Citation
Stories for the household

Material Information

Title:
Stories for the household
Uniform Title:
Tales
Creator:
Andersen, H. C ( Hans Christian ), 1805-1875
Dulcken, H. W ( Henry William ), 1832-1894 ( Translator )
Bayes, Alfred Walter, 1832-1909 ( Illustrator )
George Routledge and Sons ( Publisher )
Camden Press ( Printer )
Dalziel Brothers
Place of Publication:
London ;
Glasgow ;
New York
Publisher:
George Routledge and Sons
Manufacturer:
Camden Press ; Dalziel Brothers, Printers and engravers
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
vi, 948, 4 p., [12] leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 22 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1889 ( lcsh )
Fairy tales -- 1889 ( rbgenr )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1889 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1889
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Fairy tales ( rbgenr )
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Scotland -- Glasgow
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Last 4 pages are publisher's advertisements.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
by Hans Christian Andersen ; translated by H.W. Dulcken ; with two hundred and ninety illustrations by A.W. Bayes ; engraved by Dalziel Brothers.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026565660 ( ALEPH )
ALG1391 ( NOTIS )
22755753 ( OCLC )

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Full Text






University | ff
of
Florida

The Baldwin Library

RmB












2!





STORIES ror tus HOUSEHOLD

BY

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

TRANSLATED BY

H. W. DULCKEN, Pu.D.





IWITH TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY ILLUSTRATIONS BY A, W. BAYES
ENGRAVED BY DALZIEL BROTHERS

LONDON :
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL

GLASGOW AND NEw YORK
1889 -





| UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
| el
I

| GRIMM’S HOUSEHOLD STORIES.
| With 240 Illustrations by E. H. Weunerr.

| THE ARABIAN NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS.

With 150 Illustrations by THomas B. Dauztet.







PREFACE.

Tur literary activity of Hans Curistian ANDERSEN has
now extended over a period of more than forty years. During
_ this time his varied genius has produced many and excellent
works, novels, poems, dramas, &c. His “ Improvisatore’’ first
made his name known beyond the narrow confines of his
own country ; but it is upon his Stories and Tales that his
fame rests, and will continue to rest. ANnpsRseN himself was
unconscious of his own power when he wrote the first of these
wonderful histories; and has told us how, when he published
the first collection, he was careful to entitle the little volume,
“ Stories told to the Children.” But a short time sufficed to
show that very many ‘children of a larger growth” could
find amusement and instruction in ANDERsEN’s stories. In
fact, our Author had solved about the most difficult problem
that can present itself to the writer of fiction—that of attracting
all ages alike. Accordingly, in subsequent editions, the words
“told to the children” were omitted; for it was found that,
when Hans Curistran AnpreRszn had a story to tell, all were
willmg to be “ children,” and to listen.

And here the Publishers offer to the Public the most
complete collection that has yet been made of these stories.
The success of the two volumes, “ Stories and Tales ” and



iv PREFACE.

“ What the Moon saw,” has appeared to them a sufficient
proof that such a work would be welcomed; and they have
bestowed every pains upon the book, with respect alike to
pictorial illustration and typographical details.

The Life of Anpzrszn, written by himself, has been included
in this book, because it is in itself,.as the writer says, “A
true story upon the motto, ‘Try and trust.” The tale, as
told by Awnprrsrn, has been slightly abridged, as references
are made here and there to persons and places possessing little
interest for the general English reader. AnpzrsEen tells the
story of his life to the Public as simply and frankly as he
might tell it to a chosen circle round a winter fire. He
relates his various experiences just as they occurred, and in
one part says, “I tell these happy events because they are
facts in my life. I tell them as I have told of the poverty,
the difficulties, the trials that beset me. And if I have told
this just as the remembrance arises in my heart, let it not
- be ascribed to vanity or ostentation, for that is certainly not
its right name.”

With these few words, the Publishers commend this volume
to the kind consideration of the English admirers of Hans
Curistian ANDERSEN.

H. W. D.



CONTENTS.











Sane anneal
Page Page
The Silver Shilling. .....cccseccerseeeveees The Loveliest Rose in the World ... 163
The Old Church Bell , 5 | Holger Danske .....:........
The Snail and the Rose Tree ......... 9 | The Puppet Showman .....
Little Ida’s Flowers ............sesseseee 12) | The Pigs. -c..isiesvecesessscase ctesedesbaes sone 173
The Tinder-Box ....ccccssssscesseeseeeeees 18 | A Picture from the Fortress Wall ... 175
Great Claus and Little Claus ......... 24 | In the Duck-yard 2.0... .ceceseseeeee eens 176
The Princess on the Pea ..........0.00 33 | The Red Shoes ......cccceeeseeseeeeeeees 181
Thumbelina ........ccccceccsereeeeceeeeeuees 35 | Soup on a Sausage-Peg ...... eevee 186
The Naughty Boy .....cs.sccsesecereees 43 | The Wicked Prince ......cccceeeeees 198
The Travelling Companion ........... 45 | The Shepherdess and the Chimney-
The Emperor’s New Clothes............ 60 DWECPET ® veicceccsvars ewes Gaedieones 200
The Goloshes of Fortune .........:6606 64 | Two Brothers ...ccccciesseceeseeereeeeeees 204
The Hardy Tin Soldier .................. 85 | The Old Street Lamp oo... cess 206
The Story of a Mother ... 88 | By the Almshouse Window ..........., 212
The Daisy.....cc...scesseeeee 93 | The Lovers .......:.cccescceseceseeeeseeees 214
A Great Grief .....0...0. 96:1. The Bell vn ccssisacsecstecavecaecivevesasnaes 216
The JUMPper......cccccccecsessecsesseceseees 98° | Little Tuk: aise chidsavecteedchesan 221
The Shirt Collar ..........ccccccceecee sees 100 | The Plax: vioscccegmistotsteeteiseostersens 204
Old Luk-Oie oe. ceseneee eee eees 103 | The Girl who Trod on the Loaf ...... 228
Jack the Dullard. An Old Story told The Money-Pig ....csccsceseesereeesseeeee 235
ATLOW ce ccacessescsensceeeeearevanenscsees lll | The Darning-Needle .......... 0... 237
The Beetle -sis.ci.cccsccreovvseeeeeeevevcaes 115 | The Fir Tree wo... cc cccetsseseeeee tees 240
What the Old Man does is always The Swincherd .....cccceeeseseeseeeees 247
Right ..eccccececcesseseessceesaa ones 122 | Something Me
Ole the Tower-Keeper ........cce sees 126 | A Leaf from the Sky... eee
Good Humour....cccccececccsessccessecees The Drop of Water....cccccseseesecenes






“Tt’s Quite True”
Children’s Prattle
The Flying Trunk
The Last Pearl
The Storks ..........
Grandmother
The Ugly Duckling



The Dumb Book.......eceeeeee
The Jewish Girl oe
The Elder-Tree Mother........



Two Maidens ........ccecseceesseseeseeeees 274
The Farm-yard Cock and the Weather-
COCK shies lita tamed lsdgaistiasevahesss 275



The Old Gravestone ....



vi CONTENTS.

‘ Page
The Old Bachelor’s Nightcap ......... 281

A Rose from the Grave of Homer ... 291
The Wind tells about Waldemar Daa









and his Daughters......csceenee 293
Five out of One Shell ............0600. 303
The Metal Pig.......csccsseccecenceeeeeeees 306
The Snow Queen.....ccccceseccseseenseeres 315
The Nightingale ........:ccccsseeseeeeeenes 841

_The Neighbouring Families............ 349
The Little Match Girl wo... ee 357
Phe WEA). octoc foastedevecesecvecseotes's 859
The Buckwheat .......cccecseceesesseeonee 365
The Old House ....c.ceeceeeeeseeseee een ee 367
The Happy Family........c:sccseseceeses 3873
The Rose-ELf .....cceseeeceeseeseeneeeeenes 376
The Shadow.....-ccssscecesreerece vers B80
The Angel ......ceseeeee 889
Twelve by the Mail ... 391
What the Moon Saw 396
The Story of the Year ..........000. 429
Whe Racers: id ed tehav are tncctasien eeetese 436
She was Good for Nothing ............ 439
In a Thousand Years ........e cece eeeee ee 445
“There is a Difference” ............... 447
Everything in its Right Place......... 450
The Goblin and the Huckster 457
The Bond of Friendship ............... 460
The Bottle-neck 468
Ib and Christine . A776
The Snow Man 485
The Thorny Road of Honour ......... 489
The Child in the Grave.................. 493
In the Uttermost Parts of the Sea... 497
Under the Willow Tree..............00. 499
CHarM co sssiie sane eee deat 512
Bishop of Borglum and his Warriors 517
the Butterfly ........cccceceeessesceaeeees 523
Anne Lisbeth ..............cccsescneeeseees 525

The Last Dream of the Old Oak Tree, 535










Page
The Bell-Deep .....ccceseeescseceseeeeeeeaes 540
The Little Sea Maid ... 543
The Wild Swans...............- .. 560
The Marsh King’s Daughter..... .. 573
The Pen and Inkstand .................. 608
A Story from the Sand-Dunes......... 610
The Phoenix Bird oo...
The Garden of Paradise...............0..
The Ice Maiden ...............cccceceeeeee
The Swan’s Nest.........c..ccceeeee
The Stone of the Wise Men
The Psyche .....eccccccecceesceeeees
The Story of My Life oe,

“The Will-o’-the-Wisp is in the
Town,” says the Moor-Woman... 788

The Windmill .......... ce eeceeeeeeeee eee

In the Nursery









The Golden Treasure ..............2..0088 805
The Storm shakes the Shield ......... 814
The Bird of Popular Song ............ 818
The Legend of Niirnberg Castle ...... 821
A Night in the Apennines ............ 823
The Carnival in Rome ............00. 826
Mahomet’s Birthday. A Scene in
Constantinople ............ wee 830
Days in the Mediterranean ............ 836
The Graveyard at Scutari ............ 840
The Bosphorus.........:::csceceeeseseeeeees
ATHENS xis cic esac vessatsben ined ended leads dcts
Phes Toad: s.5.3235 spesguddouises tevin seise
The Porter’s Son as
Put off is not Done with 0.0... 875
The Snowdrop .....ccceecceeeeeeeeeeneeeee 879
One Aunt: iecisa vies iie tinct vecens meek 883
The: Dryad- wiistiscceandsveimendsevenctdess 888
The Thistle’s Experiences... 906
Poultry Meg’s Family ... 909
What one can Invent 920
Tn SWEdeD .o..ececssseceecsegeveereneeneeee 923





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THE OLD WOMAN HANGS THE SHILLING ROUND THE CHILD'S NECK.

THE SILVER SHILLING.

TERE was once a Shilling. He came out quite bright from the Mint,
and sprang up, and rang out, “Hurrah! now I’m off into the wide
world.” And into the wide world he certainly went.

The child held him with soft warm hands; the miser clutched him in
a cold avaricious palm; the old man turned him goodness knows how
many times before parting with him; while careless youth rolled him
lightly away. The Shilling was of silver, and had very little copper

B



2 Stories for the Household.

about him: he had been now a whole year in the world—that is to say,

in the country in which he had been struck. But one day he started
on his foreign travels; he was the last native coin in the purse borne by
his travelling master. The gentleman was himself not aware that he
still had this coin until he-came across it by chance.

“Why, here’s a shilling from home left to me,” he said. “ Well, he
can make the journey with me.”

And the Shilling rattled and jumped for joy as it was thrust back
into the purse. So here it lay among strange companions, who came
und went, each making room for a successor ; but the Shilling from home
always remained in the bag; which was a distinction for it.

Several weeks had gone by, and the Shilling had travelled far out into
the world without exactly knowing where he was, though he learned
from the other coins that they were French or Italian. One said they
were in such and such a town, another that they had reached such and
such a spot; but the Shilling could form no idea of all this. He who
has his head in a bag sees nothing; and this was the case with the
Shilling. But one day, as he lay there, he noticed that the purse was
not shut, and so he crept forward to the opening, to take a look around.
He ought not to have done so; but he was inquisitive, and people often
have to pay for that. He slipped out into the fob: and when the purse
was taken out at night the Shilling remained behind, and was sent out
into the passage with the clothes. There he fell upon the floor: no one
heard it, no one saw it. /

Next morning the clothes were carried back into the room; the
gentleman put them on, and continued his journey, while the Shilling
remained behind. The coin was found, and was required to go into ser-
vice again, so he was sent out with three other coins. ~

“Tt is a pleasant thing to look about one in the world,” thought the
Shilling, “and to get to know strange people and foreign customs.”

And now began the history of the Shilling, as told by himself.

“¢ Away with him, he’s bad—no use.’ These words went through
and through me,” said the Shilling. “I knew I sounded well and had
been properly coined. The people were certainly mistaken. They could
not mean me! but, yes, they did mean me. J was the one of whom
they said, ‘He’s bad—he’s no good.’ ‘I must get rid of that fellow
in the dark,’ said the man who had received me; and I was passed at
night, and abused in the day-time. ‘ Bad—no good’ was the cry: ‘ we
must make haste and get rid of him.’

“ And I trembled in the fingers of the holder each time I was to be
secretly passed on as a coin of the country.

“What a miserable shillimg Tam! Of what use is my silver to me,
my value, my coinage, if all these things are looked on as worthless?
In the eyes of the world one has only the value the world chooses to
put upon one. It must be terrible indeed to have a bad conscience,
and to creep along on evil ways, if I, who am quite innocent, can feel so
badly because I am only thought guilty.

“ Hach time I was brought out I shuddered at the thought of the eyes



The Silver Shilling. 3

that would look at me, for I knew that I should be rejected and flung
back upon the table, like an impostor anda cheat. Once I came into
the hands of a poor old woman, to whom I was paid for a hard day’s
work, and she could not get rid of me at all. No one would accept me,
and I was a perfect worry to the old dame.

“ she said; ‘for, with the best will in the world, I can’t hoard up a false
shilling. The rich baker shall have him; he will be able to bear the loss
—but it’s wrong in me to do it, after all.’

«“« And IT must lie heavy on that woman’s conscience too,’ sighed I.
‘Am J really so much changed in my old age ?’

“ And the woman went her way to the rich baker; but he knew too
well what kind of shillings would pass to take me, and he threw me
back at the woman, who got no breadfor me. And I felt miserably low



THE MOTHER TRIES THE SHILLING.

to think that I should be the cause of distress to others—I who had
been in my young days so proudly conscious of my value and of the
correctness of my mintage. I became as miserable as a poor shilling
can be whom no one will accept; but the woman took me home again,
and looked at me with a friendly, hearty face, and said,

“No, Twill not deceive any one with thee. I will bore a hole through
thee, that every one may see thou art a false thing. And yet—it just
occurs to me—perhaps this is a lucky shilling ; and the thought comes
so strongly upon me that I am sure it must be true! I will make ahole
through the shilling, and pass a string through the hole, and hang the
coin round the neck of my neighbour’s little boy for a lucky shilling.’

“So she bored a hole through me. It is certainly not agreeable to have
ahole bored through one; but many things can be borne when the in-
tention is good. A thread was passed through the hole, and I became



A Stories for the Household.

a kind of medal, and was hung round the neck of the little child; and
the child smiled at me, and kissed me, and I slept all night on its warm,
inocent neck.

“When the morning came, the child’s mother took me up in her fingers
and looked at me, and she had her own thoughts about me, I could feel
that very well. She brought out a pair of scissors, and cut the string
through.

“
“ And she laid me in vinegar, so that I turned quite green. Then she
plugged up the hole, and carried me, in the evening twilight, to the
lottery collector, to buy a lottery ticket that should bring her luck.

“ Tow miserably wretched I felt! There was a stinging feeling in me,
as if I should crumble to bits. I knew that I should be called false and
thrown down—and before a crowd of shillings and other coins, too,
who lay there with an image and superscription of which they might be
proud. But I escaped that disgrace, for there were many people in the
collector’s room—he had a great deal to do, and I went rattling down
into the box among the other coins. Whether my ticket won anything
or not I don’t know; but this I do know, that the very next morning I
was recognized as a bad shilling, and was sent out’ to deceive and de-
ceive again. That is a very trying thing to bear when one knows one
has a good character, and of that I am conscious.

“For a year and a day I thus wandered from house to house and from
hand to hand, always abused, always unwelcome; no one trusted me;
and I lost confidence in the world and in myself. It was a heavy time.
At last, one day a traveller, a strange gentleman, arrived, and I was
passed to him, and he was polite enough to accept me for current coin;
but he wanted to pass me on, and again I heard the horrible cry, ‘No
use—false !?

“*T received it as a good coin,’ said the man, and he looked closely at
me; suddenly he smiled all over his face; and I had never seen that ex-
pression before on any face that looked at me. ‘ Why, whatever is that ?”
he said. ‘That’s one of our own country coins, a good honest shilling
from my home, and they’ve bored a hole through him, and they call
him false. Now, tiis is a curious circumstance. I must keep him and
take him home with me.”

“A glow of joy thrilled through me when I heard myself called a good
honest shilling; and now I was to be taken home, where each and every
one would know me, and be sure that I was real silver and properly
coined. I could have thrown out sparks for very gladness; but, after
all, it’s not in my nature to throw out sparks, for that’s the property
of steel, not of silver.

“Twas wrapped up in clean white paper, so that I should not be con-
founded with the other coins, and spent; and on festive occasions, when
fellow-countrymen met together, I was shown about, and they spoke
very well of me: they said I was interesting—and it is wonderful how
interesting one can be without saying a single word.

“And at last I got home again. All my troubles were ended, joy came



The Old Church Bell. 5

back to me, for I was of good silver, and had the right stamp, and I had
no more disagreeables to endure, though a hole had been bored through
me, as through a false coin ; but that does not matter if one is not really
false. One must wait for the end, and one will be righted at last—
that ’s my beliet,”’ said the Shilling. .





THE OLD BELL OF MARBACH,

THE OLD CHURCH BELL.

Iw the German land of Wurtemberg, where the acacias bloom by the
high road, and the apple trees and pear trees bend in autumn under
their burden of ripe fruit, lies the little town of Marbach. Although
this place can only be ranked among the smaller towns, it is charmingly
situated on the Neckar stream, that flows on and on, hurrying past
villages and old castles and green vineyards, to pour its waters into the
proud Rhine.

Tt was late in autumn. The leaves still clung to the grape-vine, but
they were already tinged with red. Rainy gusts swept over the country,
and the cold autumn winds increased in violence and roughness. It was
no pleasant time for poor folk.

The days became shorter and gloomier ; and if it was dark out in the



6 Stories for the Household.

open air, in the little old-fashioned houses it was darker still. One of
these houses was built with its gable end towards the street, and stood
there, with its small narrow windows, humble and poor enough in appear-
ance; the family was poor, too, that inhabited the little house, but good
and industrious, and rich in a treasure of piety concealed in the depth of
the heart. And they expected that God would soon give them another
ebild: the hour had come, and the mother lay in pain and sorrow. Then
from the church tower opposite the deep rich sound of the bell came to
her. It was a solemn hour, and the song of the bell filled the heart of
the praying woman with trustfulness and faith; the thoughts of her
inmost heart soared upward towards the Almighty, and in the same hour
she gave birth toason. Then she was filled with a great joy, and the
bell in the tower opposite seemed to be ringing to spread the news of
her happiness over town and country. The clear child-eyes looked at
her, and the infant’s hair gleamed like gold. Thus was the little one
ushered into the world with the ringing of the church bell on the dark
November day. The mother and father kissed it, and wrote in their
Bible: “On the 10th of November, 1759, God gave us a son ;” and soon
afterwards the fact was added that the child had been baptized under the
name of “ Johann Christoph Friedrich.”

And what became of the little fellow, the poor boy in the pretty town
of Marbach ? Ah, at that time no one knew what would become of him,
not even the old church bell that had sung at his birth, hanging so high
in the tower, over him who was one day himself to sing the beautiful
“ Lay of the Bell.”

Well, the boy grew older, and the world grew older with him. His
parents certainly removed to another town, but they had left dear friends
in little Marbach ; and thus it was that mother and son one day arose
and drove over to Marbach on a visit. The Jad was only six years old,
but he already knew many things out of the Bible, and many a pious
psalm ; and many an evening he had sat on his little stool, listening while
his father read aloud from “ Gellert’s Fables,” or from the lofty “ Mes-
siah”’ of Klopstock ; and he and his sister, who was his senior by two
years, had wept hot tears of pity for Him who died on the cross that
we might live eternally.

At the time of this first visit to Marbach the little town had not
greatly changed ; and indeed they had not long left it. The houses stood,
as on the day of the family’s departure, with their pointed gables, pro-
jecting walls, the higher storeys leaning over thé lower, and their tiny
windows ; but there were new graves in the churchyard ; and there, in
the grass, hard by the wall, lay the old bell. It had fallen from its
position, and had sustained such damage that it could sound no more,
and accordingly a new bell had been put in its place.

Mother and son went into the churchyard. ‘They stopped where the
old bell lay, and the mother told the boy how for centuries this had been
a very useful bell, and had rung at christenings, at weddings, and at
burials ; how it had spoken at one time to tell of feasts and of rejoicings,
at another to spread the alarm of fire; and how it had, in fact, sung the



The Old Church Beil. 7

whole life of man. And the boy never forgot what his mother told him
that day. It resounded and echoed at intervals in his heart, until, when
he was grown a man, he was compelled to sing it. The mother told him
also how the bell had sung of faith and comfort to her in the time of
her peril, that it had sung at the time when he, her little son, was born
And the boy gazed, almost with a feeling of devotion, at the great old
bell; and he bent over it and kissed it, as it lay all rusty and broken
among the long grass and nettles.

The old bell was held in kindly remembrance by the boy, who grew up
in poverty, tall and thin, with reddish hair and freckled face ;— yes,
that’s how he looked; but he had a pair of eyes, clear and deep as the
deepest water. And what fortune had he? Why, good fortune, envi-
able fortune. We find him graciously received into the military school,
and even in the department where sons of people in society were taught,
and was that not honour and fortune enough ? And they educated him
to the words of command, “ Halt! march! front!” and on such a system
much might be expected.

Meanwhile the old church bell had been almost completely forgotten.
But it was to be presumed that the bell would find its way into the
furnace, and what would become of it then? It was impossible to say,
and equally impossible to tell what sounds would come forth from the
bell that kept echoing through the young heart of the boy from Mar-
bach; but that bell was of bronze, and kept sounding so loud that it
must at last be heard out in the wide world ; and the more cramped the
space within the school walls, and the more deafening the dreary shout
of “ March! halt! front!” the louder did the sound ring through the
youth’s breast ; and he sang what he felt in the circle of his companions,
and the sound was heard beyond the boundaries of the principality.
But it was not for this they had given him a presentation to the military
school, and board, and clothing. Had he not been already numbered
and destined to be a certain wheel in the great watchwork to which we
all belong as pieces of practical machinery ? How imperfectly do we
understand ourselves! and how, then, shall others, even the best men,
understand us? But it is the pressure that forms the precious stone.
There was pressure enough here; but would the world be able, some day,
to recognize the jewel P

In the capital of the prince of the country, a great festival was being
celebrated. Thousands of candles and lamps gleamed brightly, and
rockets flew towards the heavens in streams of fire. The splendour of
that day yet lives in the remembrance of men, but it lives through him,
the young scholar of the military school, who was trying in sorrow and
tears to escape unperceived from the land: he was compelled to leave
all— mother, native country, those he loved — unless he could resign
himself ¢o sink into the stream of oblivion among his fellows.

The old bell was better off than he, for the bell would remain peace-
ably by the churchyard wall in Marbach, safe, and almost forgotten.
The wind whistled over it, and might have told a fine tale of him at
whose birth the bell had sounded, and over whom the wind had but now



8 Stories for the Household.

blown cold in the forest of a neighbouring land, where he had sunk
down, exhausted by fatigue, with his whole wealth, his only hope for the
future, the written pages of his tragedy “ Fiesco:” the wind might have
told of the youth’s only patrons, men who were artists, and who yet
slunk away to amuse themselves at skittles while his play was being
read: the wind could have told of the pale fugitive, who sat for weary
weeks and months in the wretched tavern, where the host brawled and
drank, and coarse boozing was going on while he sang of the ideal.
Heavy days, dark days! The heart inust suffer and endure for itself
the trials 1t is to sing.

Dark days and cold nights also passed over the old bell. The iron
frame did not feel them, but.the bell within the heart of man is affected
by gloomy times. How fared it with the young man? How fared it



REMOVING THE BELL.

with the old bell? The bell was carried far away, farther than its sound
could have been heard from the lofty tower in which it had once hung.
And the youth? The bell in his heart sounded farther than his eye
should ever see or his foot should ever wander; it is sounding and
sounding on, over the ocean, round the whole earth. But let us first
speak of the belfry bell. It was carried away from Marbach, was sold
for old metal, and destined for the melting furnace in Bavaria. But
when and how did this happen? In the capital of Bavaria, many years
after the bell had fallen from the tower, there was a talk of its being
melted down, to be used in the manufacture of a memorial in honour
of one of the great ones of the German land. And behold how suit-
able this was—how strangely and wonderfully things happened in the
world! In Denmark, on one of those green islands where the beech
woods rustle, and the many Hun’s Graves are to be seen, quite a poor



The Snail and the Rose Tree. 9

boy had been born. He had been accustomed to walk about in wooden
shoes, and to carry a dinner wrapped in an old handkerchief to his
father, who carved figure-heads on the ship-builder’s wharves ; but this
poor lad had become the pride of his country, for Thorwaldsen knew
how to hew marble blocks into such glorious shapes as made the whole
world wonder, and to him had been awarded the honourable commission
that he should fashion of clay a noble form that was to be cast in bronze
—a statue of him whose name the father in Marbach had inscribed in
the old Bible as Johann Christoph Friedrich.

And the glowing metal flowed into the mould. The old belfry bell—
of whose home and of whose vanished sounds no one thought—this
very old bell flowed into the mould, and formed the head and bust of
the figure that was soon to be unveiled, which now stands in Stuttgard,
before the old palace—a representation of him who once walked to and
fro there, striving and suttering, harassed by the world without—he,
the boy of Marbach, the pupil of the “ Karlschule,” the fugitive, Ger-
many’s great immortal poet, who sang of the liberator of Switzerland
and of the Heaven-inspired Maid of Orleans.

Tt was a beautiful sunny day; flags were waving from roofs and
steeples in the royal city of Stuttgard; the bells rang for joy and fes-
tivity ; one bell alone was silent, but it gleamed in another form in the
bright sunshine—it gleamed from the head and breast of the statue
of honour. On that day, exactly one hundred years had elapsed since
the day on which the bell at Marbach had sung comfort and peace to
the suifering mother, when she bore her son, in poverty, in the humble
cottage —him who was afterwards to become the rich man, whose
treasures enriched the world, the poet who sang of the nobie virtues of
woman, who sang of all that was great and glorious—Johann Christoph
Friedrich Schiller.

