives
from town,
and
among them a young lady
who had come
from a long distance
--all the way
from Scotland.
She was
of old
and noble family
and rich
in gold
and lands
--a bride well worth the winning,
thought more
than one young man
to himself;
yes,
and their mothers thought so,
too!
The young people amused themselves
on the lawn,
playing croquet
and flitting
about
among the flowers,
each young girl gathering a flower
to put
in the buttonhole
of some one
of the gentlemen.
, , , ,
The young Scotch lady looked about
for a flower,
but none
of them seemed
to please her,
until,
happening
to glance
over the fence,
she espied the fine,
large thistle bush,
full
of bluish-red,
sturdy-looking flowers.
She smiled
as she saw it,
and begged the son
of the house
to get one
of them
for her.
, , , ,
“That is Scotland’s flower,”
she said;
“it grows
and blossoms
in our coat
of arms.
Get
that one yonder
for me,
please.”
, , , ,
And he gathered the finest
of the thistle flowers,
though he pricked his fingers
as much
in doing so
as
if it had been growing
on a wild rosebush.
, , , ,
She took the flower
and put it
in his buttonhole,
which made him feel greatly honored.
Each
of the other young men
would gladly have given up his graceful garden flower
if he might have worn the one given
by the delicate hands
of the Scotch girl.
As keenly
as the son
of the house felt the honor conferred upon him,
the thistle felt
even more highly honored.
It seemed
to feel dew
and sunshine going
through it.
, , , ,
“It seems I am
of more consequence
than I thought,”
it said
to itself.
“I ought
by rights
to stand inside
and not outside the fence.
One gets strangely placed
in this world,
but now I have
at least one
of my flowers
over the fence
--and not only there,
but
in a buttonhole!”
To each one
of its buds
as it opened,
the thistle bush told this great event.
And not many days had passed
before it heard
--not
from the people
who passed,
nor yet
from the twittering
of little birds,
but
from the air,
which gives out,
far
and wide,
the sounds
that it has treasured up
from the shadiest walks
of the beautiful garden
and
from the most secluded rooms
at the Hall,
where doors
and windows are left open
--that the young man
who received the thistle flower
from the hands
of the Scottish maiden had received her heart
and hand
as well.
, , , ,
“That is my doing!”
said the thistle,
thinking
of the flower she had given
to the buttonhole.
And every new flower
that came was told
of this wonderful event.
, , , ,
“Surely I shall now be taken
and planted
in the garden,”
thought the thistle.
“Perhaps I shall be put
into a flowerpot,
for
that is
by far the most honorable position.”
It thought
of this so long
that it ended
by saying
to itself
with the firm conviction
of truth,
“I shall be planted
in a flowerpot!”
It promised every little bud
that came
that it also
should be placed
in a pot
and perhaps have a place
in a buttonhole
--that being the highest position one
could aspire to.
But none
of them got
into a flowerpot,
and still less
into a gentleman’s buttonhole.
, , , ,
They lived
on light
and air,
and drank sunshine
in the day
and dew
at night.
They received visits
from bee
and hornet,
who came
to look
for the honey
in the flower,
and
who took the honey
and left the flower.
, , , ,
“The good-for-nothing fellows,”
said the thistle bush.
“I
would pierce them
if I could!”
The flowers drooped
and faded,
but new ones always came.
, , , ,
“You come
as
if you had been sent,”
said the thistle bush
to them.
“I am expecting every moment
to be taken
over the fence.”
, , , ,
A couple
of harmless daisies
and a huge,
thin plant
of canary grass listened
to this
with the deepest respect,
believing all they heard.
The old donkey,
that had
to pull the milk cart,
cast longing looks
toward the blooming thistle
and tried
to reach it,
but his tether was too short.
And the thistle bush thought
and thought,
so much
and so long,
of the Scotch thistle
--to whom it believed itself related
--that
at last it fancied it had come
from Scotland
and
that its parents had grown
into the Scottish arms.
, , , ,
It was a great thought,
but a great thistle may well have great thoughts.
, , , ,
“Sometimes one is
of noble race even
if one does not know it,”
said the nettle growing close by
--it had a kind
of presentiment
that it might be turned
into muslin,
if properly treated.
, , , ,
The summer passed,
and the autumn passed;
the leaves fell
from the trees;
the flowers came
with stronger colors
and less perfume;
the gardener’s lad sang
on the other side
of the fence:
“Up the hill
and down the hill,
That’s the way
of the world still.”
, , , ,
The young pine trees
in the wood began
to feel a longing
for Christmas,
though Christmas was still a long way off.
, , , ,
“Here I am still,”
said the thistle.
“It seems
that I am quite forgotten,
and yet it was I
who made the match.
They were engaged,
and now they are married
--the wedding was a week ago.
I do not make a single step forward,
for I cannot.”
, , , ,
Some weeks passed.
The thistle had its last,
solitary flower,
which was large
and full
and growing down near the root.
The wind blew coldly
over it,
the color faded,
and all its glory disappeared,
leaving only the cup
of the flower,
now grown
to be
as large
as the flower
of an artichoke
and glistening
like a silvered sunflower.
, , , ,
The young couple,
who were now man
and wife,
came
along the garden path,
and
as they passed near the fence,
the bride,
glancing
over it,
said,
“Why,
there stands the large thistle!
it has no flowers now.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
there is still the ghost
of the last one,”
said her husband,
pointing
to the silvery remains
of the last flower
--a flower
in itself.
, , , ,
“How beautiful it is!”
she said.
“We must have one carved
in the frame
of our picture.”
, , , ,
And once more the young man had
to get
over the fence,
to break off the silvery cup
of the thistle flower.
It pricked his fingers
for his pains,
because he had called it a ghost.
And
then it was brought
into the garden,
and
to the Hall,
and
into the drawing room.
There stood a large picture
--the portraits
of the two,
and
in the bridegroom’s buttonhole was painted a thistle.
They talked
of it and
of the flower cup they had brought
in
with them
--the last silver-shimmering thistle flower,
that was
to be reproduced
in the carving
of the frame.
, , , ,
The air took all their words
and scattered them about,
far
and wide.
, , , ,
“What strange things happen
to one!”
said the thistle bush.
“My first-born went
to live
in a buttonhole,
my last-born
in a frame!
I wonder
what is
to become
of me.”
, , , ,
The old donkey,
standing
by the roadside,
cast loving glances
at the thistle
and said,
“Come
to me,
my sweetheart,
for I cannot go
to you;
my tether is too short!”
But the thistle bush made no answer.
It grew more
and more thoughtful,
and it thought
as far ahead
as Christmas,
till its budding thoughts opened
into flower.
, , , ,
“When one’s children are safely housed,
a mother is quite content
to stay beyond the fence.”
, , , ,
“That is true,”
said the sunshine;
“and you
will be well placed,
never fear.”
, , , ,
“In a flowerpot or
in a frame?”
asked the thistle.
, , , ,
“In a story,”
answered the sunshine.
And here is the story!
[Illustration]
THE PEN
and THE INKSTAND
IN A POET’S room,
where his inkstand stood
on the table,
the remark was once made:
“It is wonderful what
can be brought out
of an inkstand.
What
will come next?
It is indeed wonderful.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
certainly,”
said the inkstand
to the pen and
to the other articles
that stood
on the table;
“that’s
what I always say.
It is wonderful
and extraordinary
what a number
of things come out
of me.
It’s quite incredible,
and I really never know
what is coming next
when
that man dips his pen
into me.
One drop out
of me is enough
for half a page
of paper
--and
what cannot half a page contain?
, , , ,
“From me all the works
of the poet are produced
--all those imaginary characters whom people fancy they have known
or met,
and all the deep feeling,
the humor,
and the vivid pictures
of nature.
I myself
don’t understand
how it 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
of charming maidens,
and
of brave knights
on prancing steeds;
of the halt
and the blind
--and I know not
what more,
for I assure you I never think
of these things.”
, , , ,
“There you are right,”
said the pen,
“for you
don’t think
at all.
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
in me
and
what I wish
to bring
to light.
It is the pen
that writes.
No man doubts that;
and indeed most people understand
as much
about poetry
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 worn out.
Do you imagine you are a poet?
You are only a servant,
and
before you came I had many
like you,
some
of the goose family
and others
of English manufacture.
I know a quill pen
as well
as I know a steel one.
I have had both sorts
in my service,
and I shall have many more
as long
as _he_ comes
--the man
who performs the mechanical part
--and writes down
what he obtains
from me.
I
should like
to know what
will be the next thing he gets out
of me.”
, , , ,
“Inkpot!”
retorted the pen,
contemptuously.
, , , ,
Late
in the evening the poet returned home
from a concert,
where he had been quite enchanted
by the admirable performance
of a famous violin player.
, , , ,
The player had produced
from his instrument a richness
of tone
that sometimes sounded
like tinkling water drops
or rolling pearls,
sometimes
like the birds twittering
in chorus,
and
then again,
rising
and swelling
like the wind
through the fir trees.
The poet felt
as
if his own heart were weeping,
but
in tones
of melody,
like the sound
of a woman’s voice.
These sounds seemed
to come not only
from the strings
but
from every part
of the instrument.
It was a wonderful performance
and a difficult piece,
and yet the bow seemed
to glide
across the strings so easily
that one
would think any one
could do it.
The violin
and the bow seemed independent
of their master
who guided them.
It was
as
if soul
and spirit had been breathed
into the instrument.
And the audience forgot the performer
in the beautiful sounds he produced.
, , , ,
Not so the poet;
he remembered him
and wrote down his thoughts
on the subject:
“How foolish it
would be
for the violin
and the bow
to boast
of their performance,
and yet we men often commit
that folly.
The poet,
the artist,
the man
of science
in his laboratory,
the general
--we all do it,
and yet we are only the instruments
which the Almighty uses.
To Him alone the honor is due.
We have nothing
in ourselves
of
which we
should be proud.”
Yes,
this is
what the poet wrote.
He wrote it
in the form
of a parable
and called it “The Master
and the Instruments.”
, , , ,
“That is
what you get,
madam,”
said the pen
to the inkstand
when the two were alone again.
“Did you hear him read aloud
what I had written down?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
what I gave you
to write,”
retorted the inkstand.
“That was a cut
at you,
because
of your conceit.
To think
that you
could not understand
that you were being quizzed!
I gave you a cut
from within me.
Surely I must know my own satire.”
, , , ,
“Ink pitcher!”
cried the pen.
, , , ,
“Writing stick!”
retorted the inkstand.
And each
of them felt satisfied
that he had given a good answer.
It is pleasing
to be convinced
that you have settled a matter
by your reply;
it is something
to make you sleep well.
And they both slept well
over it.
, , , ,
But the poet did not sleep.
Thoughts rose within him,
like the tones
of the violin,
falling
like pearls
or rushing
like the strong wind
through the forest.
He understood his own heart
in these thoughts;
they were
as a ray
from the mind
of the Great Master
of all minds.
, , , ,
“To Him be all the honor.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE TEAPOT
THERE was once a proud teapot;
it was proud
of being porcelain,
proud
of its long spout,
proud
of its broad handle.
It had something before
and behind,
--the spout before
and the handle behind,
--and
that was
what it talked about.
But it did not talk
of its lid,
which was cracked
and riveted;
these were defects,
and one does not talk
of one’s defects,
for
there are plenty
of others
to do that.
The cups,
the cream pot,
and the sugar bowl,
the whole tea service,
would think much oftener
of the lid’s imperfections
--and talk
about them
--than
of the sound handle
and the remarkable spout.
The teapot knew it.
, , , ,
“I know you,”
it said within itself.
“I know,
too,
my imperfection,
and I am well aware that
in
that very thing is seen my humility,
my modesty.
Imperfections we all have,
but we also have compensations.
The cups have a handle,
the sugar bowl a lid;
I have both,
and one thing besides,
in front,
which they
can never have.
I have a spout,
and
that makes me the queen
of the tea table.
I spread abroad a blessing
on thirsting mankind,
for
in me the Chinese leaves are brewed
in the boiling,
tasteless water.”
, , , ,
All this said the teapot
in its fresh young life.
It stood
on the table
that was spread
for tea;
it was lifted
by a very delicate hand,
but the delicate hand was awkward.
The teapot fell,
the spout snapped off,
and the handle snapped off.
The lid was no worse
to speak of;
the worst had been spoken
of that.
, , , ,
The teapot lay
in a swoon
on the floor,
while the boiling water ran out
of it.
It was a horrid shame,
but the worst was
that everybody jeered
at it;
they jeered
at the teapot
and not
at the awkward hand.
, , , ,
“I never shall forget
that experience,”
said the teapot,
when it afterward talked
of its life.
“I was called an invalid,
and placed
in a corner,
and the next day was given
to a woman
who begged
for victuals.
I fell
into poverty,
and stood dumb both outside
and in.
But then,
just
as I was,
began my better life.
One
can be one thing
and still become quite another.
, , , ,
“Earth was placed
in me.
For a teapot,
this is the same
as being buried,
but
in the earth was placed a flower bulb.
Who placed it there,
who gave it,
I know not;
but given it was,
and it became a compensation
for the Chinese leaves
and the boiling water,
a compensation
for the broken handle
and spout.
, , , ,
“And the bulb lay
in the earth,
the bulb lay
in me;
it became my heart,
my living heart,
such
as I had never
before possessed.
There was life
in me,
power
and might.
The heart pulsed,
and the bulb put forth sprouts;
it was the springing up
of thoughts
and feelings
which burst forth
into flower.
, , , ,
“I saw it,
I bore it,
I forgot myself
in its delight.
Blessed is it
to forget oneself
in another.
The flower gave me no thanks;
it did not think
of me.
It was admired
and praised,
and I was glad
at that.
How happy it must have been!
One day I heard some one say
that the flower deserved a better pot.
I was thumped hard
on my back,
which was a great affliction,
and the flower was put
into a better pot.
I was thrown out
into the yard,
where I lie
as an old potsherd.
But I have the memory,
and
that I
can never lose.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
SOUP
from A SAUSAGE SKEWER
“WE HAD such an excellent dinner yesterday,”
said an old lady-mouse
to another
who had not been present
at the feast.
“I sat number twenty-one below the mouse-king,
which was not a bad place.
Shall I tell you
what we had?
Everything was excellent
--moldy bread,
tallow candle,
and sausage.
, , , ,
“Then,
when we had finished
that course,
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 we had been all
of one family circle.
Nothing was left
but the sausage skewers,
and this formed a subject
of conversation till
at last some one used the expression,
‘Soup
from sausage sticks’;
or,
as the people
in the neighboring country call it,
‘Soup
from a sausage skewer.’
, , , ,
“Every one had heard the expression,
but no one had ever tasted the soup,
much less prepared it.
A capital toast was drunk
to the inventor
of the soup,
and some one said he ought
to be made a relieving officer
to the poor.
Was not
that witty?
, , , ,
“Then the old mouse-king rose
and promised
that the young lady-mouse
who
should learn
how best
to prepare this much-admired
and savory soup
should be his queen,
and a year
and a day
should be allowed
for the purpose.”
, , , ,
“That was not
at all a bad proposal,”
said the other mouse;
“but
how is the soup made?”
, , , ,
“Ah,
that is more
than I
can tell you.
All the young lady-mice were asking the same question.
They wish very much
to be the queen,
but they do not want
to take the trouble
to go out
into the world
to learn how
to make soup,
which it is absolutely necessary
to do first.
, , , ,
“It is not every one
who
would care
to leave her family
or her happy corner
by the fireside
at home,
even
to be made queen.
It is not always easy
in foreign lands
to find bacon
and cheese rind every day,
and,
after all,
it is not pleasant
to endure hunger
and perhaps be eaten alive
by the cat.”
, , , ,
Probably some such thoughts
as these discouraged the majority
from going out
into the world
to collect the required information.
Only four mice gave notice
that they were ready
to set out
on the journey.
, , , ,
They were young
and sprightly,
but poor.
Each
of them wished
to visit one
of the four divisions
of the world,
to see which
of them
would be most favored
by fortune.
Each took a sausage skewer
as a traveler’s staff and
to remind her
of the object
of her journey.
, , , ,
They left home early
in May,
and none
of them returned
till the first
of May
in the following year,
and
then only three
of them.
Nothing was seen
or heard
of the fourth,
although the day
of decision was close
at hand.
“Ah,
yes,
there is always some trouble mingled
with the greatest pleasure,”
said the mouse-king.
But he gave orders
that all the mice within a circle
of many miles
should be invited
at once.
, , , ,
They were
to assemble
in the kitchen,
and the three travelers were
to stand
in a row
before them,
and a sausage skewer covered
with crape was
to stand
in the place
of the missing mouse.
No one dared express an opinion
until the king spoke
and desired one
of them
to proceed
with her story.
And now we shall 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 went
at once
to sea,
in a ship bound
for the north.
I had been told
that the ship’s cook must know how
to prepare every dish
at sea,
and it is easy enough
to do that
with plenty
of sides
of bacon,
and large tubs
of salt meat
and musty flour.
There I found plenty
of delicate food
but no opportunity
to learn how
to make soup
from a sausage skewer.
, , , ,
“We sailed
on
for many days
and nights;
the ship rocked fearfully,
and we did not escape without a wetting.
As soon
as we arrived
at the port
to
which the ship was bound,
I left it
and went
on shore
at a place far
towards the north.
It is a wonderful thing
to leave your own little corner
at home,
to hide yourself
in a ship
where
there are sure
to be some nice snug corners
for shelter,
then suddenly
to find yourself thousands
of miles away
in a foreign land.
, , , ,
“I saw large,
pathless forests
of pine
and birch trees,
which smelt so strong
that I sneezed
and thought
of sausage.
There were great lakes also,
which looked
as black
as ink
at a distance
but were quite clear
when I came close
to them.
Large swans were floating upon them,
and I thought
at first they were only foam,
they lay so still;
but
when I saw them walk
and fly,
I knew directly
what they were.
They belonged
to the goose species.
One
could see that
by their walk,
for no one
can successfully disguise his family descent.
, , , ,
“I kept
with my own kind
and associated
with the forest
and field mice,
who,
however,
knew very little
--especially about
what I wanted
to know
and
what had actually made me travel abroad.
, , , ,
“The idea
that soup
could be made
from a sausage skewer was so startling
to them
that it was repeated
from one
to another
through the whole forest.
They declared
that the problem
would never be solved
--that the thing was an impossibility.
How little I thought that
in this place,
on the very first night,
I
should be initiated
into the manner
of its preparation!
“It was the height
of summer,
which the mice told me was the reason
that the forest smelt so strong,
and
that the herbs were so fragrant,
and
that the lakes
with the white,
swimming swans were so dark
and yet so clear.
, , , ,
“On the margin
of the wood,
near several houses,
a pole
as large
as the mainmast
of a ship had been erected,
and
from the summit hung wreaths
of flowers
and fluttering ribbons.
It was the Maypole.
Lads
and lasses danced round it
and tried
to outdo the violins
of the musicians
with their singing.
They were
as gay
as ever
at sunset and
in the moonlight,
but I took no part
in the merrymaking.
What has a little mouse
to do
with a Maypole dance?
I sat
in the soft moss
and held my sausage skewer tight.
The moon shone particularly bright
on one spot
where stood a tree covered
with very fine moss.
I may
almost venture
to say
that it was
as fine
and soft
as the fur
of the mouse-king,
but it was green,
which is a color very agreeable
to the eye.
, , , ,
“All
at once I saw the most charming little people marching
towards me.
They did not reach higher
than my knee,
although they looked
like human beings
but were better proportioned.
They called themselves elves,
and wore clothes
that were very delicate
and fine,
for they were made
of the leaves
of flowers,
trimmed
with the wings
of flies
and gnats.
The effect was
by no means bad.
, , , ,
“They seemed
to be seeking something
--I knew not what,
till
at last one
of them espied me.
They came
towards me,
and the foremost pointed
to my sausage skewer,
saying:
‘There,
that is just
what we want.
See,
it is pointed
at the top;
is it not capital?’
The longer he looked
at my pilgrim’s staff the more delighted he became.
, , , ,
“‘I
will lend it
to you,’
said I,
‘but not
to keep.’
, , , ,
“‘Oh,
no,
we
won’t keep it!’ they all cried.
Then they seized the skewer,
which I gave up
to them,
and dancing
with it
to the tree covered
with delicate moss,
set it up
in the middle
of the green.
They wanted a Maypole,
and the one they now had seemed made especially
for them.
This they decorated so beautifully
that it was quite dazzling
to look at.
Little spiders spun golden threads
around it,
and it was hung
with fluttering veils
and flags,
as delicately white
as snow glittering
in the moonlight.
Then they took colors
from the butterfly’s wing,
sprinkling them
over the white drapery
until it gleamed
as
if covered
with flowers
and diamonds,
and I
could no longer recognize my sausage skewer.
Such a Maypole
as this has never been seen
in all the world.
, , , ,
“Then came a great company
of real elves.
Nothing
could be finer
than their clothes.
They invited me
to be present
at the feast,
but I was
to keep
at a certain distance
because I was too large
for them.
Then began music
that sounded
like a thousand glass bells,
and was so full
and strong
that I thought it must be the song
of the swans.
I fancied also
that I heard the voices
of the cuckoo
and the blackbird,
and it seemed
at last
as
if the whole forest sent forth glorious melodies
--the voices
of children,
the tinkling
of bells,
and the songs
of the birds.
And all this wonderful melody came
from the elfin Maypole.
My sausage peg was a complete peal
of bells.
I
could scarcely believe
that so much
could have been produced
from it,
till I remembered into
what hands it had fallen.
I was so much affected
that I wept tears such
as a little mouse
can weep,
but they were tears
of joy.