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE TREE.

Arounp the garden ran a hedge of hazels; beyond this hedge lay
fields and meadows, wherein were cows and sheep; but in the midst of
the garden stood a blooming Rose Tree; and under this Rose Tree lived
a Snail, who had a good deal in his shell—namely, himself. __

“Wait till my time comes!” he said: “I shall do something more
than produce roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the Rose Tree, the hazel
bush, and the cows!”

“T expect a great deal of you,” said the Rose Tree. “But may I ask
when it will appear ?”

“T take my time,” replied the Snail. “ You’re always in sucha hurry.
You don’t rouse people’s interest by suspense.” p

When the next year came, the Snail lay almost in the same spot, in
the sunshine under the Rose Tree, which again bore buds that bloomed



10 Stories for the Household.

into roses, until the snow fell and the weather became raw and cold;
then the Rose Tree bowed its head and the Snail crept into the ground.

A new year began; and, the roses came out, and the Snail came out
also.

“You’re an old Rose Tree now!” said the Snail. “You must make
haste and come to an end, for you have given the world all that was in
you: whether it was of any use is a question that I have had no time to
consider; but so much is clear and plain, that you have done nothing
at all for your own development, or you would have produced something
else. How can you answer for that? Inalittle time you will be nothing
at all but a stick. Do you understand what I say ?”

“You alarm me!” replied the Rose Tree. “I never thought of that
at all.”



THE MAIDEN AND THE ROSE.

“ No, you have not taken the trouble to consider anything. Have you
ever given an account to yourself, why you bloomed, and how it is that
your blooming comes about—why it is thus, and not otherwise ?”

“ No,” answered the Rose Tree. “TI bloomed in gladness, because I
could not do anything else. The sun shone and warmed me, and the
air refreshed me. I drank the pure dew and the fresh rain, and I
lived, I breathed. Out of the earth there arose a power within me, from
above there came down a strength: I perceived a new ever-increasing
happiness, and consequently I was obliged to bloom over and over again ;
that was my life; I could not do otherwise.”

“You have led a very pleasant life,” observed the Snail.

“Certainly. Everything I have was given to me,” said the Rose
Tree. “ But more still was given to you. You are one of those deep
thoughtful characters, one of those highly gifted spirits, which will cause
the world to marvel.”

“Y’ve no intention of doing anything of the kind,” cried the Suail.



The Snail and the Rose Tree. ll

“The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the world? I
have enough of myself and in myself.”

“ But must we not all, here on earth, give to others the best that we
have, and offer what lies in our power? Certainly I have only given
roses. But you—you who have been so richly gifted—what have you
given to the world ? what do you intend to give?” :

“What have I given—what do I intend to give? Ispitatit. It’s
worth nothing. It’s no business of mine. Continue to give your roses,
if you like: you can’t do anything better. Let the hazel bush bear
nuts, and the cows and ewes give milk: they have their public; but I
have mine within myself—I retire within myself, and there I remain.
The world is nothing to me.”



THE YOUNG CHILD'S KISS.

And so saying the Snail retired into his house, and closed up the
entrance after him.

“That is very sad!” said the Rose Tree. “I cannot creep into myself,
even if I wish it—I must continue to produce roses. Theg drop their
leaves, and are blown away by the wind. But I saw how a rose was
laid in the matron’s hymn-book, and one of my roses had a place on
the bosom of a fair young girl, and another was kissed by the lips of a
child in the full joy of life. That did me good; it was a real blessing.
That ’s my remembrance—my life!”

And the Rose Tree went on blooming in innocence, while the Snail
lay andidled away his time in his house—the world did not concern him.

And years rolled by.



12 Stories for the Household.

The Snail had become dust in the dust, and the Rose Trce was earth
in the earth; the rose of remembrance in the hymn-book was faded,
but in the garden bloomed fresh rose trees, and under the trees lay new
snails ; and these still crept into their houses, and spat at the world,
for it did not concern them.

Suppose we begin the story again, and read it right through. It
will never alter.

LITTLE IDA’S FLOWERS.

“My poor flowers are quite dead!” said little Ida. ‘They were so
pretty yesterday, and now all the leaves hang withered. Why do they
do that?” she asked the student, who sat on the sofa; for she liked
him very much. He knew the prettiest stories, and could cut out the
most amusing pictures—hearts, with little ladies in them who danced,
flowers, and great castles in which one could open the doors: he was a
merry student. ‘“ Why do the flowers look so faded to-day ?” she asked
again, and showed him a nosegay, which was quite withered.

“Do you know what’s the matter with them?” said the student.
“The flowers have been at a ball last night, and that’s why they hang
their heads.”

“But flowers cannot dance!” cried little Ida.

“ Oh, yes,” said the student, “ when it grows dark, and we are asleep,
they jump about merrily. Almost every night they have a ball.”

“Can children go to this ball?”

“Yes,” said the student, “quite little daisies, and lilies of the valley.”

“Where do the beautiful flowers dance?” asked little Ida.

“ Have you not often been outside the town-gate, by the great castle,
where the king lives in summer, and where the beautiful garden is with
all the flowers P You have seen the swans, which swim up to you when
you want to give them bread crumbs? There- are capital balls there,
believe me.”

“Twas out there in the garden yesterday, with my mother,” said
Ida; “but all the leaves were off the trees, and there was not one
flower left. Where are they? In the summer I saw so many.” ;

“They are within, in the castle,” replied the student. “ You must
know, as soon as the king and all the court go to town, the flowers run
out of the garden into the castle, and are merry. You should see that.
The two most beautiful roses seat themselves on the throne, and then
they are king and queen ; all the red coxcombs range themselves on either
side, and stand and bow; they are the chamberlains. Then all the pretty
flowers come, and there is a great ball. The blue violets represent
little naval cadets: they dance with hyacinths and crocuses, which they
call young ladies; the tulips and the great tiger-lilies are old ladies
who keep watch that the dancing is well done, and that everything goes

”

on with propriety.







THE STUDENT TELLING LITTLE 1DA THE STORY OF THE FLOWERS.

“But,” asked little Ida, “is nobody there who hurts the flowers, for
dancing in the king’s castle ?”

“There is nobody who really knows about it,” answered the student.
“Sometimes, certainly, the old steward of the castle comes at night, and
he has to watch there. He has a great bunch of keys with him; but
as soon as the flowers hear the keys rattle they are quite quiet, hide
behind the long curtains, and only poke their heads out. Then the old
steward . says, ‘I smell that there are flowers here,’ but he cannot see
them.”

“That is famous!” cried little Ida, clapping her hands. “ But should
not I be able to see the flowers?”

“Yes,” said the student; “only remember, when you go out again, to
peep through the window; then you will see them. That is what I did
to-day. ‘There was a long yellow lily lying on the sofa and stretching
herself. She was a court lady.” ~



14 Stories for the Household.

“ Can the flowers out of the Botanical Garden get there? Can the
go the long distance ?”

“Yes, certainly ;” replied the student, “if they like they can fly.
Have you not seen the beautiful butterflies, red, yellow, and white?
They almost look like flowers ; and that is what they have been. They
have flown off their stalks high ito the air, and have beaten it with
their leaves, as if these leaves were little wings, and thus they flew.
And because they behaved themselves well, they got leave to fly about
in the day-time too, and were not obliged to sit still upon their stalks at
home; and thus at last the leaves became real wings. That you have
seen yourself. It may be, however, that the flowers in the Botanical
Garden have never been in the king’s castle, or that they don’t know of
the merry proceedings there at night. Therefore I will tell you some-
thing: he will be very much surprised, the botanical professor, who
lives close by here. You know him, do you not? When you come
into his garden, you must tell one of the flowers that there is a great
ball yonder in the castle. Then that flower will tell it to all the rest,
and then they will fly away: when the professor comes out into the
garden, there will not be a single flower left, and he won’t be able to
make out where they are gone.”

“ But bow can one flower tell it to another? For, you know, flowers
cannot speak.” ,

“ That they cannot, certainly,” replied the student; “but then they
make signs. Have you not noticed that when the wind blows a little,
the flowers nod at one another, and move all their green leaves? They
can understand that just as well as we when we speak together.”

“ Can the professor understand these signs?” asked Ida.

“Yes, certainly. We came one morning into his garden, and saw a
ereat stinging-nettle standing there, and making signs to a beautiful red
carnation with its leaves. It was saying, ‘You are so pretty, and I love
you with all my heart.’ But the professor does not like that kind of
thing, and he directly slapped the stinging-nettle upon its leaves, for
those are its fingers; but he stung himself, and since that time he has
not dared to touch a stinging-nettle.”

“That is funny,” cried little _Ida; and she laughed.

“How can any one put such notions into a child’s head?” said the
tiresome privy councillor, who had come to pay a visit, and was sitting
on the sofa. He did not like the student, and always grumbled when
he saw him cutting out the merry funny pictures—sometimes a man
hanging on a gibbet and holding a heart in bis hand, to show that he
stole hearts; sometimes an old witch riding on a broom, and carrying
her husband on her nose. The councillor could not bear this, and then
he said, just as he did now, “ How can any one put such notions into a
child’s head? Those are stupid fancies!”

But to little Ida, what the student told about her flowers seemed very
droll; and she thought much about it. The flowers hung their heads,
for they were tired because they had danced all night; they were cer-
tainly ul, Then she went with theni to her other toys, which stood.on



Little Ida’s Flowers. 15

a pretty little table, and the whole drawer was full of beautiful things.
In the doll’s bed lay her doll Sophy, asleep; but little Ida said to her,

“You must really get up, Sophy, and manage to lie in the drawer for
to-night. The poor flowers are ill, and they must lie in your bed; per-
haps they will then get well again.”

And she at once took the doll out; but the doll looked cross, and did
not say a single word; for she was cross because she could not keep her
own bed.

Then Ida laid the flowers in the doll’s bed, pulled the little coverlee
quite up over them, and said they were to lie still and be good, and she
would make them some tea, so that they might get well again, and be
nble to get up to-morrow. And she drew the curtains closely round the
little bed, so that the sun should not shine in their eyes. The whole
evening through she could not help thinking of what the student had
told her. And when she was going to bed herself, she was obliged first
to look behind the curtain which hung before the windows where her
mother’s beautiful flowers stood—hyacinths as well as tulips; then she
whispered, “I know you ’re going to the ball to-night!” But the flowers
made as if they did not understand a word, and did not stir a leaf; but
still little Ida knew what she knew.

‘When she was in bed she lay for a long time thinking how pretty it
must be to see the beautiful flowers dancing out. in the king’s castle.
“T wonder if my flowers have really been there?” And then she fell
asleep. In the night she awoke again: she had dreamed of the flowers,
and of the student with whom the councillor found fault. It was quite
quiet in the bed-room where Ida lay; the night-lamp burned on the
table, and father and mother were asleep.

“T wonder if my flowers are still lying in Sophy’s bed?” she thought
to herself. “How I should like to know it!” She raised herself a
little, and looked at the door, which stood ajar; within lay the flowers
and all her playthings. She listened, and then it seemed to her as if she
heard some one playing on the piano in the next room, but quite softly
and prettily, as she had never heard it before.

“ Now all the flowers are certainly dancing in there!” thought she.
“Qh, how glad I should be to see it!” But she dared not get up, for
she would have disturbed her father and mother.

“Tf they would only come in!” thought she. But the flowers did
not come, and the music continued to play beautifully; then she could
not bear it any longer, for it was too pretty; she crept out of her little
bed, and went quietly to the door, and looked into the room. Oh, how
Splendid it was, what she saw !

There was no night-lamp burning, but still it was quite light: the

-moon shone through the window into the middle of the floor; it was
almost like day. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in two long rows in
tbe room; there were none at all left at the window. ‘There stood the
empty flower-pots. On the floor all the flowers were dancing very
gracefully round each other, making perfect turns, and holding each
other by the long green leaves ag they swang round. But at the piano



16 Stories for the Household.

sat a great yellow lily, which little Ida had certainly seen in summer,
for she remembered how the student had said, “ How like that one is to
Miss Lina.” Then he had been laughed at by all; but now it seemed
really to little Ida as if the long yellow flower looked like the young
lady; and it had just her manners in playing—sometimes bending its
long yellow face to one side, sometimes to the other, and nodding in
tune to the charming music! No one noticed little Ida. Then she saw
a great blue crocus hop into the middle of the table, where the toys
stood, and go to the doll’s bed and pull the curtains aside ; there Jay the
sick flowers, but they got up directly, and nodded to the others, to say -
that they wanted to dance too. The old chimney-sweep doll, whose
under lip was broken off, stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers :
these did not look at all ill now; they jumped down to the others, and
were very merry.

Then it seemed as if something fell down from the table. Ida looked
that way. It was the birch rod which was jumping down! it seemed
almost as if it belonged to the flowers. At any rate it was very neat;
and a little wax doll, with just such a broad hat on its head as the
councillor wore, sat upon it. The birch rod hopped about among the
flowers on its three stilted legs, and stamped quite loud, for it was
dancing the mazourka; and the other flowers could not manage that
dance, because they were too light, and unable to stamp like that.

The wax doll on the birch rod all at once became quite great and long,
turned itself over the paper flowers, and said, “ How can one put such
things in a child’s head ? those are stupid fancies!” and then the wax
doll was exactly like the councillor with the broad hat, and looked just as
yellow and cross as he. But the paper flowers hit him on his thin legs,
and then he shrank up again, and became quite a little wax doll. That was
very amusing to see; and little Ida could not restrain her laughter. The
birch rod went on dancing, and the councillor was obliged to dance too ;
it was no use, he might make himself great and long, or remain the little
yellow wax doll with the big black hat. Then the other flowers put in
a good word for him, especially those who had lain in the doll’s bed, and
then the birch red. gave over. At the same moment there was a loud
knocking at the drawer, inside where Ida’s doll, Sophy, lay with many
other toys. The chimney-sweep ran to the edge of the table, lay flat
down on his stomach, and began to pull the drawer out a little. Then
Sophy raised herself, and looked round quite astonished.

“There must be a ball here,” said she; “why did nobody tell me?”

“ Will you dance with me ?” asked the chimney-sweep.

“You are a nice sort of fellow to dance!” she replied, and turned her
back upon him.

Then she seated herself upon the drawer, and thought that one of the
flowers would come and ask her; but not one of them came. Then she
coughed, “ Hem! hem! hem!” but for all that not one came. The
chimney-sweep now danced all alone, and that was not at all so bad.

As none of the flowers seemed to notice Sophy, she let herself fall
down from the drawer straight upon the floor, so that there was a great



Little Ida’s Flowers. 17

noise. The flowers now all came running up, to ask if she had not hurt
herself ; and they were all very polite to her, especially the flowers that
had lain in her bed. But she had not hurt herself at all; and Ida’s
flowers all thanked her for the nice bed, and were kind to her, took her
into the middle of the room, where the moon shone in, and danced with
her; and all the other flowers formed a circle round her. Now Sophy was
glad, and said they might keep her bed; she did not at all mind lying
in the drawer.

But the flowers said, “We thank you heartily, but in any way we
cannot live long. To-morrow we shall be quite dead. But tell little
Ida she is to bury us out in the garden, where the canary lics; then we
shall wake up again in summer, and be far more beautiful.”

“No, you must not die,” said Sophy; and she kissed the flowers.

Then the door opened, and a great number of splendid flowers came
dancing in. Ida could not imagine whence they had come; these must
certainly all be flowers from the king’s castle yonder. First of all came
two glorious roses, and they had little gold crowns on; they were a
king and a queen. ‘Then came the prettiest stocks and carnations;
and they bowed in all directions. They had music with them. Great
poppies and peonies blew upon pea pods till they were quite red in the
face. The blue hyacinths and the little white snowdrops rang just as
if they had been bells. That was wonderful music! Then came many
other flowers, and danced all together; the blue violets and the pink
primroses, daisies and the lilies of the valley. And all the flowers
kissed one another. It was beautiful to look at!

At last the flowers wished one another goodnight; then little Ida,
too, crept to bed, where she dreamed of all she had seen.

When she rose next morning, she went quickly to the little table, to
see if the little flowers were still there. She drew aside the curtains of
the little bed; there were they all, but they were quite faded, far more
than yesterday. Sophy was lying in the drawer where Ida had laid
her; she looked very sleepy.

“Do you remember what you were to say to me?” asked little Ida.

But Sophy looked quite stupid, and did not say a single word.

“You are not good at all!” said Ida. “And yet they all danced
with you.”

_Then she took a little paper box, on which were painted beautiful
birds, and opened it, and laid the dead flowers in it.

“That shall be your pretty coffin,” said she, “and when my cousins
come to visit me by and bye, they shall help me to bury you outside in
the garden, so that you may grow again in summer, and become more
beautiful than ever.”

These cousins were two merry boys. Their names were Gustave and
Adolphe; their father had given them two new crossbows, and they had
, brought these with them to show to Ida. She told them about the

poor flowers which had died, and then they got leave to bury them.
. The two boys went first, with their crossbows on their shoulders, and

little Ida followed with the dead flowers in the pretty box. Out in the



18 Stories for the Household.

garden a little grave was dug. Ida first kissed the flowers, and then
laid them in the earth in the box, and Adolphe and Gustave shot with
their crossbows over the grave, for they had neither guns nor cannons.

THE TINDER-BOX.

Tere came a soldier marching along the high road—one, two! one,
two! He had his knapsack on his back and a sabre by his side, for he
had been in the wars, and now he wanted to go home. And on the way
he met with an old witch: she was very hideous, and her under lip hung
down upon her breast. She said, “ Good evening, soldier. What a fine
sword you have, and what a big knapsack! You’re a proper soldier!
Now you shall have as much money as you like to have.”

“TY thank you, you old witch!” said the soldier.

“Do you see that great tree ?” quoth the witch; and she pointed to
a tree which stood beside them. “It’s quite hollow inside. You must
climb to the top, and then you’ll see a hole, through which you can let
yourself down and get deep into the tree. I'll tie a rope round your
body, so that I can pull you up again when you call me.”

“ What am I to do down in the tree ?” asked the soldier.

“Get money,” replied the witch. “ Listen tome. When you come
down to the earth under the tree, you will find yourself in a great hall:
it is quite light, for above three hundred lamps are burning there. Then
you will see three doors; these you can open, for the keys are hanging
there. If you go into the first chamber, you "ll see a great chest in the
middle of the floor; on this chest sits a dog, and he’s got a pair of eyes
as big as two tea-cups. But you need not care for that. I’ll give you
my blue-checked apron, and you can spread it out upon the floor; then
go up quickly and take the dog, and set him on my apron; then open
the chest, and take as many shillings as you like. They are of copper:
if you prefer silver, you must go into the second chamber. But there
sits a dog with a pair of eyes as big as mill-wheels. But do not you
care for that. Set him upon my apron, and take some of the money.
And if you want gold, you can have that too— in fact, as much as you
can carry—if you go into the third chamber. But the dog that sits on
the money-chest there has two eyes as big as round towers. He isa
fierce dog, you may be sure; but you needn’t be afraid, for all that.
Only set him on my apron, and he won’t hurt you; and take out of the
chest as much gold as you like.”

“That ’s not so bad,” said the soldier. “But what am I to give you,
you old witch ? for you will not do it for nothing, I fancy.”

“No,” replied the witch, “ not a single shilling will 1 have. You shall
only bring me an old tinder-box which my grandmother forgot when she
was down there last.”

“Then tie the rope round my body,” cried the soldier.





















THE WITCH INDUCES THE SOLDIER TO CLIMB THE TREE.

“Here it is,” said the witch, “and here’s my blue-checked apron.”

Then the soldier climbed up into the tree, let himself slip down into
the hole, and stood, as the witch had said, in the great hall where the
three hundred lamps were burning.

Now he opened the first door. Ugh! there sat the dog with eyes as
big as tea-cups, staring at him. “ You’re a nice fellow!” exclaimed the
soldier; and he set him on the witch’s apron, and took as many copper
shillings as his pockets would hold, and then locked the chest, set the
dog on it again, and went into the second chamber. Aha! there sat the
dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels. :

“You should not stare so hard at me,” said the soldier; “you might
strain your eyes.” And he set the dog upon the witch’s apron. And
when he saw the silver money in the chest, he threw away all the copper
money he had, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with silver only.
Then he went into the third chamber. Oh, but that was-horrid! The

C2



20 Stories for the Household.

dog there really had eyes as big as towers, and they turned round and
round in his head like wheels. :

“ Good evening!” said the soldier; and he touched his cap, for he had
never seen such a dog as that before. When he had looked at him a
little more closely, he thought, “ That will do,” and lifted him down to
the floor, and opened the chest. Mercy! what a quantity of gold was
there! He could buy with it the whole town, and the sugar sucking-
pigs of the cake woman, and all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-
horses in the whole world. Yes, that was a quantity of money! Now
the soldier threw away all the silver coin with which he had filled his
pockets and his knapsack, and took gold instead: yes, all his pockets,
his knapsack, his boots, and his cap were filled, so that he could scarcely
walk. Now indeed he had plenty of money. He put the dog on the
chest, shut the door, and then called up through the tree, “ Now pull
me up, you old witch.”

“ Have you the tinder-box ?’’ asked the witch.

“Plague on it!” exclaimed the soldier, “I had clean forgotten that.”
And he went and brought it.

The witch drew him up, and he stood on the high road again, with
pockets, boots, knapsack, and cap full of gold.

“What are you going to do with the tinder-box ?” asked the soldier.

“That ’s nothing to you,” retorted the witch. ‘“You’ve had your
money—just give me the tinder-box.”

“ Nonsense!” said the soldier. “Tell me directly what you ’re going
' to do with it, or I'll draw my sword and cut off your head.”

“No!” cried the witch.

So the soldier cut off her head. There she lay! But he tied up all
his money in her apron, took it on his back like a bundle, put the
tinder-box in his pocket, and went straight off towards the town.

That was a splendid town! And he put up at the very best inn, and
asked for the finest rooms, and ordered his favourite dishes, for now he
was rich, as he had so much money. The servant who had to clean his
boots certainly thought them a remarkably old pair for such a rich gen-
tleman ; but he had not bought any new ones yet. The next day he
procured proper boots and handsome clothes. Now our soldier had
become a fine gentleman; and the people told him of all the splendid
things which were in their city, and about the king, and what a pretty
princess the king’s daughter was.

“Where can one get to see her?” asked the soldier.

“She is not to be seen at all,” said they all together; she lives ina
great copper castle, with a great many walls and towers round about it;
no one but the king may go in and out there, for it has been prophesied
that she shall marry a common soldier, and the king can’t bear that.”

“T should like to see her,” thought the soldier; but he could not get
leave to do so. Now he lived merrily, went to the theatre, drove in the
king’s garden, and gave much money to the poor; and this was very
kind of him, for be knew from old times how hard it is when one has
not a shilling. Now he was rich, had fine clothes, and gained many





THE PRINCESS ARRIVES ON THE DOG’S BACK.

friends, who all said he was a rare one, a true cavalier; and that pleased
the soldier well. But as he spent money every day and never earned
any, he had at last only two shillings left; and he was obliged to turn
out of the fine rooms in which he had dwelt, and had to live in a little
garret under the roof, and clean his boots for himself, and mend them
with a darning-needle. None of his friends came to sce him, for there
were too many stairs to climb.

It was quite dark one evening, and he could not even buy himself a
candle, when it occurred to him that there was a candle-end in the
tinder-box which he had taken out of the hollow tree into which the
witch had helped him. He brought out the tinder-box and the candle-
end; but as soon as he struck fire and the sparks rose up from the flint,
the door flew open, and the dog who had eyes as big as a couple of tea-
cups, and whom he had seen in the tree, stood before him, and said,

“What are my lord’s commands ?”

“What is this?” said the soldier. “'That’s a famous tinder-box, if

\



22 Stories for the Household.

Ican get everything with it that I want! Bring me some money,” said
he to the dog; and whisk! the dog was gone, and whisk! he was back
again, with a great bag full of shillings in his mouth.

Now the soldier knew what a capital tinder-box this was. If he struck
it once, the dog came who sat upon the chest of copper money; if he
struck it twice, the dog came who had the silver; and if he struck it
three times, then appeared the dog who had the gold. Now the soldier
moved back into the fine rooms, and appeared again in handsome clothes;
and all his friends knew him again, and cared very much for him indeed.

Once he thought to himself, “It is a very strange thing that one
cannot get to see the princess. They all say she is very beautiful; but
what is the use of that, if she has always to sit in the great copper castle
with the many towers? Can I not get to see her at all? Where is my
tinder-box ?” And so he struck a light, and whisk ! came the dog with
eyes as big as tea-cups.

“Tt is midnight, certainly,” said the soldier, “ but I should very much
like to see the princess, only for one little moment.”

And the dog was outside the door directly, and, before the soldier
thought it, came back with the princess. She sat upon the dog’s back
and slept; and every one could see she was a real princess, for she was
so lovely. The soldier could not refrain from kissing her, for he was a
thorough soldier. Then the dog ran back again with the princess. But
when morning came, and the king and queen were drinking tea, the prin-
cess said she had hada strange dream the night before, about a dog anda
soldier—that she had ridden upon the dog, and the soldier had kissed her.

“That would be a fine history !” said the Queen.

So one of the old court ladies had to watch the next night by the
princess’s bed, to see if this was really a dream, or what it might be.

The soldier had a great longing to see the lovely princess again; so
the dog came in the night, took her away, and ran as fast as he could.
But the old lady put on water-boots, and ran just as fast after him.
When she saw that they both entered a great house, she thought, “Now
I know where it is;” and with a bit of chalk she drew a great cross on
the door. Then she went home and lay down, and the dog came up
with the princess; but when he saw that there was a cross drawn on
the door where the soldier lived, he took a piece of chalk too, and drew
crosses on all the doors in the town. And that was cleverly done, for
now the lady could not find the right door, because all the doors had
crosses upon them.

In the morning early came the King and the Queen, the old court lady
and all the officers, to see where it was the princess had been. “Here
it is!” said the King, when he saw the first door with a cross upon it.
“No, my dear husband, it is there!” said the Queen, who descried
another door which also showed a cross. ‘“ But there is one, and there
is one!” said all, for wherever they looked there were crosses on the
doors. So they saw that it would avail them nothing if they searched on.

But the Queen was an exceedingly clever woman, who covjd do more
than ride in a coach. She took her great gold scissors, cut a piece of



The Tinder-Box. 293

silk into pieces, and made a neat little bag ; this bag she filled with fine
wheat flour, and tied it on the princess’s back; and when that was done,
she cut a little hole in the bag, so that the flour would be scattered
along all the way which the prmcess should take.

In the night the dog came again, took the princess on his back, and
ran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and would glad]
have been a prince, so that he might have her for his wife. The dog did
not notice at all how the flour ran out ina stream from the castle to the
windows of the soldier’s house, where he ran up the wall with the prin-
cess. In the morning the King and the Queen saw well enough where
their daughter had been, and they took the soldier and put him in prison.