, , , ,
“The night was far too short
for me;
there are no long nights there
in summer,
as we often have
in this part
of the world.
When the morning dawned
and the gentle breeze rippled the glassy mirror
of the forest lake,
all the delicate veils
and flags fluttered away
into thin air.
The waving garlands
of the spider’s web,
the hanging bridges
and galleries,
or whatever else they may be called,
vanished away
as
if they had never been.
Six elves brought me back my sausage skewer and
at the same time asked me
to make any request,
which they
would grant
if it lay
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?’
asked the chief
of the elves,
with a smile.
‘Why,
you have just seen us.
You scarcely knew your sausage skewer again,
I am sure.’
, , , ,
“‘They think themselves very wise,’
thought I
to myself.
Then I told them all
about it,
and
why I had traveled so far,
and also
what promise had been made
at home
to the one
who
should discover the method
of preparing this soup.
, , , ,
“‘What good
will it do the mouse-king
or our whole mighty kingdom,’
I asked,
‘for me
to have seen all these beautiful things?
I cannot shake the sausage peg
and say,
“Look,
here is the skewer,
and now the soup
will come.”
That
would only produce a dish
to be served
when people were keeping a fast.’
, , , ,
“Then the elf dipped his finger
into the cup
of a violet
and said,
‘Look,
I
will anoint your pilgrim’s staff,
so that
when you return
to your home
and enter the king’s castle,
you have only
to touch the king
with your staff
and violets
will spring forth,
even
in the coldest winter time.
I think I have given you something worth carrying home,
and a little more
than something.’”
Before the little mouse explained
what this something more was,
she stretched her staff
toward the king,
and
as it touched him the most beautiful bunch
of violets sprang forth
and filled the place
with their perfume.
The smell was so powerful
that the mouse-king ordered the mice
who stood nearest the chimney
to thrust their tails
into the fire
that
there might be a smell
of burning,
for the perfume
of the violets was overpowering
and not the sort
of scent
that every 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.’” Thereupon she turned the staff round,
and behold,
not a single flower was
to be seen
on it!
She now held only the naked skewer,
and lifted it up
as a conductor lifts his baton
at a concert.
, , , ,
“Violets,
the elf told me,”
continued the mouse,
“are
for the sight,
the smell,
and the touch;
so we have only
to produce the effect
of hearing
and tasting.”
Then,
as the little mouse beat time
with her staff,
there came sounds
of music;
not such music
as was heard
in the forest,
at the elfin feast,
but such
as is often heard
in the kitchen
--the sounds
of boiling
and roasting.
It came quite suddenly,
like wind rushing
through the chimneys,
and it seemed
as
if every pot
and kettle were boiling over.
, , , ,
The fire shovel clattered down
on the brass fender,
and then,
quite
as suddenly,
all was still,
--nothing
could be heard
but the light,
vapory song
of the teakettle,
which was quite wonderful
to hear,
for no one
could rightly distinguish whether the kettle was just beginning
to boil
or just going
to stop.
And the little pot steamed,
and the great pot simmered,
but without any regard
for each other;
indeed,
there seemed no sense
in the pots
at all.
As the little mouse waved her baton still more wildly,
the pots foamed
and threw up bubbles
and boiled over,
while again the wind roared
and whistled
through the chimney,
and
at last
there was such a terrible hubbub
that the little mouse let her stick fall.
, , , ,
“That is a strange sort
of soup,”
said the mouse-king.
“Shall we not 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 hear
what 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 get
into the dining room,
much less
into the storeroom.
To-day
and while
on my journey are the only times I have ever seen a kitchen.
We were often obliged
to suffer hunger
in the library,
but we gained a great deal
of knowledge.
The rumor reached us
of the royal prize offered
to those
who
should be able
to make soup
from a sausage skewer.
, , , ,
“Then my old grandmother sought out a manuscript,
--which she herself
could not read,
to be sure,
but she had heard it read,
--and
in it were written these words,
‘Those
who are poets
can make soup
of sausage skewers.’
She asked me
if I was a poet.
I told her I felt myself quite innocent
of any such pretensions.
Then she said I must go out
and make myself a poet.
I asked again
what I
should be required
to do,
for it seemed
to me quite
as difficult as
to find out how
to make soup
of a sausage skewer.
My grandmother had heard a great deal
of reading
in her day,
and she told me
that three principal qualifications were necessary
--understanding,
imagination,
and feeling.
‘If you
can manage
to acquire these three,
you
will be a poet,
and the sausage-skewer soup
will seem quite simple
to you.’
, , , ,
“So I went forth
into the world
and turned my steps
toward the west,
that I might become a poet.
Understanding is the most important matter
of all.
I was sure
of that,
for the other two qualifications are not thought much of;
so I went first
to seek understanding.
Where was I
to find it?
, , , ,
“‘Go
to the ant
and learn wisdom,’
said the great Jewish king.
I learned this
from living
in a library.
So I went straight
on
till I came
to the first great ant hill.
There I set myself
to watch,
that I might become wise.
The ants are a very respectable people;
they are wisdom itself.
All they 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.’
This they truly do.
They are divided
into clean
and dirty ants,
and their rank is indicated
by a number.
The ant-queen is number ONE.
Her opinion is the only correct one
on everything,
and she seems
to have
in her the wisdom
of the whole world.
This was just
what I wished
to acquire.
She said a great deal
that was no doubt very clever
--yet it sounded
like nonsense
to me.
She said the ant hill was the loftiest thing
in the world,
although close
to the mound stood a tall tree
which no one
could deny was loftier,
much loftier.
Yet she made no mention
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
than any ant had ever ventured,
and when
at last she returned home she said
that she had found something
in her travels much higher
than the ant hill.
The rest
of the ants considered this an insult
to the whole community,
and condemned her
to wear a muzzle
and live
in perpetual solitude.
, , , ,
“A short time afterwards another ant got
on the tree
and made the same journey
and the same discovery.
But she spoke
of it cautiously
and indefinitely,
and
as she was one
of the superior ants
and very much respected,
they believed her.
And
when she died they erected an egg-shell
as a monument
to her memory,
for they cultivated a great respect
for science.
, , , ,
“I saw,”
said the little mouse,
“that the ants were always running
to
and fro
with their burdens
on their backs.
Once I saw one
of them,
who had dropped her load,
try very hard
to raise it again,
but she did not succeed.
Two others came up
and tried
with all their strength
to help her,
till they nearly dropped their own burdens.
Then they were obliged
to stop a moment,
for every one must think
of himself first.
The ant-queen remarked
that their conduct
that day showed
that they possessed kind hearts
and good understanding.
‘These two qualities,’
she continued,
‘place us ants
in the highest degree
above all other reasonable beings.
Understanding must therefore stand out prominently
among us,
and my wisdom is greatest.’
So saying,
she raised herself
on her two hind legs,
that no one else might be mistaken
for her.
I
could not,
therefore,
have made a mistake,
so I ate her up.
We are
to go
to the ants
to learn wisdom,
and I had secured 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,
and was very old.
I knew
that a living being dwelt here,
a dryad,
as she is called,
who is born
with the tree
and dies
with it.
I had heard this
in the library,
and here was just such a tree and
in it an oak maiden.
She uttered a terrible scream
when she caught sight
of me so near
to her.
Like women,
she was very much afraid
of mice,
and she had more real cause
for fear
than they have,
for I might have gnawed
through the tree
on
which her life depended.
, , , ,
“I spoke
to her
in a friendly manner
and begged her
to take courage.
At last she took me up
in her delicate hand,
and I told her
what had brought me out
into the world.
She told me
that perhaps
on
that very evening she
would be able
to obtain
for me one
of the two treasures
for
which I was seeking.
She told me
that Phantæsus,
the genius
of the imagination,
was her very dear friend;
that he was
as beautiful
as the god
of love;
that he rested many an hour
with her
under the leafy boughs
of the tree,
which
then rustled
and waved more
than ever.
He called her his dryad,
she said,
and the tree his tree,
for the grand old oak
with its gnarled trunk was just
to his taste.
The root,
which spread deep
into the earth,
and the top,
which rose high
in the fresh air,
knew the value
of the drifting snow,
the keen wind,
and the warm sunshine,
as it ought
to be known.
‘Yes,’
continued the dryad,
‘the birds sing up above
in the branches
and talk
to each other
about the beautiful fields they have visited
in foreign lands.
On one
of the withered boughs a stork has built his nest
--it is beautifully arranged,
and,
besides,
it is pleasant
to hear a little
about the land
of the pyramids.
All this pleases Phantæsus,
but it is not enough
for him.
I am obliged
to relate
to him
of my life
in the woods and
to go back
to my childhood,
when I was little
and the tree so small
and delicate
that a stinging nettle
could overshadow it,
and I have
to tell everything
that has happened since
then
until now,
when the tree is so large
and strong.
Sit you down now
under the green bindwood
and pay attention.
When Phantæsus comes I
will find an opportunity
to lay hold
of his wing and
to pull out one
of the little feathers.
That feather you shall have.
A better was never given
to any poet,
and it
will be quite enough
for you.’
, , , ,
“And
when Phantæsus came the feather was plucked,”
said the little mouse,
“and I seized
and put it
in water
and kept it there
till it was quite soft.
It was very heavy
and indigestible,
but I managed
to nibble it up
at last.
It is not so easy
to nibble oneself
into a poet,
there are so many things
to get through.
Now,
however,
I had two
of them,
understanding
and imagination,
and
through these I knew
that the third was
to be found
in the library.
, , , ,
“A great man has said
and written
that
there are novels whose sole
and only use appears
to be
to attempt
to relieve mankind
of overflowing tears
--a kind
of sponge,
in fact,
for sucking up feelings
and emotions.
I remembered a few
of these books.
They had always appeared tempting
to the appetite,
for they had been much read
and were so greasy
that they must have absorbed no end
of emotions
in themselves.
, , , ,
“I retraced my steps
to the library
and literally devoured a whole novel
--that is,
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,
I felt a stirring within me.
I
then ate a small piece
of a third romance
and felt myself a poet.
I said it
to myself
and told others the same.
I had headache
and backache
and I cannot tell
what aches besides.
I thought
over all the stories
that may be said
to be connected
with sausage pegs;
and all
that has ever been written
about skewers,
and sticks,
and staves,
and splinters came
to my thoughts
--the ant-queen must have had a wonderfully clear understanding.
I remembered the man
who placed
in his mouth a white stick,
by
which he
could make himself
and the stick invisible.
I thought
of sticks
as hobbyhorses,
staves
of music
or rime,
of breaking a stick
over a man’s back,
and
of Heaven knows
how many more phrases
of the same sort,
relating
to sticks,
staves,
and skewers.
All my thoughts ran
on skewers,
sticks
of wood,
and staves.
As I am
at last a poet
and have worked terribly hard
to make myself one,
I can
of course make poetry
on anything.
I shall therefore be able
to wait upon you every day
in the week
with a poetical history
of a skewer.
And
that is my soup.”
, , , ,
“In
that case,”
said the mouse-king,
“we
will hear
what the third mouse has
to say.”
, , , ,
“Squeak,
squeak,”
cried a little mouse
at the kitchen door.
It was the fourth,
and not the third,
of the four
who were contending
for the prize,
the one whom the rest supposed
to be dead.
She shot
in
like an arrow
and overturned the sausage peg
that had been covered
with crape.
She had been running day
and night,
for
although she had traveled
in a baggage train,
by railway,
yet she had arrived
almost too late.
She pressed forward,
looking very much ruffled.
, , , ,
She had lost her sausage skewer
but not her voice,
and she began
to speak
at once,
as
if they waited only
for her
and
would hear her only
--as
if nothing else
in the world were
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 or
to say a word
while she was speaking.
This is
what she said.
, , , ,
WHAT THE FOURTH MOUSE,
WHO SPOKE
before THE THIRD,
HAD
to TELL
“I started off
at once
to the largest town,”
said she,
“but the name
of it has escaped me.
I have a very bad memory
for names.
I was carried
from the railway,
with some goods
on
which duties had not been paid,
to the jail,
and
on arriving I made my escape,
running
into the house
of the keeper.
He was speaking
of his prisoners,
especially
of one
who had uttered thoughtless words.
These words had given rise
to other words,
and
at length they were written down
and registered.
‘The whole affair is
like making soup
of sausage skewers,’
said he,
‘but the soup may cost him his neck.’
, , , ,
“Now this raised
in me an interest
for the prisoner,”
continued the little mouse,
“and I watched my opportunity
and slipped
into his apartment,
for
there is a mousehole
to be found
behind every closed door.
, , , ,
“The prisoner,
who had a great beard
and large,
sparkling eyes,
looked pale.
There was a lamp burning,
but the walls were so black
that they only looked the blacker
for it.
The prisoner scratched pictures
and verses
with white chalk
on the black walls,
but I did not read the verses.
I think he found his confinement wearisome,
so
that I was a welcome guest.
He enticed me
with bread crumbs,
with whistling,
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
and gave me cheese
and sausage,
and I began
to love him.
Altogether,
I must own
that it was a very pleasant intimacy.
He let me run about
on his hand,
on his arm,
into his sleeve,
and even
into his beard.
He called me his little friend,
and I forgot
for
what I had come out
into the world;
forgot my sausage skewer,
which I had laid
in a crack
in the floor,
where it is still lying.
I wished
to stay
with him always,
for I knew that
if I went away,
the poor prisoner
would have no one
to be his friend,
which is a sad thing.
, , , ,
“I stayed,
but he did not.
He spoke
to me so mournfully
for the last time,
gave me double
as much bread
and cheese
as usual,
and kissed his hand
to me.
Then he went away
and never came back.
I know nothing more
of his history.
, , , ,
“The jailer took possession
of me now.
He said something
about soup
from a sausage skewer,
but I
could not trust him.
He took me
in his hand,
certainly,
but it was
to place me
in a cage
like a treadmill.
Oh,
how dreadful it was!
I had
to run round
and round without getting any farther,
and only
to make everybody laugh.
, , , ,
“The jailer’s granddaughter was a charming little thing.
She had merry eyes,
curly hair
like the brightest gold,
and such a smiling mouth.
, , , ,
“‘You poor little mouse,’
said she one day,
as she peeped
into my cage,
‘I
will set you free.’
She
then drew forth the iron fastening,
and I sprang out
on the window-sill,
and
from thence
to the roof.
Free!
free!
that was all I
could think of,
and not
of the object
of my journey.
, , , ,
“It grew dark,
and
as night was coming
on I found a lodging
in an old tower,
where dwelt a watchman
and an owl.
I had no confidence
in either
of them,
least
of all
in the owl,
which is
like a cat
and has a great failing,
for she eats mice.
One may,
however,
be mistaken sometimes,
and I was now,
for this was a respectable
and well-educated old owl,
who knew more
than the watchman
and even
as much
as I did myself.
The young owls made a great fuss
about everything,
but the only rough words she
would say
to them were,
‘You had better go
and try
to make some soup
from sausage skewers.’
She was very indulgent
and loving
to her own children.
Her conduct gave me such confidence
in her
that
from the crack
where I sat I called out ‘Squeak.’
, , , ,
“This confidence pleased her so much
that she assured me she
would take me
under her own protection
and
that not a creature
should do me harm.
The fact was,
she wickedly meant
to keep me
in reserve
for her own eating
in the winter,
when food
would be scarce.
Yet she was a very clever lady-owl.
She explained
to me
that the watchman
could only hoot
with the horn
that hung loose
at his side
and
that he was so terribly proud
of it
that he imagined himself an owl
in the tower,
wanted
to do great things,
but only succeeded
in small
--soup
from a sausage skewer.
, , , ,
“Then I begged the owl
to give me the recipe
for this soup.
‘Soup
from a sausage skewer,’
said she,
‘is only a proverb amongst mankind
and may be understood
in many ways.
Each believes his own way the best,
and,
after all,
the proverb signifies nothing.’
‘Nothing!’ I exclaimed.
I was quite struck.
Truth is not always agreeable,
but truth is
above everything else,
as the old owl said.
I thought
over all this
and saw quite plainly that
if truth was really so far
above everything else,
it must be much more valuable
than soup
from a sausage skewer.
So I hastened
to get away,
that I might be
in time
and bring
what was highest
and best
and
above everything
--namely,
the truth.
, , , ,
“The mice are enlightened people,
and the mouse-king is
above them all.
He is therefore capable
of making me queen
for the sake
of truth.”
, , , ,
“Your truth is a falsehood,”
said the mouse
who had not yet spoken.
“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 this country;
that was the right way.
One gains nothing
by traveling.
Everything
can be acquired here quite
as easily,
so I stayed
at home.
I have not obtained
what I know
from supernatural beings;
I have neither swallowed it nor learned it
from conversing
with owls.
I have gained it all
from my own reflections
and thoughts.
Will you now set the kettle
on the fire
--so?
Now pour the water in,
quite full up
to the brim;
place it
on the fire;
make up a good blaze;
keep it burning,
that the water may boil,
for it must boil over
and over.
There,
now I throw
in the skewer.
Will the mouse-king be pleased now
to dip his tail
into the boiling water
and stir it round
with the tail?
The longer the king stirs it the stronger the soup
will become.
Nothing more 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 is this power contained.”
, , , ,
And the water boiled
and bubbled,
as the mouse-king stood close beside the kettle.
It seemed rather a dangerous performance,
but he turned round
and put out his tail,
as mice do
in a dairy
when they wish
to skim the cream
from a pan
of milk
with their tails
and afterwards lick it off.
But the mouse-king’s tail had only just touched the hot steam
when he sprang away
from the chimney
in a great hurry,
exclaiming:
“Oh,
certainly,
by all means,
you must be my queen.
We
will let the soup question rest
till our golden wedding,
fifty years hence,
so
that the poor
in my kingdom
who are then
to have plenty
of food
will have something
to look forward
to
for a long time,
with great joy.”
, , , ,
And very soon the wedding took place.
Many
of the mice,
however,
as they were returning home,
said
that the soup
could not be properly called “soup
from a sausage skewer,”
but “soup
from a mouse’s tail.”
They acknowledged
that some
of the stories were very well told,
but thought
that the whole might have been managed differently.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
WHAT THE GOODMAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT
I
will tell you a story
that was told
to me
when I was a little boy.
Every time I think
of this story it seems
to me more
and more charming;
for it is
with stories
as it is
with many people
--they become better
as they grow older.
, , , ,
I have no doubt
that you have been
in the country
and seen a very old farmhouse,
with thatched roof,
and mosses
and small plants growing wild upon it.
There is a stork’s nest
on the ridge
of the gable,
for we cannot do without the stork.
The walls
of the house are sloping,
and the windows are low,
and only one
of the latter is made
to open.
The baking oven sticks out
of the wall
like a great knob.
An elder tree hangs
over the palings,
and
beneath its branches,
at the foot
of the paling,
is a pool
of water
in
which a few ducks are sporting.
There is a yard dog,
too,
that barks
at all comers.
, , , ,
Just such a farmhouse
as this stood
in a country lane,
and
in it dwelt an old couple,
a peasant
and his wife.
Small
as their possessions were,
they had one thing they
could not do without,
and
that was a horse,
which contrived
to live upon the grass found
by the side
of the highroad.
The old peasant rode
into the town upon this horse,
and his neighbors often borrowed it
of him
and paid
for the loan
of it
by rendering some service
to the old couple.
Yet after a time the old people thought it
would be
as well
to sell the horse
or exchange it
for something
which might be more useful
to them.
But
what
should this _something_ be?
, , , ,
“You
will know best,
old man,”
said the wife.
“It is fair day to-day;
so ride
into town
and get rid
of the horse
for money
or make a good exchange.
Whichever you do
will please me;
so ride
to the fair.”
, , , ,
She fastened his neckerchief
for him,
for she
could do
that better
than he could
and she
could also tie it very prettily
in a double bow.
She also smoothed his hat round
and round
with the palm
of her hand
and gave him a kiss.
Then he rode away upon the horse
that was
to be sold,
or bartered
for something else.
Yes,
the goodman knew
what he was about.
The sun shone
with great heat,
and not a cloud was
to be seen
in the sky.
The road was very dusty,
for many people,
all going
to the fair,
were driving,
riding,
or walking upon it.
There was no shelter anywhere
from the hot sun.
Among the crowd a man came trudging along,
driving a cow
to the fair.
The cow was
as beautiful a creature
as any cow
could be.
, , , ,
“She gives good milk,
I am certain,”
said the peasant
to himself.
“That
would be a very good exchange:
the cow
for the horse.
Halloo there!
you
with the cow,”
he said.
“I tell you what,
I dare say a horse is
of more value
than a cow;
but I
don’t care
for that.
A cow
will be more useful
to me,
so
if you
like we’ll exchange.”
, , , ,
“To be sure I will,”
said the man.
, , , ,
[Illustration:
And
then our peasant ...
continued his way.]
Accordingly the exchange was made.
When the matter was settled the peasant might have turned back,
for he had done the business he came
to do.
But having made up his mind
to go
to the fair,
he determined
to do so,
if only
to have a look
at it.
So
on he went
to the town
with his cow.
Leading the animal,
he strode
on sturdily,
and,
after a short time,
overtook a man
who was driving a sheep.
It was a good fat sheep,
with a fine fleece
on its back.
, , , ,
“I
should like
to have
that fellow,”
said the peasant
to himself.
“There is plenty
of grass
for him
by our palings,
and
in the winter we
could keep him
in the room
with us.
Perhaps it
would be more profitable
to have a sheep
than a cow.
Shall I exchange?”
, , , ,
The man
with the sheep was quite ready,
and the bargain was quickly made.
And
then our peasant continued his way
on the highroad
with his sheep.
Soon after this,
he overtook another man,
who had come
into the road
from a field,
and was carrying a large goose
under his arm.