There he sat. Oh, but it was dark and disagreeable there! And they
said to him, “To-morrow you shall be hanged.” That was not amusing
to hear, and he had left his tinder-box at the inn. In the morning he
could see, through the iron grating of the little window, how the people
were hurrying out of the town to see him hanged. He heard the drums
beat and saw the soldiers marching. All the people were running out,
and among them was a shoemaker’s boy with leather apron and slippers,
and he gallopped so fast that one of his slippers flew off, and came right
against the wall where the soldier sat looking through the iron grating.

“ Halloo, you shoemaker’s boy! you needn’t be in such a hurry,” cried
the soldier to him: “it will not begin till I come. But if you'will run
to where I lived, and bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shil-
lings; but you must put your best leg foremost.”

The shoemaker’s boy wanted to get the four shillings, so he went and
brought the tinder-box, and—well, we shall hear now what happened.

Outside the town a great gallows had been built, and round it stood
the soldiers and many hundred thousand people. The king and queen
sat on a splendid throne, opposite to the judges and the whole council.
The soldier already stood upon the ladder; but as they were about to
put the rope round his neck, he said that before a poor criminal suffered
his punishment an innocent request was always granted to him. He
wanted very much to smoke a pipe of tobacco, and it would be the last
pipe he should smoke in the world. The king would not say “No” to
this ; so the soldier took his tinder-box, and struck fire. One—two—
three !—and there suddenly stood all the dogs—the one with eyes as big
as tea-cups, the one with eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the one whose
eyes were as big as round towers.

“Help me now, so that I may not be hanged,” said the soldier,

And the dogs fell upon the judge and all the council, seized one by the
leg and another by the nose, and tossed them all many feet into the air,
so that they fell down and were all broken to pieces.

“T won’t!” cried the King; but the biggest dog took him and the
Queen, and threw them after the others. Then the soldiers were afraid,
and the people cried, “ Little soldier, you shall be our king, and marry

-the beautiful princess!”

So they put the soldier into the king’s coach, and all the three dogs

darted on in front and cried “ Hurrah!” and the boys whistled through



24 Stories for the Household.

their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. The princess came out
of the copper castle, and became queen, and she liked that well enough.
The wedding lasted a week, and the three dogs sat at the table too, and
opened their eves wider than ever at all they saw.

GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

Turn lived two men in one village, and they had the same name—
each was called Claus; but one had four horses, and the other only a
single horse. To distinguish them from each other, folks called him who
had fonr horses Great Claus, and the one who had only a single horse
Little Claus. Now we shall hear what happened to each of them, for
this is a true story.

The whole week through Little Claus was obliged to plough for Great
Claus, and to lend him his one horse; then Great Claus helped him out
with all his four, but’ only once a week, and that ona holiday. Hurrah!
how Little Claus smacked his whip over all five horses, for they were as -
good as his own on that one day. The sun shone gaily, and all the bells
in the steeples were ringing; the people were all dressed in their best,
aud were going to church, with their hymn-books under their arms, to
hear the clergyman preach, and they saw Little Claus ploughing with
five horses; but he was so merry that he smacked his whip again and
again, and cried, “ Gee up, all my five!”

“You must not talk so,” said Great Claus, “for only the one horse 1s
yours.”

But when no one was passing Little Claus forgot that he was not to
say this, and he cried, “ Gee up, all my horses!”

“Now, I must beg of you to let that alone,” cried Great Claus, “for
if you say it again, I shall hit your horse on the head, so that it will fall
down dead, and then it will be all over with him.”

“T will certainly not say it any more,” said Little Claus.

But when people came by soon afterwards, and nodded “ good day”
to him, he became very glad, and thought it looked very well, after all,
that he had five horses to plough his field; and so he smacked his whip
again, and cried, “ Gee up, all my horses!”

“Tl ‘gee up’ your horses!” said Great Claus. And he took the
hatchet and hit the only horse of Little Claus on the head, so that it fell
down, and was dead immediately.

“Oh, now I haven’t any horse at all!” said Little Claus, and began
to cry.

Then he flayed the horse, and let the hide dry in the wind, and put it
ina sack and hung it over his shoulder, and went to the town to sell
his horse’s skin.

He had a very long way to go, and was obliged to pass through a great
dark wood, and the weather became dreadfully bad. He went quite



nn tenner ete A I

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LITTLE CLAUS DEPLORING THE DEATH OF HIS HORSE.

astray, and before he got into the right way again it was evening, and it
was too far to get home again or even to the town before nightfall.

Close by the road stood a large farm-house. The shutters were closed
outside the windows, but the light could still be seen shining out over
them.

“T may be able to get leave to stop here through the night,” thought
Little Claus; and he went and knocked.

The farmer’s wife opened the door; but when she heard what he
wanted she told him to go away, declaring that her husband was not at
home, and she would not receive strangers.

“Then I shall have to lie outside,” said Little Claus. And the
farmer’s wife shut the door in his face.

Close by stood a great haystack, and between this and the farm-house
was a little outhouse thatched with straw.

“Up there 1 can lie,” said Little Claus, when he looked up at the



26 Stories for the Household.

roof; “that isa capital bed. I suppose the stork won’t fly down and
bite me in the legs.” Fora living stork was standing on the roof, where
he had his nest:

Now little Claus climbed up to the roof of the shed, where he lay, and
turned round to settle himself comfortably. The wooden shutters did
not cover the windows at the top, and he could look straight into the
room. There was a great table, with the cloth laid, and wine and roast
meat and a glorious fish upon it. The farmer’s wife and the clerk were
seated at table, and nobody besides. She was filling his glass, and he
was digging his fork into the fish, for that was his favourite dish.

“Tf one could only get some too!” thought Little Claus, as he
stretched out his head towards the window. Heavens! what a glorious
cake he saw standing there! Yes, certainly, that was a feast.

Now he heard some one riding along the high road. It was the
woman’s husband, who was coming home. He was a good man enough,
but he had the strange peculiarity that he could never bear to see a
clerk. Ifa clerk appeared before his eyes he became quite wild. And
that was the reason why the clerk had gone to the wife to wish her good
day, because he knew that her husband was not at home; and the good
woman therefore put the best fare she had before him. But when they
heard the man coming they were frightened, and the woman begged the
clerk to creep into a great empty chest which stood there; and he did
so, for he knew the husband could not bear the sight of a clerk. The
woman quickly hid all the excellent meat and wine in her baking-oven ;
for if the man had seen that, he would have been certain to ask what it
meant.

“Ah; yes!” sighed Little Claus, up in his shed, when he saw all the
good fare put away.

“Ts there any one up there?” asked the farmer; and he looked up at
Little Claus. ‘Who are you lying there? Better come with me into
the room.”

And Little Claus told him how he had lost his way, and asked leave
to stay there for the night.

“Yes, certainly,” said the peasant, “ but first we must have something
to live on.”

The woman received them both in a very friendly way, spread the
cloth on a long table, and gave them a great dish 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 in the oven. Under the table, at his feet, he had laid the
sack with the horse’s hide in it; for we know that he had come out to
sell it in the town. He could not relish the porridge, so he trod upon
the sack, and the dry skin inside crackled quite loudly.

“Why, what have you in your sack ?” asked the farmer.

“Oh, that’s a magician,” answered Little Claus. “He says we are
not to eat porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of roast meat, fish,
and cake.”

“Wonderful!” cried the farmer; and he opened the oven in a hurry,



Great Claus and Little Claus. 27

and found all the dainty provisions which his wife had hidden there, but
which, as he thought, the wizard had conjured forth. The woman dared
not say anything, but put the things at once on the table; and so they
both ate of the meat, the fish, and the cake. Now Little Claus again
trod on his sack, and made the hide creak.

“What does he say now?” said the farmer.

“ He says,” replied Claus, “that he has conjured three bottles of wine
for us, too, and that they are standing there in the corner behind the oven.”

Now the woman was obliged to bring out the wine which she had
hidden, and the farmer drank it and became very merry. He would
have been very glad to see such a conjuror as Little Claus had there in
the sack.

“Can he conjure the demon forth?” asked the farmer. “I should
like to see him, for now I am merry.”

“Oh, yes,” said Little Claus, “my conjuror can do anything that I
ask of him.—Can you not?” he added, and trod on the hide, so that it
crackled. “He says ‘Yes.’ But the demon is very ugly to look at: we
had better not see him.”

“Oh, I’m not at all afraid. Pray, what will he look like ?”

“Why, hell look the very image of a clerk.”

“Ha!” said the farmer, “that is ugly! You must know, I can’t bear
the sight of a clerk. But it doesn’t matter now, for I know that he’s a
demon, so I shall easily stand it. Now I have courage, but he must not
come too near me.”

“ Now I will ask my conjuror,” said Little Claus; and he trod on the
sack and held his ear down.

“What does he say ?”

“He says you may go and open the chest that stands in the corner,
and you will see the demon crouching in it; but you must hold the lid
so that he doesn’t slip out.”

“Will you help me to hold him ?” asked the farmer. And he went to
the chest where the wife had hidden the real clerk, who sat in there and
was very much afraid. The farmer opened the lid a little way and
peeped in underneath it.

“Hu!” he cried, and sprang backward. “Yes, now I’ve seen him,
and he looked exactly like our clerk. Oh, that was dreadful !”

Upon this they must drink. So they sat and drank until late into
the night.

“You must sell me that conjuror,” said the farmer. “Ask as much
as you like for him: I’ll give you a whole bushel of money directly.”

“No, that I can’t do,” said Little Claus: ‘only think how much use
I can make of this conjuror.”

“Oh, I should so much like to have him!” cried the farmer; and he
went on begging.

“Well,” said Little Claus, at last, “as you have been so kind as to
give me shelter for the night, I will let it beso. You shall have the con-
juror for a bushel of money; but I must have the bushel heaped up.”

“That you shall have,” replied the farmer. “But you must take the



28 Stories for the Household.

chest yonder away with you. I will not keep it in my house an hour.
One cannot know,—perhaps he may be there still.”

Little Claus gave the farmer his sack with the dry hide in it, and got
in exchange a whole bushel of money, and that heaped up. The farmer
also gave him a big truck, on which to carry off his money and chest.

“Farewell!” said Little Claus; and he went off with his money and
the big chest, in which the clerk was still sitting.

On the other side of the wood was a great deep river. The water
rushed along so rapidly that one could scarcely swim against the stream.
A fine new bridge had been built over it. Little Claus stopped on the
centre of the bridge, and said quite loud, so that the clerk could hear it,

“To, what shall I do with this stupid chest? It’s as heavy as if
stones were in it. I shall only get tired if I drag it any farther, so Ill
throw it into the river: if it swims home to me, well and good; and if
it does not, it will be no great matter.”

And he took the chest with one hand, and lifted it up alittle, as if he
intended to throw it into the river. |

“No! let be!” cried the clerk from within the chest; “let me out
first!”

“Hu!” exclaimed Little Claus, pretending to be frightened, “he’s in
there still! I must make haste and throw him into the river, that he
may be drowned.”

‘**Oh, no, no!” screamed the clerk. “I’J] give you a whole bushel-full
of money if you’ll let me go.”

“Why, that’s another thing!” said Little Claus; and he opened the
chest.

The clerk crept quickly out, pushed the empty chest into the water,
and went to his house, where Little Claus received a whole bushel-full
of money. He had already received one from the farmer, and so now he
had his truck loaded with money.

“See, I’ve been well paid for the horse,” he said to himself when he
had got home, to his own room, and was emptying all the money into
a heap in the middle of the floor. ‘That will vex Great Claus when he
hears how rich I have grown through my one horse; but I won’s tell
him about it outright.”

So he sent a boy to Great Claus to ask for a bushel measure.

“What can he want with it?” thought Great Claus. And he smeared
some tar underneath the measure, so that some part of whatever was
measured should stick to it. And thus it happened; for when he re-
ceived thé measure back, there were three new eight-shilling pieces
adhering theretv.

“Whats this?” cried Great Claus; and he ran off at once to Little
Claus. “Where did you get all that money from ?”

“Oh, that’s for my horse’s skin. I sold ‘it yesterday evening.”

“That ’s really being well paid,” said Great Claus. And he ran home
in a hurry, took an axe, and killed all his four horses; then he flayed
them, and carried off their skins to the town.”

“ Hides! hides! who’ll buy any hides ?” he cried through the streets.





















GREAT CLAUS BEATEN BY THE SHOEMAKERS AND TANNERS.

All the shoemakers and tanners came running, and asked how much
he wanted for them.

“A bushel of money for each!” said Great Claus.

“Are you mad?” said they. “ Do you think we have money by the
bushel ?”

“ Hides! hides!” he cried again; and to all who asked him what the
hides would cost he replied, “A bushel of money.”

“He wants to make fools of us,” they all exclaimed. And the shoe-
makers took their straps, and the tanners their aprons, and they began
to beat Great Claus.

“Hides! hides!” they called after him, jeeringly. “Yes, we’ll tan
your hide for you till the red broth runs down. Out of the town with
him!” And Great Claus made the best haste he could, for he had never
yet been thrashed as he was thrashed now.

“Well,” said he when he got home, “ Little Claus shall pay for this.
T’ll kill him for it.”



30 - Stories for the Household.

Now, at Little Claus’s the old grandmother had died. She had been
very harsh and unkind to him, but yet he was very sorry, and took the
dead woman and laid her in his warm bed, to see if she would not come
to life again. There he intended she should remain all through the
night, and he himself would sit in the corner and sleep on a chair, as he
had often done before. As he sat there, in the night the door opened,
and Great Claus came in with his axe. He knew where Little Claus’s
bed stood; and, going straight up to it, he hit the old grandmother on
the head, thinking she was Little Claus.

“D’ ye see,” said he, “you shall not make a fool of me again.” And
then he went home.

“That’s a bad fellow, that man,” said Little Claus. “He wanted to
kill me. It wasa good thing for my old grandmother that she was dead
already. He would have taken her life.”

And he dressed his grandmother in her Sunday clothes, borrowed a
horse of his neighbour, harnessed it to a car, and put the old lady on the
back seat, so that she could not fall out when he drove. And so they
trundled through the wood. When the sun rose they were in front of
an inn; there Little Claus pulled up, and went in to have some refresh-
ment.

The host had very, very much money; he was also a very good man,
but exceedingly hot, as if he had pepper and tobacco in him.

“Good morning,” said he to Little Claus. “You’ve put on your
Sunday clothes early to-day.”

“Yes,” answered Little Claus; “I’m going to town with my old
grandmother: she’s sitting there on the car without. I can’t bring her
into the room—will you give her a glass of mead? But you must speak
very loud, for she can’t hear well.”

“Yes, that Ill do,” said the host. And he poured out a great glass
of mead, and went out with it to the dead grandmother, who had been
placed upright in the carriage.

“ Here’s a glass of mead from your son,” quoth mine host. But the
dead woman replied not a word, but sat quite still. “Don’t you hear?”
cried the host, as loud as he could, “here is a glass of mead from your
son |”

Once more he called out the same thing, but as she persisted in not
hearing him, he became angry at last, and threw the glass in her face,
so that the mead ran down over her nose, and she tumbled backwards
into the car, for she had only been put upright, and not bound fast.

“ Hallo!” cried Little Claus, running out at the door, and seizing the
host by the breast ; “you ’ve killed my grandmother now! See, there ’s
a big hole in her forehead.”

“ Oh, here’s a misfortune!” cried the host, wringing his hands. “That
all comes of my hot temper. Dear Little Claus, I’ll give you a bushel
of money, and have your grandmother buried as if she were my own;
only keep quiet, or I shall have my head cut off, and that would be so
very disagreeable |”

So Little Claus again received a whole bushel of money, and the host



Great Claus and Litile Claus. 81

buried the old grandmother as if she had been his own. And when
Little Claus came home with all his money, he at once sent his boy to
Great Claus to ask to borrow a bushel measure.

“What’s that?” said Great Claus. ‘Have I not killed him? I
must go myself and see to this.” And so he went over himself with the
bushel to Little Claus.

“Now, where did you get all that money from?” he asked; and he
opened. his eyes wide when he saw all that had been brought together.

“You killed my grandmother, and not me,” replied Little Claus;
“and L’ve been and sold her, and got a whole bushel of money for her.”

“That’s really being well paid,” said Great Claus; and he hastened
home, took an axe, and killed his own grandmother directly. Then he
put her on a carriage, and drove off to the town with her, to where the
apothecary lived, and asked him if he would buy a dead person.

“ Who is it, and where did you get him from?” asked the apothecary.

“It’s my grandmother,” answered Great Claus. “I’ve killed her to
get a bushel of money for her.”

“ Heaven save us!” cried. the apothecary, “you’re raving! Don’t say
such things, or you may lose your head.” And he told him earnestly
what a bad deed this was that he had done, and what a bad man he was,
and that he must be punished. And Great Claus was so frightened that
he jumped out of the surgery straight into his carriage, and whipped the
horses, and drove home. But the apothecary and all the people thought
him mad, and so they let him drive whither he would.

“You shall pay for this!” said Great Claus, when he was out upon
the high road: “yes, you shall pay me for this, Little Claus!” And
directly he got home he took the biggest sack he could find, and went
over to Little Claus, and said, “ Now, you’ve tricked me again! First
T killed my horses, and then my old grandmother! That’s all your fault ;
but you shall never trick me any more.” And he seized Little Claus
round the body, and thrust him into the sack, and took him upon his
back, and called out to him, “ Now I shall go off with you and drown

ou.” .

It was a long way that he had to travel before he came to the river,
and Little Claus was not too light to carry. The road led him close to a
church: the organ was playing, and the people were singing so beauti-
fully! Then Great Claus put down his sack, with Little Claus in it,
close to the church door, and thought it would be a very good thing to
go in and hear a psalm before he went farther; for Little Claus could
not get out, and all the people were in church; and so he went in.

“Ah, yes! yes!” sighed Little Claus in the sack. And he turned and
twisted, but he 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
stumbled against the sack in which Little Claus was confined, so that
it wag overthrown.

“Oh, dear!” sighed Little Claus, “1’m so young yet, and am to go to
heaven directly!”



32 Stories for the Household.

“ And I, poor fellow,” said the drover, “am so old already, and can’t
get there yet!”

“Open the sack,” cried Little Claus; “creep into it instead of me,
and you will get to heaven directly.”

“With all my heart,” replied the drover; and he untied the sack, out
of which Little Claus crept forth immediately.

“ But will you look after the cattle?’ said the old man; and he crept
into the sack at once, whereupon Little Claus tied it up, and went his
way with all the cows and oxen.

Soon afterwards Great Claus came out of the church. He took the sack
on his shoulders again, although it seemed to him as if the sack had
become lighter ; for the old drover was only half as heavy as Little Claus.

“ How light he is to carry now! Yes, that is because I have heard a

sal.”
2 So he went to the river, which was deep and broad, threw the sack
with the old drover in it into the water, and called after him, thinking
that it was little Claus, “ You lie there! Now you shan’t trick me any
more!”

Then he went home; but when he came to a place where there was a
cross road, he met little Claus driving all his beasts.

“What’s this?” cried great Claus. ‘‘ Have I not drowned you?”

“Yes,” replied Little Claus, “ you threw me into the river less than
half an hour ago.”

“ But wherever did you get all those fine beasts from?” asked Great
Claus.

“These beasts are sea-cattle,” replied Little Claus. “TIL tell you
the whole story,—and thank you for drowning me, for now I’m at the
top of the tree. I am really rich! How frightened I was when I lay
huddled in the sack, and the wind whistled about my ears when you
threw me down from the bridge into the cold water! I sank to the
bottom immediately ; but I did not knock myself, for the most splen-
did soft grass grows down there. Upon that I fell; and immediately
the sack was opened, and the loveliest maiden, with snow-white gar-
ments and a green wreath upon her wet hair, took me by the hand, and
said, ‘Are you come, Little Claus? Here you have some cattle to
begin with. A mile farther along the road there is a whole herd more,
which I will give to you.’ And now I saw that the river formed a great
highway for the people of the sea. Down in its bed they walked and
drove directly from the sea, and straight into the land, to where the
river ends. There it was so beautifully full of flowers and of the
freshest grass; the fishes, which swam in the water, shot past my ears,
just as here the birds in the air. What pretty people there were there,
and what fine cattle pasturing on mounds and in ditches!”

“But why did you come up again to us directly?” asked Great
Claus. “TI should not have done that, if it is so beautiful down there.”

“Why,” replied Little Claus, “in that I just acted with good policy.
You heard me tell you that the sea-maiden said, ‘ A mile farther along
the road ’—and by the road she meant the river, for sh> can’t go any-



The Princess onthe Pea. 33

where else—‘ there is a whole herd of cattle for you.’ But I know what
bends the stream makes—sometimes this way, sometimes that; there’s
a long way to go round: no, the thing can be managed in a shorter way
by coming here to.the land, and driving across the fields towards the
river again. In this manner I save myself almost half a mile, and get
all the quicker to my sea-cattle !”

“Ob, you are a fortunate man!” said Great Claus. ‘Do you think
I should get some sea-cattle too if I went down to the bottom of the
river ?”

“Yes, I think so,” replied Little Claus. “ But I cannot carry you in
the sack as far as the river; you are too heavy for me! But if you will
go there, and creep into the sack yourself, I will throw you in with a
great deal of pleasure.”

“Thanks!” said Great Claus; ‘ but if I don’t get any sea-cattle
when I am down there, I shall beat you, you may be sure!”

“Oh, no; don’t be so fierce!” :

And so they went together to the river. When tho beasts, which were
ihirsty, saw the stream, they ran as fast as they could to get at the water.

‘‘See how they hurry!” cried Little Claus. “They are longing to
get back to the bottom.”

“Yes, but help me first!” said Great Claus, “or else you shall be
beaten.”

And so he crept into the great sack, which had been laid across the
back of one of the oxen.

“ Put a stone in, for I’m afraid I shan’t sink else,” said Great Claus.

“That can be done,” replied Little Claus; and he put a big stone
into the sack, tied the rope tightly, and pushed against it. Plump!
There lay Great Claus in the river, and sank at once to the bottom.

“Tm afraid he won’t find the cattle!” said Little Claus ; and then
he drove homeward with what he had.

THE PRINCESS ON THE PEA.

THERE was once a Prince who wanted to marry a princess; but she
was to be a real princess. So he travelled about, all through the world,
to find a geal one, but everywhere there was something in the way.
There were princesses enough, but whether they were real princesses
he could not quite make out: there was always something that did not
seem quite right. So he came home again, and was quite sad; for he
wished so much. to have a real princess.

One evening a terrible storm came on. It lightened and thundered,
the rain streamed down; it was quite fearful! Then there was a knock-
ing at the town gate, and the old King went out to open it.

It was a Princess who stood outside the gate. But, mercy! how she
looked, from the rain and the rough weather! The water ran down

D



a ie.





THE PRINCESS COMPLAINING OF THE PEA IN HER BED.

from her hair and her clothes; it ran in at the points of her shoes, and
out at the heels; and yet she declared that she was a real princess.

“Yes, we will soon find that out,” thought the old Queen. But she
said nothing, only went into the bed-chamber, took all the bedding off,
and put a pea on the flooring of the bedstead; then she took twenty
mattresses and laid them upon the pea, and then twenty eider-down
beds upon the mattresses. On this the Princess had to lie all night.
In the morning she was asked how she had slept.

“Oh, miserably!” said the Princess. “I scarcely closed my eyes all
night long. Goodness knows what was in my bed. I lay upon some-
thing hard, so that I am black and blue all over. It is quite dreadful!”

Now they saw that she was a real princess, for through the twenty
mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds she had felt the pea. No
one but a real princess could be so delicate.

So the Prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a
true princess; and the pea was put in the museum, and it is there now,
unless somebody has carried it off.

Look you, this is a true story.





THUMBELINA AND THE TOADS.

THUMBELINA.

THERE was once a woman who wished for a very little child; but she
did not know where she should procure one. So she went to an old
witch, and said,

“T do so very much wish for a little child! can you not tell me where
I can get one?”

“Oh! that could easily be managed,” said the witch. ‘There you
have a barleycorn: that is not of the kind which grows in the coun-
tryman’s field, and which the chickens get to eat. Put that into a
flower-pot, and you shall see what you shall see.”

“Thank you,” said the woman; and she gave the witch twelve shil-
lings, for that is what it cost.

Then she went home and planted the barleycorn, and immediately
there grew up a great handsome flower, which looked like a tulip; but
the leaves were tightly closed, as though it were still a bud.

“That is a beautiful flower,” said the woman; and she kissed its
yellow and red leaves. But just as she kissed it the flower opened with
apop. It was a real tulip, as one could now see; but in the middle of
the flower there sat upon the green velvet stamens a little maiden, deli-
cate and praceful to behold. She was scarcely half a thumb’s length in
height, and therefore she was called Thumbelina.

A neat polished walnut-shell served Thumbelina for a cradle, blue
violet-leaves were her mattresses, with a rose-leaf for a coverlet. There
she slept at night; but in the day-time she played upon the table, where
the woman had put a plate with a wreath of flowers around it, whose
stalks stood in water; on the water swam a great tulip-leaf, and on this
the little maiden could sit, and row from one side of the plate to the

other, with two white horse-hairs for oars. That looked pretty indeed!
D2



36 Stories for the Household.

She could also sing, and, indeed, so delicately and sweetly, that the like
had never been heard.

Once as she lay at night in her pretty bed, there came an old Toad
creeping through the window, in which one pane was broken. The Toad
was very ugly, big, and damp: it hopped straight down upon the table,
where humbelina lay sleeping under the rose-leaf.

“That would be a handsome wife for my son,” said the Toad; and she
took the walnut-shell in which Thumbelina lay asleep, and hopped with
it through the window down into the garden.

There ran a great broad brook; but the margin was swampy and soft,
and here the Toad dwelt with her son. Ugh! he was ugly, and looked
just like his mother. “Croak! croak! brek kek-kex!” that was all he
could say when he saw the graceful little maiden in the walnut-shell.

“ Don’t speak so loud, or she will awake ;” said the old Toad. “She
might run away from us, for she is as light as a bit of swan’s-down. We
will put her out in the brook upon one of the broad water-lily leaves.
That will be just like an island for her, she is so small and light. Then
she can’t get away, while we put the state room under the marsh in
order, where you are to live and keep house together.”

Out in the brook there grew many water-lilies with broad green
leaves, which looked as if they were floating on the water. The leaf
which lay farthest out was also the greatest of all, and to that the old
Toad swam out and laid the walnut-shell upon it with Thumbelina. The
little tiny Thumbelina woke early in the morning, and when she saw
where she was, she began to cry very bitterly; for there was water on
every side of the great green leaf, and she could not get to land at all.
The old Toad sat down in the marsh, decking out her room with rushes
and yellow weed—it was to be made very pretty for the new daughter-
in-law; then she swam out, with her ugly son, to the leaf on which
Thumbelina was. They wanted to take her pretty bed, which was to be
put in the bridal chamber before she went in there herself. The old
Toad bowed low before her in the water, and said,

“ Here is my son; he will be your husband, and you will live splen-
didly together in the marsh.”