, , , ,
“What a heavy creature you have there!”
said the peasant.
“It has plenty
of feathers
and plenty
of fat,
and
would look well tied
to a string,
or paddling
in the water
at our place.
That
would be very useful
to my old woman;
she
could make all sorts
of profit out
of it.
How often she has said,
‘If we only had a goose!’ Now here is an opportunity,
and,
if possible,
I
will get it
for her.
Shall we exchange?
I
will give you my sheep
for your goose,
and thanks
into the bargain.”
, , , ,
The other had not the least objection,
and accordingly the exchange was made,
and our peasant became possessor
of the goose.
By this time he had arrived very near the town.
The crowd
on the highroad had been gradually increasing,
and
there was quite a rush
of men
and cattle.
The cattle walked
on the path and
by the palings,
and
at the turnpike gate they
even walked
into the toll keeper’s potato field,
where one fowl was strutting about
with a string tied
to its leg,
lest it
should take fright
at the crowd
and run away
and get lost.
The tail feathers
of this fowl were very short,
and it winked
with both its eyes,
and looked very cunning
as it said,
“Cluck,
cluck.”
What were the thoughts
of the fowl
as it said this I cannot tell you,
but
as soon
as our good man saw it,
he thought,
“Why,
that’s the finest fowl I ever saw
in my life;
it’s finer
than our parson’s brood hen,
upon my word.
I
should like
to have
that fowl.
Fowls
can always pick up a few grains
that lie about,
and
almost keep themselves.
I think it
would be a good exchange
if I
could get it
for my goose.
Shall we exchange?”
he asked the toll keeper.
, , , ,
“Exchange?”
repeated the man.
“Well,
it
would not be a bad thing.”
, , , ,
So they made an exchange;
the toll keeper
at the turnpike gate kept the goose,
and the peasant carried off the fowl.
Now he really had done a great deal
of business
on his way
to the fair,
and he was hot
and tired.
He wanted something
to eat,
and a glass
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
at the door.
The ostler was carrying a sack.
“What have you
in
that sack?”
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,”
the peasant replied.
“I
should like
to take them home
to my old woman.
Last year the old apple tree
by the grassplot bore only one apple,
and we kept it
in the cupboard
till it was quite withered
and rotten.
It was property,
my old woman said.
Here she
would see a great deal
of property
--a whole sackful.
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 he carried
into the inn parlor.
He leaned the sack carefully
against the stove,
and
then went
to the table.
But the stove was hot,
and he had not thought
of that.
Many guests were present
--horse-dealers,
cattle-drovers,
and two Englishmen.
The Englishmen were so rich
that their pockets bulged
and seemed ready
to burst;
and they
could bet too,
as you shall hear.
Hiss
--s
--s,
hiss
--s
--s.
What could
that be
by the stove?
The apples were beginning
to roast.
“What is that?”
asked one.
, , , ,
“Why,
do you know--” said our peasant,
and
then he told them the whole story
of the horse,
which he had exchanged
for a cow,
and all the rest
of it,
down
to the apples.
, , , ,
“Well,
your old woman
will give it
to you
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 goodman does is always right.’”
“Let us lay a wager
on it,”
said the Englishman.
“We’ll wager you a ton
of coined gold,
a hundred pounds
to the hundredweight.”
, , , ,
“No,
a bushel
will be enough,”
replied the peasant.
“I
can only set a bushel
of apples
against it,
and I’ll throw myself
and my old woman
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 Englishmen
and the peasant got in,
and away they drove.
Soon they had stopped
at the peasant’s hut.
“Good evening,
old woman.”
, , , ,
“Good evening,
old man.”
, , , ,
“I’ve made the exchange.”
, , , ,
“Ah,
well,
you understand
what you’re about,”
said the woman.
Then she embraced him,
and paid no attention
to the strangers,
nor did she notice the sack.
, , , ,
“I got a cow
in exchange
for the horse.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
how delightful!”
said she.
“Now we shall have plenty
of milk,
and butter,
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
of everything;
we have just enough pasture
for a sheep.
Ewe’s milk
and cheese,
woolen jackets
and stockings!
The cow
could not give all these,
and her hairs only fall 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 old man,
you are always thinking
of something
to please me.
This is delightful.
We
can let the goose walk about
with a string tied
to her leg,
so
that she
will get 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.
We shall soon have a poultry yard.
Oh,
this is just
what I was wishing for!”
“Yes,
but I exchanged the fowl
for a sack
of shriveled apples.”
, , , ,
“What!
I must really give you a kiss
for that!”
exclaimed the wife.
“My dear,
good husband,
now I’ll tell you something.
Do you know,
almost
as soon
as you left me this morning,
I began thinking
of
what I
could give you nice
for supper this evening,
and
then I thought
of fried eggs
and bacon,
with sweet herbs.
I had eggs
and bacon
but lacked the herbs,
so I went over
to the schoolmaster’s.
I knew they had plenty
of herbs,
but the schoolmistress is very mean,
although she
can smile so sweetly.
I begged her
to lend me a handful
of herbs.
‘Lend!’ she exclaimed,
‘I have nothing
to lend.
I
could not
even lend you a shriveled apple,
my dear woman.’
But now I
can lend her ten,
or a whole sackful,
for
which I’m very glad.
It makes me laugh
to think
of it.”
Then she gave him a hearty kiss.
, , , ,
“Well,
I
like all this,”
said both the Englishmen;
“always going down the hill
and yet always merry.
It’s worth the money
to see it.”
So they paid a hundredweight
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 her husband knows best
and
that whatever he does is right.
, , , ,
This is a story
which I heard
when I was a child.
And now you have heard it,
too,
and know
that “What the goodman does is always right.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE OLD STREET LAMP
DID you ever hear the story
of the old street lamp?
It is not remarkably interesting,
but
for once you may
as well listen
to it.
, , , ,
It was a most respectable old lamp,
which had seen many,
many years
of service
and now was
to retire
with a pension.
It was this very evening
at its post
for the last time,
giving light
to the street.
Its feelings were something
like those
of an old dancer
at the theater
who is dancing
for the last time
and knows that
on the morrow she
will be
in her garret,
alone
and forgotten.
, , , ,
The lamp had very great anxiety
about the next day,
for it knew
that it had
to appear
for the first time
at the town hall
to be inspected
by the mayor
and the council,
who were
to decide whether it was fit
for further service;
whether it was good enough
to be used
to light the inhabitants
of one
of the suburbs,
or
in the country,
at some factory.
If the lamp
could not be used
for one
of these purposes,
it
would be sent
at once
to an iron foundry
to be melted down.
In this latter case it might be turned
into anything,
and it wondered very much whether it would
then be able
to remember
that it had once been a street lamp.
This troubled it exceedingly.
, , , ,
Whatever might happen,
it seemed certain
that the lamp
would be separated
from the watchman
and his wife,
whose family it looked upon
as its own.
The lamp had first been hung up
on the very evening
that the watchman,
then a robust young man,
had entered upon the duties
of his office.
Ah,
well!
it was a very long time
since one became a lamp
and the other a watchman.
His wife had some little pride
in those days;
she condescended
to glance
at the lamp only
when she passed by
in the evening
--never
in the daytime.
But
in later years,
when all
of them
--the watchman,
the wife,
and the lamp
--had grown old,
she had attended
to it,
cleaning it
and keeping it supplied
with oil.
The old people were thoroughly honest;
they had never cheated 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 it must go
to the town hall
--two very dark things
to think of.
No wonder it did not burn brightly.
How many persons it had lighted
on their way,
and
how much it had seen!
As much,
very likely,
as the mayor
and corporation themselves!
None
of these thoughts were uttered aloud,
however,
for the lamp was good
and honorable
and
would not willingly do harm
to any one,
especially
to those
in authority.
As one thing after another was recalled
to its mind,
the light
would flash up
with sudden brightness.
At such moments the lamp had a conviction
that it
would be remembered.
, , , ,
“There was a handsome young man,
once,”
thought the lamp;
“it is certainly a long
while ago,
but I remember
that he had a little note,
written
on pink paper
with a gold edge.
The writing was elegant,
evidently a lady’s.
Twice he read it through,
and kissed it,
and
then looked up
at me
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
from his lady-love.
Ah,
yes,
and
there was another pair
of eyes
that I remember;
it is really wonderful
how the thoughts jump
from one thing
to another!
A funeral passed
through the street.
A young
and beautiful woman lay
on a bier decked
with garlands
of flowers,
and attended
by torches
which quite overpowered my light.
All
along the street stood the people
from the houses,
in crowds,
ready
to join the procession.
But
when the torches had passed
from
before me
and I
could look around,
I saw one person standing alone,
leaning
against my post
and weeping.
Never shall I forget the sorrowful eyes
that looked up
at me.”
, , , ,
These
and similar reflections occupied the old street lamp
on this the last time
that its light
would shine.
The sentry,
when he is relieved
from his post,
knows,
at least,
who
will be his successor,
and may whisper a few words
to him.
But the lamp did not know its successor,
or it might have given him a few hints respecting rain
or mist
and might have informed him
how far the moon’s rays
would reach,
and
from
which side the wind generally blew,
and so on.
, , , ,
On the bridge
over the canal stood three persons
who wished
to recommend themselves
to the lamp,
for they thought it
could give the office
to whomsoever it chose.
The first was a herring’s head,
which
could emit light
in the darkness.
He remarked
that it
would be a great saving
of oil
if they placed him
on the lamp-post.
Number two was a piece
of rotten wood,
which also shines
in the dark.
He considered himself descended
from an old stem,
once the pride
of the forest.
The third was a glowworm,
and
how he found his way
there the lamp
could not imagine;
yet
there he was,
and
could really give light
as well
as the others.
But the rotten wood
and the herring’s head declared most solemnly,
by all they held sacred,
that the glowworm only gave light
at certain times
and must not be allowed
to compete
with them.
The old lamp assured them
that not one
of them
could give sufficient light
to fill the position
of a street lamp,
but they
would believe nothing
that it said.
When they discovered
that it had not the power
of naming its successor,
they said they were very glad
to hear it,
for the lamp was too old
and worn out
to make a proper choice.
, , , ,
At this moment the wind came rushing round the corner
of the street
and
through the air-holes
of the old lamp.
“What is this I hear?”
it asked.
“Are you going away to-morrow?
Is this evening the last time we shall meet?
Then I must present you
with a farewell gift.
I
will blow
into your brain,
so that
in future not only shall you be able
to remember all
that you have seen
or heard
in the past,
but your light within shall be so bright
that you
will be able
to 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.
“I
will also blow a memory
into you,
so that,
should you receive other similar presents,
your old age
will pass very pleasantly.”
, , , ,
“That is,
if I am not melted down,”
said the lamp.
“But
should I,
in
that 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
will you give the old lamp?”
asked the wind.
, , , ,
“I
can give nothing,”
she replied.
“I am
on the wane,
and no lamps have ever given me light,
while I have frequently shone upon them.”
With these words the moon hid herself again
behind the clouds,
that she might be saved
from further importunities.
Just
then a drop fell upon the lamp
from the roof
of the house,
but the drop explained
that it was a gift
from those gray clouds
and perhaps the best
of all gifts.
“I shall penetrate you so thoroughly,”
it said,
“that you
will have the power
of becoming rusty,
and,
if you wish it,
can crumble
into dust
in one night.”
, , , ,
But this seemed
to the lamp a very shabby present,
and the wind thought so,
too.
“Does no one give any more?
Will no one give any more?”
shouted the breath
of the wind,
as loud
as it could.
Then a bright,
falling star came down,
leaving a broad,
luminous streak
behind it.
, , , ,
“What was that?”
cried the herring’s head.
“Did not a star fall?
I really believe it went
into the lamp.
Certainly,
when such high-born personages try
for the office we may
as well go home.”
, , , ,
And so they did,
all three,
while the old lamp threw a wonderfully strong light all around.
, , , ,
“This is a glorious gift,”
it said.
“The bright stars have always been a joy
to me
and have always shone more brilliantly
than I ever
could shine,
though I have tried
with my whole might.
Now they have noticed me,
a poor old lamp,
and have sent me a gift that
will enable me
to see clearly everything
that I remember,
as
if it still stood
before me,
and
to let it be seen
by all those
who love me.
And herein lies the truest happiness,
for pleasures
which we cannot share
with others are only half enjoyed.”
, , , ,
“That sentiment does you honor,”
said the wind;
“but
for this purpose wax lights
will be necessary.
If these are not lighted
in you,
your peculiar faculties
will not benefit others
in the least.
The stars have not thought
of this.
They suppose
that you
and every other light must be a wax taper.
But I must go down now.”
So it laid itself
to rest.
, , , ,
“Wax tapers,
indeed!”
said the lamp;
“I have never yet had these,
nor is it likely I ever shall.
If I
could only be sure
of not being melted down!”
The next day
--well,
perhaps we had better pass
over the next day.
The evening had come,
and the lamp was resting
in a grandfather’s chair;
and guess where!
Why,
at the old watchman’s house.
He had begged
as a favor
that the mayor
and corporation
would allow him
to keep the street lamp
in consideration
of his long
and faithful service,
as he had himself hung it up
and lighted it
on the day he first commenced his duties,
four
and twenty years ago.
He looked upon it almost
as his own child.
He had no children,
so the lamp was given
to him.
, , , ,
There lay the lamp
in the great armchair near the warm stove.
It seemed almost
to have grown larger,
for it appeared quite
to fill the chair.
The old people sat
at their supper,
casting friendly glances
at it,
and
would willingly have admitted it
to a place
at the table.
It is quite true
that they dwelt
in a cellar two yards below ground,
and had
to cross a stone passage
to get
to their room.
But within,
it was warm
and comfortable,
and strips
of list had been nailed round the door.
The bed
and the little window had curtains,
and everything looked clean
and neat.
On the window seat stood two curious flowerpots,
which a sailor named Christian had brought
from the East
or West Indies.
They were
of clay,
and
in the form
of two elephants
with open backs;
they were filled
with earth,
and
through the open space flowers bloomed.
In one grew some very fine chives
or leeks;
this was the kitchen garden.
The other,
which contained a beautiful geranium,
they called their flower garden.
On the wall hung a large colored print,
representing the Congress
of Vienna
and all the kings
and emperors.
A clock
with heavy weights hung
on the wall
and went “tick,
tick,”
steadily enough;
yet it was always rather too fast,
which,
however,
the old people said was better
than being too slow.
They were now eating their supper,
while the old street lamp,
as we have heard,
lay
in the grandfather’s armchair near the stove.
, , , ,
It seemed
to the lamp
as
if the whole world had turned round.
But after a
while the old watchman looked
at the lamp
and spoke
of
what they had both gone
through together
--in rain and
in fog,
during the short,
bright nights
of summer or
in the long winter nights,
through the drifting snowstorms
when he longed
to be
at home
in the cellar.
Then the lamp felt
that all was well again.
It saw everything
that had happened quite clearly,
as
if the events were passing
before it.
Surely the wind had given it an excellent gift!
The old people were very active
and industrious;
they were never idle
for
even a single hour.
On Sunday afternoons they
would bring out some books,
generally a book
of travels
which they greatly liked.
The old man
would read aloud
about Africa,
with its great forests
and the wild elephants,
while his wife
would listen attentively,
stealing a glance now
and then
at the clay elephants
which served
as flowerpots.
“I
can
almost imagine I am seeing it all,”
she said.
, , , ,
Ah!
how the lamp wished
for a wax taper
to be lighted
in it,
for
then the old woman
would have seen the smallest detail
as clearly
as it did itself;
the lofty trees,
with their thickly entwined branches,
the naked negroes
on horseback,
and whole herds
of elephants treading down bamboo 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 tallow here,
and these
will not do.”
One day a great heap
of wax-candle ends found their way
into the cellar.
The larger pieces were burned,
and the smaller ones the old woman kept
for waxing her thread.
So
there were now candles enough,
but it never occurred
to any one
to put a little piece
in the lamp.
, , , ,
“Here I am now,
with my rare powers,”
thought the lamp.
“I have faculties within me,
but I cannot share them.
They do not know
that I
could cover these white walls
with beautiful tapestry,
or change them
into noble forests or,
indeed,
to anything else they might wish.”
, , , ,
The lamp,
however,
was always kept clean
and shining
in a corner,
where it attracted all eyes.
Strangers looked upon it
as lumber,
but the old people did not care
for that;
they loved it.
One day
--it was the watchman’s birthday
--the old woman approached the lamp,
smiling
to herself,
and said,
“I
will have an illumination to-day,
in honor
of my old man.”
The lamp rattled
in its metal frame,
for it thought,
“Now
at last I shall have a light within me.”
But,
after all,
no wax light was placed
in the lamp
--only oil,
as usual.
, , , ,
The lamp burned
through the whole evening
and began
to perceive too clearly
that the gift
of the stars
would remain a hidden treasure all its life.
Then it had a dream;
for
to one
with its faculties,
dreaming was not difficult.
It dreamed
that the old people were dead
and
that it had been taken
to the iron foundry
to be melted down.
This caused the lamp quite
as much anxiety as
on the day
when it had been called upon
to appear
before the mayor
and the council
at the town hall.
But though it had been endowed
with the power
of falling
into decay
from rust
when it pleased,
it did not make use
of this power.
It was therefore put
into the melting furnace
and changed into
as elegant an iron candlestick
as you
could wish
to see
--one intended
to hold a wax taper.
The candlestick was
in the form
of an angel holding a nosegay,
in the center
of
which the wax taper was
to be placed.
It was
to stand
on a green writing table
in a very pleasant room,
where
there were many books scattered about
and splendid paintings
on the walls.
, , , ,
The owner
of the room was a poet
and a man
of intellect.
Everything he thought
or wrote was pictured
around him.
Nature showed herself
to him sometimes
in the dark forests,
sometimes
in cheerful meadows
where the storks were strutting about,
or
on the deck
of a ship sailing
across the foaming sea,
with the clear,
blue sky above,
or
at night
in the glittering stars.
, , , ,
“What powers I possess!”
said the lamp,
awaking
from its dream.
“I
could
almost wish
to be melted down;
but no,
that must not 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 the picture
of the Congress,
in
which they take so much pleasure.”
And from
that time it felt
at rest
in itself,
and not more so
than such an honorable old lamp really deserved
to be.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE SHEPHERDESS
and THE CHIMNEY SWEEP
HAVE you ever seen an old wooden cabinet,
quite worn black
with age,
and ornamented
with all sorts
of carved figures
and flourishes?
, , , ,
Just such a one stood
in a certain parlor.
It was a legacy
from the great-grandmother,
and was covered
from top
to bottom
with carved roses
and tulips.
The most curious flourishes were
on it,
too;
and
between them peered forth little stags’ heads,
with their zigzag antlers.
On the door panel had been carved the entire figure
of a man,
a most ridiculous man
to look at,
for he grinned
--you
could not call it smiling
or laughing
--in the drollest way.
Moreover,
he had crooked legs,
little horns upon his forehead,
and a long beard.
, , , ,
The children used
to call him the “crooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant,”
which was a long,
hard name
to pronounce.
Very few
there are,
whether
in wood or
in stone,
who
could get such a title.
Surely
to have cut him out
in wood was no trifling task.
However,
there he was.
His eyes were always fixed upon the table below,
and
toward the mirror,
for upon this table stood a charming little porcelain shepherdess,
her mantle gathered gracefully
about her
and fastened
with a red rose.
Her shoes
and hat were gilded,
and her hand held a shepherd’s crook;
she was very lovely.
Close
by her stood a little chimney sweep,
also
of porcelain.
He was
as clean
and neat
as any other figure.
Indeed,
he might
as well have been made a prince
as a sweep,
since he was only make-believe;
for though everywhere else he was
as black
as a coal,
his round,
bright face was
as fresh
and rosy
as a girl’s.
This was certainly a mistake
--it ought
to have been black.
, , , ,
There he stood so prettily,
with his ladder
in his hand,
quite close
to the shepherdess.
From the first he had been placed there,
and he always remained
on the same spot;
for they had promised
to be true
to each other.
They suited each other exactly
--they were both young,
both
of the same kind
of porcelain,
and both equally fragile.
, , , ,
Close
to them stood another figure three times
as large
as themselves.
It was an old Chinaman,
a mandarin,
who
could nod his head.
He was
of porcelain,
too,
and he said he was the grandfather
of the shepherdess;
but this he
could not prove.
He insisted
that he had authority
over her,
and so
when the crooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant made proposals
to the little shepherdess,
he nodded his head,
in token
of his consent.
, , , ,
“You
will have a husband,”
said the old mandarin
to her,
“a husband who,
I verily believe,
is
of mahogany wood.
You
will be the wife
of a field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant,
of a man
who has a whole cabinet full
of silver plate,
besides a store
of no one knows what
in the secret drawers.”
, , , ,
“I
will never go into
that dismal cabinet,”
declared the little shepherdess.
“I have heard it said
that
there are eleven porcelain ladies already imprisoned there.”
, , , ,
“Then,”
rejoined the mandarin,
“you
will be the twelfth,
and you
will be
in good company.
This very night,
when the old cabinet creaks,
we shall keep the wedding,
as surely
as I am a Chinese mandarin.”
And upon this he nodded his head
and fell asleep.
, , , ,
But the little shepherdess wept,
and turned
to the beloved
of her heart,
the porcelain chimney sweep.
, , , ,
“I believe I must ask you,”
she said,
“to go out
with me
into the wide world,
for here it is not possible
for us
to stay.”
, , , ,
“I
will do
in everything
as you wish,”
replied the little chimney sweep.
“Let us go
at once.
I am sure I
can support you
by my trade.”
, , , ,
“If we were only down
from the table,”
said she.
“I shall not feel safe
till we are far away out
in the wide world
and free.”
, , , ,
The little chimney sweep comforted her,
and showed her how
to set her little foot
on the carved edges,
and
on the gilded foliage twining round the leg
of the table,
till
at last they both reached the floor.
But,
turning
for a last look
at the old cabinet,
they saw
that everything was
in commotion.
All the carved stags stretched their heads farther out
than before,
raised their antlers,
and moved their throats,
while the crooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant sprang up
and shouted
to the old Chinese mandarin,
“Look!
they are eloping!
they are eloping!”
They were not a little frightened
at this,
and jumped quickly
into an open drawer
in the window seat.
, , , ,
Here lay three
or four packs
of cards
that were not quite complete,
and a little doll’s theater,
which had been set up
as nicely
as
could be.
A play was going on,
and all the queens sat
in the front row,
and fanned themselves
with the flowers
which they held
in their hands,
while
behind them stood the knaves,
each
with two heads,
one above
and one below,
as playing cards have.
The play was
about two persons
who were not allowed
to marry,
and the shepherdess cried,
for it seemed so
like her own story.
, , , ,
“I cannot bear this!”
she said.
“Let us leave the drawer.”
, , , ,
But
when she had again reached the floor she looked up
at the table
and saw
that the old Chinese mandarin was awake,
and
that he was rocking his whole body
to
and fro
with rage.
, , , ,
“The old mandarin is coming!”
cried she,
and down she fell
on her porcelain knees,
so frightened was she.
, , , ,
“I have thought
of a plan,”
said the chimney sweep.
“Suppose we creep
into the jar
of perfumes,
the potpourri vase
which stands
in the corner.
There we
can rest upon roses
and lavender,
and throw salt
in his eyes
if he comes near.”
, , , ,
“That
will not do
at all,”
she said.
“Besides,
I know
that the old mandarin
and the potpourri vase were once betrothed;
and no doubt some slight friendship still exists
between them.
No,
there is no help
for it;
we must wander forth together
into the wide world.”
, , , ,
“Have you really the courage
to go out
into the wide world
with me?”
asked the chimney sweep.
“Have you considered
how large it is,
and that
if we go,
we
can never come back?”
, , , ,
“I have,”
replied she.
, , , ,
And the chimney sweep looked earnestly
at her
and said,
“My way lies
through the chimney.
Have you really the courage
to go
with me
through the stove,
and creep
through the flues
and the tunnel?
Well do I know the way!
we shall come out
by the chimney,
and
then I shall know how
to manage.
We shall mount so high
that they
can never reach us,
and
at the top
there is an opening
that leads out
into the wide world.”
, , , ,
And he led her
to the door
of the stove.
, , , ,
“Oh,
how black it looks!”
she said.
Still she went
on
with him,
through the stove,
the flues,
and the tunnel,
where it was
as dark
as pitch.
, , , ,
“Now we are
in the chimney,”
said he;
“and see
what a lovely star shines
above us.”
, , , ,
There actually was a star
in the sky,
that was shining right down upon them,
as if
to show them the way.
Now they climbed
and crept
--a frightful way it was,
so steep
and high!
But he went first
to guide,
and
to smooth the way
as much
as he could.
He showed her the best places
on which
to set her little china foot,
till
at last they came
to the edge
of the chimney
and sat down
to rest,
for they were very tired,
as may well be supposed.
, , , ,
The sky
and all its stars were
above them,
and below lay all the roofs
of the town.
They saw all
around them the great,
wide world.
It was not
like
what the poor little shepherdess had fancied it,
and she leaned her little head upon her chimney sweep’s shoulder
and wept so bitterly
that the gilding was washed
from her golden sash.
, , , ,
“This is too much,”
said she;
“it is more
than I
can bear.
The world is too large!
I wish I were safe back again upon the little table
under the mirror.
I shall never be happy
till I am
there once more.
I have followed you out
into the wide world.
Surely,
if you really love me,
you
will follow me back.”
, , , ,
The chimney sweep tried
to reason
with her.
He reminded her
of the old mandarin,
and the crooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant,
but she wept so bitterly,
and kissed her little chimney sweep so fondly,
that he
could not do otherwise than
as she wished,
foolish
as it was.
, , , ,
So they climbed down the chimney,
though
with the greatest difficulty,
crept
through the flues,
and
into the stove,
where they paused
to listen
behind the door,
to discover
what might be going on
in the room.
, , , ,
All was quiet,
and they peeped out.
Alas!
there
on the floor lay the old mandarin.
He had fallen
from the table
in his attempt
to follow the runaways,
and had broken
into three pieces.
His whole back had come off
in a single piece,
and his head had rolled
into a corner.
The crooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant stood
where he had always stood,
reflecting upon
what had happened.
, , , ,
“This is shocking!”
said the little shepherdess.
“My old grandfather is broken
in pieces,
and we are the cause
of it,”
and she wrung her little hands.
, , , ,
“He
can be riveted,”
said the chimney sweep;
“he
can certainly be riveted.
Do not grieve so!
If they cement his back
and put a rivet
through his neck,
he
will be just
as good
as new,
and
will be able
to say
as many disagreeable things
to us
as ever.”
, , , ,
“Do you really think so?”
asked she.
Then they climbed again up
to the place
where they had stood before.
, , , ,
“How far we have been,”
observed the chimney sweep,
“and
since we have got no farther
than this,
we might have saved ourselves all the trouble.”
, , , ,
“I wish grandfather were mended,”
said the shepherdess;
“I wonder
if it
will cost very much.”
, , , ,
Mended he was.
The family had his back cemented
and his neck riveted,
so
that he was
as good
as new,
only he
could not nod.
, , , ,
“You have become proud
since you were broken
to shivers,”
observed the crooked-legged field-marshal-major-general-corporal-sergeant,
“but I must say,
for my part,
I
don’t see much
to be proud of.
Am I
to have her,
or am I not?
Just answer me that.”
, , , ,
The chimney sweep
and the shepherdess looked most piteously
at the old mandarin.
They were so afraid
that he
would nod his head.
But he
could not,
and it
would have been
beneath his dignity
to have confessed
to having a rivet
in his neck.
So the young porcelain people always remained together,
and they blessed the grandfather’s rivet
and loved each other
till they were broken
in pieces.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE DROP
of WATER
YOU know,
surely,
what the microscope is
--that wonderful little glass
which makes everything appear a hundred times larger
than it really is.
, , , ,
If you look
through a microscope
at a single drop
of ditch water,
you
will see a thousand odd-looking creatures,
such
as you never
could imagine dwelled
in water.
They do not look unlike a whole plateful
of shrimps,
all jumping
and crowding upon each other.
So fierce are these little creatures
that they
will tear off each other’s arms
and legs without the least mercy,
and yet after their fashion they look merry
and happy.
, , , ,
Now
there was once an old man,
whom his neighbors called Cribbley Crabbley
--a curious name,
to be sure,
which meant something
like “creep-and-crawl.”
He always liked
to make the most
of everything,
and
when he
could not manage it
in the ordinary way,
he tried magic.
, , , ,
One day he sat looking
through his microscope
at a drop
of water
that had been brought
from a neighboring ditch.
What a scene
of scrambling
and swarming it was,
to be sure!
All the thousands
of little imps
in the water jumped
and sprang about,
devouring each other,
or tearing each other
to bits.
, , , ,
“Upon my word this is really shocking.
There must surely be some way
to make them live
in peace
and quiet,
so
that each attends only
to his own concerns.”
And he thought
and thought,
but still
could not hit upon any plan,
so he must needs have recourse
to conjuring.
, , , ,
“I must give them color so
that they may be seen more plainly,”
said he.
Accordingly he poured something
that looked
like a drop
of red wine
--but which
in reality was witch’s blood
--upon the drop
of water.
Immediately all the strange little creatures became red all over,
and looked
for all the world
like a whole town full
of naked red Indians.
, , , ,
“Why,
what have you here?”
asked another old magician,
who had no name
at all,
which made him
even more remarkable
than Cribbley Crabbley.
, , , ,
“If you
can find out
what it is,”
replied Cribbley Crabbley,
“I
will give it you;
but I warn you you’ll not do so easily.”
, , , ,
The conjurer without a name looked
through the microscope,
and it seemed
to him
that the scene
before him was a whole town,
in
which the people ran
about naked
in the wildest way.
It was quite shocking!
Still more horrible was it
to see
how they kicked
and cuffed,
struggled
and fought,
pecked,
bit,
tore,
and swallowed,
each his neighbor.
Those
that were
under wanted
to be
at the top,
while those
that chanced
to be
at the top must needs thrust themselves underneath.
, , , ,
“And now look,
his leg is longer
than mine,
so off
with it!”
one seemed
to be saying.
Another had a little lump
behind his ear,
--an innocent little lump enough,
--but it seemed
to pain him,
and therefore the others seemed determined
that it
should pain him more.
So they hacked
at it,
and dragged the poor thing about,
and
at last ate him up,
all
on account
of the little lump.
One only
of the creatures was quiet,
a modest little maid,
who sat
by herself evidently wishing
for nothing
but peace
and quietness.
The others
would not have it so,
however.
They soon pulled the little damsel forward,
cuffed
and tore her,
and
then ate her up.
, , , ,
“This is uncommonly droll
and amusing!”
said the nameless magician.
, , , ,
“Yes.
But
what do you think it is?”
asked Cribbley Crabbley.
“Can you make it out?”
, , , ,
“It is easy enough
to guess,
to be sure,”
was the reply
of the nameless magician;
“easy enough.
It is either Paris
or Copenhagen,
or some other great city;
I
don’t know which,
for they are all alike.
It is some great city,
of course.”
, , , ,
“It is a drop
of ditch-water,”
said Cribbley Crabbley.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE SWINEHERD
THERE was once a poor prince
who had a kingdom,
but it was a very small one.
Still it was quite large enough
to admit
of his marrying,
and he wished
to marry.
, , , ,
It was certainly rather bold
of him
to say,
as he did,
to the emperor’s daughter,
“Will you have me?”
But he was renowned far
and wide,
and
there were a hundred princesses
who
would have answered,
“Yes,”
and,
“Thank you kindly.”
We shall see
what this princess said.
Listen!
It happened
that
where the prince’s father lay buried
there grew a rose tree,
a most beautiful rose tree,
which blossomed only once
in five years,
and even
then bore only one flower.
Ah,
but
that was a rose!
It smelled so sweet
that all cares
and sorrows were forgotten
by those
who inhaled its fragrance!
Moreover,
the prince had a nightingale
that
could sing
in such a manner
that it seemed
as
if all sweet melodies dwelt
in her little throat.
Now the princess was
to have the rose
and the nightingale;
and they were accordingly put
into large silver caskets
and sent
to her.
, , , ,
The emperor had them brought
into a large hall,
where the princess
and the ladies
of the court were playing
at “Visiting.”
When she saw the caskets
with the presents,
the princess clapped her hands
for joy.
, , , ,
“Ah,
if it
should be a little pussy cat,”
exclaimed she.
Instead,
the rose tree,
with its beautiful rose,
came
to view.
, , , ,
“Oh,
how prettily it is made!”
said all the court ladies.
, , , ,
“It is more
than pretty,”
said the emperor;
“it is charming.”
, , , ,
The princess touched it
and was ready
to cry.
“Fie,
papa,”
said she,
“it is not made
at all.
It is natural!”
“Fie,”
said all the court ladies;
“it is natural!”
“Let us see
what the other casket contains
before we get
into bad humor,”
proposed the emperor.
So the nightingale came forth,
and sang so delightfully that
at first no one
could say anything ill-humored
of her.
, , , ,
“_Superbe!
charmant!_” exclaimed the ladies,
for they all used
to chatter French,
and each worse
than her neighbor.
, , , ,
“How much the bird reminds me
of the musical box
that belonged
to our blessed empress!”
remarked an old knight.
“Oh!
yes,
these are the same tunes,
the same execution.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
yes!”
said the emperor,
and
at the remembrance he wept
like a child.
, , , ,
“I still hope it is not a real bird,”
said the princess.
, , , ,
“Yes,
it is a real bird,”
said those
who had brought it.
, , , ,
“Well,
then,
let the bird fly,”
returned the princess.
And she positively refused
to see the prince.
, , , ,
However,
he was not
to be discouraged.
He stained his face brown
and black,
pulled his cap
over his ears,
and knocked
at the door
of the castle.
, , , ,
“Good day
to my lord the emperor,”
said he.
“Can I have employment here
at the palace?”
, , , ,
“Why,
yes,”
said the emperor.
“It just occurs
to me
that I want some one
to take care
of the pigs,
there are so many
of them.”
, , , ,
So the prince came
to be the imperial swineherd.
, , , ,
He had a miserable little room,
close
by the pigsty,
and here he was obliged
to stay;
and he sat the whole day long
and worked.
By evening he had made a pretty little saucepan.
Little bells were hung all
around it;
and
when the pot was boiling,
the bells tinkled
in the most charming manner,
and played the old melody,
“Ach,
du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg,
weg,
weg.”
, , , ,
But
what was still more curious,
whoever held his finger
in the smoke
of this saucepan,
at once smelled all the dishes
that were cooking
on every hearth
of the city.
This,
you see,
was something quite different
from the rose.
, , , ,
Now the princess happened
to walk
that way
with her court ladies,
and
when she heard the tune she stood quite still
and seemed pleased,
for she
could play “Dearest Augustine.”
It was the only piece she knew,
and she played it
with one finger.
, , , ,
“Why,
that is the piece
that I play
on the piano!”
said the princess.
“That swineherd must certainly have been well educated.
Go
in
and ask him the price
of the instrument.”
, , , ,
So one
of the court ladies had
to go in,
but she drew
on wooden slippers first.
, , , ,
“What
will you take
for the saucepan?”
inquired the lady.
, , , ,
“I must have ten kisses
from the princess,”
said the swineherd.
, , , ,
“Heaven preserve us!”
exclaimed the maid
of honor.
, , , ,
“I cannot sell it
for less,”
answered the swineherd.
, , , ,
“Well,
what does he say?”
asked the princess.
, , , ,
“I cannot tell you,
really,”
replied the lady.
“It is too dreadful.”
, , , ,
“Then you may whisper it.”
So the lady whispered it.
, , , ,
“He is an impudent fellow,”
said the princess,
and she walked on.
But
when she had gone a little way,
the bells again tinkled prettily,
“Ah!
thou dearest Augustine,
All is gone,
gone,
gone.”
, , , ,
“Stay!”
said the princess.
“Ask him
if he
will have ten kisses
from the ladies
of my court.”
, , , ,
“No,
thank you!”
answered the swineherd.
“Ten kisses
from the princess,
or I keep the saucepan myself.”
, , , ,
“How tiresome!
That must not be either!”
said the princess;
“but do you all stand
before me,
that no one may see us.”
, , , ,
The court ladies placed themselves
in front
of her,
and spread out their dresses.
So the swineherd got ten kisses,
and the princess got the saucepan.
, , , ,
That was delightful!
The saucepan was kept boiling all the evening
and the whole
of the following day.
They knew perfectly well
what was cooking
on every hearth
in the city,
from the chamberlain’s
to the cobbler’s.
The court ladies danced
and clapped their hands.
, , , ,
“We know
who has soup,
and
who has pancakes
for dinner to-day;
who has cutlets,
and
who has eggs.
How interesting!”
“Yes,
but keep my secret,
for I am an emperor’s daughter.”
, , , ,
The prince
--that is,
the swineherd,
for no one knew
that he was other
than an ill-favored swineherd
--let not a day pass without working
at something.
At last he constructed a rattle,
which,
when it was swung round
and round,
played all the waltzes
and jig tunes
which have been heard
since the creation
of the world.
, , , ,
“Ah,
that is _superbe_!”
said the princess,
when she passed by.
“I have never heard prettier compositions.
Go
in
and ask him the price
of the instrument.
But mind,
he shall have no more kisses.”
, , , ,
“He
will have a hundred kisses
from the princess,”
said the lady
who had been
to ask.
, , , ,
“He is not
in his right senses,”
said the princess,
and walked on.
But
when she had gone a little way she stopped again.
“One must encourage art,”
said she;
“I am the emperor’s daughter.
Tell him he shall,
as
on yesterday,
have ten kisses
from me,
and may take the rest
from the ladies
of the court.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
but we
should not
like that
at all,”
said the ladies.
, , , ,
“What are you muttering?”
asked the princess.
“If I
can kiss him,
surely you can!
Remember I give you food
and wages.”
, , , ,
“A hundred kisses
from the princess,”
said he,
“or else let every one keep his own.”
, , , ,
“Stand round,”
said she,
and all the ladies stood round
as before.
, , , ,
“What
can be the reason
for such a crowd close
by the pigsty?”
asked the emperor,
who happened just then
to step out
on the balcony.
He rubbed his eyes
and put
on his spectacles.
, , , ,
“They are the ladies
of the court.
I must go
and see
what they are about.”
So he pulled up his slippers
at the heel,
for he had trodden them down.
, , , ,
As soon
as he had got
into the courtyard he moved very softly,
and the ladies were so much engrossed
with counting the kisses
that they did not perceive the emperor.
He rose
on his tiptoes.
, , , ,
“What is all this?”
said he,
when he saw
what was going on,
and he boxed the princess’s ear
with his slipper,
just
as the swineherd was taking the eighty-sixth kiss.
, , , ,
“Be off
with you!
March out!”
cried the emperor,
for he was very angry.
Both princess
and swineherd were thrust out
of the city,
and the princess stood
and wept,
while the swineherd scolded,
and the rain poured down.
, , , ,
“Alas,
unhappy creature
that I am!”
said the princess.
“If I had
but married the handsome young prince!
Ah,
how unfortunate I am!”
The swineherd went
behind a tree,
washed the black
and brown
from his face,
threw off his dirty clothing,
and stepped forth
in his princely robes.
He looked so noble
that the princess
could not help bowing
before him.
, , , ,
“I have come
to despise thee,”
said he.
“Thou wouldst not have an honorable prince!
Thou couldst not prize the rose
and the nightingale,
but thou wast ready
to kiss the swineherd
for the sake
of a trumpery plaything.
Thou art rightly served.”
, , , ,
He
then went back
to his own little kingdom,
where he shut the door
of his palace
before her very eyes.
Now she might well sing,
“Ah!
thou dearest Augustine,
All is gone,
gone,
gone.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE METAL PIG
IN THE city
of Florence,
not far
from the Piazza del Granduca,
runs a little cross street called Porta Rosa.
In this street,
just
in front
of the market place
where vegetables are sold,
stands a pig,
made
of brass
and curiously formed.
The color has been changed
by age
to dark green,
but clear,
fresh water pours
from the snout,
which shines
as
if it had been polished
--and so indeed it has,
for hundreds
of poor people
and children seize it
in their hands
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 the well-formed creature
by the head
as he presses his rosy lips
against its jaws.
Every one
who visits Florence
can very quickly find the place;
he has only
to ask the first beggar he meets
for the Metal Pig,
and he
will be told
where it is.
, , , ,
It was late
on a winter evening.
The mountains were covered
with snow,
but the moon shone brightly,
and moonlight
in Italy is
as good
as the light
of gray winter’s day
in the north.
Indeed,
it is better,
for the clear air seems
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,
damp earth shall one day press
on us
in the grave.
, , , ,
In the garden
of the grand duke’s palace,
under the roof
of one
of the wings,
where a thousand roses bloom
in winter,
a little ragged boy had been sitting the whole day long.
The boy might serve
as a type
of Italy:
lovely
and smiling,
and yet suffering.
He was hungry
and thirsty,
but no one gave him anything;
and
when it became dark
and they were about
to close the gardens,
the porter turned him out.
A long time he stood musing
on the bridge
which crosses the Arno
and looking
at the glittering stars
that were reflected
in the water
which flowed
between him
and the wonderful marble bridge Delia Trinità.
He
then walked away
towards the Metal Pig,
half knelt down,
clasped it
with his arms,
and,
putting his mouth
to the shining snout,
drank deep draughts
of the fresh water.
Close
by lay a few salad leaves
and two chestnuts,
which were
to serve
for his supper.
No one was
in the street
but himself.
It belonged only
to him.
He boldly seated himself
on the pig’s back,
leaned forward so
that his curly head
could rest
on the head
of the animal,
and,
before he was aware,
fell asleep.
, , , ,
It was midnight.
The Metal Pig raised himself gently,
and the boy heard him say quite distinctly,
“Hold tight,
little boy,
for I am going
to run”;
and away he started
for a most wonderful ride.
First they arrived
at the Piazza del Granduca,
and the metal horse
which bears the duke’s statue neighed aloud.
The painted coats
of arms
on the old council house shone
like transparent pictures,
and Michelangelo’s “David” swung his sling.
It was
as
if everything had life.
The metallic groups
of figures,
among
which were “Perseus”
and “The Rape
of the Sabines,”
looked
like living persons,
and cries
of terror sounded
from them all
across the noble square.
By the Palazzo degli Uffizi,
in the arcade
where the nobility assembled
for the carnival,
the Metal Pig stopped.
“Hold fast,”
said the animal,
“hold fast,
for I am going upstairs.”
, , , ,
The little boy said not a word.
He was half pleased
and half afraid.
They entered a long gallery,
where the boy had been before.
The walls were resplendent
with paintings,
and here
and
there stood statues
and busts,
all
in a clear light
as
if it were day.
The grandest sight appeared
when the door
of a side room opened.
The little boy
could remember
what beautiful things he had seen there,
but to-night everything shone
in its brightest colors.
Here stood the figure
of a beautiful woman,
as radiantly beautiful
as nature
and the art
of one
of the great masters
could make her.
Her graceful limbs appeared
to move;
dolphins sprang
at her feet,
and immortality shone
from her eyes.