“Croak! croak! brek-kek-kex !” was all the son could say.

Then they took the delicate little bed, and swam away with it; but
Thumbelina, sat all alone upon the green leaf and wept, for she did not
like to live at the nasty Toad’s, and have her ugly son for a husband.
The little fishes swimming in the water below had both seen the Toad,
and had also heard what she said; therefore they stretched forth their
heads, for they wanted to see the little girl. So soon as they saw her
they considered her so pretty that they felt very sorry she should have
to go down to the ugly Toad. No, that must never be! They assem-
bled together in the water around the green stalk which held the leaf
on which the little maiden stood, and with their teeth they gnawed
away the stalk, and so the leaf swam down the stream; and away went
Thumbelina far away, where the Toad could not get at her.

Thumbelina sailed by many cities, and the little birds which sat in



Thumbelina. 3

the bushes saw her, and said, “ What a lovely little girl!” The leaf
swam away with them, farther and farther; so Thumbelina travelled
out of the country. ,

A graceful little white butterfly always fluttered round her, and at
last alighted on the leaf. Thumbelina pleased him, and she was very
glad of this, for now the Toad could not reach them; and it was so
beautiful where she was floating along—the sun shone upon the water,
and the water glistened like the most splendid gold. She took her
girdle and bound one end of it round the butterfly, fastening the other
end of the ribbon to the leaf. The leaf now glided onward much faster,
and Thumbelina too, for she stood upon the leaf.

There came a big Cockchafer flying up; and he saw her, and imme-
diately clasped his claws round her slender waist, and flew with her up
into a tree. The green leaf went swimming down the brook, and the
butterfly with it ; for he was fastened to the leaf, and could not get away
from it.

Mercy! how frightened poor little Thumbelina was when the Cock-
chafer flew with her up into the tree! But especially she was sorry for
the fine white butterfly whom she had bound fast to the leaf, for, if he
could not free himself from it, he would be obliged to starve. The
Cockchafer, however, did not trouble himself at all about this. He
seated himself with her upon the biggest green leaf of the tree, gave
her the sweet part of the flowers to eat, and declared that she was very
pretty, though she did not in the least resemble a cockchafer. After-
wards came all the other cockchafers who lived in the tree to pay a visit :
they looked at Thumbelina, and said,

“Why, she has not even more than two legs !—that has a wretched
appearance.”

“She has not any feelers!” cried another.

“ Her waist is quite slender—tie! she looks like a human creature—
how ugly she is!” said all the lady cockchafers.

And yet Thumbelina was very pretty. Even the Cockchafer who had
carried her off saw that; but when all the others declared she was ugly,
he believed it at last, and would not have her at all—she might go
whither she liked. Then they flew down with her from the tree, and set
her upon a daisy, and she wept, because she was so ugly that the cock-
chafers would have nothing to say to her; and yet she was the loveliest
little being one could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a rose-leaf.

The whole summer through poor Thumbelina lived quite alone in the
great wood. She wove herself a bed out of blades of grass, and hung
it up under a shamrock, so that she was protected from the rain; she
plucked the honey out of the flowers for food, and drank of the dew
which stood every morning upon the leaves. Thus summer and autumn
passed away; but now came winter, the cold long winter. All the birds
who had sung so sweetly before her flew away; trees and flowers shed
their leaves; the great shamrock under which she had lived shrivelled
up, and there remained nothing of it but a yellow withered stalk; and
she was dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she herself was



38 Stories for the Household.

so frail and delicate—poor little Thumbelina! she was nearly frozen.
It began to snow, and every snow-flake that fell upon her was like a
whole shovel-full thrown upon one of us, for we are tall, and she was
only an inch long. Then she wrapped herseif in a dry leaf, and that
tore in the middle, and would not warm her—she shivered with cold.

Close to the wood into which she had now come lay a great corn-field,
but the corn was gone long ago; only the naked dry stubble stood up
out of the frozen ground. These were just like a great forest for her to
wander through; and, oh! how she trembled with cold. Then she
arrived at the door of the Field Mouse. This mouse had a little hole
under the stubble. There the Field Mouse lived, warm and comfortable,
and had a whole room-full of corn—a glorious kitchen and larder. Poor
Thumbelina stood at the door just like a poor beggar girl, and begged
for a little bit of a barleycorn, for she had not had the smallest morsel
to eat for the last two days

“You poor little creature,” said the Field Mouse—for after all she
was a good old Field Mouse—“ come into my warm room and dine with
me.”

As she was pleased with Thumbelina, she said, “If you like you may
stay with me through the winter, but you must keep my room clean and
neat, and tell me little stories, for I am very fond of those.”

And Thumbelina did as the kind old Field Mouse bade her, and had
a very good time of it.

“Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the Field Mouse. “My

neighbour is in the habit of visiting me once a week. He is even better
off than I am, has great rooms, and a beautiful black velvety fur. If
you could only get him for your husband you would be well provided
for. You must tell him the prettiest stories you know.”
_ But Thumbelina did not care about this; she thought nothing of the
neighbour, for he was a Mole. He came and paid his visits in his black
velvet coat. The Field Mouse told how'rich and how learned he was, and
how his house was more than twenty times larger than hers; that he
had learning, but that he did not like the sun and beautiful flowers, for
he had never seen them.

Thumbelina had to sing, and she sang “ Cockchafer, fly away,” and
“When the parson goes afield.” Then the Mole fell in love with her,
because of her delicious voice; but he said nothing, for he was a sedate
man. j
A short time before, he had dug a long passage through the earth
from his own house to theirs; and Thumbelina and the Field Mouse
obtained leave to walk in this passage as much as they wished. But he
begged them not to be afraid of the dead bird which was lying in the
passage. It was an entire bird, with wings and a beak. It certainly
must have died only a short time before, and was now buried just where
the Mole had made his passage.

The Mole took a bit.of decayed wood in his mouth, and it glimmered
like fire in the dark ; and then he went first and lighted them through
the long dark passage. When they came where the dead bird lay, the



Thumbelina. 39

Mole thrust up his broad nose against the ceiling, so that a great hole
was made, through which the daylight could shine down. In the middle
of the floor lay a dead Swallow, his beautiful wings pressed close against
his sides, and his head and feet drawn back under his feathers: the poor
bird had certainly died of cold. Thumbelina was very sorry for this;
she was very fond of all the little birds, who had sung and twittered so
prettily before her through the summer; but the Mole gave him a push
with his crooked legs, and said, “ Now he doesn’t pipe any more. It
must be miserable to be born a little bird. I’m thankful that none of
my children can be that: such a bird has nothing but his ‘ tweet-tweet,’
and has to starve in the winter!”

“Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man,” observed the Field
Mouse. “ Of what use is all this ‘ tweet-tweet’ to a bird when the
winter comes? He must starve and freeze. But they say that’s very
aristocratic.”

Thumbelina said nothing; but when the two others turned their
backs on the bird, she bent down, put the feathers aside which covered
his head, and kissed him upon his closed eyes.

“ Perhaps it was he who sang so prettily before me in the summer,”
she thought. ‘“ How much pleasure he gave me, the dear beautiful bird!”

The Mole now closed up the hole through which the daylight shone
in, and accompanied the ladies home. But at night Thumbelina could
not sleep at all; so she got up out of her bed, and wove a large beau-
tiful carpet of hay, and carried it and spread it over the dead bird,
and laid the thin stamens of flowers, soft as cotton, and which she had
found in the Field Mouse’s room, at the bird’s sides, so that he might lie
soft in the ground.

“Farewell, you pretty little bird!” saidshe. “ Farewell! and thanks
to you for your beautitul song in the summer, when all the trees were
green, and the sun shone down warmly upon us.” And then she laid the
bird’s head upon her heart. But the bird was not dead; he was only
lying there torpid with cold; and now he had been warmed, and came
to life again.

In autumn all the swallows fly away to warm countries; but if one
happens to be belated, it becomes so cold that it falls down as if dead,
and lies where it felJ, and then the cold snow covers it.

Thumbelina fairly trembled, she was so startled; for the bird was
large, very large, compared with her, who was only an inch in height.
But she took courage, laid the cotton closer round the poor bird, and
brought a leaf that she had used as her own coverlet, and laid it over
the bird’s head. .

The next night she crept out to him again—and now he was alive,
but quite weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment, and look
at Thumbelina, who stood before him with a bit of decayed wood in
her hand, for she had not a lantern.

“T thank you, you pretty little child,” said the sick Swallow; “I
have been famously warmed. Soon I shall get my strength back again,
and I shall be able to fly about in the warm sunshine.”



40 Stories for the Household.

“ Oh,” she said, “it is so cold without. It snows and freezes. Stay
in your warm bed, and I will nurse you.”

Then she brought the Swallow water in the petal of a flower; and the
Swallow drank, and told her how he had torn one of his wings in a
thorn bush, and thus had not been able to fly so fast as the other swal-
lows, which had sped away, far away, to the warm countries. So at
last he had fallen to the ground, but he could remember nothing more,
and did not know at all how he had come where she had found him.

The whole winter the Swallow remained there, and Thumbelina nursed
and tended him heartily. Neither the Field Mouse nor the Mole heard
anything about it, for they did not like the poor Swallow. So soon as
the spring came, and the sun warmed the earth, the Swallow bade
Thumbelina farewell, and she opened the hole which the Mole had made
in the ceiling. The sun shone in upon them gloriously, and the Swallow
asked if Thumbelina would go with him; she could sit upon his back,
and they would fly away far into the green wood. But Thumbelina
knew that the old Field Mouse would be grieved if she left her.

* No, I cannot!” said Thumbelina.

“ Farewell, farewell, you good, pretty girl!” said the Swallow; and
he flew out into the sunshine. Thumbelina looked after him, and the
tears came into her eyes, for she was heartily and sincerely fond of. the
poor Swallow.

“ Tweet-weet! tweet-weet !” sang the bird, and flew into the green
‘forest. Thumbelina felt very sad. She did not get permission to go
out into the warm sunshine. The corn which was sown in the field
over the house of the Field Mouse grew up high into the air; it was
quite a thick wood for the poor girl, who was only an inch in height.

“ You are betrothed now, Thumbelina,” said the Field Mouse. “ My
neighbour has proposed for you. What great fortune for a poor child
like you! Now you must work at your outfit, woollen and linen clothes
both ; for you must lack nothing when you have become the Mole’s
wife.”

Thumbelina had to turn the spindle, and the Mole hired four spiders
to weave for her day and night. Every evening the Mole paid her a
visit ; and he was always saying that when the summer should draw to
a close, the sun would not shine nearly so hot, for that now it burned
the earth almost as hard as a stone. Yes, when the summer should
have gone, then he would keep his wedding day with Thumbelina. But
she was not glad at all, for she did not like the tiresome Mole. Every
morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it went down, she
crept out at the door ; and when the wind blew the corn ears apart, so
that she could see the blue sky, she thought how bright and beautiful
it was out here, and wished heartily to see her dear Swallow again. But
the Swallow did not come back ; he had doubtless flown far away, in the

fair green forest. When autumn came on, Thumbelina had all her
outfit ready.

“Jn four weeks you shall celebrate your wedding,” said the Field
Mouse to her.



Thumbelina. 41

ie Thumbelina wept, and declared she would not have the tiresome
ole.

“« Nonsense,” said the Field Mouse; “don’t be obstinate, or I will
bite you with my white teeth. Ue is a very fine man whom you will
marry. The Queen herself has not such a black velvet fur; and his
lutchen and eellar are full. Be thankful for your good fortune.”

Now the wedding was to be held. The Mole had already come to
fetch Thumbelina ; she was to live with him, deep under the earth, and
never to come out into the warm sunshine, for that he did not like. The
poor little thing was very sorrowful ; she was now to say farewell to the
glorious sun, which, after all, she had been allowed by the Field Mouse
to see from the threshold of the door.



THUMBELINA’S JOURNEY ON THE SWALLOW’S BACK.

“ Farewell, thou bright sun!’ she said, and stretched out her arms
towards it, and walked a little way forth from the house of the Field
Mouse, for now the corn had been reaped, and only the dry stubble stood
in the fields. “ Farewell!” she repeated, twining her arms round a little
red flower which still bloomed there. “ Greet the little Swallow from
me, if you see her again.”

“ Tweet-weet ! tweet-weet!”’ a voice suddenly sounded over her head.
She looked up ; it was the little Swallow, who was just flymg by. When
he saw Thumbelina he was very glad; and Thumbelina told him how
loth she was to have the ugly Mole for her husband, and that she was to
live deep under the earth, where the sun never shone. And she could
not refrain from weeping.

“The cold winter is coming now,” said the Swallow; “I am going to
fly far away into the warm countries. Will you come with me? You



42 Stories for the Household.

can sit upon my back, then we shall fly from the ugly Mole and his dark
room—away, far away, over the mountains, to the warm countries, where
the sun shines warmer than here, where it is always summer, and there
are lovely flowers. Only fly with me, you dear little Thumbelina, you
who have saved my life when I lay frozen in the dark earthy passage.”

“Yes, I will go with you!” said Thumbelina, and she seated herself
on the bird’s back, with her feet on his outspread wing, and bound her
girdle fast to one of his strongest feathers; then the Swallow flew up
into the air over forest and over sea, high up over the great mountains,
where the snow always lies; and Thumbelina felt cold in the bleak air,
but then she hid under the bird’s warm feathers, and only put out her
little head to admire all the beauties beneath her.

At last they came to the warm countries. There the sun shone far
brighter than here; the sky seemed twice as high; in ditches and on
the hedges grew the most beautiful blue and green grapes ; lemons and
oranges hung in the woods; the air was fragrant with myrtles and bal-
sams, and on the roads the loveliest children ran about, playing with the
gay butterflies. But the Swallow flew still farther, and it became more
and more beautiful. Under the most glorious green trees by the blue
lake stood a palace of dazzling white marble, from the olden time. Vines
clustered around the lofty pillars; at the top were many swallows’ nests,
and in one of these the Swallow lived who carried Thumbelina. .

“That is my house,” said the Swallow; “ but it is not right that you
should live there. It is not yet properly arranged by a great deal, and
you will not be content with it. Select for yourself one of the splendid
flowers which grow down yonder, then I will put you into it, and you
shall have everything ag nice as you can wish.”

“That is capital,” cried she, and clapped her little hands.

A great marble pillar lay there, which had fallen to the ground and
had been broken into three pieces ; but between these pieces grew the
most beautiful great white flowers. The Swallow flew down with Thum-
belina, and set her upon one of the broad leaves. But what was the
little maid’s surprise ? There sat a little man in the midst of the flower,
as white and transparent as if he had been made of glass: he wore the
neatest of gold crowns on his head, and the brightest wings on his
shoulders ; he himself was not bigger than Thumbelina. He was the
angel of the flower. In each of ‘the flowers dwelt such a little man or
woman, but this one was king over them all.

“Heavens! how beautiful he is!” whispered Thumbelina to the
Swallow.

The little prince was very much frightened at the Swallow; for it was
quite a gigantic bird to him, who was so small. But when he saw
humbelina, he became very glad; she was the prettiest maiden he had
ever seen. Therefore he took off his golden crown, and put it upon her,
asked her name, and if she would be his wife, and then she should be
queen of all the flowers. Now this was truly a different kind of man
to the son of the Toad, and the- Mole with the black velvet fur. She
therefore said, “ Yes” to the charming prince. And out of every flower



The Naughty Boy. 43

came a lady or a lord, so pretty to behold that it was a delight: each one
brought Thumbelina a present; but the best gift was a pair of beantiful
wings which had belonged to a great white fly; these were fastened to
Thumbelina’s back, and now she could fly from flower to flower. Then
there was much rejoicing ; and the little Swallow sat above them in her
nest, and was to sing the marriage song, which she accordingly did as
well as she could; but yet in her heart she was sad, for she was so fond,
oh! so fond of Thumbelina, and would have hked never to part from her.

“ You shall not be called Thumbelina,” said the Flower Angel to her ;
“that is an ugly name, and you are too fair for it—we will call you
Maia.” -

“ Farewell, farewell!” said the little Swallow, with a heavy heart; and
she flew away again from the warm countries, far away back to Denmark.
There she had a little nest over the window of the man who can tell
fairy tales. Before him she sang, “ Tweet-weet! tweet-weet!” and from
him we have the whole story.

THE NAUGHTY BOY.

THERE was once an old poet—a very good old poet. One evening, as
he sat at home, there was dreadfully bad weather without. The rain
streamed down: but the old poet sat comfortably by his stove, where the
fire was burning and the roasting apples were hissing.

“There won’t be a dry thread left on the poor people who are out in
this weather |” said he, for he was a good old poet.

“Oh, open tome! Iam cold and quite wet,” said a little child out-
side ; and it cried, and knocked at the door, while the rain streamed
down, and the wind made all the casements rattle. f

“You poor little creature!” said the poet; and he went to open the
door. There stood a little boy ; he was quite naked, and the water ran
in streams from his long fair curls. He was shivering with cold, and
had he not been let in, he would certainly have perished in the bad
weather.

“You little creature!” said the poet, and took him by the hand,
“come to me, and I will warm you. You shall have wine and an apple,
for you are a capital boy.”

And so he was. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and though
the water ran down from his fair curls, they fell in beautiful ringlets.
He looked like a little angel-child, but was white with cold and trembled
all over. In his hand he carried a famous bow, but it looked quite
spoiled by the wet; all the colours in the beautiful arrows had been
blurred together by the rain.

The old poet sat down by the stove, took the little boy on his knees,
pressed the water out of the long curls, warmed his hands in his own,
and made him some sweet whine-whey ; then the boy recovered himself,













































































































































































































7 = ae ee
PVF re ~ “ ——_— oe? =

THE OLD POET SHOT THROUGH THE HEART BY CUPID.

and his cheeks grew red, and he jumped to the floor and danced round
the old poet.

“ You are a merry boy,” said the old poet. “ What is your name ?”

“ My name is Cupid,” he replied ; “ don’t you know me? There lies
my bow—I shoot with that, you may believe me! See, now the weather
is clearing up outside, and the moon shines.”

“ But your bow is spoiled,” said the old poet.

“That would be a pity,” replied the little boy; and he took the bow
and looked at it. “ Oh, it is quite dry, and has suffered no damage ; the
string is quite stiff—I will try it!’ Then he bent it, and laid an arrow
across, aimed, and shot the good old poet straight through the heart.
“Do you see now that my bow was not spoiled P” said he, and laughed
out lond and ran away. What a naughty boy to shoot at the old poet
in that way, who had admitted him into the warm room, and been so
kind to him, and given him the best wine and the best apple!



The Travelling Companion. 4:

uo

The good poet lay upon the floor and wept ; he was really shot straight
into the heart. “ Fie!” he cried, “ what a naughty boy this Cupid is!
I shall tell that to all good children, so that they may take care, and
never play with him, for he will do them a hurt !”

All good children, girls and boys, to whom he told this, took good
heed of this naughty Cupid; but still he tricked them, for he is very
cunning. When the students come out from the lectures, he runs at
their side with a book under his arm, and has a black coat on. They
cannot recognize him at all. And then they take his arm and fancy he
is a student too; but he thrusts the arrow into their breasts. Yes, he
is always following people! He sits in the great chandelier in the
theatre and burns brightly, so that the people think he is a lamp; but
afterwards they see their error. He runs about in the palace garden and
on the promenades. Yes, he once shot your father and your mother
straight through the heart! Only ask them, and you will hear what
they say. Oh, he is a bad boy, this Cupid ; you must never have any-
thing to do with him. He is after every one. Only think, once he shot
an arrow at old grandmamma; but that was a long time ago. The
wound has indeed healed Jong since, but she will never forget it. Fie
on that wicked Cupid! But now you know him, and what a naughty
boy he is.

THE TRAVELLING COMPANION.

Poor John was in great tribulation, for his father was very ill, and
could not get well again. Except these two, there was no one at all in
the little room: the lamp on the table was nearly extinguished, and it
was quite late in the evening.

“ You have been a good son, John,” said the sick father. “ Providence
will help you through the world.” And he looked at him with mild
earnest eyes, drew a deep breath, and died: it was just as if he slept.
But John wept; for now he had no one in the world, neither father nor
mother, neither sister nor brother. Poor John! He lay on his knees
before the bed, kissed his dead father’s hand, and shed very many bitter
tears ; but at last his eyes closed, and he went to sleep, lying with his
head against the hard bed-post.

Then he dreamed a strange dream: he saw the sun and moon shine
upon him, and he beheld his father again, fresh and well, and he heard
his father laugh as he had always laughed when he was very glad. A
beautiful girl, with a golden crown upon her long shining hair, gave h:m
her hand; and his father said, “Do you see what a bride you have
gained ? She is the most beautiful in the whole world!” Then he
awoke, and all the splendour was gone. His father was lying dead and
cold in the bed, and there was no one at all with them. Poor John!

In the next week the dead man was buried. The son walked close



46 Stories for the Household.

behind the coffin, and could now no longer see the good father who had
loved him go much. He heard how they threw the earth down upon the
coffin, and stopped to see the last corner of it; but the next shovel-full
of earth hid even that; then he felt just as if his heart would burst into
pieces, so sorrowful was he. Around him they were singing a psalm ;
those were sweet. holy tones that arose, and the tears came into John’s
eyes ; he wept, and that did him good in his sorrow. The sun shone
magnificently on the green trees, Just as it would have said, “ You may
no longer be sorrowful, John! Do you see how beautiful the sky is ?
Your father is up there, and prays to the Father of all that it may b

always well with you.” .



JOHN AT THE DEATH-BED OF HI8 FATHER

“T will always do right, too,” said John, “then I shall go to heaven
to my father ; and what joy that will be when we see each other again !
How much I shall then have to tell him! and he will show me so many
things, and explain to me the glories of heaven, just as he taught me
here on earth. Oh, how joyful that will be!”

He pictured that to himself so plainly, that he smiled, while the tears
were still rolling down his cheeks. The little birds sat up in the
chestnut trees, and twittered, “ Tweet-weet! tweet-weet!” They were
joyful and merry, though they had been at the burying, 5+ they seemed
to know that the dead man was now in heaven; that he had wings, far
larger and more beautiful than theirs; that he was now happy, because
he had been a good man upon earth, and they were glad at it. John saw
how they flew trom the green tree out into the world, and he felt inclined
to fly too. But first he cut out a great cross of wood to put on his



The Travelling Companion. AY

father’s grave ; and when he brought it there in the evening the grave
was decked with sand and flowers; strangers had doue this, for they were
all very fond of the good father who was now dead.

Early next morning John packed his little bundle, and put in his belt
his whole inheritance, which consisted of fifty dollars and a few silver
shillings; with this he intended to wander out into the world. But
first he went to the churchyard, to his father’s grave, to say a prayer
and to bid him farewell.

Out in the field where he was walking all the flowers stood fresh and
beautiful in the warm sunshine ; and they nodded in the wind, just as if
they would have said, “ Welcome to the green wood! Is it not fine
here ?” But John turned back once more to look at the old church, in
which he had been christened when he was a little child, and where he
had been every Sunday with his father at the service, and had sung his
psalm; then, high up in one of the openings of the tower, he saw the
ringer standing in his little pointed red cap, shading his face with his
bent arm, to keep the sun from shining in his eyes. John nodded a
farewell to him, and the little ringer waved his red cap, laid his hand on
his heart, and kissed his hand to John a great many times, to show that
he wished the traveller well and hoped he would have a prosperous
journey.

John thought what a number of fine things he would get to see in the
great splendid world; and he went on farther—farther than he had ever
‘been before. He did not know the places at all through which he came,
nor the people whom he met. Now he was far away in a strange region.

The first night he was obliged to lie down on a haystack in the field
to sleep, for he had no other bed. But that was very nice, he thought ;
the king could not be better off. There was the whole field, with the
brook, the haystack, and the blue sky above it; that was certainly a
beautiful sleeping-room. ‘The green grass with the little red and white
flowers was the carpet; the elder bushes and the wild rose hedges were
garlands of flowers ; and for a wash-hand basin he had the whole brook
with the clear fresh water ; and the rushes bowed before him and wished
him “ good evening ” and “ good morning.” The moon was certainly a
great night-lamp, high up under the blue ceiling, and that lamp would
never set fire to the curtains with its light. John could sleep quite
' safely, and he did so, and never woke until the sun rose and all the little
birds were singing around, “Good morning! good morning! Are you
not up yet?” a

The bells were ringing for church ; it was Sunday. The people went
to hear the preacher, and John followed them, and sang a psalm and
heard God’s word. It seemed to him just as if he was in his own
arcs where he had been christened and had sung psalms with his
ather.

Out in the churchyard were many graves, and on some of them the
grass grew high. Then he thought of his father’s grave, which would at
last look like these, as he could not weed it and adorn it. So he sat
‘down and plucked up the long grass, set up the wooden crosses which



48 Stories for the Household.

‘had fallen down, and put back in their places the wreaths which the
wind had blown away from the graves; for he thought, “‘ Perhaps some
one will do the same to my father’s grave, as I cannot do it.”

Outside the churchyard gate stood an old beggar, leaning upon his
erutch. John gave him the silver shillings which he had, and then went
away, happy and cheerful, into the wide world. Towards evening the
weather became terribly bad. He made haste to get under shelter, but
dark night soon came on; then at last he came to a little church, which
lay quite solitary on a small hill.

“ Here I will sit down in a corner,” said he, and went in; “TI am quite

tired and require a little rest.” Then he sat down, folded his hands,

and said his evening prayer ; and before he was aware of it he was asleep
and dreaming, while it thundered and lightened without.

When he woke it was midnight; but the bad weather had passed by,
and the moon shone in upon him through the windows. In the midst
of the church stood an open coffin with a dead man in it who had not
yet been buried. John was not at all timid, for he had a good con-
science ; and he knew very well that the dead do not harm any one.
The living, who do evil, are bad men. ‘Two such living bad men stood

close by the dead man, who had been placed here in the church till he .

should be buried. They had an evil design against him, and would not
let him rest quietly in his coffin, but were going to throw him out before
the church door—the poor dead man !

“Why will you do that?” asked John; “that is bad and wicked.
Let him rest, for mercy’s sake.”

“ Nonsense!” replied the bad men; “ he has cheated us. He owed
us money and could not pay it, and now he’s dead into the bargain, and
we shall not get a penny! So we mean to revenge ourselves famously:
he shall lie like a dog outside the church door!”

“‘T have not more than fifty dollars,” cried John, “that is my whole
inheritance ; but I will gladly give it you, if you will honestly promise
me to leave the poor dead man in peace. T shall manage to get on with-
out the money; I have hearty strong limbs, and Heaven will always
help me.” ;

“ Yes,” said these ugly bad men, “ if you will pay his debt we will do
nothing to him, you may depend upon that!” And then they took the
money he gave them, laughed aloud at his good nature, and went their
way. But he laid the corpse out again in the coffin, and folded its
hands, took leave of it, and went away contentedly through the great
forest.