The world called her the “Venus de’ Medici.”
By her side were statues
of stone,
in
which the spirit
of life breathed;
figures
of men,
one
of whom whetted his sword
and was named “The Grinder”;
fighting gladiators,
for whom the sword had been sharpened,
and
who strove
for the goddess
of beauty.
The boy was dazzled
by so much glitter,
for the walls were gleaming
with bright colors.
Life
and movement were
in everything.
, , , ,
As they passed
from hall
to hall,
beauty showed itself
in whatever they saw;
and,
as the Metal Pig went step
by step
from one picture
to another,
the little boy
could see it all plainly.
One glory eclipsed another;
yet
there was one picture
that fixed itself
on the little boy’s memory more especially,
because
of the happy children it represented;
for these the little boy had seen
in daylight.
Many pass this picture
with indifference,
and yet it contains a treasure
of poetic feeling.
It represents Christ descending
into Hades.
It is not those
who are lost
that one sees,
but the heathen
of olden times.
, , , ,
The Florentine,
Angiolo Bronzino,
painted this picture.
Most beautiful is the expression
on the faces
of two children
who appear
to have full confidence
that they shall reach heaven
at last.
They are embracing each other,
and one little one stretches out his hand
towards another
who stands below them,
and points
to himself
as
if he were saying,
“I am going
to heaven.”
The older people stand
as
if uncertain yet hopeful,
and bow
in humble adoration
to the Lord Jesus.
On this picture the boy’s eyes rested longer than
on any other,
and 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 his hands
toward the smiling children,
and
then the pig ran off
with him
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 helped you
and you have helped me,
for it is only
when I have an innocent child
on my back
that I receive the power
to run.
Yes,
as you see,
I
can
even venture
under the rays
of the lamp
in front
of the picture
of the Madonna,
but I must 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 you have seen me
in the daytime
in the Porta Rosa.”
, , , ,
“I
will stay
with you,
my dear creature,”
said the little boy.
So they went
on
at a rapid pace
through the streets
of Florence,
till they came
to the square
before the church
of Santa Croce.
The folding doors flew open,
and lights streamed
from the altar,
through the church,
into the deserted square.
A wonderful blaze
of light streamed
from one
of the monuments
in the left aisle,
and a thousand moving stars formed a kind
of glory round it.
Even the coat
of arms
on the tombstone shone,
and a red ladder
on a blue field gleamed
like fire.
It was the grave
of Galileo.
The monument is unadorned,
but the red ladder is an emblem
of art
--signifying
that the way
to glory leads up a shining ladder,
on
which the great prophets rise
to heaven
like Elijah
of old.
In the right aisle
of the church every statue
on the richly carved sarcophagi seemed endowed
with life.
Here stood Michelangelo;
there Dante,
with the laurel wreath
around his brow;
Alfieri
and Machiavelli;
for here,
side
by side,
rest the great men,
the pride
of Italy.
, , , ,
The church itself is very beautiful,
even more beautiful
than the marble cathedral
at Florence,
though not so large.
It seemed
as
if the carved vestments stirred,
and
as
if the marble figures
which they covered raised their heads higher
to gaze upon the brightly colored,
glowing altar,
where the white-robed boys swung the golden censers amid music
and song;
and the strong fragrance
of incense filled the church
and streamed forth
into the square.
The boy stretched out his hands
toward the light,
and
at the same moment the Metal Pig started again,
so rapidly
that he was obliged
to cling tightly
to him.
The wind whistled
in his ears.
He heard the church door creak
on its hinges
as 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 the Porta Rosa,
and the boy found
that he had nearly slipped off its back.
Fear
and trembling came upon him
as he thought
of his mother.
She had sent him out the day before
to get some money,
but he had not been able
to get any,
and now he was hungry
and thirsty.
Once more he clasped the neck
of his metal steed,
kissed its nose,
and nodded farewell
to it.
Then he wandered away
into one
of the narrowest streets,
where
there was scarcely room
for a loaded donkey
to pass.
A great iron-bound door stood ajar;
and,
passing through,
he climbed a brick staircase
with dirty walls,
and a rope
for balustrade,
till he came
to an open gallery hung
with rags.
From here a flight
of steps led down
to a court,
where
from a fountain water was drawn up
by iron rollers
to the different stories
of the house.
Many water buckets hung side
by side.
Sometimes the roller
and the bucket danced
in the air,
splashing the water all
over the court.
Another broken-down staircase led
from the gallery,
and two Russian sailors running down it
almost upset the poor boy.
They were coming
from their nightly carousal.
A woman,
not very young,
with an unpleasant face
and a quantity
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 have nothing
at all”;
and he seized his mother’s dress
and
would have kissed it.
Then they went
into a little room.
I need not describe it,
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 she took
in her lap,
warmed her fingers,
and pushed the boy
with her elbow.
, , , ,
“Certainly you must have some money,”
she said.
The boy began
to cry,
and
then she struck him
till he cried aloud.
, , , ,
“Be quiet,
or I’ll break your screaming head.”
She swung
about the fire pot
which she held
in her hand,
while the boy crouched
to the earth
and screamed.
Then a neighbor came in,
who also had a _marito_
under her arm.
“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.”
, , , ,
Then again she swung the fire pot about.
The other woman lifted hers up
to defend herself,
and the two pots clashed so violently
that they were dashed
to pieces
and fire
and ashes flew
about the room.
, , , ,
The boy rushed out
at the sight,
sped
across the courtyard,
and fled
from the house.
The poor child ran
till he was quite out
of breath.
At last he stopped
at the church the doors
of
which were opened
to him the night before,
and went in.
Here everything was bright,
and the boy knelt down
by the first tomb
on his right hand,
the grave
of Michelangelo,
and sobbed
as
if his heart
would break.
People came
and went;
the service went on,
but no one noticed the boy except an elderly citizen,
who stood still
and looked
at him
for a moment
and
then went away
like the rest.
Hunger
and thirst overpowered the child,
and he became quite faint
and ill.
At last he crept
into a corner
behind the marble monuments
and went
to 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?”
were some
of the questions asked
by the old man.
After hearing his answers,
the old man took him
to a small house
in a back street close by.
They entered a glovemaker’s shop,
where a woman sat sewing busily.
A little white poodle,
so closely shaved
that his pink skin
could plainly be seen,
frisked
about the room
and gamboled
over the boy.
, , , ,
“Innocent souls are soon intimate,”
said the woman,
as she caressed both the boy
and the dog.
, , , ,
These good people gave the child food
and drink,
and said he
should stay
with them all night,
and
that the next day the old man,
who was called Giuseppe,
would go
and speak
to his mother.
A simple little bed was prepared
for him,
but
to 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 the Metal Pig.
Giuseppe went out the next morning,
and the poor child was not glad
to see him go,
for he knew
that the old man had gone
to his mother,
and
that perhaps he
would have
to return.
He wept
at the thought,
and
then played
with the lively little dog
and kissed it,
while the old woman looked kindly
at him
to encourage him.
, , , ,
What news did Giuseppe bring back?
At first the boy
could not find out,
for the old man talked
to his wife,
and she nodded
and stroked the boy’s cheek.
Then she said,
“He is a good lad,
he shall stay
with us.
He may become a clever glovemaker,
like you.
Look
what delicate fingers he has.
Madonna intended him
for a glovemaker.”
, , , ,
So the boy stayed
with them,
and the woman herself taught him
to sew.
He ate well,
and slept well,
and became very merry.
But
at last he began
to tease Bellissima,
as the little dog was called.
This made the woman angry,
and she scolded him
and threatened him,
which made him unhappy,
and he went
and sat
in his own room,
full
of sad thoughts.
This chamber looked out upon the street,
in
which hung skins
to dry,
and
there were thick iron bars
across his window.
That night he lay awake,
thinking
of the Metal Pig.
Indeed,
it was always
in his thoughts.
Suddenly he fancied he heard feet outside going pitapat.
He sprang out
of bed
and went
to the window.
Could it be the Metal Pig?
But
there was nothing
to be seen.
Whatever he had heard had passed already.
, , , ,
“Go help the gentleman
to carry his box
of colors,”
said the woman the next morning
when their neighbor,
the artist,
passed by,
carrying a paint box
and a large roll
of canvas.
The boy instantly took the box
and followed the painter.
They walked
on
till they reached the picture gallery,
and mounted the same staircase up
which he had ridden
that night
on the Metal Pig.
He remembered all the pictures
and statues,
especially the marble Venus,
and again he looked
at the Madonna
with the Saviour
and St. John.
They stopped
before the picture
by Il Bronzino,
in
which Christ is represented
as standing
in the lower world,
with the children smiling
before him
in the sweet expectation
of entering heaven.
The poor boy smiled,
too,
for here was his heaven.
, , , ,
“You may go home now,”
said the painter,
while the boy stood watching him
till he had set up his easel.
, , , ,
“May I see you paint?”
asked the boy.
“May I see you put the picture
on this white canvas?”
, , , ,
“I am not going
to paint,”
replied the artist,
bringing out a piece
of chalk.
His hand moved quickly,
and his eye measured the great picture,
and though nothing appeared
but a faint line,
the figure
of the Saviour was
as clearly visible as
in the colored picture.
, , , ,
“Why
don’t you go?”
said the painter.
Then the boy wandered home silently,
and seated himself
on the table,
and learned
to sew gloves.
But all day long his thoughts were
in the picture gallery,
and so he pricked his fingers
and was awkward.
But he did not tease Bellissima.
When evening came,
and the house door stood open,
he slipped out.
It was a bright,
beautiful,
starlight evening,
but rather cold.
Away he went
through the already deserted streets,
and soon came
to the Metal Pig.
He stooped down
and kissed its shining nose,
and
then seated himself
on its back.
, , , ,
“You happy creature,”
he said;
“how I have longed
for you!
We must take a ride to-night.”
, , , ,
But the Metal Pig lay motionless,
while the fresh stream gushed forth
from its mouth.
The little boy still sat astride its back,
when he felt something pulling
at his clothes.
He looked down,
and
there was Bellissima,
little smooth-shaven Bellissima,
barking
as
if she
would have said,
“Here I am,
too.
Why are you sitting there?”
, , , ,
A fiery dragon
could not have frightened the little boy so much
as did the little dog
in this place.
Bellissima
in the street
and not dressed!
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 a little lambskin coat,
which had been made
for her.
It was fastened round the little dog’s neck
and body
with red ribbons,
and decorated
with rosettes
and little bells.
The dog looked almost
like a little kid
when she was allowed
to go out
in winter
and trot after her mistress.
Now,
here she was
in the cold,
and not dressed.
Oh,
how
would it end?
All his fancies were quickly put
to flight;
yet he kissed the Metal Pig once more,
and
then took Bellissima
in his arms.
The poor little thing trembled so
with cold
that the boy ran homeward
as fast
as he could.
, , , ,
“What are you running away
with there?”
asked two
of the police whom he met,
and
at whom the dog barked.
“Where have you stolen
that pretty dog?”
they asked,
and took it away
from him.
, , , ,
“Oh,
I have not stolen it.
Do give it back
to me,”
cried the boy,
despairingly.
, , , ,
“If you have not stolen it,
you may say
at home
that they
can send
to the watch-house
for the dog.”
Then they told him
where the watch-house was,
and went away
with Bellissima.
, , , ,
Here was trouble indeed.
The boy did not know whether he had better jump
into the Arno
or go home
and confess everything.
They
would certainly kill him,
he thought.
, , , ,
“Well,
I
would gladly be killed,”
he reasoned;
“for
then I
should die
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 one was
in the street,
so he took up a stone
and
with it made a tremendous noise
at the door.
, , , ,
“Who is there?”
asked somebody
from within.
, , , ,
“It is I,”
said he.
“Bellissima is gone.
Open the door,
and
then kill me.”
, , , ,
Then,
indeed,
there was a great panic,
for madam was so very fond
of Bellissima.
She immediately looked
at the wall
where the dog’s dress usually hung;
and
there was the little lambskin.
, , , ,
“Bellissima
in the watch-house!”
she cried.
“You bad boy!
How did you entice her out?
Poor little delicate thing,
with those rough policemen!
And she’ll be frozen
with cold.”
, , , ,
Giuseppe went off
at once,
while his wife lamented
and the boy wept.
Several
of the neighbors came in,
and
among them the painter.
He took the boy
between his knees
and questioned him.
Soon he heard the whole story,
told
in broken sentences,
and also
about the Metal Pig
and the wonderful ride
to the picture gallery,
which was certainly rather incomprehensible.
The painter,
however,
consoled the little fellow,
and tried
to soften the woman’s anger,
but she
would not be pacified
till her husband returned
from the police
with Bellissima.
Then
there was great rejoicing,
and the painter caressed the boy
and gave him a number
of pictures.
, , , ,
Oh,
what beautiful pictures those were
--figures
with funny heads!
And,
best
of all,
the Metal Pig was there,
too.
Nothing
could be more delightful!
By means
of a few strokes it was made
to appear
on the paper;
and
even the house
that stood
behind it had been sketched.
Oh,
if he
could only draw
and paint!
He
who
could do this
could conjure all the world
before him.
The first leisure moment during the next day the boy got a pencil,
and
on the back
of one
of the other 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 he was overjoyed
at
what he had done.
The pencil
would not go quite
as it ought,
he had found,
but the next day he tried again.
A second pig was drawn
by the side
of the first,
and this looked a hundred times better.
The third attempt was so good
that everybody
could see
what it was meant
to represent.
, , , ,
And now the glovemaking went
on
but slowly.
The orders given
by the shops
in the town were not finished quickly;
for the Metal Pig had taught the boy
that all objects may be drawn upon paper,
and Florence is a picture book
in itself
for any one
who chooses
to turn
over its pages.
On the Piazza della Trinità stands a slender pillar,
and upon it is the goddess
of justice blindfolded,
with her scales
in her hand.
She was soon represented
on paper,
and it was the glovemaker’s boy
who placed her there.
His collection
of pictures increased,
but
as yet they were only copies
of lifeless objects,
when one day Bellissima came gamboling
before him.
“Stand still,”
cried he,
“and I
will draw you beautifully,
to put
in my collection.”
, , , ,
Bellissima
would not stand still,
so she must be bound fast
in one 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
could utter.
, , , ,
She pushed the boy
from her,
thrust him away
with her foot,
called him a most ungrateful,
good-for-nothing,
wicked boy,
and forbade him
to enter her house again.
Then she wept,
and kissed her little half-strangled Bellissima.
At this moment the painter entered the room
--and here is the turning point
of the story.
, , , ,
In the year 1834
there was an exhibition
in the Academy
of Arts
at Florence.
Two pictures,
placed side
by side,
attracted many people.
The smaller
of the two represented a little boy sitting
at a table drawing.
Before him was a little white poodle,
curiously shaven,
but
as the animal
would not stand still,
its head
and tail had been fastened
with a string,
to keep it
in one position.
The truthfulness
and life
in this picture interested every one.
The painter was said
to be a young Florentine,
who had been found
in the streets
when a child
by an old glovemaker,
who had brought him up.
The boy had taught himself
to draw.
It was also said
that a young artist,
now famous,
had discovered this talent
in the child just
as he was about
to be sent away
for having tied up madam’s favorite little dog
to use
as a model.
, , , ,
The glovemaker’s boy had become a really great painter,
as the picture proved;
but the larger picture
by its side was a still greater proof
of his talent.
It represented a handsome boy asleep,
clothed
in rags
and leaning
against the Metal Pig,
in the street
of the Porta Rosa.
All the spectators knew the spot well.
The child’s arms were round the neck
of the Pig,
and he was
in a deep sleep.
The lamp
before the picture
of the Madonna threw a strong light
on the pale,
delicate face
of the child.
It was a beautiful picture.
A large gilt frame surrounded it,
and
on one corner
of the frame a laurel wreath had been hung.
But a black band,
twined unseen
among the green leaves,
and a streamer
of crape hung down
from it;
for within the last few days the young artist had
--died.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE FLYING TRUNK
THERE was once a merchant
who was so rich
that he
could have paved a whole street
with gold,
and
would even
then have had enough left
for a small alley.
He did not do so;
he knew the value
of money better than
to use it
in this way.
So clever was he
that every shilling he put out brought him a crown,
and so it continued
as long
as he lived.
, , , ,
His son inherited his wealth,
and lived a merry life
with it.
He went
to a masquerade every night,
made kites out
of five-pound notes,
and threw pieces
of gold
into the sea instead
of stones,
making ducks
and drakes
of them.
, , , ,
In this manner he soon lost all his money.
At last he had nothing left
but a pair
of slippers,
an old dressing gown,
and four shillings.
And now all his companions deserted him.
They
would not walk
with him
in the streets,
but one
of them,
who was very good-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 had nothing left
to pack,
therefore he seated himself
in the trunk.
, , , ,
It was a very wonderful trunk,
for no sooner did any one press
on the lock
than the trunk
could fly.
He shut the lid
and pressed the lock,
when away flew the trunk up the chimney,
with him
in it,
right up
into the clouds.
Whenever the bottom
of the trunk cracked he was
in a great fright,
for
if the trunk had fallen
to pieces,
he
would have turned a tremendous somersault
over the trees.
However,
he arrived safely
in Turkey.
He hid the trunk
in a wood
under some dry leaves
and
then went
into the town.
This he
could do very well,
for
among the Turks people always go about
in dressing gowns
and slippers,
just
as he was.
, , , ,
He happened
to meet a nurse
with a little child.
“I say,
you Turkish nurse,”
cried he,
“what castle is
that near the town,
with the windows placed so high?”
, , , ,
“The Sultan’s daughter lives there,”
she replied.
“It has been prophesied
that she
will be very unhappy
about a lover,
and therefore no one is allowed
to visit her
unless the king
and queen are 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,
and crept
through the window
into the room
where the princess lay asleep
on the sofa.
She awoke
and was very much frightened,
but he told her he was a Turkish angel
who had come down
through the air
to see her.
This pleased her very much.
He sat down
by her side
and talked
to her,
telling her
that her eyes were
like beautiful dark lakes,
in
which the thoughts swam about
like little mermaids;
and
that her forehead was a snowy mountain
which contained splendid halls full
of pictures.
He related
to her the story
about the stork,
who brings the beautiful children
from the rivers.
These stories delighted the princess,
and
when he asked her
if she
would marry him,
she consented immediately.
, , , ,
[Illustration:
“Will you tell us a story?”
said the queen ....]
“But you must come
on Saturday,”
she said,
“for
then my parents
will take tea
with me.
They
will be very proud
when they find
that I am going
to marry a Turkish angel.
But you must think
of some very pretty stories
to tell them,
for they like
to hear stories better
than anything.
My mother prefers one
that is deep
and moral,
but my father likes something funny,
to make him laugh.”
, , , ,
“Very well,”
he replied,
“I shall bring you no other marriage portion
than a story”;
and so they parted.
But the princess gave him a sword studded
with gold coins,
and these he
could make useful.
, , , ,
He flew away
to the town
and bought a new dressing gown,
and afterwards returned
to the wood,
where he composed a story so as
to be ready
by Saturday;
and
that was no easy matter.
It was ready,
however,
when he went
to see the princess
on Saturday.
The king
and queen
and the whole court were
at tea
with the princess,
and he was received
with great politeness.
, , , ,
“Will you tell us a story?”
said the queen;
“one
that is instructive
and full
of learning.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
but
with something
in it
to laugh at,”
said the king.
, , , ,
“Certainly,”
he replied,
and commenced
at once,
asking them
to listen attentively.
, , , ,
“There was once a bundle
of matches
that were exceedingly proud
of their high descent.
Their genealogical tree
--that is,
a great pine tree
from
which they had been cut
--was
at one time a large old tree
in the wood.
The matches now lay
between a tinder box
and an old iron saucepan
and were talking
about their youthful days.
‘Ah!
then we grew
on the green boughs,’
said they,
‘and every morning
and evening we were fed
with diamond drops
of dew.
Whenever the sun shone we felt his warm rays,
and the little birds
would relate stories
to us
in their songs.
We knew
that we were rich,
for the other trees only wore their green dresses
in summer,
while our family were able
to array themselves
in green,
summer
and winter.
But the woodcutter came
like a great disaster,
and our family fell
under the ax.
The head
of the house obtained a situation
as mainmast
in a very fine ship
and
can sail round the world whenever he will.
Other branches
of the family were taken
to different places,
and our own office now is
to kindle a light
for common people.
This is
how such highborn people
as we came
to be
in a kitchen.’
, , , ,
“‘Mine has been a very different fate,’
said the iron pot,
which stood
by the matches.
‘From my first entrance
into the world I have been used
to cooking
and scouring.
I am the first
in this house
when anything solid
or useful is required.
My only pleasure is
to be made clean
and shining after dinner and
to sit
in my place
and have a little sensible conversation
with my neighbors.
All
of us excepting the water bucket,
which is sometimes taken
into the courtyard,
live here together within these four walls.
We get our news
from the market basket,
but it sometimes tells us very unpleasant things
about the people
and the government.
Yes,
and one day an old pot was so alarmed
that it fell down
and was broken
in pieces.’
, , , ,
“‘You are talking too much,’
said the tinder box;
and the steel struck
against the flint
till some sparks flew out,
crying,
‘We want a merry evening,
don’t we?’
, , , ,
“‘Yes,
of course,’
said the matches.
‘Let us talk
about those
who 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
will begin.
We
will tell something
that has happened
to ourselves;
that
will be very easy,
and interesting
as well.
On the Baltic Sea,
near the Danish shore
--’
“‘What a pretty commencement!’ said the plates.
‘We shall all like
that story,
I am sure.’
, , , ,
“‘Yes.
Well,
in my youth I lived
in a quiet family
where the furniture was polished,
the floors scoured,
and clean curtains put up,
every fortnight.’
, , , ,
“‘What an interesting way you have
of relating a story,’
said the carpet broom.
‘It is easy
to perceive
that you have been a great deal
in society,
something so pure runs through
what you say.’
, , , ,
“‘That is quite true,’
said the water bucket;
and it made a spring
with joy
and splashed some water
on the floor.
, , , ,
“Then the saucepan went
on
with its story,
and the end was
as good
as the beginning.
, , , ,
“The plates rattled
with pleasure,
and the carpet broom brought some green parsley out
of the dust hole
and crowned the saucepan.
It knew this
would vex the others,
but it thought,
‘If I crown him to-day,
he
will crown me to-morrow.’
, , , ,
“‘Now let us have a dance,’
said the fire tongs.
Then
how they danced
and stuck one leg
in the air!
The chair cushion
in the corner burst
with laughter
at the sight.
, , , ,
“‘Shall I be crowned now?’
asked the fire tongs.
So the broom found another wreath
for the tongs.
, , , ,
“‘They are only common people after all,’
thought the matches.
The tea urn was now asked
to sing,
but she said she had a cold
and
could not sing
unless she felt boiling heat within.
They all thought this was affectation;
they also considered it affectation
that she did not wish
to sing except
in the parlor,
when
on the table
with the grand people.
, , , ,
“In the window sat an old quill pen,
with
which the maid generally wrote.
There was nothing remarkable
about the pen,
except
that it had been dipped too deeply
in the ink;
but it was proud
of that.
, , , ,
“‘If the tea urn
won’t sing,’
said the pen,
‘she needn’t.
There’s a nightingale
in a cage outside,
that
can sing.
She has not been taught much,
certainly,
but we need not say anything this evening
about that.’
, , , ,
“‘I think it highly improper,’
said the teakettle,
who was kitchen singer
and half brother
to the tea urn,
‘that a rich foreign bird
should be listened
to here.
Is it patriotic?
Let the market basket decide
what is right.’
, , , ,
“‘I certainly am vexed,’
said the basket,
‘inwardly vexed,
more
than any one
can imagine.
Are we spending the evening properly?
Would it not be more sensible
to put the house
in order?
If each were
in his own place,
I
would lead a game.
This
would be quite another thing.’
, , , ,
“‘Let us act a play,’
said they all.
At the same moment the door opened
and the maid came in.
Then not one stirred;
they remained quite still,
although
there was not a single pot
among them
that had not a high opinion
of himself and
of
what he
could do
if he chose.
, , , ,
“‘Yes,
if we had chosen,’
each
of them thought,
‘we might have spent a very pleasant evening.’
, , , ,
“The maid took the matches
and lighted them,
and dear me,
how they spluttered
and blazed up!
“‘Now then,’
they thought,
‘every one
will see
that we are the first.
How we shine!
What a light we give!’
but
even
while they spoke their lights went out.”
, , , ,
“What a capital story!”
said the queen.
“I feel
as
if I were really
in the kitchen
and
could see the matches.
Yes,
you shall marry our daughter.”
, , , ,
“Certainly,”
said the king,
“thou shalt have our daughter.”
The king 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 whole city was illuminated.
Cakes
and sweetmeats were thrown
among the people.
The street boys stood
on tiptoe
and shouted “Hurrah,”
and whistled
between their fingers.
Altogether it was a very splendid affair.
, , , ,
“I
will give them another treat,”
said the merchant’s son.
So he went
and bought rockets
and crackers
and every kind
of fireworks
that
could be thought of,
packed them
in his trunk,
and flew up
with it
into the air.
What a whizzing
and popping they made
as they went off!
The Turks,
when they saw the sight,
jumped so high
that their slippers flew
about their ears.
It was easy
to believe after this
that the princess was really going
to marry a Turkish angel.
, , , ,
As soon
as the merchant’s son had come down
to the wood after the fireworks,
he thought,
“I
will go back
into the town now
and hear
what they think
of the entertainment.”
It was very natural
that he
should wish
to know.
And
what strange things people did say,
to be sure!
Every one whom he questioned had a different tale
to tell,
though they all thought it very beautiful.
, , , ,
“I saw the Turkish angel myself,”
said one.
“He had eyes
like glittering stars
and a head
like foaming water.”
, , , ,
“He flew
in a mantle
of fire,”
said another,
“and lovely little cherubs peeped out
from the folds.”
, , , ,
He heard many more fine things
about himself
and
that the next day he was
to be married.
After this he went back
to the forest
to rest himself
in his trunk.
It had disappeared!
A spark
from the fireworks
which remained had set it
on fire.
It was burned
to ashes.
So the 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 she is waiting
there still,
while he wanders
through the world telling fairy tales
--but none
of them so amusing
as the one he related
about the matches.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE BUTTERFLY
THERE was once a butterfly
who wished
for a bride;
and,
as may be supposed,
he wanted
to choose a very pretty one
from
among the flowers.
He glanced
with a very critical eye
at all the flower beds
and found
that the flowers were seated quietly
and demurely
on their stalks,
just
as maidens
should sit.
But
there was a great number
of them,
and it appeared
as
if making his choice
would become very wearisome.
The butterfly did not like
to take too much trouble,
so he flew off
on a visit
to the daisies.
, , , ,
The French call this flower Marguerite
and say
that it
can prophesy.
Lovers pluck off the leaves,
and
as they pluck each leaf they ask a question
about their sweethearts,
thus:
“Does he
or she love me?
Dearly?
Distractedly?
Very much?
A little?
Not
at all?”
and so on.
Each one speaks these words
in his own language.
, , , ,
The butterfly came,
also,
to Marguerite
to inquire,
but he did not pluck off her leaves;
he pressed a kiss
on each
of them,
for he thought
there was always more
to be done
by kindness.
, , , ,
“Darling Marguerite daisy,”
he said
to her,
“you are the wisest woman
of them all.
Pray tell me which
of the flowers I shall choose
for my wife.
Which
will be my bride?
When I know,
I
will fly directly
to her
and propose.”
, , , ,
But Marguerite did not answer him.
She was offended
that he
should call her a woman
when she was only a girl;
there is a great difference.
He asked her a second time,
and
then a third,
but she remained dumb,
answering him not
at all.
Then he
would wait no longer,
but flew away
to commence his wooing
at once.
It was
in the early spring,
when the crocus
and the snowdrop were
in full bloom.
, , , ,
“They are very pretty,”
thought the butterfly;
“charming little lasses,
but they are rather stiff
and formal.”
, , , ,
Then,
as young lads often do,
he looked out
for the older girls.
He next flew
to the anemones,
but these were rather sour
to his taste.
The violet was a little too sentimental;
the lime blossoms were too small
--and,
besides,
there was such a large family
of them.
The apple blossoms,
though they looked
like roses,
bloomed to-day,
but might fall off to-morrow
with the first wind
that blew;
and he thought a marriage
with one
of them might last too short a time.
The pea blossom pleased him most
of all.
She was white
and red,
graceful
and slender,
and belonged
to those domestic maidens
who have a pretty appearance,
yet
can be useful
in the kitchen.
He was just about
to make her an offer when,
close
by her,
he saw a 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
at once he flew away,
for he felt quite shocked.
, , , ,
A honeysuckle hung forth
from the hedge,
in full bloom;
but
there were so many girls
like her,
with long faces
and sallow complexions!
No,
he did not
like her.
But
which one did he like?
, , , ,
Spring went by,
and summer drew
toward its close.
Autumn came,
but he had not decided.
The flowers now appeared
in their most gorgeous robes,
but all
in vain
--they had not the fresh,
fragrant air
of youth.
The heart asks
for fragrance even
when it is no longer young,
and
there is very little
of that
to be found
in the dahlias
or the dry chrysanthemums.
Therefore the butterfly turned
to the mint
on the ground.
This plant,
you know,
has no blossom,
but is sweetness all over;
it is full
of fragrance
from head
to foot,
with the scent
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 last she said:
“I
can give you friendship
if you like,
nothing more.
I am old,
and you are old,
but we may live
for each other just the same.
As
to marrying,
however,
no!
that
would appear ridiculous
at our age.”
, , , ,
And so it happened
that the butterfly got no wife
at all.
He had been too long choosing,
which is always a bad plan,
and became
what is called an old bachelor.
, , , ,
It was late
in the autumn,
with rainy
and cloudy weather.
The cold wind blew
over the bowed backs
of the willows,
so
that they creaked again.
It was not the weather
for flying about
in summer clothes,
but fortunately the butterfly was not out
in it.
By a happy chance he had got a shelter.
It was
in a room heated
by a stove and
as warm
as summer.
He
could live here,
he said,
well enough.
, , , ,
“But it is not enough merely
to exist,”
said he.
“I need freedom,
sunshine,
and a little flower
for a companion.”
, , , ,
So he flew
against the window-pane
and was seen
and admired
by those
in the room,
who caught him
and stuck him
on a pin
in a box
of curiosities.
They
could not do more
for him.
, , , ,
“Now I am perched
on a stalk
like the flowers,”
said the butterfly.
“It is not very pleasant,
certainly.
I imagine it is something
like being married,
for here I am stuck fast.”
And
with this thought he consoled himself a little.
, , , ,
“That seems very poor consolation,”
said one
of the plants
in the room,
that grew
in a pot.
, , , ,
“Ah,”
thought the butterfly,
“one can’t very well trust these plants
in pots;
they have had too much
to do
with human beings.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE GOBLIN
and THE HUCKSTER
THERE was once a regular student,
who lived
in a garret
and had no possessions.
And
there was also a regular huckster,
to whom the house belonged,
and
who occupied the ground floor.
A goblin lived
with the huckster because
at Christmas he always had a large dishful
of jam,
with a great piece
of butter
in the middle.
The huckster
could afford this,
and therefore the goblin remained
with him
--which was very shrewd
of the goblin.
, , , ,
One evening the student came
into the shop
through the back door
to buy candles
and cheese
for himself;
he had no one
to send,
and therefore he came himself.
He obtained
what he wished,
and
then the huckster
and his wife nodded good evening
to him.
The huckster’s wife was a woman
who
could do more
than merely nod,
for she usually had plenty
to say
for herself.
The student nodded also,
as he turned
to leave,
then suddenly stopped
and began reading the piece
of paper
in
which the cheese was wrapped.
It was a leaf torn out
of an old book;
a book
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.
“I gave an old woman a few coffee berries
for it;
you shall have the rest
for sixpence
if you will.”
, , , ,
“Indeed I will,”
said the student.
“Give me the book instead
of the cheese;
I
can eat my bread
and butter without cheese.
It
would be a sin
to tear up a book
like this.
You are a clever man
and a practical man,
but you understand no more
about poetry than
that cask yonder.”
, , , ,
This was a very rude speech,
especially
against the cask,
but the huckster
and the student both laughed,
for it was only said
in fun.
The goblin,
however,
felt very angry
that any man
should venture
to say such things
to a huckster
who was a householder
and sold the best butter.
As soon
as it was night,
the shop closed,
and every one
in bed except the student,
the goblin stepped softly
into the bedroom
where the huckster’s wife slept,
and took away her tongue,
which
of course she did not
then want.
Whatever object
in the room he placed this tongue upon,
immediately received voice
and speech
and was able
to express its thoughts
and feelings
as readily
as the lady herself
could do.
It
could only be used
by one object
at a time,
which was a good thing,
as a number speaking
at once
would have caused great confusion.
The goblin laid the tongue upon the cask,
in
which lay a quantity
of old newspapers.
, , , ,
“Is it really true,”
he asked,
“that you do not know
what poetry is?”
, , , ,
“Of course I know,”
replied the cask.
“Poetry is something
that always stands
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 the student has,
even
if I am only a poor tub
of the huckster’s.”
, , , ,
Then the goblin placed the tongue
on the coffee mill,
and
how it did go,
to be sure!
Then he put it
on the butter-tub,
and the cash-box,
and they all expressed the same opinion
as the waste-paper tub.
A majority must always be respected.
, , , ,
“Now I shall go
and tell the student,”
said the goblin.
With these words he went quietly up the back stairs
to the garret,
where the student lived.
The student’s candle was burning still,
and the goblin peeped
through the keyhole
and saw
that he was reading
in the torn book
which he had bought out
of the shop.
But
how light the room was!
From the book shot forth a ray
of light
which grew broad
and full
like the stem
of a tree,
from
which bright rays spread upward
and
over the student’s head.
Each leaf was fresh,
and each flower was
like a beautiful female head
--some
with dark
and sparkling eyes
and others
with eyes
that were wonderfully blue
and clear.
The fruit gleamed
like stars,
and the room was filled
with sounds
of beautiful music.
The little goblin had never imagined,
much less seen
or heard of,
any sight so glorious
as this.
He stood still
on tiptoe,
peeping in,
till the light went out.
The student no doubt had blown out his candle
and gone
to bed,
but the little goblin remained standing there,
listening
to the music
which still sounded,
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 expected such a thing.
I
should like
to stay here
with the student.”
Then the little man thought it over,
for he was a sensible sprite.
At last he sighed,
“But the student has no jam!”
So he went downstairs again
to the huckster’s shop,
and it was a good thing he got back
when he did,
for the cask had
almost worn out the lady’s tongue.
He had given a description
of all
that he contained
on one side,
and was just about
to turn himself over
to the other side
to describe
what was there,
when the goblin entered
and restored the tongue
to the lady.
From
that time forward,
the whole shop,
from the cash-box down
to the pine-wood logs,
formed their opinions
from that
of the cask.
They all had such confidence
in him
and treated him
with so much respect
that when,
in the evening,
the huckster read the criticisms
on theatricals
and art,
they fancied it must all come
from the cask.
, , , ,
After
what he had seen,
the goblin
could no longer sit
and listen quietly
to the wisdom
and understanding downstairs.
As soon
as the evening light glimmered
in the garret,
he took courage,
for it seemed
to him
that the rays
of light were strong cables,
drawing him up
and obliging him
to go
and peep
through the keyhole.
While there,
a feeling
of vastness came
over him,
such
as we experience
by the ever-moving sea
when the storm breaks forth,
and it brought tears
into his eyes.
He did not himself know
why he wept,
yet a kind
of pleasant feeling mingled
with his tears.
“How wonderfully glorious it
would be
to sit
with the student
under such a tree!”
But
that was out
of the question;
he must be content
to look
through the keyhole
and be thankful
for
even that.
, , , ,
There he stood
on the cold landing,
with the autumn wind blowing down upon him
through the trapdoor.
It was very cold,
but the little creature did not really feel it
till the light
in the garret went out
and the tones
of music died away.
Then
how he shivered
and crept downstairs again
to his warm corner,
where he felt
at home
and comfortable!
And
when Christmas came again
and brought the dish
of jam
and the great lump
of butter,
he liked the huckster best
of all.
, , , ,
Soon after,
the goblin was waked
in the middle
of the night
by a terrible noise
and knocking
against the window shutters
and the house doors and
by the sound
of the watchman’s horn.
A great fire had broken out,
and the whole street seemed full
of flames.
Was it
in their house
or a neighbor’s?
No one
could tell,
for terror had seized upon all.
The huckster’s wife was so bewildered
that she took her gold earrings out
of her ears
and put them
in her pocket,
that she might save something
at least.
The huckster ran
to get his business papers,
and the servant resolved
to save her black silk mantle,
which she had managed
to buy.
All wished
to keep the best things they had.
The goblin had the same wish,
for
with one spring he was upstairs
in the student’s room.
He found him standing
by the open window
and looking quite calmly
at the fire,
which was raging
in the house
of a neighbor opposite.
, , , ,
The goblin caught up the wonderful book,
which lay
on the table,
and popped it
into his red cap,
which he held tightly
with both hands.
The greatest treasure
in the house was saved,
and he ran away
with it
to the roof
and seated himself
on the chimney.
The flames
of the burning house opposite illuminated him
as he sat
with both hands pressed tightly
over his cap,
in
which the treasure lay.
It was then
that he understood
what feelings were really strongest
in his heart
and knew exactly
which way they tended.
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.”
, , , ,
This is a representation
of human nature.
We are
like the goblin;
we all go
to visit the huckster,
“because
of the jam.”
, , , ,
[Illustration]
EVERYTHING
in ITS RIGHT PLACE
MORE
than a hundred years ago,
behind the wood and
by a deep lake,
stood an old baronial mansion.
Round it lay a deep moat,
in
which grew reeds
and rushes,
and close
by the bridge,
near the entrance gate,
stood an old willow
that bent itself
over the moat.
, , , ,
From a narrow lane one day sounded the clang
of horns
and the trampling
of horses.
The little girl
who kept the geese hastened
to drive them away
from the bridge
before the hunting party came galloping up
to it.
They came,
however,
with such haste
that the girl was obliged
to climb up
and seat herself
on the parapet
of the bridge,
lest they
should ride
over her.
She was scarcely more
than a child,
with a pretty,
delicate figure,
a gentle expression
of face,
and two bright blue eyes
--all
of
which the baron took no note of;
but
as he galloped past,
he reversed the whip held
in his hand,
and
in rough play gave the little goose-watcher such a push
with the butt end
that she fell backward
into the ditch.
, , , ,
“Everything
in its right place,”
cried he.
“Into the puddle
with you!”
and
then he laughed aloud
at
what he called his own wit,
and the rest joined
with him.
The whole party shouted
and screamed,
and the dogs barked loudly.
, , , ,
Fortunately
for herself,
the poor girl
in falling caught hold
of one
of the overhanging branches
of the willow tree,
by
which she was able
to keep herself
from falling
into the muddy pool.
As soon
as the baron,
with his company
and his dogs,
had disappeared
through the castle gate,
she tried
to raise herself
by her own exertions;
but the bough broke off
at the top,
and she
would have fallen backwards
among the reeds
if a strong hand had not
at
that moment seized her
from above.
It was the hand
of a peddler,
who,
at a short distance,
had witnessed the whole affair
and hastened up
to give assistance.
, , , ,
“Everything
in its right place,”
he said,
imitating the noble baron,
as he drew the little maiden up
on dry ground.
He
would have restored the bough
to the place
from
which it had been broken off,
but “everything
in its right place” is not always so easy
to arrange,
so he stuck the bough
in the soft earth.
“Grow
and prosper
as much
as you can,”
said he,
“till you produce a good flute
for some
of them
over there.
With the permission
of the noble baron
and his family,
I should
like them
to hear my challenge.”
, , , ,
So he betook himself
to the castle,
but not
into the noble hall;
he was too humble
for that.
He went
to the servants’ apartments,
and the men
and maids examined
and turned
over his stock
of goods,
while
from above,
where the company were
at table,
came sounds
of screaming
and shouting
which they called singing
--and indeed they did their best.
Loud laughter,
mingled
with the howling
of dogs,
sounded
through the open windows.
All were feasting
and carousing.
Wine
and strong ale foamed
in the jugs
and glasses;
even the dogs ate
and drank
with their masters.
The peddler was sent for,
but only
to make fun
for them.
The wine had mounted
to their heads,
and the sense had flown out.
They poured wine
into a stocking
for him
to drink
with them
--quickly,
of course
--and this was considered a rare jest
and occasioned fresh bursts
of laughter.
At cards,
whole farms,
with their stock
of peasants
and cattle,
were staked
on a card
and lost.
, , , ,
“Everything
in its right place,”
said the peddler,
when he
at last escaped
from
what he called the Sodom
and Gomorrah up there.
“The open highroad is my right place;
that house did not suit me
at all.”
As he stepped along,
he saw the little maiden keeping watch
over the geese,
and she nodded
to him
in a friendly way.
, , , ,
Days
and weeks passed,
and it soon became evident
that the willow branch
which had been stuck
in the ground
by the peddler,
near
to the castle moat,
had taken root,
for it remained fresh
and green
and put forth new twigs.
, , , ,
The little girl saw
that the branch must have taken root,
and she was quite joyful
about it.
“This tree,”
she said,
“must be my tree now.”
, , , ,
The tree certainly flourished,
but
at the castle,
what
with feasting
and gambling,
everything went
to ruin;
for these two things are
like rollers,
upon
which no man
can possibly stand securely.
Six years had not passed away
before the noble baron wandered out
of the castle gate a poor man,
and the mansion was bought
by a rich dealer.
This dealer was no other
than the man
of whom he had made fun
and
for whom he had poured wine
into a stocking
to drink.
But honesty
and industry are
like favorable winds
to a ship,
and they had brought the peddler
to be master
of the baron’s estates.
From
that hour no more card playing was permitted there.
, , , ,
The new proprietor took
to himself a wife,
and
who
should it be
but the little goose-watcher,
who had always remained faithful
and good,
and
who looked
as beautiful
and fine
in her new clothes
as
if she had been a highly born lady.
It
would be too long a story
in these busy times
to explain
how all this came about,
but it really did happen,
and the most important part is
to come.
, , , ,
It was pleasant
to live
in the old court now.
The mistress herself managed the housekeeping within,
and the master superintended the estate.
Their home overflowed
with blessings,
for
where rectitude leads the way,
prosperity is sure
to follow.
The old house was cleaned
and painted,
the moat dried up,
and fruit trees planted
in it.
The floors
of the house were polished
as smoothly
as a draftboard,
and everything looked bright
and cheerful.
, , , ,
During the long winter evenings the lady
of the house sat
with her maidens
at the spinning wheel
in the great hall.
Her husband,
in his old age,
had been made a magistrate.
Every Sunday evening he read the Bible
with his family,
for children had come
to him
and were all instructed
in the best manner,
although they were not all equally clever
--as is the case
in all families.
In the meantime,
the willow branch
at the castle gate had grown
into a splendid tree
and stood free
and unrestrained.