All around, wherever the moon could shine through between the trees,
he saw the graceful little elves playing merrily. They did not let him
disturb them ; they knew that he was a good innocent man; and it is
only the bad people who never get to see the elves. Some of them were
not larger than a finger’s breadth, and had fastened up their long yellow
hair with golden combs: they were rocking themselves, two and two, on
the great dew-drops that lay on the leaves and on the high grass ; some-
times the drop rolled away, and then they fell down between the long

8



The Travelling Companion. 49

grass-stalks, and that occasioned much laughter and noise among the
other little creatures. It was charming. ‘They sang, and John recog-
nized quite plainly the pretty songs which he had learned as a little boy.
Great coloured spiders, with silver crowns on their heads, had to spin
long banging bridges and palaces from hedge to hedge ; and as the tiny
dew-drops fell on these they looked like gleaming glass in the moonlight.
This continued until the sun rose. Then the little elves crept into the
flower-buds, and the wind caught their bridges and palaces, which flew
through the air in the shape of spider’s webs.

John had just come out of the wood, when a strong man’s voice called
out behind him, “ Halloo, comrade! whither are you journeying ?”

“Into the wide world!” he replied. “I have neither father nor
mother, and am but a poor lad; but Providence will help me.”

“T am going out into the wide world, too,” said the strange man:
“shall we two keep one another company P”

“Yes, certainly,” said John; and so they went on together. Soon
they became very fond of each other, for they were both good men. But
John saw that the stranger was much more clever than himself. He
had travelled through almost the whole world, and knew how to tell of
almost everything that existed.

The sun already stood high when they seated themselves under a great
tree to eat their breakfast ; and just then an old woman came up. Oh,
she was very old, and walked quite bent, leaning upon a crutch-stick ;
upon her back she carried a bundle of firewood which she had collected
in the forest. Her apron was untied, and John saw that three great
stalks of fern and some willow twigs looked out from within it. When
she was close to them, her foot slipped; she fell and gave a loud scream,
for she had broken her leg, the poor old woman!

John directly proposed that they should carry the old woman home to
her dwelling ; but the stranger opened his knapsack, took out a little
box, and said that he had a salve there which would immediately make
her leg whole and strong, so that she could walk home herself, as if she
had never broken her leg at all. But for that he required that she should
give him the three rods which she carried in her apron.

“That would be paying well!” said the old woman, and she nodded
her head in a strange way. She did not like to give away the rods, but
then it was not agreeable to lie there with a broken leg. So she gave
him the wands; and as soon as he had only rubbed the ointment on her
jeg, the old mother arose, and walked much better than before—such
was the power of this ointment. But then it was not to be bought at
the chemist’s.

“ What do you want with the rods ?” John asked his travelling com-

anion.
Pe They are three capital fern brooms,” replied he. “TI like those verr
much, for I am a whimsical fellow.”

And they went on a good way.

“See how the sky is becoming overcast,” said John, pointing straight
before them. “ Those are terribly thick clouds.”

E



50 Stories for the Household.

“No,” replied his travelling companion, “those are not clouds, they
are mountains—the great glorious mountains, on which one gets quite
up over the clouds, and into the free air. Believe me, it is delicious!
To-morrow we shall certainly be far out into the world.”

But that was not so near as it looked; they had to walk for a whole
day-before they came to the mountains, where the black woods grew
straight up towards heaven, and there were stones almost as big as a
whole town. It might certainly be hard work to get quite across them,
and for that reason John and his comrade went into the inn to rest them-
selves well, and gather strength for the morrow’s journey.

Down in the great common room in the inn many guests were assem-
bled, for a man was there exhibiting a puppet-show. He had just put
up his little theatre, and the people were sitting round to see the play.
Quite in front a fat butcher had taken his seat in the very best place ;
his great bulldog, who looked very much inclined to bite, sat at his side,
and made big eyes, as all the rest were doing too.

Now the play began ; and it was a very nice play, with a king and a
queen in it; they sat upon a beautiful throne, and had gold crowns on
their heads and long trains to their clothes, for their means admitted of
that. The prettiest of wooden dolls with glass eyes and great mous-
taches stood at all the doors, and opened and shut them so that fresh air
might come into the room. It was a very pleasant play, and not at all
mournful. But—goodness knows what the big bulldog can have been
thinking of !—just as the queen stood up and was walking across the
boards, as the fat butcher did not hold him, he made a spring upon the
stage, and seized the queen round her slender waist so that it cracked
again. It was quite terrible!

The poor man who managed the play was very much frightened and
quite sorrowful about his queen, for she was the daintiest little doll he
possessed, and now the ugly bulldog had bitten off her head. But after-
wards, when the people went away, the stranger said that he would put
her to rights again ; and then he brought out his little box, and rubbed
the doll with the ointment with which he had cured the old woman when
she broke her leg. As soon as the doll had been rubbed, she was whole
again; yes, she could even move all her limbs by herself; it was no
longer necessary to pull her by her string. The doll was like a living
person, only that she could not speak. The man who had the little
puppet-show was very glad, now he had not to hold this doll any more.
She could dance by herself, and none of the others could do that.

When night came on, and all the people in the inn had gone to bed,
there was some one who sighed so fearfully, and went on doing it so long,
that they all got up to see who this could be. The man who had shown
the play went to his little theatre, for it was there that somebody was
sighing. All the wooden dolls lay mixed together, the king and all his
followers ; and it was they who sighed so pitiably, and stared with their
glass eyes ; for they wished to be rubbed a little as the queen had been,
so that they might be able to move by themselves. The queen at once
sank on her knees, and stretched forth her beautiful crown, as if she



The Travelling Companion. 51

begged, “Take this from me, but rub my husband and my courtiers !”
Then the poor man, the proprietor of the little theatre and the dolls,
could not refrain from weeping, for he was really sorry for them. He
immediately promised the travelling companion that he would give him
all the money he should receive the next evening for the representation
if the latter would only anoint four or five of his dolls. But the comrade
said he did not require anything at all but the sword the man wore by
his side ; and, on receiving this, he anointed six of the dolls, who imme-
diately began to dance so gracefully that all the girls, the living human
girls, fell a dancing too. The coachman and the cook danced, the waiter
and the chambermaid, and all the strangers, and the fire-shovel and
tongs; but these latter fell down just as they made their first leaps.
Yes, it was a merry night!



THE BULLDOG WORRIES THE PUPPET.

Next morning John went away from them all with his travelling com-
panion, up on to the high mountains, and through the great pine woods.
They came so high up that the church steeples under them looked at
last like little blueberries among all the green ; and they could see very
far, many, many miles away, where they had never been. So much
splendour in the lovely world John had never seen at one time before.
And the sun shone warm in the fresh blue air, and among the mountains
he could hear the huntsmen blowing their horns so gaily and sweetly
that tears came into his eyes, and he could not help calling out, “ How
kind has Heaven been to us all, to give us all the splendour that is in
this world !”

The travelling companion also stood there with folded hands, and
looked over the forest and the towns into the warm sunshine. At the
same time there arose lovely sounds over their heads: they looked up,
and a great white swan was soaring in the air, and singing as they had

HQ



52 Stories for the Household.

never heard a bird sing till then. But the song became weaker and
weaker; he bowed his head and sank quite slowly down at their feet,
where he lay dead, the beautiful bird ! ;

“Tho such splendid wings,” said the travelling companion, “so white
and large, as those which this bird has, are worth money ; I will take
them with me. Do you see that it was good I got a sabre ?”

And so, with one blow, he cut off both the wings of the dead swan,
for he wanted to keep them.

They now travelled for many, many miles over the mountains, till at
last they saw a great town before them with hundreds of towers, which
glittered like silver in the sun. In the midst of the town was a splen-
did marble palace, roofed with pure red gold. And there the King lived.

John and the travelling companion would not go into the town at
once, but remained in the inn outside the town, that they might dress
themselves; for they wished to look nice when they came out into the
streets. The host told them that the King was a very good man, who
never did harm toany one; but. his daughter, yes, goodness preserve us!
she was a bad Princess. She possessed beauty enough—no one could
be so pretty and so charming as she was—but of what use was that ?
She was a wicked witch, through whose fault many gallant Princes had
lost their lives. She had given permission to all men to seek her hand.
Any one might come, be he Prince or beggar : it was all the same to her.
He had only to guess three things she had just thought of, and about
which she questioned him. If he could do that she would marry him,
and he was to be King over the whole country when her father should
die; but if he could not guess the three things, she caused him to be
hanged or to have his head cut off! Her father, the old King, was very
sorry about it; but he could not forbid her to be so wicked, because he
had once said that he would have nothing to do with her lovers; she
might do as she liked. Every time a Prince came, and was to guess to
gain the Princess, he was unable to do it, and was hanged or lost his
head. He had been warned in time, you see, and might have given over
his wooing. The old King was so sorry for all this misery and woe, that
he used to lie on his knees with all his soldiers for a whole day in every
year, praying that the Princess might become good; but she would not,
by any means. The old women who drank brandy used to colour it
quite black before they drank it, they were in such deep mourning—and.
they certainly could not do more.

“The ugly Princess!’’ said John; “she ought really to have the rod;
that would do her good. If I were only the old King she should be
punished ! ”

Then they heard the people outside shouting “ Hurrah!” The Prin-
cess came by; and she was really so beautiful that all the people forgot
Aow wicked she was, and that is why they cried “Hurrah!” Twelve
beautiful virgins, all in white silk gowns, and each with a golden tulip
in her hand, rode on coal-black steeds at her side. The Princess herself
had a snow-white horse, decked with diamonds and rubies. Her riding-
habit was all of cloth of gold, and the whip she held in her hand looked



The Travelling Companion. 53

like a sunbeam; the golden crown on her head was just like little stars
out of the sky, and her mantle was sewn together out oftiore than a
thousand beautiful butterflies’ wings. In spite of this, she:herself was
much more lovely than all her clothes.

When John saw her, his face became as red as a drop of blood, and
he could hardly utter a word. The Princess looked just like the beau-
tiful lady with the golden crown, of’ whom he had dreamt on the night
when his father died. He found her so enchanting that he could not
help loving her greatly. It could not be true that sbe was a wicked
witch, who caused people to be hanged or beheaded if they could not
guess the riddles she put to them.





JOHN AND HIS COMPANION SEE TIIE PRINCESS RIDING BY.

“Every one has permission to aspire to her hand, even the poorest
beggar. I will really go to the castle, for I cannot help doing it!”

They all told him not to attempt it, for certainly he would fare as all
the rest had done. His travelling companion too tried to dissuade him ;
but John thought it would end well. He brushed his shoes and his
coat, washed his face and his hands, combed his nice fair hair, and then
went quite alone into the town and to the palace.

“ Come in!” said the old King, when John knocked at the door. |

John opened it, and the old King came towards him in a dressing-.
gown and embroidered slippers ; he had the crown on his head, and the



54: Stories for the Household.

sceptre in one hand and the orb in the other. “ Wait a little!” said
he, and put the orb under his arm, so that he could reach out his hand
to John. But as soon as be learned that his visitor was a suitor, he
began to weep so violently that both the sceptre and the orb fell to the
ground, and he was obliged to wipe his eyes with his dressing-gown. Poor
old King! ~

“ Give it up!” said he. “ You will fare badly, as all the others have
done. Well, you shall see!”

Then he led him out into the Princess’s pleasure garden. There was

-a terrible sight! In every tree there hung three or four Kings’ sons who
had wooed the Princess, but had not been able to guess the riddles she
proposed to them. Each time that the breeze blew all the skeletons
rattled, so that the little birds were frightened, and never dared to come
into the garden. All the flowers were tied up to human bones, and in
the flower-pots skulls stood and grinned. That was certainly a strange
garden for a Princess.

“Here you see it,” said the old King. ‘It will chance to you as it
has chanced to all these whom you see here; therefore you had better
give it up. You will really make me unhappy, for I take these things
very much to heart.”

John kissed the good old King’s hand, and said it would go well, for
that he was quite enchanted with the beautiful Princess.

Then the Princess herself came riding into the courtyard, with all
her ladies; and they went out to her and wished her good morning.
She was beautiful to look at, and she gave John her hand. And he
cared much more for her then than before—she could certainly not bea
wicked witch, as the people asserted. Then they betook themselves to
the hall, and the little pages waited upon them with preserves and.
gingerbread nuts. But the old King was quite sorrowful; he could not
eat anything at all. Besides, gingerbread nuts were too hard for bim.

Tt was settled that John should come to the palace again the next
morning ; then the judges and the whole council would be assembled,
and would hear how he succeeded with his answers. If it went well,
he should come twice more; but no one had yet come who had suc-
ceeded in guessing right the first time; and if he did not manage better
than they he must die.

John was aot at all anxious as to how he should fare.. On the con-
trary, he was merry, thought only of the beautiful Princess, and felt
quite certain that he should be helped; but how he did not know, and
preferred not to think of it. He danced along on the road returning
to the inn, where his travelling companion was waiting for him,

John could not leave off telling how polite the Princess had been to
him, and how beautiful she was. He declared he already longed for
the next day, when he was to go into the palace and try his luck in
guessing.

But the travelling companion shook his head and was quite down-
cast. “Tam so fond of you!” said he. “We might have been together
a long time yet, and now I am to lose you already! You poor dear



The Travelling Companion. 55

John! Ishould like to ery, but I will not disturb your merriment on
the last evening, perhaps, we shall ever spend together. We will be
merry, very merry! To-morrow, when you are gone, I can weep un-
Aisturbed.”

All the people in the town had heard directly that a new suitor for
the Princess had arrived; and there was great sorrow on that account.
The theatre remained closed; the women who sold cakes tied bits of
crape round their sugar men, and the King and the priests were on
their knees in the churches. There was great lamentation; for John
would not, they all thought, fare better than the other suitors had fared.

Towards evening the travelling companion mixed a great bowl of
punch, and said to John, ‘ Now we will be very merry, and drink to
the health of the Princess.” But when John had drunk two glasses,
he became so sleepy that he found it impossible to keep his eyes open,
and he sank into a deep sleep. The travelling companion lifted him very
gently from his chair, and laid him in the bed; and when it grew to be
dark night, he took the two great wings which he had cut off the swan,
and bound them to his own shoulders. Then he put in his pocket the
longest of the rods he had received from the old woman who had fallen
and broken her leg; and he opened the window and flew away over the
town, straight towards the palace, where he seated himself in a corner
under the window which looked into the bed-room of the Princess.

All was quiet in the whole town. Now the clock struck a quarter to
twelve, the window was opened, and the Princess came out in a long
white cloak, and with black wings, and flew away across the town to a
great mountain. But the travelling companion made himself invisible,
so that she could not see him at all, and. flew behind her, and whipped
the Princess with his rod, so that the blood almost. came wherever he
struck. Oh, that was a voyage through the air! The wind caught her
cloak, so that it spread out on all sides like a great sail, and the moon
shone through it.

“ How it hails! how it hails!” said the Princess at every blow she
got from the rod; and it served her right. At last she arrived at the
mountain, and knocked there. There was a rolling like thunder, and
the mountain opened, and the Princess went in. The travelling com-
panion followed her, for no one could see him—he was invisible. They
went through a great long passage, where the walls shone in quite a
‘peculiar way: there were more thanathousand glowing spiders running
up and down the walls and gleaming like fire. Then they came into a
great hall built of silver and gold; flowers as big as sunflowers, red and
blue, shone on the walls; but no one could pluck these flowers, for the
stems were ugly poisonous snakes, and the flowers were streams of fire
pouring out of their mouths. The whole ceiling was covered with
shining glowworms and sky-blue bats, flapping their thin wings. It
looked quite terrific! In the middle of the floor was a throne, carried
by four skeleton horses, with harness of fiery red spiders ; the throne
itself was of milk-white glass, and the cushions were little black mice,
biting each other’s tails. Above it was a canopy of pink spider’s web,



56 Stories for the Household.

trimmed with the prettiest little green flies, which gleamed like jewels.
On the throne sat an old magician, with a crown on his ugly head and
asceptre in his hand. He kissed the Princess on the forehead, made
her sit down beside him on the costly throne, and then the music began.
Great black grasshoppers played on jews’-harps, and the owl beat her
wings upon her body, because she hadn’tadrum. That was a strange
concert! Little black goblins with a Jack-o’-lantern light on their caps
danced about in the hall. But no one could see the travelling com-
panion: he had placed himself just behind the throne, and heard and
saw everything. The courtiers, who now came in, were very grand and
noble; but he who could see it all knew very well what it all meant.
They were nothing more than broomsticks with heads of cabbages on
them, which the magician had animated by his power, and to whom he
had given embroidered clothes. But that did not matter, for, you see,
they were only wanted for show. \

After there had been a little dancing, the Princess told the magician
that she had a new suitor, and therefore she inquired of him what she
should think of to ask the suitor when he should come to-morrow to
the palace.

“ Tisten!” said the magician, “I will tell you that: you must choose

- something very easy, for then he won’t think of it. Think of one of
your shoes. That he will not guess. Let him have his head cut off:
but don’t forget, when you come to me to-morrow night, to bring me
his eyes, for I’il eat them.”

The Princess courtesied very low, and said she would not forget the
eyes. The magician opened the mountain, and she flew home again;
but the travelling companion followed her, and beat her again so hard
with the rod that she sighed quite deeply about the heavy hail-storm,
and hurried as much as she could to get back into the bed-room through

_ the open window. The travelling companion, for his part, flew back to
the inn, where John was still asleep, took off his wings, and then lay
down upon the bed, for he might well be tired.

It was quite early in the morning when John awoke. The travelling
companion also got up, and said he had had a wonderful dream in the
night, about the Princess and her shoe; and ‘he therefore begged John
to ask if the Princess had not thought about her shoe. For it was this
he had heard from the magician in the mountain.

“T may just as well ask about that as about anything else,” said John.
“Perhaps it is quite right, what you have dreamed. But I will bid you
farewell; for, if I guess wrong, I shall never see you more.”

Then they embraced each other, and John went into the town and to
the palace. The entire hall was filled with people: the judges sat in
their arm-chairs and had eider-down pillows behind their heads, for they
had a great deal to think about. The old King stood up, and wiped his
eyes with a white pocket handkerchief. Now the Princess came in.
She was much more beautiful than yesterday, and bowed to all ina very
affable manner; but to John she gave her hand, and said, ‘Good morn-
ing to you.”



The Travelling Companion. 57

Now John was to guess what she bad thought of. Oh, how lovingly

- She looked at him! But as soon as she heard the single word “ shoe”

pronounced, she became as white as chalk in the face, and trembled all
over. But that availed her nothing, for John had guessed right !

- Wonderful! How glad the old King was! He threw a somersault
beautiful to behold. And all the people clapped their hands in honour of
him and of John, who had guessed right the first time!

The travelling companion was very glad too, when he heard how well
matters had gone. But John felt very grateful; and he was sure he
should receive help the second and third time, as he had been helped the
first. The next day he was to guess again.

The evening passed just like that of yesterday. While John slept the
travelling companion flew behind the Princess out to the mountain, and
beat her even harder than the time before, for now he had taken two
rods. No one saw him, and he heard everything. The Princess was to
think of her glove ; and this again he told to John as if it had been a
dream. Thus John could guess well, which caused great rejoicing in
the palace. The whole court threw somersaults, just as they had seen
the King do the first time; but the Princess lay on the sofa, and would
not say a single word. Now, the question was, if John could guess
properly the third time. If he succeeded, he was to have the beautiful
Princess and inherit the whole kingdom after the old King’s death. If
he failed, he was to lose his life, and the magician would eat his beau-
tiful blue eyes,

That evening John went early to bed, said his prayers, and went to
sleep quite quietly. But the travelling companion bound his wings to
his back and his sword by his side, and took all three rods with him,
and so flew away to the palace.

Jt was a very dark night. The wind blew so hard that the tiles flew
off from the roofs, and the trees in the garden where the skeletons hung
bent like reeds before the storm. The lightning flashed out every
minute, and the thunder rolled just as if it were one peal lasting the
whole night. Now the window opened, and the Princess flew out. She
was as pale as death; but she laughed at the bad weather, and declared
it was not bad enough yet. And her white cloak fluttered in the wind
like a great sail; but the travelling companion beat her with the three
rods, so that the blood dripped upon the ground, and at last she could
scarcely fly any farther. At length, however, she arrived at the moun-
tain.

“Tt hails and blows dreadfully !” she said. “I have never been out in
such weather.”

“One may have too much of a good thing,” said the magician. “I
shall think of something of which he has never thought, or he must be
a greater conjuror than I. But now we will be merry.” And he took
the Princess by the hands, and they danced about with all the little
goblins and Jack-o’-lanterns that were in the room. The red spiders
jumped just as merrily up and down the walls: it looked as if fiery
flowers were spurting out. The owl played the drum, the crickets piped,



58 Stories for the Household.

and the black grasshoppers played on the jew’s-harp. It was a merry
ball.

When they had danced long enough the Princess was obliged to go
home, for she might be missed in the palace. The magician said he would
accompany her, then they would have each other’s company on the way.

Then they flew away into the+bad weather, and the travelling com-
panion broke his three rods across their backs. Never had the magician
been out in such a hail-storm. In front of the palace he said good-bye
to the Princess, and whispered to her at the-same time, “Think of
my head.” But the travelling companion heard it; and just at the
moment when the Princess slipped through the window into her bed-
room, and the magician was about to turn back, he seized him by his
long beard, and with his sabre cut off the ugly conjuror’s head just by
the shoulders, so that the magician did not even see him. The body he
threw out into the sea to the fishes; but the head he only dipped into
the water, and then tied it in his silk handkerchief, took it with him
into the inn, and then lay down to sleep.

Next morning he gave John the handkerchief, and told him not to
untie it until the Princess asked him to tell her thoughts.

There were so many people in the great hall of the palace, that they
stood as close together as radishes bound together in a bundle. “The
council sat in the chairs with the soft pillows, and the old King had new
clothes on; the golden crown and sceptre had been polished, and every-
thing looked quite stately. But the Princess was very pale, and had
a coal-black dress on, as if she were going to be buried.

“Of what have I thought ?” she asked John. And he immediately
untied the handkerchief, and was himself quite frightened when he saw
the ugly magician’s head. All present shuddered, for it was terrible to
look upon; but the Princess sat just like a statue, and would not utter
a single word. At length she stood up, and gave John her hand, for he
had guessed well. She did not look at any one, only sighed aloud, and
said, “ Now you are my lord !—this evening we will hold our wedding.”

“T like that!” cried the old King. “Thus I will have it.”

All present cried “ Hurrah!” The soldiers’ band played music in the
streets, the bells rang, and the.cake-women took off the black crape from
their sugar dolls, for joy now reigned around ; three oxen roasted whole,
and stuffed with ducks and fowls, were placed in the middle of the market,
that every one might cut himself a slice; the fountains ran with the
best wine ; and whoever bought a penny cake at a baker’s got six biscuits
into the bargain, and the biscuits had raisins in them.

In the evening the whole town was illuminated; the soldiers fired off
the cannon, and the boys let off crackers; and there was eating and
drinking, clinking of glasses, and dancing, in the palace. All the noble
gentlemen and pretty ladies danced with each other, and one could hear,
a long distance off, how they sang—

“Here are many pretty girls, who all love to dance;
See, they whirl like spiuning-wheels, retire and advance.
Turn, my pretty maiden, do, till the sole falls from your shoe.”



















DEATH OF THE MAGICIAN,

But still the Princess was a witch, and did not like John. That
occurred to the travelling companion; and so he gave John three feathers
out of the swan’s wings, and a little bottle with a few drops in it, and
told John that he must put a large tub of water before the Princess’s
bed; and when the Princess was about to get into bed, he should give
her a little push, so that she should fall into the tub; and then he must
dip her three times, after he had put in the feathers and poured in the
drops; she would then lose her magic qualities, and love him very much.

John did all that the travelling companion had advised him to do.
The Princess screamed out loudly while he dipped her in the tub, and
struggled under his hands in the form of a great coal-black swan with
fiery eyes. When she came up the second time above the water, the
swan was white, with the exception of a black ring round her neck.
John let the water.close for the third time over the bird, and in the
same moment it was again changed to the beautiful Princess, She was



60 Stories for the Household.

more beautiful even than before, and thanked him, with tears in her
lovely eyes, that he had freed her from the magic spell.

The next morning the old King came with his whole court, and then
there was great congratulation till late into the day. Last of all came
the travelling companion ; he had his staff in his hand and his knapsack
on his back. John kissed him many times, and said he must not depart,
he must remain with the friend of whose happiness he was the cause.
But the travelling companion shook his head, and said mildly and kindly,

“No, now my timeisup. I have only paid my debt. Do you remem-
ber the dead man whom the bad people wished to injure? You gave
all you possessed in order that he might have rest in his grave. I am
that man.”

And in the same moment he vanished.

The wedding festivities lasted a whole month. John and the Princess
loved each other truly, and the old King passed many pleasant days, and
let their little children ride on his knees and play with his sceptre. And
John afterwards became King over the whole country.

THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES.

Many years ago there lived an Emperor, who cared so enormously. for
new clothes that he spent all his money upon them, that he might be
very fine. He did not care about his soldiers, nor about the theatre,
and only liked to drive out and show his new clothes. Ie had a coat
for every hour of the day ; and just as they say of a king, “ He is in
council,” one always said of him, “The Emperor is in the wardrobe.”

In the great city in which he lived it was always very merry ; every day
a auumber of strangers arrived there. One day two cheats came: they
gave themselves out ag weavers, and declared that they could weave the
finest stuff any one could imagine. Not only were their colours and
patterns, they said, uncommonly beautiful, but the clothes made of the
stuff possessed the wonderful quality that they became invisible to any
one who was unfit for the office he held, or was incorrigibly stupid.

“Those would be capital clothes!” thought the Emperor. “If I wore
those, I should be able to find out what men in my empire are not fit
for the places they have; I could distinguish the clever from the stupid.
Yes, the stuff must be woven for me directly !”

And he gave the two cheats a great deal of cash in hand, that they
might begin their work at once.

As for them, they put up two looms, and pretended to be working;
but they had nothing at all on their looms. They at once demanded the
finest silk and the costliest gold; this they put into their own pockets,
and worked at the empty looms till late into the night.

“T should like to know how far they have got on with the stuff,”
thought the Emperor. But he felt quite uncomfortable when he

































THE EMPEROK INSPECTING THE INVISIBLE STUFF.

thought that those who were not fit for their offices could not see it.
He believed, indeed, that he had nothing to fear for himself, but yet he
preferred first to send some one else to see how matters stood. All the
people in the whole city knew what peculiar power the stuff possessed,
and all were anxious to see how bad or how stupid their neighbours
were.

“T will send my honest old Minister to the weavers,” thought the
Emperor. “He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he has sense,
and no one understands his office better than he.”

Now the good old Minister went out into the hall where the twe
cheats sat working at the empty looms.

“Mercy preserve us!” thought the old Minister, and he opened his
eyes wide. “I cannot see anything at all!” But he did not say this.

Both the cheats begged him to be kind enough to come nearer, and
asked if he did not approve of the colours and the pattern. Then they



62 Stories for the Household.

pointed to the empty loom, and the poor old Minister went on opening
his eyes; but he could see nothing, for there was nothing to see.

“ Mercy !”” thought he, “ can I indeed be so stupid? I never thought
that, and not a soul must know it. Am I not fit for my office P—No,
it will never do for me to tell that I could not see the stuff.”

“Do you say nothing to it?” said one of the weavers.

“ Oh, it is charming,—quite enchanting !”” answered the old Minister,
as he peered through his spectacles. “ What a fine pattern, and what
colours! Yes, I shall tell the Emperor that I am very much pleased
with it.”

“Well, we are glad of that,” said both the weavers; and then they
named the colours, and explained the strange pattern. The old Minister
listened attentively, that he might be able to repeat it when the Emperor
eame. And he did so. ‘

Now the cheats asked for more money, and more silk and gold, which
they declared they wanted for weaving. They put all into their own
pockets, and not a thread was put upon the loom; but they continued
to work at the empty frames as before.

The Emperor soon sent again, dispatching another honest statesman,
to see how the weaving was going on, and if the stuff would soon be
ready. He fared just like the first: he looked and looked, but, as there
was nothing to be seen but the empty looms, he could see nothing.

“Ts not that a pretty piece of stuff?” asked the two cheats; and
they displayed and explained the handsome pattern which was not there
at all.

“Tam not stupid!” thought the man,—“it must be my good office,
for which I am not fit. It is funny enough, but I must not let it be
noticed.”” And so he praised the stuff which he did not see, and ex-
pressed his pleasure at the beautiful colours and the charming pattern.
“Yes, it is enchanting,’ he said to the Emperor.

All the people in the town were talking of the gorgeous stuff. The
Emperor wished to see it himself while it was still upon the loom.
With a whole crowd of chosen men, among whom were also the two
honest statemen who had already been there, he went to the two cunning
cheats, who were now weaving with might and main without fibre or
thread.

“Ts that not splendid ? ” said the two old statesmen, who had already
been there once. “ Does not your Majesty remark the pattern and the
colours?” And then they pointed to the empty loom, for they thought
that the others could see the stuff.

“What’s this?” thought the Emperor. “I can see nothing at all!
That is terrible. Am TI stupid? Am I not fit to be Emperor? That
would be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me.—Oh, it ig
very pretty!” he said aloud. “Tt has our exalted approbation.” And
he nodded in a contented way, and gazed at the empty loom, for he
would not say that he saw nothing. The whole suite whom he had with
him looked and looked, and saw nothing, any more than the rest; but,
like the Emperor, they said, “That is pretty !’? and counselled him to



The Emperor's New Clothes. 63

wear these splendid new clothes for the first time at the great procession
that was presently to take place. “It is splendid, tasteful, excellent!”
went from mouth to mouth. On all sides there seemed to be genera.
rejoicing, and the Emperor gave the cheats the title of Imperial Court
Weavers.

The whole night before the raorning on which the procession was to
take place the cheats were up, and had lighted more than sixteen candles.
The people could see that they were hard at work, completing the Em-
peror’s new clothes. They pretended to take the stuff down from the
loom; they made cuts in the air with great scissors; they sewed with
needles without thread; and at last they said, “ Now the clothes are
ready !”

The Emperor came himself with his noblest cavaliers; and the two
cheats lifted up one arm as if they were holding something, and said,
“ See, here are the trousers! here is the coat! here is the cloak!” and
soon. “It is as light as a spider’s web: one would think one had no-
thing on; but that is just the beauty of it.”

“ Yes,” said all the cavaliers; but they could not see anything, for
nothing was there.

“Does your Imperial Majesty please to condescend to undress?” said
the cheats ; “then we will put you on the new clothes here in front of
the great mirror.”

The Emperor took off his clothes, and the cheats pretended to put on
him each new garment as it was ready ; and the Emperor turned round
and round before the mirror.

“Oh, how well they look! how capitally they fit!” said all. “ What
a pattern! what colours! That zs a splendid dress!”

“They are standing outside with the canopy which is to be borne
above your Majésty in the procession!” announced the head master of
the ceremonies.

“Well, I am ready,” replied the Emperor. “Does it not suit me
well?” And then he turned again to the mirror, for he wanted it to
appear as if he contemplated his adornment with great interest.

The chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stooped down with
their hands towards the floor, just as if they were picking up the mantle ;
then they pretended to be holding something up in the air, They did
not dare to let it be noticed that they saw nothing.

So the Emperor went in procession under the rich canopy, and every
one in the streets said, “ How incomparable are the Emperor’s new
clothes! what a train he has to his mantle! how it fits him!” No one
would let it be perceived that he could see nothing, for that would have
shown that he was not fit for his office, or was very stupid. No clothes
of the Emperor’s had ever had such a success as these. .

“But he has nothing on!” a little child cried out at last.

* Just hear what that innocent says!” said the father; and one whis-
pered to another what the child had said.

“But he has nothing on!” said the whole people at length. That
touched the Emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right; but he



64 Stories for the Household.

thought within himself, “I must go through with the procession.” And
the chamberlains held on tighter than ever, and carried the train which
did not exist at all.

THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.
I.
A Beginning.

Iw a house in Copenhagen, not far from the King’s New Market, a
eompany—a very large company—had assembled, having received invi-
tations to an evening party there. One-half of the company already
sat at the card tables, the other half awaited the result of the hostess’s
question, “ What shall we do now?” They had progressed so far, and
the entertainment began to take some degree of animation. Among
other subjects the conversation turned upon the Middle Ages. Some
considered that period much more interesting than our own times: yes,
Councillor Knap defended this view so zealously that the lady of the
house went over at once to his side; and both loudly exclaimed against
Oersted’s treatise in the Almanac on old and modern times, in which
the chief advantage is given to our own day. The councillor considered
the times of the Danish King Hans as the noblest and happiest age.

While the conversation takes this turn, only interrupted for a momeut
by the arrival of a newspaper, which contained nothing worth reading,
we will betake ourselves to the antechamber, where the cloaks, sticks,
and goloshes had found a place. Here sat two maids—an old one and
a young one. One would have thought they had come to escort their
mistresses home; but, on looking at them more closely, the observer
could see that they were not ordinary servants: their shapes were too
graceful for that, their complexions too delicate, and the cut of their
dresses too uncommon. They were two fairies. The younger was not
Fortune, but lady’s-maid to one of her ladies of the bed-chamber, who
earry about the more trifling gifts of Fortune. The elder one looked
somewhat more gloomy—she was Care, who always goes herself in her
own exalted person to perform her business, for thus she knows that it
is well done.

They were telling each other where they had been that day. The
messenger. of Fortune had only transacted a few unimportant affairs, as,
for instance, she had preserved a new bonnet from a shower of rain, had
procured an honest man a bow from a titled Nobody, and so on; but
what she had still to relate was something quite extraordinary.

“T can likewise tell,” said she, “that to-day is my birthday; and in
honour of it a pair of goloshes has been entrusted to me, which I am to



The Goloshes of Fortune. 65

bring to the human race. These goloshes have the property that every
one who puts them on is at once transported to the time and place in
which he likes best to be—every wish in reference to time, place, and
oor is at once fulfilled ; and so for once man can be happy here
elow!”
‘‘ Believe me,” said Care, “he will be very unhappy, and will bless
the moment when he can get rid of the goloshes again.”




a
i.















THE GOLOSHES LEFT AT THE DOOR.

“What are you thinking of ?” retorted the other. ‘“ Now I shali
put them at the door. Somebody will take them by mistake, and
become the happy one!”

You see, that was the dialogue they held.

II.
What happened to the Councillor.

Tt was late. Councillor Knap, lost in contemplation of the times of
King Hans, wished to get home; and fate willed that instead of his own
goloshes he should put on those of Fortune, and thus went out into
East Street. But by the power of the goloshes he had been put back
three hundred years—into the days of King Hans; and therefore he
put his foot into mud and mire in the street, because in those days
there was not any pavement.

F



66 Stories for the Household.

“Why, this is horrible—how dirty it is here!” said the councillor.
“The good pavement is gone, and all the lamps are put out.”

The moon did not yet stand high enough to give much light, and the
air was tolerably thick, so that all objects seemed to melt together in
the darkness. At the next corner a lamp hung before a picture of the
Madonna, but the light it gave was as good as none; he only noticed it
when he stood just under it, and his eyes fell upon the painted figure.

“That is probably a museum of art,” thought he, “ where they have
forgotten to take down the sign.”

A couple of men in the costume of those past days went by him.

“How they look!” he said. “They must come from a masquerade.”

Suddenly there was a sound of drums and fifes, and torches gleamed
brightly. The councillor started. And now he saw a strange proces-
sion go past. First came a whole troop of drummers, beating their
instruments very dexterously; they were followed by men-at-arms,
with longbows and crossbows. The chief man in the procession was a
clerical lord. The astonished councillor asked what was the meaning
of this, and who the man might be.

“That is the Bishop of Zealand.”

“What in the world has come to the bishop ?” said the councillor,
with a sigh, shaking his head. “ This could not possibly be the bishop!”

Ruminating on this, and without looking to the right or to the left,
the councillor went through the East Street, and over the Highbridge
Place. The bridge which led to the Palace Square was not to be found;
he perceived the shore of a shallow water, and at length encountered
two people, who sat in a boat.

“Do you wish to be ferried over to the Holm, sir ?” they asked.

“To the Holm!” repeated the councillor, who did not know, you
see, in what period he was. “I want to go to Christian’s Haven and to
Little Turf Street.”

The men stared at him.

“ Pray tell me where the bridge is?” said he. “It is shameful that
no lanterns are lighted here; and it is as muddy, too, as if one were
walking in a marsh.” But the longer he talked with the boatmen the
less could he understand them. “I don’t understand your Bornholm.
talk,” he at last cried, angrily, and turned his back upon them. He
could not find the bridge, nor was there any paling. “It is quite
scandalous how things look here!” he said—never had he thought his
own times so miserable as this evening. “TI think it will be best if I
take a cab,” thought he. But where were the cabs ?—not one was to
be seen. “I shall have to go back to the King’s New Market, where
there are many carriages standing, otherwise I shall never get as far as
Christian’s Haven.”

Now he went towards East Street, and had almost gone through it
when the moon burst forth.

“What in the world have they been erecting here?” he exclaimed,
when he saw the East Gate, which in those days stood at the end of
Bast Street.



























THE COUNCILLOR IS ALARMED.

In the meantime, however, he found a passage open, and through this
he came out upon our New Market; but it was a broad meadow. Single
bushes stood forth, and across the meadow ran a great canal or stream.
A few miserable wooden booths for Dutch skippers were erected on the
opposite shore.

“Hither I behold a Fata Morgana, or I am tipsy,” sighed the coun-
cillor. “ What can that be? what can that be?”

He turned back, in the full persuasion that he must be ill. In walk-
ing up the street he looked more closely at the houses; most of them
were built of laths, and many were only thatched with straw.

“No, I don’t feel well at all!” he lamented. “And yet I only drank
one glass of punch! But I cannot stand that; and besides, it was very
foolish to give us punch and warm salmon. I shall mention that to
our hostess—the agent’s lady. Suppose I go back, and say how I feel ?
But that looks ridiculous, and it is a question if they will be up still.”

He looked for the house, but could not find it.

“ That is dreadful!” he cried ; “ I don’t know East Street again. Not

Fa



68 Stories for the Household.

one shop is to be seen; old, miserable, tumble-down huts are all I see,
as if I were at Roeskilde or Ringstedt. Oh, Iam ill! It’s no use to
make ceremony. But where in all the world is the agent’s house? It
is no longer the same; but within there are people up still. I certainly
must be ill!”

He now reached a half-open door, where the light shone through a
chink. It was a tavern of that date—a kind of beer-house. The room
had the appearance of a Dutch wine shop ; a number of people, consist-
ing of seamen, citizens of Copenhagen, and a few scholars, sat in deep
conversation over their jugs, and paid little attention to the new comer.

“J beg pardon,” said the councillor to the hostess, “but I feel very
unwell; would you let them get me a fly to go to Christian’s Haven?”

The woman looked at him and shook her head; then she spoke to
him in German.

The councillor now supposed that she did not understand Danish,
so he repeated his wish in the German language. This, and his cos-
tume, convinced the woman that he was a foreigner. She soon under-
stood that he felt unwell, and therefore brought him a jug of water.
It certainly tasted a little of sea water, though it had been taken from
the spring outside.

The councillor leaned his head on his hand, drew a deep breath, and
thought of all the strange things that were happening about him.

“Ys that to-day’s number of the ‘Day’ ?” he said, quite mechanically,
for he saw that the woman was putting away a large sheet of paper..

She did not understand what he meant, but handed him the leaf: it
was a woodeut representing a strange appearance in the air which had
been seen in the city of Cologne.

“That is very old!” said the councillor, who became quite cheerful
at sight of this antiquity. “ How did you come by this strange leaf?
That is very interesting, although the whole thing is a fable. Now-a-
days these appearances are explained to be northern lights that have
been seen; probably they arise from electricity.”

Those who sat nearest to him and heard his speech, looked at him in
surprise, and one of them rose, took off his hat respectfully, and said,
with a very grave face,

“You must certainly be a very learned man, sir!”

“Oh, no!” replied the councillor; “I can only say a word or two
about things one ought to understand.”

“ Modestia is a beautiful virtue,” said the man: “ Moreover, I must
say to your speech, ‘mihi secus videtur ;? yet I will gladly suspend my
fudiciwm.”

“ May I ask with whom I have the pleasure of speaking ?” asked the
councillor.

“T am a bachelor of theology,” replied the nan.

This answer sufficed for the councillor; the title corresponded with
the garb.

“ Certainly,” he thought, “this must be an old village schoolmaster,
a queer character, such as one finds sometimes over in Jutland.”



The Goloshes of Fortune. 69

“This is certainly not a locus docendi,” began the man; “but I beg
you to take the trouble to speak. You are doubtless well read in the
ancients ?”

“Oh, yes,” replied the councillor. “Iam fond of reading useful
old books; and am fond of the modern ones, too, with the exception of
the ‘ Every-day Stories,’ of which we have enough, in all conscience.”

“ Fivery-day Stories P”’ said the bachelor, inquiringly.

“ Yes, | mean the new romances we have now.”

“Oh!” said the man, with a smile, “they are very witty, and are
much read at court. The King is especially partial to the romance by
Messieurs Iffven and Gaudian, which talks about King Arthur and his
knights of the Round Table. He has jested about it with his noble lords.

“That I have certainly not yet read,” said the councillor: “ that must
be quite a new book published by Heiberg.”

“No,” retorted the man, “it is not published by Heiberg, but by
Godfrey von Gehmen.*

“Indeed! is he the author?” asked the councillor. “That is a very
old name: was not thaé the name of about the first printer who appeared
in Denmark ?”

“Why, he zs our first printer,” replied the man.

So far it had gone well. But now one of the men began to speak of
a pestilence which he said had been raging a few years ago: he meant
the plague of 1484. The councillor supposed that he meant the cholera,
and so the conversation went on tolerably. The Freebooters’ War of
1490 was so recent that it could not escape mention. The English
pirates had taken ships from the very wharves, said the man; and the
councillor, who was well acquainted with the events of 1801, joined in
manfully against the English. The rest of the talk, however, did not
pass over so well; every moment there was a contradiction. The good
bachelor was terribly ignorant, and the simplest assertion of the coun-
cillor seemed too bold or too fantastic. They looked at each other, and
when it became too bad, the bachelor spoke Latin, in the hope that he
would be better understood ; but it was of no use.

“ How are you now?” asked the hostess, and she plucked the coun-
cillor by the sleeve.

Now his recollection came back: in the course of the conversation he
had forgotten everything that had happened.

“Good heavens! where am 1?” he said, and he felt dizzy when he
thought of it.

“Well drink claret, mead, and Bremen beer,” cried one of the
guests, “and you shall drink with us.”

Two girls came in. One of them had on a cap of two colours. They
poured out drink and bowed: the councillor felt a cold shudder running
all down his back. ‘“ What’s that? what’s that ?” he cried; but he
was obliged to drink with them. They took possession of the good man

* The first printer ond publisher in Denmark, under King Hans.



70 Stories for the Household.

quite politely. He was in despair, and when one said that he was tipsy
he felt not the slightest doubt regarding the truth of the statement, and
only begged them to procure him a droschky. Now they thought he
was speaking Muscovite.

Never had he been in such rude vulgar company.

“ One would think the country was falling back into heathenism,” waz
his reflection. “ This is the most terrible moment of my life.”

But at the same time the idea occurred to him to bend down under
the table, and then to creep to the door. He did so; but just as he
had reached the entry the others discovered his intention. They seized
him by the feet ; and now the goloshes, to his great good fortune, came
off, and—the whole enchantment vanished.

The councillor saw quite plainly, in front of him, a lamp burning, and
behind it a great building; everything looked familiar and splendid.
It was East Street, as we know it now. He lay with his legs turned
towards a porch, and opposite to him sat the watchman asleep.

“ Good heavens! have I been lying here in the street dreaming ?” he
exclaimed. “Yes, this is East Street sure enough! how splendidly
bright and gay! It is terrible what an effect that one glass of punch
must have had on me!”

Two minutes afterwards he was sitting in a fly, which drove him out
to Christian’s Haven. He thought of the terror and anxiety he had
undergone, and praised from his heart the happy present, our own time,
which, with all its shortcomings, was far better than the period in which
he had been placed a short time before.

TIT.
The Watchman’s Adventures.

- “On my word, yonder lies a pair a goloshes!” said the watchman.
“They must certainly belong to the lieutenant who lives upstairs. They
are lying close to the door.”

The honest man would gladly have rung the bell and delivered them,
for upstairs there. was a light still burning; but he did not wish to
disturb the other people in the house, and so he let it alone.

“Tt must be very warm to have a pair of such things on,” said he.
“How nice and soft the leather is ”! They fitted his feet very well.
“ How droll it is in the world! Now, he might lie down in his warm
bed, and yet he does not! There he is pacing up and down the room.
He is a happy man! He has neither wife nor children, and every
evening he is at a party. Oh, I wish I were he, then I should be a
happy man!”

As he uttered the wish, the goloshes he had put on produced their
effect, and the watchman was transported into the body and being of
the lieutenant. Then he stood up in the room, and held a little pink
paper in his fingers, on which was a poem, a poem written by the lieu-



The Goloshes of Fortune. val

tenant himself. For who is there who has not once in his life had a
poetic moment P and at such a moment, if one writes down one’s
thoughts, there is poetry.

Yes, people write poetry when they are in love; but a prudent man
does not print such poems. The lieutenant was in love—and poor—
that ’s a triangle, or, so to speak, the half of a broken square of happi-
ness. The lieutenant felt that very keenly, and so he laid his head
against the window-frame and sighed a deep sigh.

“ The poor watchman in the street yonder is far happier than J. He
does not know what I call want. He has a home, a wife, and children,
who weep at his sorrow and rejoice at his joy. Oh! I should be happier
than I am, could I change my being for his, and pass through life with
his humble desires and hopes. Yes, he is happier than I!”









THE WATCHMAN THINKS OF GOING TO THE MOON.

In that same moment the watchman became a watchman again; for
through the power of the goloshes of Fortune he had assumed the per-
sonality of the lieutenant; but then we know he felt far less content,
and preferred to be just what he had despised a short time before. So
the watchman became a watchman again.

“That was an wely dream,” said he, “but droll enough. It seemed
to me that I was the lieutenant up yonder, and that it was not pleasant
at all. I was without the wife and the boys, who are now ready to half
stifle me with kisses.” 2

He sat down again and nodded. The dream would not go quite out
of his thoughts. He had the goloshes still on his feet. A falling star
glided down along the horizon.

“There went one,” said he, “ but for all that, there are enough left.
I should like to look at those things a little nearer, especially the moon,
for that won’t vanish under one’s hands. The student for whom my wife



72 Stories for the Household.

washes says that when we die we fly from one star to another. That’s
not true, but it would be very nice. If I could only make a little
spring up there, then my body might lie here on the stairs for all I care.”

Now there are certain assertions we should be very cautious of making
in this world, but doubly careful when we have goloshes of Fortune on
our feet. Just hear what happened to the watchman.

So far as we are concerned, we all understand the rapidity of dispatch
by steam ; we have tried it either in railways, or in steamers across the
sea. But this speed is as the crawling of the sloth or the march of the
snail in comparison with the swiftness with which light travels. That
flies nineteen million times quicker. Death is an electric shock we
receive in our hearts, and on the wings of electricity the liberated soul
flies away. The sunlight requires eight minutes and a few seconds for
a journey of more than ninety-five millions of miles; on the wings of
electric power the soul requires only a few moments to accomplish the
game flight. The space between the orbs of the universe is, for her, not
greater than, for us, the distances between the houses of our friends
dwelling in the same town and even living close together. Yet this
electric shock costs us the life of the body here below, unless, like the
watchman, we have the magic goloshes on.

In a few seconds the watchman had traversed the distance of two
hundred and sixty thousand miles to the moon, which body, as we know,
consists of a much lighter material than that of our earth, and is, as we
should say, soft as new-fallen snow. He found himself on one of the
many ring mountains with which we are familiar from Dr. Madler’s
great map of the moon. Within the ring a great bowl-shaped hollow
went down to the depth of a couple of miles. At the base of the
hollow lay a town, of whose appearance we can only form an idea by
pouring the white of an egg into a glass of water: the substance here
was just as soft as white of egg, and formed similar towers, and cupolas,
and terraces like sails, transparent and floating in the thin air. Our
earth hung over his head like a great dark red ball.

He immediately became aware of a number of beings, who were cer-
tainly what we call “men,” but their appearance was very different from
ours. If they had been put up in a row and painted, one would have
said, “ That’s a beautiful arabesque!” They had also a language, but
no one could expect that the soul of the watchman should understand
it. But the watchman’s soul did understand it, for our souls have far
greater abilities than we suppose. Does not its wonderful dramatic
talent show itself in our dreams? Then every one of our acquaintances
appears speaking in his own character and with his own voice, in a way
that not one of us could imitate in our waking hours. How does our
soul bring back to us people of whom we have not thought for many
years ? Suddenly they come into our souls with their smallest pecu-
liarities about them. In fact, it is a fearful thing, that memory which
our souls possess: it can reproduce every sin, every bad thought. And
then, it may be asked, shall we be able to give an account of every idle
word that has been in our hearts and on our lips P



The Goloshes of Fortune. 73

Thus the watchman’s soul understood the language of the people in
the moon very well. They disputed about this earth, and doubted if
it could be inhabited; the air, they asserted, must be too thick for a
sensible moon-man to live there. They considered that the moon alone
was peopled; for that, they said, was the real body in which the old-
world people dwelt. They also talked of politics.

But let us go down to the Hast Street, and see how it fared with the
body of the watchman.

He sat lifeless upon the stairs. His pike had fallen out of his hand,
and his eyes stared up at the moon, which his honest body was wonder-
ing about.

“ What’s o’clock, watchman?” asked a passer-by. But the man who
didn’t answer was the watchman. Then the passengers tweaked him
quite gently by the nose, and then he lost his balance. There lay the
body stretched out at full length—the man was dead. All his comrades
were very much frightened: dead he was, and dead he remained. It
was reported, and it was discussed, and in the morning the body was
carried out to the hospital.

That would be a pretty jest for the soul if it should chance to come
back, and probably seek its body in the Hast Street, and not find it!
Most likely it would go first to the police and afterwards to the address
office, that inquiries might be made from thence respecting the missing
goods; and then it would wander out to the hospital. But we may
console ourselves with the idea that the soul is most clever when it acts
upon its own account; it is the body that makes it stupid.

As we have said, the watchman’s body was taken to the hospital, and
brought into the washing-room; and naturally enough the first thing
they did there was to pull off the goloshes; and then the soul had to
come back. It took its way directly towards the body, and in a few
seconds there was life in the man. He declared that this had been the
most terrible night of his hfe; he would not have such feelings again,
not for a shilling; but now it was past and over.

The same day he was allowed to leave; but the goloshes remained at
the hospital.

Iv.
A Great Moment.—A very Unusual Journey.

Every one who belongs to Copenhagen knows the look of the entrance
to the Frederick’s Hospital in Copenhagen ; but as, perhaps, a few will
read this story who do not belong:to Copenhagen, it becomes necessary
to give a short description of it.

The hospital is separated from the street by a tolerably high railing,
in which the thick iron rails stand so far apart, that certain very thin
inmates are said to have squeezed between them, and thus paid their
little visits outside the premises. The part of the body most difficult
to get through was the head; and here, as it often happens in the



74: Stories for the Household.

world, small heads were the most fortunate. This will be sufficient as
an introduction.

One of the young volunteers, of whom one could only say in one
sense that he had a great head, had the watch that evening. The rain
was pouring down; but in spite of this obstacle he wanted to go out,
only for a quarter of an hour. It was needless, he thought, to tell the
porter of his wish, especially if he could slip through between the rails.
There lay the goloshes which the watchman had forgotten. It never
occurred to him in the least that they were goloshes of Fortune. They
would do him very good service in this rainy weather, and he pulled
them on. Now the question was whether he could squeeze through the
bars; till now he had never tried it. There he stood.

“T wish to goodness I had my head outside!” cried he. And imme-
diately, though his head was very thick and big, it glided easily and
quickly through. The goloshes must have understood it well; but now
the body was to slip through also, and that could not be done.

“T’m too fat,” said he. “I thought my head was the thickest. I
shan’t get through.”

Now he wanted to pull his head back quickly, but he could not
manage it: he could move his neck, but that was all. His first feeling
was one of anger, and then his spirits sank down to zero. The goloshes
of Fortune had placed him in this terrible condition, and, unfortunately,
it never occurred to him to wish himself free. No: instead of wishing,
he only strove, and could not stir from the spot. The rain poured down;
not a creature was to be seen in the street; he could not reach the gate
bell, and how was he to get loose? He foresaw that he would have to
remain here until the morning, and then they would have to send for a
blacksmith, to file through the iron bars. But such a business is not to
be done quickly. The whole charity school would be upon its legs ; the
whole sailors’ quarter close by would come up and see him standing in
the pillory ; and a fine crowd there would be.

“Hu!” he eried, “the blood ’s rising to my head, and I shall go mad!
Yes, I’m going mad! If I were free, most likely it would pass over.’

That’s what he ought to have said at first. The very moment he had
uttered the thought his head was free ; and now he rushed in, quite dazed
with the fright the goloshes of Fortune had given him. But we must
not think the whole affair was over ; there was much worse to come yet.