, , , ,
“That is our genealogical tree,”
said the old people,
“and the tree must therefore be honored
and esteemed,
even
by those
who are not very wise.”
, , , ,
A hundred years passed away,
and the place presented a much-changed aspect.
The lake had been converted
into moorland,
and the old baronial castle had
almost disappeared.
A pool
of water,
the deep moat,
and the ruins
of some
of the walls were all
that remained.
Close
by grew a magnificent willow tree,
with overhanging branches
--the same genealogical tree
of former times.
Here it still stood,
showing
to
what beauty a willow
can attain
when left
to itself.
To be sure,
the trunk was split through,
from the root
to the top,
and the storm had slightly bent it;
but it stood firm
through all,
and
from every crevice
and opening
into
which earth had been carried
by the wind,
shot forth blossoms
and flowers.
Near the top,
where the large boughs parted,
the wild raspberry twined its branches
and looked
like a hanging garden.
Even the little mistletoe had here struck root,
and flourished,
graceful
and delicate,
among the branches
of the willow,
which were reflected
in the dark waters
beneath it.
Sometimes the wind
from the sea scattered the willow leaves.
A path led
through the field,
close
by the tree.
, , , ,
On the top
of a hill,
near the forest,
with a splendid prospect
before it,
stood the new baronial hall,
with panes
of such transparent glass
in the windows
that
there appeared
to be none.
The grand flight
of steps leading
to the entrance looked
like a bower
of roses
and broad-leaved plants.
The lawn was
as fresh
and green
as
if each separate blade
of grass were cleaned morning
and evening.
In the hall hung costly pictures.
The chairs
and sofas were
of silk
and velvet
and looked almost
as
if they
could move
of themselves.
There were tables
with white marble tops,
and books bound
in velvet
and gold.
Here,
indeed,
resided wealthy people,
people
of rank
--the new baron
and his family.
, , , ,
Each article was made
to harmonize
with the other furnishings.
The family motto still was,
“Everything
in its right place.”
Therefore the pictures
which were once the honor
and glory
of the old house now hung
in the passage leading
to the servants’ hall.
They were considered mere lumber;
especially two old portraits,
one
of a man
in a wig
and a rose-colored coat,
the other
of a lady
with frizzed
and powdered hair,
holding a rose
in her hand,
each surrounded
by a wreath
of willow leaves.
Both the pictures had many holes
in them,
for the little barons always set up the two old people
as targets
for their bows
and arrows;
and yet these were pictures
of the magistrate
and his lady,
from whom the present family were descended.
“But they did not properly belong
to our family,”
said one
of the little barons;
“he was a peddler,
and she kept the geese.
They were not
like papa
and mamma.”
So the pictures,
being old,
were considered worthless;
and the motto being “Each
in its right place,”
the great-grandfather
and the great-grandmother
of the family were sent
into the passage leading
to the servants’ hall.
, , , ,
The son
of the clergyman
of the place was tutor
at the great house.
One day he was out walking
with his pupils
--the little barons
--and their eldest sister,
who had just been confirmed.
They took the path
through the fields,
which led past the old willow tree.
While they walked,
the young lady made a wreath
of hedge blossoms
and wild flowers,
“each
in its right place,”
and the wreath was,
as a whole,
very pretty.
At the same time she heard every word uttered
by the son
of the clergyman.
She liked very much
to hear him talk
of the wonders
of nature and
of the great men
and women
of history.
She had a healthy mind,
with nobility
of thought
and feeling,
and a heart full
of love
for all God’s creation.
, , , ,
The walking party halted
at the old willow tree;
the youngest
of the barons wanted a branch
from it
to make a flute,
as he had already made them
from other willows.
The tutor broke off a branch.
“Oh,
don’t do that,”
exclaimed the young baroness;
but it was already done.
“I am so sorry,”
she continued;
“that is our famous old tree,
and I love it very much.
They laugh
at me
for it
at home,
but I
don’t mind.
There is a story told about
that tree.”
, , , ,
Then she told him
what we already know:
about the old castle,
and
about the peddler
and the girl
with the geese,
who had met
at this spot
for the first time
and were the ancestors
of the noble family
to
which the young baroness belonged.
“The good old folks
would not be ennobled,”
said she.
“Their motto was ‘Everything
in its right place,’
and they thought it
would not be right
for them
to purchase a title
with money.
My grandfather,
the first baron,
was their son.
He was a very learned man,
known
and appreciated
by princes
and princesses,
and was present
at all the festivals
at court.
At home,
they all love him best,
but I scarcely know why.
There seems
to me something
in the first old pair
that draws my heart
towards them.
How sociable,
how patriarchal,
it must have been
in the old house,
where the mistress sat
at the spinning wheel
with her maids
while her husband read aloud
to them
from the Bible!”
“They must have been charming,
sensible people,”
said the tutor,
and
then the conversation turned upon nobles
and commoners.
It was almost
as
if the tutor did not belong
to an inferior class,
he spoke so wisely upon the purpose
and intention
of nobility.
, , , ,
“It is certainly good fortune
to belong
to a family
that has distinguished itself
in the world,
and
to inherit the energy
which spurs us
on
to progress
in everything noble
and useful.
It is pleasant
to bear a family name
that is
like a card
of admission
to the highest circles.
True nobility is always great
and honorable.
It is a coin
which has received the impression
of its own value.
It is a mistake
of the present day,
into
which many poets have fallen,
to affirm
that all
who are noble
by birth must therefore be wicked
or foolish,
and
that the lower we descend
in society the oftener we find great
and shining characters.
I feel
that this is quite false.
In all classes
can be found men
and women possessing kindly
and beautiful traits.
, , , ,
“My mother told me
of one,
and I
could tell you
of many more.
She was once
on a visit
to a nobleman’s house
in the town;
my grandmother,
I believe,
had been brought up
in the family.
One day,
when my mother
and the nobleman happened
to be alone,
an old woman came limping
into the court
on crutches.
She was accustomed
to come every Sunday
and always carried away a gift
with her.
‘Ah,
there is the poor old woman,’
said the nobleman;
‘what pain it is
for her
to walk!’
and
before my mother understood
what he said,
he had left the room
and run downstairs
to the old woman.
Though seventy years old himself,
the old nobleman carried
to the woman the gift she had come
to receive,
to spare her the pain
of walking any farther.
This is only a trifling circumstance,
but,
like the two mites given
by the widow
in the Bible,
it wakes an echo
in the heart.
, , , ,
“These are subjects
of
which poets
should write
and sing,
for they soften
and unite mankind
into one brotherhood.
But
when a mere sprig
of humanity,
because it has noble ancestors
of good blood,
rears up
and prances
like an Arabian horse
in the street
or speaks contemptuously
of common people,
then it is nobility
in danger
of decay
--a mere pretense,
like the mask
which Thespis invented.
People are glad
to see such persons turned
into objects
of satire.”
, , , ,
This was the tutor’s speech
--certainly rather a long one,
but he had been busily engaged
in cutting the flute
while he talked.
, , , ,
There was a large party
at the Hall
that evening.
The grand salon was crowded
with guests
--some
from the neighborhood,
some
from the capital.
There was a bevy
of ladies richly dressed with,
and without,
taste;
a group
of the clergy
from the adjoining parishes,
in a corner together,
as grave
as though met
for a funeral.
A funeral party it certainly was not,
however;
it was meant
for a party
of pleasure,
but the pleasure was yet
to come.
Music
and song filled the rooms,
first one
of the party volunteering,
then another.
The little baron brought out his flute,
but neither he nor his father,
who tried it after him,
could make anything
of it.
It was pronounced a failure.
, , , ,
“But you are a performer,
too,
surely,”
said a witty gentleman,
addressing the tutor.
“You are
of course a flute player
as well
as a flute maker.
You are a universal genius,
I hear,
and genius is quite the rage nowadays
--nothing
like genius.
Come now;
I am sure you
will be so good as
to enchant us
by playing
on this little instrument.”
He handed it over,
announcing
in a loud voice
that the tutor was going
to favor the company
with a solo
on the flute.
, , , ,
It was easy
to see
that these people wanted
to make fun
of him,
and he refused
to play.
But they pressed him so long
and so urgently that
at last,
in very weariness,
he took the flute
and raised it
to his lips.
, , , ,
It was a strange flute!
A sound issued
from it,
loud,
shrill,
and vibrating,
like
that sent forth
by a steam engine
--nay,
far louder.
It thrilled
through the house,
through garden
and woodland,
miles out
into the country;
and
with the sound came also a strong,
rushing wind,
its stormy breath clearly uttering the words,
“Everything
in its right place!”
Forthwith the baron,
the master
of the Hall,
was caught up
by the wind,
carried out
at the window,
and was shut up
in the porter’s lodge
in a trice.
The porter himself was borne up,
not
into the drawing room
--no,
for
that he was not fit
--but
into the servants’ hall,
where the proud lackeys
in their silk stockings shook
with horror
to see so low a person sit
at table
with them.
, , , ,
But
in the grand salon the young baroness was wafted
to the seat
of honor,
where she was worthy
to sit,
and the tutor’s place was
by her side.
There they sat together,
for all the world
like bride
and bridegroom.
An old count,
descended
from one
of the noblest houses
in the land,
retained his seat,
not so much
as a breath
of air disturbing him,
for the flute was strictly just.
The witty young gentleman,
who had been the occasion
of all this tumult,
was whirled out headforemost
to join geese
and ganders
in the poultry yard.
, , , ,
Half a mile out
in the country the flute wrought wonders.
The family
of a rich merchant,
who drove
with four horses,
were all precipitated
from the carriage window.
Two farmers,
who had
of late grown too wealthy
to know their nearest relations,
were puffed
into a ditch.
It was a dangerous flute.
Luckily,
at the first sound it uttered,
it burst
and was
then put safely away
in the tutor’s pocket.
“Everything
in its right place!”
Next day no more was said
about the adventure than
as
if it had never happened.
The affair was hushed up,
and all things were the same
as before,
except
that the two old portraits
of the peddler
and the goose girl continued
to hang
on the walls
of the salon,
whither the wind had blown them.
Here some connoisseur chanced
to see them,
and
because he pronounced them
to be painted
by a master hand,
they were cleaned
and restored
and ever after held
in honor.
Their value had not been known before.
, , , ,
“Everything
in its right place!”
So shall it be,
all
in good time,
never fear.
Not
in this world,
perhaps.
That
would be expecting rather too much.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE REAL PRINCESS
THERE was once a prince
who wanted
to marry a princess.
But she must be a real princess,
mind you.
So he traveled all round the world,
seeking such a one,
but everywhere something was
in the way.
Not
that
there was any lack
of princesses,
but he
could not seem
to make out whether they were real princesses;
there was always something not quite satisfactory.
Therefore,
home he came again,
quite out
of spirits,
for he wished so much
to marry a real princess.
, , , ,
One evening a terrible storm came on.
It thundered
and lightened,
and the rain poured down;
indeed,
it was quite fearful.
In the midst
of it
there came a knock
at the town gate,
and the old king went out
to open it.
, , , ,
It was a princess
who stood outside.
But O dear,
what a state she was
in
from the rain
and bad weather!
The water dropped
from her hair
and clothes,
it ran
in
at the tips
of her shoes
and out
at the heels;
yet she insisted she was a real princess.
, , , ,
“Very well,”
thought the old queen;
“that we shall presently see.”
She said nothing,
but went
into the bedchamber
and took off all the bedding,
then laid a pea
on the sacking
of the bedstead.
Having done this,
she took twenty mattresses
and laid them upon the pea
and placed twenty eider-down beds
on top
of the mattresses.
, , , ,
The princess lay upon this bed all the night.
In the morning she was asked
how she had slept.
, , , ,
“Oh,
most miserably!”
she said.
“I scarcely closed my eyes the whole night through.
I cannot think
what
there
could have been
in the bed.
I lay upon something so hard
that I am quite black
and blue all over.
It is dreadful!”
It was now quite evident
that she was a real princess,
since
through twenty mattresses
and twenty eider-down beds she had felt the pea.
None
but a real princess
could have such delicate feeling.
, , , ,
So the prince took her
for his wife,
for he knew that
in her he had found a true princess.
And the pea was preserved
in the cabinet
of curiosities,
where it is still
to be seen
unless some one has stolen it.
, , , ,
And this,
mind you,
is a real story.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES
MANY years ago
there was an emperor
who was so fond
of new clothes
that he spent all his money
on them.
He did not give himself any concern
about his army;
he cared nothing
about the theater
or
for driving about
in the woods,
except
for the sake
of showing himself off
in new clothes.
He had a costume
for every hour
in the day,
and just
as they say
of a king
or emperor,
“He is
in his council chamber,”
they said
of him,
“The emperor is
in his dressing room.”
, , , ,
Life was merry
and gay
in the town
where the emperor lived,
and numbers
of strangers came
to it every day.
Among them
there came one day two rascals,
who gave themselves out
as weavers
and said
that they knew how
to weave the most exquisite stuff imaginable.
Not only were the colors
and patterns uncommonly beautiful,
but the clothes
that were made
of the stuff had the peculiar property
of becoming invisible
to every person
who was unfit
for the office he held
or
who was exceptionally stupid.
, , , ,
“Those must be valuable clothes,”
thought the emperor.
“By wearing them I
should be able
to discover which
of the men
in my empire are not fit
for their posts.
I
should distinguish wise men
from fools.
Yes,
I must order some
of the stuff
to be woven
for me directly.”
And he paid the swindlers a handsome sum
of money
in advance,
as they required.
, , , ,
As
for them,
they put up two looms
and pretended
to be weaving,
though
there was nothing whatever
on their shuttles.
They called
for a quantity
of the finest silks and
of the purest gold thread,
all
of
which went
into their own bags,
while they worked
at their empty looms
till late
into the night.
, , , ,
“I
should like
to know
how those weavers are getting
on
with the stuff,”
thought the emperor.
But he felt a little queer
when he reflected
that those
who were stupid
or unfit
for their office
would not be able
to see the material.
He believed,
indeed,
that he had nothing
to fear
for himself,
but still he thought it better
to send some one else first,
to see
how the work was coming on.
All the people
in the town had heard
of the peculiar property
of the stuff,
and every one was curious
to see
how stupid his neighbor might be.
, , , ,
“I
will send my faithful old prime minister
to the weavers,”
thought the emperor.
“He
will be best capable
of judging
of this stuff,
for he is a man
of sense
and nobody is more fit
for his office
than he.”
, , , ,
So the worthy old minister went
into the room
where the two swindlers sat working the empty looms.
“Heaven save us!”
thought the old man,
opening his eyes wide.
“Why,
I can’t see anything
at all!”
But he took care not
to say so aloud.
, , , ,
Both the rogues begged him
to step a little nearer
and asked him
if he did not think the patterns very pretty
and the coloring fine.
They pointed
to the empty loom
as they did so,
and the poor old minister kept staring
as hard
as he could
--but without being able
to see anything
on it,
for
of course
there was nothing there
to see.
, , , ,
“Heaven save us!”
thought the old man.
“Is it possible
that I am a fool?
I have never thought it,
and nobody must know it.
Is it true
that I am not fit
for my office?
It
will never do
for me
to say
that I cannot see the stuffs.”
, , , ,
“Well,
sir,
do you say nothing
about the cloth?”
asked the one
who was pretending
to go
on
with his work.
, , , ,
“Oh,
it is most elegant,
most beautiful!”
said the dazed old man,
as he peered again
through his spectacles.
“What a fine pattern,
and
what fine colors!
I
will certainly tell the emperor
how pleased I am
with the stuff.”
, , , ,
“We are glad
of that,”
said both the weavers;
and
then they named the colors
and pointed out the special features
of the pattern.
To all
of this the minister paid great attention,
so
that he might be able
to repeat it
to the emperor
when he went back
to him.
, , , ,
And now the cheats called
for more money,
more silk,
and more gold thread,
to be able
to proceed
with the weaving,
but they put it all
into their own pockets,
and not a thread went
into the stuff,
though they went
on
as before,
weaving
at the empty looms.
, , , ,
After a little time the emperor sent another honest statesman
to see
how the weaving was progressing,
and
if the stuff
would soon be ready.
The same thing happened
with him
as
with the minister.
He gazed
and gazed,
but
as
there was nothing
but empty looms,
he
could see nothing else.
, , , ,
“Is not this an exquisite piece
of stuff?”
asked the weavers,
pointing
to one
of the looms
and explaining the beautiful pattern
and the colors
which were not there
to be seen.
, , , ,
“I am not stupid,
I know I am not!”
thought the man,
“so it must be
that I am not fit
for my good office.
It is very strange,
but I must not let it be noticed.”
So he praised the cloth he did not see
and assured the weavers
of his delight
in the lovely colors
and the exquisite pattern.
“It is perfectly charming,”
he reported
to the emperor.
, , , ,
Everybody
in the town was talking
of the splendid cloth.
The emperor thought he
should like
to see it himself
while it was still
on the loom.
With a company
of carefully selected men,
among whom were the two worthy officials
who had been
there before,
he went
to visit the crafty impostors,
who were working
as hard
as ever
at the empty looms.
, , , ,
“Is it not magnificent?”
said both the honest statesmen.
“See,
your Majesty,
what splendid colors,
and
what a pattern!”
And they pointed
to the looms,
for they believed
that others,
no doubt,
could see
what they did not.
, , , ,
“What!”
thought the emperor.
“I see nothing
at all.
This is terrible!
Am I a fool?
Am I not fit
to be emperor?
Why nothing more dreadful
could happen
to me!”
“Oh,
it is very pretty!
it has my highest approval,”
the emperor said aloud.
He nodded
with satisfaction
as he gazed
at the empty looms,
for he
would not betray
that he
could see nothing.
, , , ,
His whole suite gazed
and gazed,
each seeing no more
than the others;
but,
like the emperor,
they all exclaimed,
“Oh,
it is beautiful!”
They
even suggested
to the emperor
that he wear the splendid new clothes
for the first time
on the occasion
of a great procession
which was soon
to take place.
, , , ,
“Splendid!
Gorgeous!
Magnificent!”
went
from mouth
to mouth.
All were equally delighted
with the weavers’ workmanship.
The emperor gave each
of the impostors an order
of knighthood
to be worn
in their buttonholes,
and the title Gentleman Weaver
of the Imperial Court.
, , , ,
Before the day
on
which the procession was
to take place,
the weavers sat up the whole night,
burning sixteen candles,
so
that people might see
how anxious they were
to get the emperor’s new clothes ready.
They pretended
to take the stuff
from the loom,
they cut it out
in the air
with huge scissors,
and they stitched away
with needles
which had no thread
in them.
At last they said,
“Now the clothes are finished.”
, , , ,
The emperor came
to them himself
with his grandest courtiers,
and each
of the rogues lifted his arm
as
if he held something,
saying,
“See!
here are the trousers!
here is the coat!
here is the cloak,”
and so on.
“It is
as light
as a spider’s web.
One
would
almost feel
as
if one had nothing on,
but
that is the beauty
of it!”
“Yes,”
said all the courtiers,
but they saw nothing,
for
there was nothing
to see.
, , , ,
“Will your Majesty be graciously pleased
to take off your clothes so
that we may put
on the new clothes here,
before the great mirror?”
, , , ,
The emperor took off his clothes,
and the rogues pretended
to put
on first one garment
and
then another
of the new ones they had pretended
to make.
They pretended
to fasten something round his waist and
to tie
on something.
This they said was the train,
and the emperor turned round
and round
before the mirror.
, , , ,
“How well his Majesty looks
in the new clothes!
How becoming they are!”
cried all the courtiers
in turn.
“That is a splendid costume!”
“The canopy
that is
to be carried
over your Majesty
in the procession is waiting outside,”
said the master
of ceremonies.
, , , ,
“Well,
I am ready,”
replied the emperor.
“Don’t the clothes look well?”
and he turned round
and round again
before the mirror,
to appear
as
if he were admiring his new costume.
, , , ,
The chamberlains,
who were
to carry the train,
stooped
and put their hands near the floor
as
if they were lifting it;
then they pretended
to be holding something
in the air.
They
would not let it be noticed
that they
could see
and feel nothing.
, , , ,
So the emperor went along
in the procession,
under the splendid canopy,
and every one
in the streets said:
“How beautiful the emperor’s new clothes are!
What a splendid train!
And
how well they fit!”
No one wanted
to let it appear
that he
could see nothing,
for
that
would prove him not fit
for his post.
None
of the emperor’s clothes had been so great a success before.
, , , ,
“But he has nothing on!”
said a little child.
, , , ,
“Just listen
to the innocent,”
said its father;
and one person whispered
to another
what the child had said.
“He has nothing on;
a child says he has nothing on!”
“But he has nothing on,”
cried all the people.
The emperor was startled
by this,
for he had a suspicion
that they were right.
But he thought,
“I must face this out
to the end
and go
on
with the procession.”
So he held himself more stiffly
than ever,
and the chamberlains held up the train
that was not there
at all.
, , , ,
[Illustration]
GREAT CLAUS
and LITTLE CLAUS
IN A VILLAGE
there once lived two men
of the same name.
Both
of them were called Claus.
But
because one
of them owned four horses
while the other had
but one,
people called the one
who had the four horses Big,
or Great,
Claus
and the one
who owned
but a single horse Little Claus.
Now I shall tell you
what happened
to each
of them,
for this is a true story.
, , , ,
All the days
of the week Little Claus was obliged
to plow
for Great Claus and
to lend him his one horse;
then once a week,
on Sunday,
Great Claus helped Little Claus
with his four horses,
but always
on a holiday.
, , , ,
“Hurrah!”
How Little Claus
would crack his whip
over the five,
for they were
as good
as his own
on
that one day.
, , , ,
The sun shone brightly,
and the church bells rang merrily
as the people passed by.