The night passed away, and the following day too, and nobody sent
for the goloshes. In the evening a display of oratory was to take place
in an amateur theatre in a distant street. The house was crammed ; and
among the audience was the volunteer from the hospital, who appeared
to have forgotten his adventure of the previous evening. He had the
goloshes on, for they had not been sent for; and as it was dirty in the
streets, they might do him good service. A new piece was recited: it was
called “My Aunt’s Spectacles.” These were spectacles which, when
any one put them on in a great assembly of people, made all present
look like cards, so that one could prophesy from them all that would
happen in the coming year.



-The Goloshes of Fortune. 75

The idea struck him: he would have liked to possess such a pair of
‘spectacles. If they were used rightly, they would perhaps enable the
wearer to look into people’s hearts; and that, he thought, would be more
interesting than to see what was going to happen in the next year; for
future events would be known in time, but the people’s thoughts never.

“ Now Ill look at the row of ladies and gentlemen on the first bench :
if one could look directly into their hearts! yes, that must be a hollow,
a sort of shop. How my eyes would wander about in that shop! In
every lady’s, yonder, I should doubtless find a great milliner’s warehouse: .
with this one here the shop is empty, but it would do no harm to have
it cleaned out. But would there really be such shops? Ah, yes!” he
continued, sighing, “I know one in which all the goods are first-rate,
but there’s a servant in it already; that’s the only drawback in the
whole shop! From one and another the word would be ‘ Please to step
in!’ Oh that I might only step in, like a neat little thought, and slip
through their hearts !”

That was the word of command for the goloshes. The volunteer
shrivelled up, and began to take a very remarkable journey through the
hearts of the first row of spectators. The first heart through which he
passed was that of a lady; but he immediately fancied himself in the
Orthopedic Institute, in the room where the plaster casts of deformed
limbs are kept hanging against the walls; the only difference was, that
these casts were formed in the institute when the patients came in, but
here in the heart they were formed and preserved after the good persons
had gone away. For they were casts of female friends, whose bodily
and mental faults were preserved here.

Quickly he had passed into another female heart. But this seemed
to him like a great holy church; the white dove of innocence fluttered
over the high altar. Gladly would he have sunk down on his knees; but
he was obliged to go away into the next heart. Still, however, he heard
the tones of the organ, and it seemed to him that he himself had become
another and a better man. He felt himself not unworthy to enter into
the next sanctuary, which showed itself in the form of a poor garret,
containing a sick mother. But through the window the warm sun
streamed in, and two sky-blue birds sang full of childlike joy, while
the sick mother prayed for a blessing on her daughter.

Now he crept on his hands and knees through an over-filled butcher’s
shop. There was meat, and nothing but meat, wherever he went. It
was the heart of a rich respectable man, whose name is certainly to be
found in the address book.

Now he was in the heart of this man’s wife: this heart was an old
dilapidated pigeon-house. The husband’s portrait was used as a mere
weathercock: it stood in connection with the doors, and these doors
opened and shut according as the husband turned.

Then he came into a cabinet of mirrors, such as we find in the castle
of Rosenburg; but the mirrors magnified in a great degree. In the
middle of the floor sat, like a Grand Lama, the insignificant Z of the
proprietor, astonished in the contemplation of his own greatness.



76 Stories for the Household.

Then he fancied himself transported into a narrow needle-case full of
pointed needles; and he thought, “This must decidedly be the heart of
an old maid!” But that was not the case. It was a young officer,
wearing several orders, and of whom one said, “ He’s a man of intellect
and heart.”

Quite confused was tne poor volunteer when he emerged from the
heart of the last person in the first row. He could not arrange his
thoughts, and fancied it must be his powerful imagination which had
run away with him.

“Gracious powers!” he sighed, “I must certainly have a great
tendency to go mad. It is also unconscionably hot in here: the blood is
rising to my head!”

iaivee||,
OOOOH |

a

Sa





ee





THE VOLUNTEER TRIES A BLISTER.

And now he remembered the great event of the last evening, how his
head had been caught between the iron rails of the hospital.

“That’s where I must have caught it,” thought he. “I musi do
something at once. A Russian bath might be very good. I wish I
were lying on the highest board in the bath-house.”

And there he lay on the highest board in the vapour bath; but he
was lying there in all his clothes, in boots and goloshes, and the hot drops
from the ceiling were falling on his face.

“ Wi!” he eried, and jumped down to take a plunge bath.

The attendant uttered aloud cry on seeing a person there with all his
clothes on. The volunteer had, however, enough presence of mind to
whisper to him, “It’s for a wager!” But the first thing he did when
he got into his own room was to puta big blister on the nape of his
neck, and another on his back, that they might draw out his madness.

. Next morning he had a very sore back; and that was all he had got
by the goloshes of Fortune.



The Goloshes of Fortune. 77

Vv.
The Transformation of the Copying Clerk.

The watchman, whom we surely have not yet forgotten, in the mean-
time thought of the goloshes, which he had found and brought to the
hospital. He took them away; but as neither the lieutenant nor any
one in the street would own them, they were taken to the police office.

“They look exactly like my own goloshes,” said one of the copying
gentlemen, as he looked at the unowned articles and put them beside
his own. “More than a shoemaker’s eye is required to distinguish them
from one another.”

’ “Mr. Copying Clerk,” said a servant, coming in with some papers.

The copying clerk turned and spoke to the man: when he had done
this, he turned to look at the goloshes again; he was in great doubt if
the right-hand or the left-hand pair belonged to him.

“Tt must be those that are wet,” he thought. Now here he thought
wrong, for these were the goloshes of Fortune; but why should not
the police be sometimes mistaken? He put them on, thrust his papers
into his pocket, and put a few manuscripts under his arm, for they were
to be read at home, and abstracts to be made from them. But now it
was Sunday morning, and the weather was fine. “A walk to Frede-
ricksburg would do me good,” said he; and he went out accordingly.

There could not be a quieter, steadier person than this young man.
We grant him his little walk with all our hearts; it will certainly do
him good after so much sitting. At first he only walked like a vegeta-
ting creature, so the goloshes had no opportunity of displaying their
magic power.

In the avenue he met an acquaintance, one of our younger poets,
who told him that he was going to start, next day, on a summer trip.

“Are you going away again already?” asked the copying clerk.
“What a happy, free man you are! You can fly wherever you hike; we
others have a chain to our foot.”

“ But it is fastened to the bread tree!” replied the poet. “ You need not
be anxious for the morrow; and when you grow old you get a pension.”

“ But you are better off, after all,” said the copying clerk. “It must
be a pleasure to sit and write poetry. Everybody says agreeable vhings
to you, and then you are your own master. Ah, you should just Gey it,
poring over the frivolous affairs in the court.”

The poet shook his head; the copying clerk shook his head also:
each retained his own opinion; and thus they parted.

“ They are a strange race, these poets!” thought the copying clerk.
“T should like to try and enter into such a nature—to become a poet
myself. Iam certain I should not write such complaining verses as the-
rest. What a splendid spring day for a poet! The air is so remarkably
clear, the clouds are so beautiful, and the green smells so sweet. For
many years I have not felt as I feel at this moment.”



78 Stories for the Household.

We already notice that he has become a poet. To point this out
would, in most. cases, be what the Germans call “mawkish.” It is a
foolish fancy to imagine a poet different from other people, for among
the latter there may be natures more poetical than those of many an
acknowledged poet. The difference is only that the poet has a better
spiritual memory: his ears hold fast the feeling and the idea until they
are embodied clearly and firmly in words; and the others cannot do
that. But the transition from an every-day nature to that of a poet
is always a transition, and as such it must be noticed in the copying
clerk.

“What glorious fragrance!” he cried. “How it reminds me of the
violets at Aunt Laura’s! Yes, that was when I was a little boy. I
have not thought of that for a long time. The good old lady! She lies
yonder, by the canal. She always had a twig or a couple of green
shoots in the water, let the winter be as severe as it might. The
violets bloomed, while I had to put warm farthings against the frozen
window-panes to make peep-holes. That was a pretty view. Out in
the canal the ships were frozen in, and deserted by the whole crew;
a screaming crow was the only living creature left. Then, when the
spring breezes blew, it all became lively: the ice was sawn asunder
amid shouting and cheers, the ships were tarred and rigged, and then
they sailed away to strange lands. I remained here, and must always
remain, and sit at the police office, and let others take passports for
abroad, That’s my fate. Oh, yes!” and he sighed deeply. Suddenly
he paused. “ Good Heaven! what is come tome? I never thought or
felt as 1 do now. It must be the spring air: it is just as dizzying as
it is charming!” He felt in his pockets for his papers. “These will
give me something else to think of,” said he, and let his eyes wander
over the first leaf. Therehe read: “‘ Dame Sigbirth ; an original tragedy
in five acts. What is that? And it is my own hand. Have I written
this tragedy? ‘ The Intrigue on the Promenade; or, the Day of Pe-
nance.—Vaudeville.’ But“where did I get that from? It must have
been put into my pocket. Here is a letter. Yes, it was from the
manager of the theatre; the pieces were rejected, and the letter is not
at all politely worded. -H’m! H’m!” said the copying clerk, and he
sat down upon a bench: his thoughts were elastic; his head was quite
soft. Involuntarily he grasped one of the nearest flowers; it was a
eommon little daisy. What the botanists require several lectures to
explain to us, this flower told in a minute. It told the glory of its
birth ; it told of the strength of the sunlight, which spread out the
delicate leaves and made them give out fragrance. Then he thought
of the battles of life, which likewise awaken feelings in our breasts.
Air and light are the lovers of the flower, but light is the favoured one.
Towards the light it turned, and only when the light vanished the flower
-rolled her leaves together and slept in the embrace of the air.

“Tt is light that adorns me!” said the Flower.

“ But the air allows you to breathe,” whispered the poet’s voice.

Just by him stood a boy, knocking with his stick upon the marshy



The Goloshes of Fortune. 79

ground. « The drops of water spurted up among the green twigs, and
the copying clerk thought of the millions of infusoria which were cast
up on high with the drops, which was the same to them, in proportion
to their size, as it would be to usif we were hurled high over the region
of clouds. And the copying clerk thought of this, and of the great
change which had taken place within him; he smiled. “I sleep and
dream! It is wonderful, though, how naturally one can dream, and yet
know all the time that it isa dream. I should like to be able-to remember
it all clearly to-morrow when I wake. I seem to myself quite unusually
excited. What a clear appreciation I have of everything, and how free
I feel! But I am certain that if I remember anything of it to-morrow,
it will be nonsense. That has often been so with me before. It is with
all the clever famous things one says and hears in dreams, as with the
money of the elves under the earth; when one receives it, it is rich and
beautiful, but looked at by daylight, it is nothing but stones and dried
leaves. Ah!” he sighed, quite plaintively, and gazed at the chirping
birds, as they sprang merrily from bough to bough, “they are much
better off than I. Flying isa noble art. Happy he who is born with
wings. Yes, if I could change myself into anything, it should be mto
a lark.”

In a moment his coat-tails and sleeves grew together and formed
wings; his clothes became feathers, and his goloshes claws. He noticed
it quite plainly, and laughed inwardly. ‘“‘ Well, now I can see that I am
dreaming, but so wildly I have never dreamed before.” And he flew up
into the green boughs and sang; but there was no poetry in the song,
for the poetic nature was gone. The goloshes, like every one who wishes.
to do any business thoroughly, could only do one thing at atime. He
wished to be a poet, and he became one. Then he wished to be a little
bird, and, in changing thus, the former peculiarity was lost.

“That is charming!” he said. “In the day-time I sit in the police
office among the driest of law papers; at night I can dream that I am
flying about, as a lark in the Fredericksburg Garden. One could really
write quite a popular comedy upon it.”

Now he fiew down into the grass, turned his head in every direction,
and beat with his beak upon the bending stalks of grass, which, in pro-
portion to his size, seemed to him as long as palm branches of Northern
Africa.

Tt was only for a moment, and then all around him became as the
blackest night. It seemed to him that some immense substance was cast
over him; it was a great cap, which a sailor boy threw over the bird. A
hand came in and seized the copying clerk by the back and wings in a
way that made him whistle. In his first terror he cried aloud, “The
impudent rascal! I am copying clerk at the police office!” But that
sounded to the boy only like “piep! piep!” and he tapped the bird on
the beak and wandered on with him.

In the alley the boy met with two other boys, who belonged to the
educated classes, socially speaking; but, according to abilities, they
ranked in the lowest class in the school, These bought the bird for



80 Stories for the Household.

afew Danish shillings; and so the copying clerk was carried back to
Copenhagen. : :

“Tt’s a good thing that I am dreaming,” he said, “ or I should become
really angry. First I was a poet, and now I’m a lark! Yes, it must
have been the poetic nature which transformed me into that little
creature. It is a miserable state of things, especially when one falls
into the hands of boys. I should like to know what the end of it
will be.”

The boys carried him into a very elegant room. A stout smiling lady
received them. But she was not at all gratified to see the common
field bird, as she called the lark, coming in too. Only for one day she
would consent to it; but they must put the bird in the empty cage
which stood by the window.













THE COPYING CLERK CUANGES HANDS.

“Perhaps that will please Polly,” she added, and laughed at a great
Parrot swinging himself proudly in his ring in the handsome brass cage.

“Tt’s Polly’s birthday,” she said, simply, “so the little field bird shall
congratulate him.”

Polly did not answer a single word; he only swung proudly to and
fro. Buta pretty Canary bird, who had been brought here last summer
out of his warm fragrant fatherland, began to sing loudly.

“Screamer!” said the lady; and she threw a white handkerchief over
the cage.

“Piep! piep!” sighed he; “here’s a terrible snow-storm.” And thus
sighing, he was silent.

The copying clerk, or, as.the lady called him, the field bird, was placed
in a little cage close to the Canary, and not far from the Parrot. The
only human words which Polly could say, and which often sounded very
comically, were “ Come, let’s be men now!” Hyverything else that he



The Goloshes of Fortune. 81

screamed out was just as unintelligible as the song of the Canary bird,
except for the copying clerk, who was now also a bird, and who under-
stood his comrades very well.

“T flew under the green palm tree and the blossoming almond tree!”
sang the Canary. “I flew with my brothers and sisters over the beautiful
flowers and over the bright sea, where the plants waved in the depths.
T also saw many beautiful parrots, who told the merriest stories.”

“Those were wild birds,” replied the Parrot. “They had no educa-
tion. Let us be men now! Why don’t you laugh? If the lady and
all the strangers could laugh at it,socan you. Itis a great fault to have
no taste for what is pleasant. No, let us be men now.”

“Do you remember the pretty girls who danced under the tents
spread out beneath the blooming trees? Do you remember the sweet
fruits and the cooling juice in the wild plants ?”

“Oh, yes!” replied the Parrot; “but here I am far better off. I have
good care and genteel treatment. I know I’ve a good head, and I don’t
ask for more. Let us be men now. You are what they call a poetic
soul. I have thorough knowledge and wit. You have genius, but no
prudence. You mount up into those high natural notes of yours, and
then you get covered up. That is never done to me; no, no, for I cost
them a little more. J make an impression with my beak, and can cast
wit round me. Now let us be men!”

“O my poor blooming fatherland!” sang the Canary. “TI will praise
thy dark green trees and thy quiet bays, where the branches kiss the
clear watery mirror; Ill sing of the joy of all my shining brothers and
sisters, where the plants grow by the desert springs.”

“Now, pray leave off these dismal tones,” cried the Parrot. “Sing
something at which one can laugh! Laughter is the sign of the highest
mental development. Look if a dog or a horse can laugh! No: they
can cry; but laughter—that is given to men alone. Ho! ho! ho!”
screamed Polly, and finished the jest with “Let us be men now.”

“You little grey Northern bird,” said the Canary ; “so you have also
become a prisoner. It is certainly cold in your woods, but still liberty
is there. Fly out! they have forgotten to close your cage; the upper
window is open. Fly! fly!”

Tustinctively the copying clerk obeyed, and flew forth from his prison.
At the same moment the half opened door of the next room creaked, and
stealthily, with fierce sparkling eyes, the house cat crept in, and made
chase upon him. The Canary fluttered in its cage, the Parrot flapped
its wings, and cried “ Let us be men now.” The copying clerk felt
mortally afraid, and flew through the window, away over the houses
and streets; at last he was obliged to rest a little.

The house opposite had a homelike look: one of the windows stood
open, and he flew in. It was his own room: he perched upon the table.

“Tet us be men now,” he broke out, involuntarily imitating the
Parrot; and in the same moment he was restored to the form of the
copying clerk; but he was sitting on the table.

“Heaven preserve me!” he cried. ‘“ How could I have come here

G



82 Stories for the Household.

and fallen so soundly asleep? That was an unquiet dream, too, that I
had. The whole thing was great nonsense.”

VI.
The Best that the Goloshes brought.

On the following day, quite early in the morning, as the clerk still lay
in bed, there came a tapping at his door: it was his neighbour who lodged
on the same floor, a young theologian; and he came in.

“Lend me your goloshes,” said he. “It is very wet in the garden,
but the sun shines gloriously, and I should like to smoke a pipe down
there.”

He put on the goloshes, and was soon in the garden, which contained
a plum tree and an apple tree. Even a little garden like this is highly
prized in the midst of great cities.

The theologian wandered up and down the path; it was only six
o’clock, and a post-horn sounded out in the street.

“ Oh, travelling! travelling!” he cried out, “that’s the greatest hap-
piness in all the world. That’s the highest goal of my wishes. Then
this disquietude that I feel would be stilled. But it would have to be
far away. I should like to see beautiful Switzerland, to travel through
Italy, to——”

Yes, it was a good thing that the goloshes took effect immediately, for
he might have gone too far even for himself, and for us others too. He
was travelling; he was in the midst of Switzerland, packed tightly with
eight others in the interior of a diligence. He had a headache and a
weary feeling in his neck, and his feet had gone to sleep, for they were
swollen by the heavy boots he had on. He was hovering in a condition
between sleeping and waking. In his right-hand pocket he had his letter
of credit, in his left-hand pocket his passport, and a few louis d’or were
sewn into a little bag he wore on his breast. Whenever he dozed off,
he dreamed he had lost one or other of these possessions; and then he
would start up in a feverish way, and the first movement his hand made
was to describe a triangle from left to right, and towards his breast, to
feel whether he still possessed them or not. Umbrellas, hats, and walk-
ing sticks swang in the net over him, and almost took away the pros-
pect, which was impressive enough: he glanced out at it, and his heart
sang what one poet at least, whom we know, has sung in Switzerland,
_ but has not yet printed:

‘Mis a prospect as fine as heart can desire,
Before me Mont Blanc the rough:
"Tis pleasant to tarry here and admire,
If only you’ve money enough.”

Great, grave, and dark was all nature around him. The pine woods

looked like little mosses upon the high rocks, whose summits were lost
in cloudy mists; and then it began to snow, and the wind blew eold.



The Goloshes of Fortune. 83

“Hu!” he sighed; “if we were only on the other side of the Alps,
then it would be summer, and I should have got money on my letter of
credit: my anxiety about this prevents me from enjoying Switzerland.
Oh, if I were only at the other side!”

- And then he was on the other side, in the midst of Italy, between
Florence and Rome. The lake Thrasymene lay spread out in the even-
ing light, like flaming gold among the dark blue hills. Here, where
Hannibal beat Flaminius, the grape-vines held each other by their green
fingers; pretty half naked children were keeping a herd of coal-black
pigs under a clump of fragrant laurels by the way-side. If we could
reproduce this scene accurately, all would ery, “ Glorious Italy!” But
neither the theologian nor any of his travelling companions in the
carriage of the vetturino thought this.

Poisonous flies and gnats flew into the carriage by thousands. In vain
they beat the air frantically with a myrtle branch—the flies stung them
nevertheless. There was not one person in the carriage whose face was
not swollen and covered with stings. The poor horses looked miserable,
the flies tormented them wofully, and it only mended the matter for a
moment when the coachman dismounted and scraped them clean from
the insects that sat upon them in great swarms. Now the sun sank
down ; a short but icy coldness pervaded all nature ; it was like the cold
air of a funeral vault after the sultry summer day; and all around the
hills and clouds put on that remarkable green tone which we notice on
some old pictures, and consider unnatural unless we have ourselves
witnessed a similar play of colour. It was a glorious spectacle; but
the stomachs of all were empty and their bodies exhausted, and every
wish of the heart turned towards a resting-place for the night; but how
could that be won? To descry this resting-place all eyes were turned
more eagerly to the road than towards the beauties of nature.

The way now led through an olive wood: he could have fancied him-
self passing between knotty willow trunks at home. Here, by the soli-
tary inn, a dozen crippled beggars had taken up their positions: the
quickest among them looked, to quote an expression of Marryat’s, like
the eldest son of Famine, who had just come of age. The others were
either blind or had withered legs, so that they crept about on their
hands, or they had withered arms with fingerless hands. This was
misery in rags indeed. “ Hecellenza, miserabili!” they sighed, and
stretched forth their diseased limbs. The hostess herself, im untidy
hair, and dressed in a dirty blouse, received her guests. The doors
were tied up with string; the floor of the room was of brick, and half
of it was grubbed up; bats flew about under the roof, and the smell
within:

“Yes, lay the table down in the stable,” said one of the travellers
“There, at least, one knows what one is breathing.”

The windows were opened, so that alittle fresh air might find its way
in; but quicker than the air came the withered arms and the continual
whining, “ MWiserabilt, Eccellenza!” On the walls were many inscrip-
tions; half of them were against “ Za bella Italia.”



G2



84 Stories for the Household.

The supper was served. It consisted of a watery soup, seasoned with
pepper and rancid oil. This last dainty played a chief part in the salad ;
musty eges and roasted cocks’-combs were the best dishes. Even the
wine had a strange taste—it was a dreadful mixture.

At night the boxes were placed against the doors. One of the tra-
vellers kept watch while the rest slept. The theologian was the sentry.
Oh, how close it was in there! The heat oppressed him, the gnats
buzzed and stung, and the miserabili outside moaned in their dreams.

“Yes, travelling would be all very well,” said the theologian, “if one
had no body. If the body could rest, and the mind fly!) Wherever I
go, I find a want that oppresses my heart: it is something better than
the present moment that I desire. Yes, something better—the best;
but what is that, and where is it? In my own heart I know very well
what I want: I want to attain to a happy goal, the happiest of all!”

And so soon as the word was spoken he found himself at home. The
long white curtains hung down from the windows, and in the middle of
the room stood a black coffin; in this he was lying in the quiet sleep
of death: his wish was fulfilled—his body was at rest and his spirit
roaming. ‘Esteem no man happy who is not yet in his grave,” were
the words of Solon; here their force was proved anew.

Every corpse is a sphinx of immortality ; the sphinx here also in the
black sarcophagus answered, what the living man had laid down two
days before:

“Thou strong, stern Death! Thy silence waketh fear
Thou leavest monld’ring gravestones for thy traces.
Shall not the soul see Jacob’s ladder here?

No resurrection type but churchyard grasses ?
The deepest woes escape the world’s dull eye:
Thou that alone on duty’s path hast sped,

Heavier those duties on thy heart would lie
Than lies the earth now on thy coffined head.”

Two forms were moving to and froin the room. We know them both.
They were the Fairy of Care and the Ambassadress of Happiness. They
bent down over the dead man.

“Do you see?” said Care. “ What happiness have your goloshes
brought to men ?”’

“They have at least brought a permanent benefit to him who slum-
bers here,” replied Happiness.

“Oh, no!” said Care. “He went away of himself, he was not sum-
moned. His spirit was not strong enough to lift the treasures which
he had been destined to lift. I will do him a favour.”

And sbe drew the goloshes from his feet ; then the sleep of death was
ended, and the awakened man raised himself up. Care vanished, and
with her the goloshes disappeared too: doubtless she looked upon them
es her property.





















H 22
ons

eri ie



THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT OF T1N SOLDIERS,

THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

TuEReE were once five and twenty tin soldiers ; they were all brothers,
for they had all been born of one old tin spoon. They shouldered their
muskets, and looked straight before them: their uniform was read and
blue, and very splendid. The first thing they had heard in the world,
when the lid was taken off their box, had been the words “Tin
soldiers!” These words were uttered by a little boy, clapping his
hands: the soldiers had been given to him, for it was his birthday; and
now he put them upon the table. Each soldier was exactly like the
rest ; but one of them had been cast last of all, and there had not been
enough tin to finish him; but he stood as firmly upon his one leg as
the others on their two; and it was just this Soldier who became re-
markable.

On the table on which they had been placed stood many other play-
things, but the toy that attracted most attention was a neat castle of



86 Stories for the Household.

cardboard. Through the little windows one could see straight into
the hall. Before the castle some little trees were placed round a little
looking-glass, which was to represent a clear lake. Waxen swans swam
on this lake, and were mirrored in it. This was all very pretty; but
the prettiest of all was a little lady, who stood at the open door of the
castle: she was also cut out in paper, but she had adress of the clearest
gauze, and a little narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders, that looked
like a scarf; and in the middle of this ribbon was a shining tinsel rose
as big as her whole face. The little lady stretched out both her arms,
for she was a dancer; and then she lifted one leg so high that the Tin
Soldier could not see it at all, and thought that, like himself, she had
but one leg.

“That would be the wife for me,” thought he ; “ but she is very grand.
She lives in a castle, and 1 have only a box, and there are five and
twenty of us in that. It is no place for her. But I must try to make
acquaintance with her.”

And then he lay down at full length behind a snuff-box which was
on the table; there he could easily watch the little dainty lady, who
continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance.

‘When the evening came, all the other tin soldiers were put into their
box, and the people in the house went to bed. Now the toys began to
play at “visiting,” and at “ war,” and “ giving balls.”’ The tin soldiers
rattled in their box, for they wanted to join, but could not lift the lid.
The nutcracker threw somersaults, and the pencil amused itself on the
table: there was so much noise that the canary woke up, and began to
speak too, and even in verse. The only two who did not stir from their
places were the Tin Soldier and the dancing lady : she stood straight up
on the point of one of her toes, and stretched out both her arms; and
he was just as enduring on his one leg; and he never turned his eyes
away from her. ; :

Now the clock struck twelve—and, bounce !—the lid flew off the
snuff-box; but there was not snuff in it, but a little black Goblin: you
see it was a trick.

“Tin Soldier!” said the Goblin, “ don’t stare at things that don’t con-
cern you.”

But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him.

“ Just you wait till to-morrow!’ said the Goblin.

But when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin Soldier
was ‘placed in the window ; and whether it was the Goblin or the draught
that did it, all at once the window flew open, and the Soldier fell head
over heels out of the third.storey. That was a terrible passage! He
put his leg straight up, and stuck with his helmet downwards and his
bayonet between the paving-stones.

The servant-maid and the little boy came’ down directly to look for
him, but though they almost trod upon him they could not see him. If
the Soldier had cried out “Here I am!” they would have found him;
nee he did not think it fitting to call out loudly, because he was in uni-
orm. : a



The Hardy Tin Soldier. 87

Now it began to rain ; the drops soon fell thicker, and at last it came
down in a complete stream. When the rain was past, two street boys
came by.