The people were dressed
in their best,
with their prayer books
under their arms,
for they were going
to church
to hear the clergyman preach.
They looked
at Little Claus plowing
with five horses,
and he was so proud
and merry
that he cracked his whip
and cried,
“Gee-up,
my fine horses.”
, , , ,
“You mustn’t say that,”
said Great Claus,
“for only one
of them is yours.”
, , , ,
But Little Claus soon forgot
what it was
that he ought not
to say,
and
when any one went
by he
would call out,
“Gee-up,
my fine horses.”
, , , ,
“I must really beg you not
to say
that again,”
said Great Claus
as he passed;
“for
if you do,
I shall hit your horse
on the head so
that he
will drop down dead
on the spot,
and
then it
will be all over
with him.”
, , , ,
“I
will certainly not say it again,
I promise you,”
said Little Claus.
But
as soon
as any one came by,
nodding good day
to him,
he was so pleased,
and felt so grand
at having five horses plowing his field,
that again he cried out,
“Gee-up,
all my horses.”
, , , ,
“I’ll gee-up your horses
for you,”
said Great Claus,
and he caught up the tethering mallet
and struck Little Claus’s one horse
on the head,
so
that it fell down dead.
, , , ,
“Oh,
now I haven’t any horse
at all!”
cried Little Claus,
and he began
to weep.
But after a
while he flayed the horse
and hung up the skin
to dry
in the wind.
, , , ,
Then he put the dried skin
into a bag,
and hanging it
over his shoulder,
went off
to the next town
to sell it.
He had a very long way
to go
and was obliged
to pass
through a great,
gloomy wood.
A dreadful storm came up.
He lost his way,
and
before he found it again,
evening was drawing on.
It was too late
to get
to the town,
and too late
to get home
before nightfall.
, , , ,
Near the road stood a large farmhouse.
The shutters outside the windows were closed,
but lights shone
through the crevices and
at the top.
“They might let me stay here
for the night,”
thought Little Claus.
So he went up
to the door
and knocked.
The door was opened
by the farmer’s wife,
but
when he explained
what it was
that he wanted,
she told him
to go away;
her husband,
she said,
was not
at home,
and she
could not let any strangers in.
, , , ,
“Then I shall have
to lie out here,”
said Little Claus
to himself,
as the farmer’s wife shut the door
in his face.
, , , ,
Close
to the farmhouse stood a tall haystack,
and
between it
and the house was a small shed
with a thatched roof.
“I
can lie up there,”
said Little Claus,
when he saw the roof.
“It
will make a capital bed,
but I hope the stork
won’t fly down
and bite my legs.”
A stork was just
then standing near his nest
on the house roof.
, , , ,
So Little Claus climbed
onto the roof
of the shed
and proceeded
to make himself comfortable.
As he turned round
to settle himself,
he discovered
that the wooden shutters did not reach
to the tops
of the windows.
He
could look
over them straight
into the room,
in
which a large table was laid
with wine,
roast meat,
and a fine,
great fish.
The farmer’s wife
and the sexton were sitting
at the table all
by themselves,
and she was pouring out wine
for him,
while his fork was
in the fish,
which he seemed
to
like the best.
, , , ,
“If I
could only get some too,”
thought Little Claus,
and
as he stretched his neck
toward the window he spied a large,
beautiful cake.
Goodness!
what a glorious feast they had
before them.
, , , ,
At
that moment some one came riding down the road
towards the farm.
It was the farmer himself,
returning.
He was a good man enough,
but he had one very singular prejudice
--he
could not bear the sight
of a sexton,
and
if he came
on one he fell
into a terrible rage.
This was the reason
that the sexton had gone
to visit the farmer’s wife during his absence
from home
and
that the good wife had put
before him the best she had.
, , , ,
When they heard the farmer they were frightened,
and the woman begged the sexton
to creep
into a large empty chest
which stood
in a corner.
He did so
with all haste,
for he well knew
how the farmer felt
toward a sexton.
The woman hid the wine
and all the good things
in the oven,
for
if her husband were
to see them,
he
would certainly ask
why they had been provided.
, , , ,
“O dear!”
sighed Little Claus,
on the shed roof,
as he saw the good things disappear.
, , , ,
“Is any one up there?”
asked the farmer,
looking up
where Little Claus was.
“What are you doing up there?
You had better come
with me
into the house.”
, , , ,
Then Little Claus told him
how he had lost his way,
and asked
if he might have shelter
for the night.
, , , ,
“Certainly,”
replied the farmer;
“but the first thing is
to have something
to eat.”
, , , ,
The wife received them both
in a friendly way,
and laid the table,
bringing
to it a large bowl
of porridge.
The farmer was hungry
and ate
with a good appetite.
But Little Claus
could not help thinking
of the capital roast meat,
fish,
and cake,
which he knew were hidden
in the oven.
, , , ,
He had put his sack
with the hide
in it
under the table
by his feet,
for,
we must remember,
he was
on his way
to the town
to sell it.
He did not relish the porridge,
so he trod
on the sack
and made the dried skin squeak quite loudly.
, , , ,
“Hush!”
said Little Claus
to his bag,
at the same time treading upon it again,
to make it squeak much louder
than before.
, , , ,
“Hollo!
what’s
that you’ve got
in your bag?”
asked the farmer.
, , , ,
“Oh,
it’s a magician,”
said Little Claus,
“and he says we needn’t eat the porridge,
for he has charmed the oven full
of roast meat,
fish,
and cake.”
, , , ,
“What?”
cried the farmer,
and he opened the oven
with all speed
and saw all the nice things the woman had hidden,
but
which he believed the magician had conjured up
for their special benefit.
, , , ,
The farmer’s wife did not say a word,
but set the food
before them;
and they both made a hearty meal
of the fish,
the meat,
and the cake.
Little Claus now trod again upon his sack
and made the skin squeak.
, , , ,
“What does he say now?”
inquired the farmer.
, , , ,
“He says,”
promptly answered Little Claus,
“that he has conjured up three bottles
of wine,
which are standing
in the corner near the stove.”
So the woman was obliged
to bring the wine
which she had hidden,
and the farmer
and Little Claus became right merry.
Would not the farmer like
to have such a conjurer
as Little Claus carried about
in his sack?
, , , ,
“Can he conjure up the Evil One?”
inquired the farmer.
“I shouldn’t mind seeing him now,
when I’m
in such a merry mood.”
, , , ,
“Yes,”
said Little Claus,
“he
will do anything
that I please”;
and he trod
on the bag
till it squeaked.
“You hear him answer,
‘Yes,
only the Evil One is so ugly
that you had better not see him.’”
“Oh,
I’m not afraid.
What
will he look like?”
, , , ,
“Well,
he
will show himself
to you
in the image
of a sexton.”
, , , ,
“Nay,
that’s bad indeed.
You must know
that I can’t abide a sexton.
However,
it doesn’t matter,
for I know he’s a demon,
and I shan’t mind so much.
Now my courage is up!
Only he mustn’t come too close.”
, , , ,
“I’ll ask him
about it,”
said Little Claus,
putting his ear down
as he trod close
to the bag.
, , , ,
“What does he say?”
, , , ,
“He says you
can go along
and open the chest
in the corner,
and
there you’ll see him cowering
in the dark.
But hold the lid tight,
so
that he doesn’t get out.”
, , , ,
“Will you help me
to hold the lid,”
asked the farmer,
going along
to the chest
in
which his wife had hidden the sexton,
who was shivering
with fright.
, , , ,
The farmer opened the lid a wee little way
and peeped in.
“Ha!”
he cried,
springing backward.
“I saw him,
and he looks exactly
like our sexton.
It was a shocking sight!”
They must needs drink after this,
and
there they sat
till far
into the night.
, , , ,
“You must sell me your conjurer,”
said the farmer.
“Ask anything you like
for him.
Nay,
I’ll give you a bushel
of money
for him.”
, , , ,
“No,
I can’t do that,”
said Little Claus.
“You must remember
how much benefit I
can get
from such a conjurer.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
but I
should so like
to have him!”
said the farmer,
and he went
on begging
for him.
, , , ,
“Well,”
said Little Claus
at last,
“since you have been so kind as
to give me a night’s shelter,
I
won’t say nay.
You must give me a bushel
of money,
only I must have it full
to the brim.”
, , , ,
“You shall have it,”
said the farmer;
“but you must take
that chest away
with you.
I
won’t have it
in the house an hour longer.
You
could never know
that he might not still be inside.”
, , , ,
So Little Claus gave his sack
with the dried hide
of the horse
in it
and received a full bushel
of money
in return,
and the measure was full
to the brim.
The farmer also gave him a large wheelbarrow,
with which
to take away the chest
and the bushel
of money.
, , , ,
“Good-by,”
said Little Claus,
and off he went
with his money
and the chest
with the sexton
in it.
, , , ,
On the other side
of the forest was a wide,
deep river,
whose current was so strong
that it was
almost impossible
to swim
against it.
A large,
new bridge had just been built
over it,
and
when they came
to the middle
of the bridge Little Claus said
in a voice loud enough
to be heard
by the sexton:
“What shall I do
with this stupid old chest?
It might be full
of paving stones,
it is so heavy.
I am tired
of wheeling it.
I’ll just throw it
into the river.
If it floats down
to my home,
well
and good;
if not,
I
don’t care.
It
will be no great matter.”
And he took hold
of the chest
and lifted it a little,
as
if he were going
to throw it
into the river.
, , , ,
“No,
no!
let be!”
shouted the sexton.
“Let me get out.”
, , , ,
“Ho!”
said Little Claus,
pretending
to be frightened.
“Why,
he is still inside.
Then I must heave it
into the river
to drown him.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
no,
no,
no!”
shouted the sexton;
“I’ll give you a whole bushelful
of money
if you’ll let me out.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
that’s another matter,”
said Little Claus,
opening the chest.
He pushed the empty chest
into the river
and
then went home
with the sexton
to get his bushelful
of money.
He had already had one
from the farmer,
you know,
so now his wheelbarrow was quite full
of money.
, , , ,
“I got a pretty fair price
for
that horse,
I must admit,”
said he
to himself,
when he got home
and turned the money out
of the wheelbarrow
into a heap
in the middle
of the floor.
“What a rage Great Claus
will be
in
when he discovers
how rich I am become
through my one horse.
But I
won’t tell him just
how it happened.”
So he sent a boy
to Great Claus
to borrow a bushel measure.
, , , ,
“What
can he want
with it?”
thought Great Claus,
and he rubbed some tallow
on the bottom so
that some part
of whatever was measured might stick
to it.
And so it did,
for
when the measure came back,
three new silver threepenny bits were sticking
to it.
, , , ,
“What’s this!”
said Great Claus,
and he ran off
at once
to Little Claus.
“Where
on earth did you get all this money?”
he asked.
, , , ,
“Oh,
that’s
for my horse’s skin.
I sold it yesterday morning.”
, , , ,
“That was well paid for,
indeed,”
said Great Claus.
He ran home,
took an ax,
and hit all his four horses
on the head;
then he flayed them
and carried their skins off
to the town.
, , , ,
“Hides!
hides!
who’ll buy my hides?”
he cried
through the streets.
, , , ,
All the shoemakers
and tanners
in the town came running up
and asked him
how much he wanted
for his hides.
, , , ,
“A bushel
of money
for each,”
said Great Claus.
, , , ,
“Are you mad?”
they all said.
“Do you think we have money
by the bushel?”
, , , ,
“Skins!
skins!
who’ll buy them?”
he shouted again,
and the shoemakers took up their straps,
and the tanners their leather aprons,
and began
to beat Great Claus.
, , , ,
“Hides!
hides!”
they called after him.
“Yes,
we’ll hide you
and tan you.
Out
of the town
with him,”
they shouted.
And Great Claus made the best haste he could
to get out
of the town,
for he had never yet been thrashed
as he was being thrashed now.
, , , ,
“Little Claus shall pay
for this,”
he said,
when he got home.
“I’ll kill him
for it.”
, , , ,
Little Claus’s old grandmother had just died
in his house.
She had often been harsh
and unkind
to him,
but now
that she was dead he felt quite grieved.
He took the dead woman
and laid her
in his warm bed
to see
if she
would not come
to life again.
He himself intended
to sit
in a corner all night.
He had slept
that way before.
, , , ,
As he sat there
in the night,
the door opened and
in came Great Claus
with his ax.
He knew
where Little Claus’s bed stood,
and he went straight
to it
and hit the dead grandmother a blow
on the forehead,
thinking it was Little Claus.
, , , ,
“Just see
if you’ll make a fool
of me again,”
said he,
and
then he went home.
, , , ,
“What a bad,
wicked man he is!”
said Little Claus.
“He was going
to kill me.
What a good thing
that poor grandmother was dead already!
He
would have taken her life.”
, , , ,
He now dressed his grandmother
in her best Sunday clothes,
borrowed a horse
of his neighbor,
harnessed it
to a cart,
and set his grandmother
on the back seat,
so
that she
could not fall
when the cart moved.
Then he started off
through the woods.
When the sun rose,
he was just outside a big inn,
and he drew up his horse
and went
in
to get something
to eat.
, , , ,
The landlord was a very rich man
and a very good man,
but he was hot-tempered,
as
if he were made
of pepper
and snuff.
“Good morning!”
said he
to Little Claus;
“you have your best clothes
on very early this morning.”
, , , ,
“Yes,”
said Little Claus,
“I’m going
to town
with my old grandmother.
She’s sitting out there
in the cart;
I can’t get her
to come in.
Won’t you take her out a glass
of beer?
You’ll have
to shout
at her,
she’s very hard
of hearing.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
that I’ll do,”
said the host,
and he poured a glass
and went out
with it
to the dead grandmother,
who had been placed upright
in the cart.
, , , ,
“Here is a glass
of beer your son has sent,”
said the landlord
but she sat quite still
and said not a word.
, , , ,
“Don’t you hear?”
cried he
as loud
as he could.
“Here is a glass
of beer
from your son.”
, , , ,
But the dead woman replied not a word,
and
at last he became quite angry
and threw the beer
in her face
--and
at
that moment she fell backwards out
of the cart,
for she was only set upright
and not bound fast.
, , , ,
“Now!”
shouted Little Claus,
as he rushed out
of the inn
and seized the landlord
by the neck,
“you have killed my grandmother!
Just look
at the big hole
in her forehead!”
“Oh!
what a misfortune!”
cried the man,
“and all because
of my quick temper.
Good Little Claus,
I
will pay you a bushel
of money,
and I
will have your poor grandmother buried
as
if she were my own,
if only you
will say nothing
about it.
Otherwise I shall have my head cut off
--and
that is so dreadful.”
, , , ,
So Little Claus again received a whole bushel
of money,
and the landlord buried the old grandmother
as
if she had been his own.
, , , ,
When Little Claus got home again
with all his money,
he immediately sent his boy
to Great Claus
to ask
to borrow his bushel measure.
, , , ,
“What!”
said Great Claus,
“is he not dead?
I must go
and see
about this myself.”
So he took the measure over
to Little Claus himself.
, , , ,
“I say,
where did you get all
that money?”
asked he,
his eyes big
and round
with amazement
at
what he saw.
, , , ,
“It was grandmother you killed instead
of me,”
said Little Claus.
“I have sold her
and got a bushel
of money
for her.”
, , , ,
“That’s being well paid,
indeed,”
said Great Claus,
and he hurried home,
took an ax
and killed his own old grandmother.
, , , ,
He
then put her
in a carriage
and drove off
to the town
where the apothecary lived,
and asked him
if he
would buy a dead person.
, , , ,
“Who is it
and
where did you get him?”
asked the apothecary.
, , , ,
“It is my grandmother,
and I have killed her so as
to sell her
for a bushel
of money.”
, , , ,
“Heaven preserve us!”
cried the apothecary.
“You talk
like a madman.
Pray
don’t say such things,
you may lose your head.”
And he told him earnestly
what a horribly wicked thing he had done,
and
that he deserved punishment.
Great Claus was so frightened
that he rushed out
of the shop,
jumped
into his cart,
whipped up his horse,
and galloped home
through the wood.
The apothecary
and all the people
who saw him thought he was mad,
and so they let him drive away.
, , , ,
“You shall be paid
for this!”
said Great Claus,
when he got out
on the highroad.
“You shall be paid
for this,
Little Claus!”
Directly after he got home,
Great Claus took the biggest sack he
could find
and went over
to Little Claus.
, , , ,
“You have deceived me again,”
he said.
“First I killed my horses,
and
then my old grandmother.
That is all your fault;
but you shall never have the chance
to trick me again.”
And he seized Little Claus
around the body
and thrust him
into the sack;
then he threw the sack
over his back,
calling out
to Little Claus,
“Now I’m going
to the river
to drown you.”
, , , ,
It was a long way
that he had
to travel
before he came
to the river,
and Little Claus was not light
to carry.
The road came close
to the church,
and the people within were singing beautifully.
Great Claus put down his sack,
with Little Claus
in it,
at the church door.
He thought it
would be a very good thing
to go
in
and hear a psalm
before he went further,
for Little Claus
could not get out.
So he went in.
, , , ,
“O dear!
O dear!”
moaned Little Claus
in the sack,
and he turned
and twisted,
but found it impossible
to loosen the cord.
Then
there came
by an old drover
with snow-white hair
and a great staff
in his hand.
He was driving a whole herd
of cows
and oxen
before him,
and they jostled
against the sack
in
which Little Claus was confined,
so
that it was upset.
, , , ,
“O dear,”
again sighed Little Claus,
“I’m so young
to be going directly
to the kingdom
of heaven!”
“And I,
poor fellow,”
said the drover,
“am so old already,
and cannot get
there yet.”
, , , ,
“Open the sack,”
cried Little Claus,
“and creep
into it
in my place,
and you’ll be
there directly.”
, , , ,
“With all my heart,”
said the drover,
and he untied the sack
for Little Claus,
who crept out
at once.
“You must look out
for the cattle now,”
said the old man,
as he crept in.
Then Little Claus tied it up
and went his way,
driving the cows
and the oxen.
, , , ,
In a little
while Great Claus came out
of the church.
He took the sack upon his shoulders
and thought
as he did so
that it had certainly grown lighter
since he had put it down,
for the old cattle-drover was not more
than half
as heavy
as Little Claus.
, , , ,
“How light he is
to carry now!
That must be
because I have heard a psalm
in the church.”
, , , ,
He went
on
to the river,
which was both deep
and broad,
threw the sack containing the old drover
into the water,
and called after him,
thinking it was Little Claus,
“Now lie there!
You
won’t trick me again!”
He turned
to go home,
but
when he came
to the place
where
there was a crossroad he met Little Claus driving his cattle.
, , , ,
“What’s this?”
cried he.
“Haven’t I drowned you?”
, , , ,
“Yes,”
said Little Claus,
“you threw me
into the river,
half an hour ago.”
, , , ,
“But
where did you get all those fine cattle?”
asked Great Claus.
, , , ,
“These beasts are sea cattle,”
said Little Claus,
“and I thank you heartily
for drowning me,
for now I’m
at the top
of the tree.
I’m a very rich man,
I
can tell you.
But I was frightened
when you threw me
into the water huddled up
in the sack.
I sank
to the bottom immediately,
but I did not hurt myself,
for the grass is beautifully soft down there.
I fell upon it,
and the sack was opened,
and the most beautiful maiden
in snow-white garments
and a green wreath upon her hair took me
by the hand,
and said
to me,
‘Have you come,
Little Claus?
Here are cattle
for you,
and a mile further up the road
there is another herd!’
“Then I saw
that she meant the river
and
that it was the highway
for the sea folk.
Down
at the bottom
of it they walk directly
from the sea,
straight
into the land
where the river ends.
Lovely flowers
and beautiful fresh grass were there.
The fishes
which swam
there glided
about me
like birds
in the air.
How nice the people were,
and
what fine herds
of cattle
there were,
pasturing
on the mounds
and
about the ditches!”
“But
why did you come up so quickly then?”
asked Great Claus.
“I shouldn’t have done that
if it was so fine down there.”
, , , ,
“Why,
that was just my cunning.
You know,
I told you
that the mermaid said
there was a whole herd
of cattle
for me a mile further up the stream.
Well,
you see,
I know
how the river bends this way
and that,
and
how long a distance it
would have been
to go
that way.
If you
can come up
on the land
and take the short cuts,
driving
across fields
and down
to the river again,
you save
almost half a mile
and get the cattle much sooner.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
you are a fortunate man!”
cried Great Claus.
“Do you think I
could get some sea cattle
if I were
to go down
to the bottom
of the river?”
, , , ,
“I’m sure you would,”
said Little Claus.
“But I cannot carry you.
If you
will walk
to the river
and creep
into a sack yourself,
I
will help you
into the water
with a great deal
of pleasure.”
, , , ,
“Thanks!”
said Great Claus.
“But
if I do not find sea cattle there,
I shall beat you soundly,
you may be sure.”
, , , ,
“Oh!
do not be so hard
on me.”
, , , ,
And so they went together
to the river.
When the cows
and oxen saw the water,
they ran
to it
as fast
as they could.
“See
how they hurry!”
cried Little Claus.
“They want
to get back
to the bottom again.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
but help me first
or I’ll thrash you,”
said Great Claus.
He
then crept
into a big sack,
which had been lying
across the back
of one
of the cows.
“Put a big stone
in
or I’m afraid I shan’t sink.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
that’ll be all right,”
said Little Claus,
but he put a big stone
into the sack
and gave it a push.
Plump!
and
there lay Great Claus
in the river.
He sank
at once
to the bottom.
, , , ,
“I’m afraid he
won’t find the cattle,”
said Little Claus.
Then he drove homeward
with his herd.
, , , ,