“ Just look!” said one of them, “ there lies a tin soldier. He must
come out and ride in the boat.”

And they made a boat out of a newspaper, and put the Tin Soldier in
the middle of it; and so he sailed down the gutter, and the two boys
ran beside him and clapped their hands. Goodness preserve us! how
the waves rose in that gutter, and how fast the stream ran! But then
it had been a heavy rain. The paper boat rocked up and down, and
sometimes turned round so rapidly that the Tin Soldier trembled; but
he remained firm, and never changed countenance, and looked straight
before him, and shouldered his musket.

All at once the boat went into a long drain, and it became as dark as
if he had been in his box.

“Where am I going now?” he thought. “Yes, yes, that’s the
Goblin’s fault. Ah! if the little lady only sat here with me in the boat,
it might be twice as dark for what I should care.”

Suddenly there came a great Water Rat, which lived under the drain.

“ Have you a passport?” said the Rat. “ Give me your passport.”

But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and held his musket tighter than ever.

The boat went on, but the Rat came after it. Hu! how he gnashed
his teeth, and called out to the bits of straw and wood,

“ Hold him! hold him! he hasn’t paid toll—he hasn’t shown his pass-

ort!”

But the stream became stronger and stronger. The Tin Soldier could
see the bright daylight where the arch ended; but he heard a roaring
noise, which might well frighten a bolder man. Only think—just where
the tunnel ended, the drain ran into a great canal; and for him that
would have been as dangerous as for us to be carried down a great
waterfall.

Now he was already so near it that he could not stop. The boat was
carried out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as much as he could,
and no one could say that he moved an eyelid. The boat whirled round
three or four times, and was full of water to the very edge—it must
sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his neck in water, and the boat sank
deeper and deeper, and the paper was loosened more and more ; and now
the water closed over the Soldier’s head. Then he thought of the pretty
little dancer, and how he should never see her again; and it sounded in
the soldier’s ears: -

* Farewell, farewell, thou warrior brave,
For this day thou must die!”

And now the paper parted, and the Tin Soldier fell out; but at that
moment he was snapped up by a great fish.

Ob, how dark it was in that fish’s body! It was darker yet than in
the drain tunnel; and then it was very narrow too. But the Tin Soldier
remained unmoved, and lay at full length shouldering his musket. -



88 Stories for the Household.

The fish swam to and fro; he made the most wonderful movements,
and then became quite still. At last something flashed through him
like lightning. The daylight shone quite clear, and a voice said aloud,
“The Tin Soldier!” The fish had been caught, carried to market, bought,
and taken into the kitchen, where the cook cut him open with a large
knife. She seized the Soldier round the body with both her hands, and
carried him into the room, where all were anxious to see the remarkable
man who had travelled about in the inside of a fish; but the Tin Soldier
was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and there—no!
What curious things may happen in the world! The Tin Soldier was in
the very room in which he had been before! he saw the same children,
and the same toys stood on the table; and there was the pretty castle
with the graceful little dancer. She was still balancing herself on one
leg, and held the other extended in the air. She was hardy too. That
moved the Tin Soldier: he was very nearly weeping tin tears, but that
would not have been proper. He looked at her, but they said nothing
to each other.

Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him into
the stove. He gave no reason for doing this. It must have been the
fault of the Goblin in the snuff-box.

The Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat that was
terrible; but whether this heat proceeded from the real fire or from love
he did not know. The colours had quite gone off from him; but whether
that had happened on the journey, or had been caused by grief, no one
could say. He looked at the little lady, she looked at him, and he felt
that he was melting; but he still stood firm, shouldering his musket.
Then suddenly the door flew open, and the draught of air caught the
dancer, and she flew like a sylph just into the stove to the Tin Soldier,
and flashed up in a flame, and she was gone. Then the Tin Soldier melted
down into a lump, and when the servant-maid took the ashes out next
day, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the dancer
nothing remained but the tinsel rose, and that was burned as black as
a coal.

THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

A MorHER sat by her little child: she was very sorrowful, and feared
that if would die. Its little face was pale, and its eyes were closed.
The child drew its breath with difficulty, and sometimes so deeply as if
it were sighing; and then the mother looked more sorrowfully than
before on the little creature.

Then there was a knock at the door, and a poor old man came in,
wrapped up in something that looked like a great horse-cloth, for that
keeps warm; and he required it, for it was cold winter. Without,
everything was covered with ice and snow, and the wind blew so sharply
that it cut one’s face.



































THE MOTHER WATCHING HER SICK CHILD.

And as the old man trembled with cold, and the child was quiet for a
moment, the mother went and put some beer on the stove in a little pot,
to warm it for him. The old man sat down and rocked the cradle, and
the mother seated herself on an old chair by him, looked at her sick
child that drew its breath so painfully, and seized the little hand.

“You think I shall keep it, do you not ?” she asked. ‘ The good God
will not take it from me!”

And the old man—he was Death—nodded in such a strange way, that
it might just as well mean yes as no. Aud the mother cast down her



Full Text





University | ff
of
Florida

The Baldwin Library

RmB






2!


STORIES ror tus HOUSEHOLD

BY

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

TRANSLATED BY

H. W. DULCKEN, Pu.D.





IWITH TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY ILLUSTRATIONS BY A, W. BAYES
ENGRAVED BY DALZIEL BROTHERS

LONDON :
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL

GLASGOW AND NEw YORK
1889 -


| UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
| el
I

| GRIMM’S HOUSEHOLD STORIES.
| With 240 Illustrations by E. H. Weunerr.

| THE ARABIAN NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS.

With 150 Illustrations by THomas B. Dauztet.




PREFACE.

Tur literary activity of Hans Curistian ANDERSEN has
now extended over a period of more than forty years. During
_ this time his varied genius has produced many and excellent
works, novels, poems, dramas, &c. His “ Improvisatore’’ first
made his name known beyond the narrow confines of his
own country ; but it is upon his Stories and Tales that his
fame rests, and will continue to rest. ANnpsRseN himself was
unconscious of his own power when he wrote the first of these
wonderful histories; and has told us how, when he published
the first collection, he was careful to entitle the little volume,
“ Stories told to the Children.” But a short time sufficed to
show that very many ‘children of a larger growth” could
find amusement and instruction in ANDERsEN’s stories. In
fact, our Author had solved about the most difficult problem
that can present itself to the writer of fiction—that of attracting
all ages alike. Accordingly, in subsequent editions, the words
“told to the children” were omitted; for it was found that,
when Hans Curistran AnpreRszn had a story to tell, all were
willmg to be “ children,” and to listen.

And here the Publishers offer to the Public the most
complete collection that has yet been made of these stories.
The success of the two volumes, “ Stories and Tales ” and
iv PREFACE.

“ What the Moon saw,” has appeared to them a sufficient
proof that such a work would be welcomed; and they have
bestowed every pains upon the book, with respect alike to
pictorial illustration and typographical details.

The Life of Anpzrszn, written by himself, has been included
in this book, because it is in itself,.as the writer says, “A
true story upon the motto, ‘Try and trust.” The tale, as
told by Awnprrsrn, has been slightly abridged, as references
are made here and there to persons and places possessing little
interest for the general English reader. AnpzrsEen tells the
story of his life to the Public as simply and frankly as he
might tell it to a chosen circle round a winter fire. He
relates his various experiences just as they occurred, and in
one part says, “I tell these happy events because they are
facts in my life. I tell them as I have told of the poverty,
the difficulties, the trials that beset me. And if I have told
this just as the remembrance arises in my heart, let it not
- be ascribed to vanity or ostentation, for that is certainly not
its right name.”

With these few words, the Publishers commend this volume
to the kind consideration of the English admirers of Hans
Curistian ANDERSEN.

H. W. D.
CONTENTS.











Sane anneal
Page Page
The Silver Shilling. .....cccseccerseeeveees The Loveliest Rose in the World ... 163
The Old Church Bell , 5 | Holger Danske .....:........
The Snail and the Rose Tree ......... 9 | The Puppet Showman .....
Little Ida’s Flowers ............sesseseee 12) | The Pigs. -c..isiesvecesessscase ctesedesbaes sone 173
The Tinder-Box ....ccccssssscesseeseeeeees 18 | A Picture from the Fortress Wall ... 175
Great Claus and Little Claus ......... 24 | In the Duck-yard 2.0... .ceceseseeeee eens 176
The Princess on the Pea ..........0.00 33 | The Red Shoes ......cccceeeseeseeeeeeees 181
Thumbelina ........ccccceccsereeeeceeeeeuees 35 | Soup on a Sausage-Peg ...... eevee 186
The Naughty Boy .....cs.sccsesecereees 43 | The Wicked Prince ......cccceeeeees 198
The Travelling Companion ........... 45 | The Shepherdess and the Chimney-
The Emperor’s New Clothes............ 60 DWECPET ® veicceccsvars ewes Gaedieones 200
The Goloshes of Fortune .........:6606 64 | Two Brothers ...ccccciesseceeseeereeeeeees 204
The Hardy Tin Soldier .................. 85 | The Old Street Lamp oo... cess 206
The Story of a Mother ... 88 | By the Almshouse Window ..........., 212
The Daisy.....cc...scesseeeee 93 | The Lovers .......:.cccescceseceseeeeseeees 214
A Great Grief .....0...0. 96:1. The Bell vn ccssisacsecstecavecaecivevesasnaes 216
The JUMPper......cccccccecsessecsesseceseees 98° | Little Tuk: aise chidsavecteedchesan 221
The Shirt Collar ..........ccccccceecee sees 100 | The Plax: vioscccegmistotsteeteiseostersens 204
Old Luk-Oie oe. ceseneee eee eees 103 | The Girl who Trod on the Loaf ...... 228
Jack the Dullard. An Old Story told The Money-Pig ....csccsceseesereeesseeeee 235
ATLOW ce ccacessescsensceeeeearevanenscsees lll | The Darning-Needle .......... 0... 237
The Beetle -sis.ci.cccsccreovvseeeeeeevevcaes 115 | The Fir Tree wo... cc cccetsseseeeee tees 240
What the Old Man does is always The Swincherd .....cccceeeseseeseeeees 247
Right ..eccccececcesseseessceesaa ones 122 | Something Me
Ole the Tower-Keeper ........cce sees 126 | A Leaf from the Sky... eee
Good Humour....cccccececccsessccessecees The Drop of Water....cccccseseesecenes






“Tt’s Quite True”
Children’s Prattle
The Flying Trunk
The Last Pearl
The Storks ..........
Grandmother
The Ugly Duckling



The Dumb Book.......eceeeeee
The Jewish Girl oe
The Elder-Tree Mother........



Two Maidens ........ccecseceesseseeseeeees 274
The Farm-yard Cock and the Weather-
COCK shies lita tamed lsdgaistiasevahesss 275



The Old Gravestone ....
vi CONTENTS.

‘ Page
The Old Bachelor’s Nightcap ......... 281

A Rose from the Grave of Homer ... 291
The Wind tells about Waldemar Daa









and his Daughters......csceenee 293
Five out of One Shell ............0600. 303
The Metal Pig.......csccsseccecenceeeeeeees 306
The Snow Queen.....ccccceseccseseenseeres 315
The Nightingale ........:ccccsseeseeeeeenes 841

_The Neighbouring Families............ 349
The Little Match Girl wo... ee 357
Phe WEA). octoc foastedevecesecvecseotes's 859
The Buckwheat .......cccecseceesesseeonee 365
The Old House ....c.ceeceeeeeseeseee een ee 367
The Happy Family........c:sccseseceeses 3873
The Rose-ELf .....cceseeeceeseeseeneeeeenes 376
The Shadow.....-ccssscecesreerece vers B80
The Angel ......ceseeeee 889
Twelve by the Mail ... 391
What the Moon Saw 396
The Story of the Year ..........000. 429
Whe Racers: id ed tehav are tncctasien eeetese 436
She was Good for Nothing ............ 439
In a Thousand Years ........e cece eeeee ee 445
“There is a Difference” ............... 447
Everything in its Right Place......... 450
The Goblin and the Huckster 457
The Bond of Friendship ............... 460
The Bottle-neck 468
Ib and Christine . A776
The Snow Man 485
The Thorny Road of Honour ......... 489
The Child in the Grave.................. 493
In the Uttermost Parts of the Sea... 497
Under the Willow Tree..............00. 499
CHarM co sssiie sane eee deat 512
Bishop of Borglum and his Warriors 517
the Butterfly ........cccceceeessesceaeeees 523
Anne Lisbeth ..............cccsescneeeseees 525

The Last Dream of the Old Oak Tree, 535










Page
The Bell-Deep .....ccceseeescseceseeeeeeeaes 540
The Little Sea Maid ... 543
The Wild Swans...............- .. 560
The Marsh King’s Daughter..... .. 573
The Pen and Inkstand .................. 608
A Story from the Sand-Dunes......... 610
The Phoenix Bird oo...
The Garden of Paradise...............0..
The Ice Maiden ...............cccceceeeeee
The Swan’s Nest.........c..ccceeeee
The Stone of the Wise Men
The Psyche .....eccccccecceesceeeees
The Story of My Life oe,

“The Will-o’-the-Wisp is in the
Town,” says the Moor-Woman... 788

The Windmill .......... ce eeceeeeeeeee eee

In the Nursery









The Golden Treasure ..............2..0088 805
The Storm shakes the Shield ......... 814
The Bird of Popular Song ............ 818
The Legend of Niirnberg Castle ...... 821
A Night in the Apennines ............ 823
The Carnival in Rome ............00. 826
Mahomet’s Birthday. A Scene in
Constantinople ............ wee 830
Days in the Mediterranean ............ 836
The Graveyard at Scutari ............ 840
The Bosphorus.........:::csceceeeseseeeeees
ATHENS xis cic esac vessatsben ined ended leads dcts
Phes Toad: s.5.3235 spesguddouises tevin seise
The Porter’s Son as
Put off is not Done with 0.0... 875
The Snowdrop .....ccceecceeeeeeeeeeneeeee 879
One Aunt: iecisa vies iie tinct vecens meek 883
The: Dryad- wiistiscceandsveimendsevenctdess 888
The Thistle’s Experiences... 906
Poultry Meg’s Family ... 909
What one can Invent 920
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THE OLD WOMAN HANGS THE SHILLING ROUND THE CHILD'S NECK.

THE SILVER SHILLING.

TERE was once a Shilling. He came out quite bright from the Mint,
and sprang up, and rang out, “Hurrah! now I’m off into the wide
world.” And into the wide world he certainly went.

The child held him with soft warm hands; the miser clutched him in
a cold avaricious palm; the old man turned him goodness knows how
many times before parting with him; while careless youth rolled him
lightly away. The Shilling was of silver, and had very little copper

B
2 Stories for the Household.

about him: he had been now a whole year in the world—that is to say,

in the country in which he had been struck. But one day he started
on his foreign travels; he was the last native coin in the purse borne by
his travelling master. The gentleman was himself not aware that he
still had this coin until he-came across it by chance.

“Why, here’s a shilling from home left to me,” he said. “ Well, he
can make the journey with me.”

And the Shilling rattled and jumped for joy as it was thrust back
into the purse. So here it lay among strange companions, who came
und went, each making room for a successor ; but the Shilling from home
always remained in the bag; which was a distinction for it.

Several weeks had gone by, and the Shilling had travelled far out into
the world without exactly knowing where he was, though he learned
from the other coins that they were French or Italian. One said they
were in such and such a town, another that they had reached such and
such a spot; but the Shilling could form no idea of all this. He who
has his head in a bag sees nothing; and this was the case with the
Shilling. But one day, as he lay there, he noticed that the purse was
not shut, and so he crept forward to the opening, to take a look around.
He ought not to have done so; but he was inquisitive, and people often
have to pay for that. He slipped out into the fob: and when the purse
was taken out at night the Shilling remained behind, and was sent out
into the passage with the clothes. There he fell upon the floor: no one
heard it, no one saw it. /

Next morning the clothes were carried back into the room; the
gentleman put them on, and continued his journey, while the Shilling
remained behind. The coin was found, and was required to go into ser-
vice again, so he was sent out with three other coins. ~

“Tt is a pleasant thing to look about one in the world,” thought the
Shilling, “and to get to know strange people and foreign customs.”

And now began the history of the Shilling, as told by himself.

“¢ Away with him, he’s bad—no use.’ These words went through
and through me,” said the Shilling. “I knew I sounded well and had
been properly coined. The people were certainly mistaken. They could
not mean me! but, yes, they did mean me. J was the one of whom
they said, ‘He’s bad—he’s no good.’ ‘I must get rid of that fellow
in the dark,’ said the man who had received me; and I was passed at
night, and abused in the day-time. ‘ Bad—no good’ was the cry: ‘ we
must make haste and get rid of him.’

“ And I trembled in the fingers of the holder each time I was to be
secretly passed on as a coin of the country.

“What a miserable shillimg Tam! Of what use is my silver to me,
my value, my coinage, if all these things are looked on as worthless?
In the eyes of the world one has only the value the world chooses to
put upon one. It must be terrible indeed to have a bad conscience,
and to creep along on evil ways, if I, who am quite innocent, can feel so
badly because I am only thought guilty.

“ Hach time I was brought out I shuddered at the thought of the eyes
The Silver Shilling. 3

that would look at me, for I knew that I should be rejected and flung
back upon the table, like an impostor anda cheat. Once I came into
the hands of a poor old woman, to whom I was paid for a hard day’s
work, and she could not get rid of me at all. No one would accept me,
and I was a perfect worry to the old dame.

“ she said; ‘for, with the best will in the world, I can’t hoard up a false
shilling. The rich baker shall have him; he will be able to bear the loss
—but it’s wrong in me to do it, after all.’

«“« And IT must lie heavy on that woman’s conscience too,’ sighed I.
‘Am J really so much changed in my old age ?’

“ And the woman went her way to the rich baker; but he knew too
well what kind of shillings would pass to take me, and he threw me
back at the woman, who got no breadfor me. And I felt miserably low



THE MOTHER TRIES THE SHILLING.

to think that I should be the cause of distress to others—I who had
been in my young days so proudly conscious of my value and of the
correctness of my mintage. I became as miserable as a poor shilling
can be whom no one will accept; but the woman took me home again,
and looked at me with a friendly, hearty face, and said,

“No, Twill not deceive any one with thee. I will bore a hole through
thee, that every one may see thou art a false thing. And yet—it just
occurs to me—perhaps this is a lucky shilling ; and the thought comes
so strongly upon me that I am sure it must be true! I will make ahole
through the shilling, and pass a string through the hole, and hang the
coin round the neck of my neighbour’s little boy for a lucky shilling.’

“So she bored a hole through me. It is certainly not agreeable to have
ahole bored through one; but many things can be borne when the in-
tention is good. A thread was passed through the hole, and I became
A Stories for the Household.

a kind of medal, and was hung round the neck of the little child; and
the child smiled at me, and kissed me, and I slept all night on its warm,
inocent neck.

“When the morning came, the child’s mother took me up in her fingers
and looked at me, and she had her own thoughts about me, I could feel
that very well. She brought out a pair of scissors, and cut the string
through.

“
“ And she laid me in vinegar, so that I turned quite green. Then she
plugged up the hole, and carried me, in the evening twilight, to the
lottery collector, to buy a lottery ticket that should bring her luck.

“ Tow miserably wretched I felt! There was a stinging feeling in me,
as if I should crumble to bits. I knew that I should be called false and
thrown down—and before a crowd of shillings and other coins, too,
who lay there with an image and superscription of which they might be
proud. But I escaped that disgrace, for there were many people in the
collector’s room—he had a great deal to do, and I went rattling down
into the box among the other coins. Whether my ticket won anything
or not I don’t know; but this I do know, that the very next morning I
was recognized as a bad shilling, and was sent out’ to deceive and de-
ceive again. That is a very trying thing to bear when one knows one
has a good character, and of that I am conscious.

“For a year and a day I thus wandered from house to house and from
hand to hand, always abused, always unwelcome; no one trusted me;
and I lost confidence in the world and in myself. It was a heavy time.
At last, one day a traveller, a strange gentleman, arrived, and I was
passed to him, and he was polite enough to accept me for current coin;
but he wanted to pass me on, and again I heard the horrible cry, ‘No
use—false !?

“*T received it as a good coin,’ said the man, and he looked closely at
me; suddenly he smiled all over his face; and I had never seen that ex-
pression before on any face that looked at me. ‘ Why, whatever is that ?”
he said. ‘That’s one of our own country coins, a good honest shilling
from my home, and they’ve bored a hole through him, and they call
him false. Now, tiis is a curious circumstance. I must keep him and
take him home with me.”

“A glow of joy thrilled through me when I heard myself called a good
honest shilling; and now I was to be taken home, where each and every
one would know me, and be sure that I was real silver and properly
coined. I could have thrown out sparks for very gladness; but, after
all, it’s not in my nature to throw out sparks, for that’s the property
of steel, not of silver.

“Twas wrapped up in clean white paper, so that I should not be con-
founded with the other coins, and spent; and on festive occasions, when
fellow-countrymen met together, I was shown about, and they spoke
very well of me: they said I was interesting—and it is wonderful how
interesting one can be without saying a single word.

“And at last I got home again. All my troubles were ended, joy came
The Old Church Bell. 5

back to me, for I was of good silver, and had the right stamp, and I had
no more disagreeables to endure, though a hole had been bored through
me, as through a false coin ; but that does not matter if one is not really
false. One must wait for the end, and one will be righted at last—
that ’s my beliet,”’ said the Shilling. .





THE OLD BELL OF MARBACH,

THE OLD CHURCH BELL.

Iw the German land of Wurtemberg, where the acacias bloom by the
high road, and the apple trees and pear trees bend in autumn under
their burden of ripe fruit, lies the little town of Marbach. Although
this place can only be ranked among the smaller towns, it is charmingly
situated on the Neckar stream, that flows on and on, hurrying past
villages and old castles and green vineyards, to pour its waters into the
proud Rhine.

Tt was late in autumn. The leaves still clung to the grape-vine, but
they were already tinged with red. Rainy gusts swept over the country,
and the cold autumn winds increased in violence and roughness. It was
no pleasant time for poor folk.

The days became shorter and gloomier ; and if it was dark out in the
6 Stories for the Household.

open air, in the little old-fashioned houses it was darker still. One of
these houses was built with its gable end towards the street, and stood
there, with its small narrow windows, humble and poor enough in appear-
ance; the family was poor, too, that inhabited the little house, but good
and industrious, and rich in a treasure of piety concealed in the depth of
the heart. And they expected that God would soon give them another
ebild: the hour had come, and the mother lay in pain and sorrow. Then
from the church tower opposite the deep rich sound of the bell came to
her. It was a solemn hour, and the song of the bell filled the heart of
the praying woman with trustfulness and faith; the thoughts of her
inmost heart soared upward towards the Almighty, and in the same hour
she gave birth toason. Then she was filled with a great joy, and the
bell in the tower opposite seemed to be ringing to spread the news of
her happiness over town and country. The clear child-eyes looked at
her, and the infant’s hair gleamed like gold. Thus was the little one
ushered into the world with the ringing of the church bell on the dark
November day. The mother and father kissed it, and wrote in their
Bible: “On the 10th of November, 1759, God gave us a son ;” and soon
afterwards the fact was added that the child had been baptized under the
name of “ Johann Christoph Friedrich.”

And what became of the little fellow, the poor boy in the pretty town
of Marbach ? Ah, at that time no one knew what would become of him,
not even the old church bell that had sung at his birth, hanging so high
in the tower, over him who was one day himself to sing the beautiful
“ Lay of the Bell.”

Well, the boy grew older, and the world grew older with him. His
parents certainly removed to another town, but they had left dear friends
in little Marbach ; and thus it was that mother and son one day arose
and drove over to Marbach on a visit. The Jad was only six years old,
but he already knew many things out of the Bible, and many a pious
psalm ; and many an evening he had sat on his little stool, listening while
his father read aloud from “ Gellert’s Fables,” or from the lofty “ Mes-
siah”’ of Klopstock ; and he and his sister, who was his senior by two
years, had wept hot tears of pity for Him who died on the cross that
we might live eternally.

At the time of this first visit to Marbach the little town had not
greatly changed ; and indeed they had not long left it. The houses stood,
as on the day of the family’s departure, with their pointed gables, pro-
jecting walls, the higher storeys leaning over thé lower, and their tiny
windows ; but there were new graves in the churchyard ; and there, in
the grass, hard by the wall, lay the old bell. It had fallen from its
position, and had sustained such damage that it could sound no more,
and accordingly a new bell had been put in its place.

Mother and son went into the churchyard. ‘They stopped where the
old bell lay, and the mother told the boy how for centuries this had been
a very useful bell, and had rung at christenings, at weddings, and at
burials ; how it had spoken at one time to tell of feasts and of rejoicings,
at another to spread the alarm of fire; and how it had, in fact, sung the
The Old Church Beil. 7

whole life of man. And the boy never forgot what his mother told him
that day. It resounded and echoed at intervals in his heart, until, when
he was grown a man, he was compelled to sing it. The mother told him
also how the bell had sung of faith and comfort to her in the time of
her peril, that it had sung at the time when he, her little son, was born
And the boy gazed, almost with a feeling of devotion, at the great old
bell; and he bent over it and kissed it, as it lay all rusty and broken
among the long grass and nettles.

The old bell was held in kindly remembrance by the boy, who grew up
in poverty, tall and thin, with reddish hair and freckled face ;— yes,
that’s how he looked; but he had a pair of eyes, clear and deep as the
deepest water. And what fortune had he? Why, good fortune, envi-
able fortune. We find him graciously received into the military school,
and even in the department where sons of people in society were taught,
and was that not honour and fortune enough ? And they educated him
to the words of command, “ Halt! march! front!” and on such a system
much might be expected.

Meanwhile the old church bell had been almost completely forgotten.
But it was to be presumed that the bell would find its way into the
furnace, and what would become of it then? It was impossible to say,
and equally impossible to tell what sounds would come forth from the
bell that kept echoing through the young heart of the boy from Mar-
bach; but that bell was of bronze, and kept sounding so loud that it
must at last be heard out in the wide world ; and the more cramped the
space within the school walls, and the more deafening the dreary shout
of “ March! halt! front!” the louder did the sound ring through the
youth’s breast ; and he sang what he felt in the circle of his companions,
and the sound was heard beyond the boundaries of the principality.
But it was not for this they had given him a presentation to the military
school, and board, and clothing. Had he not been already numbered
and destined to be a certain wheel in the great watchwork to which we
all belong as pieces of practical machinery ? How imperfectly do we
understand ourselves! and how, then, shall others, even the best men,
understand us? But it is the pressure that forms the precious stone.
There was pressure enough here; but would the world be able, some day,
to recognize the jewel P

In the capital of the prince of the country, a great festival was being
celebrated. Thousands of candles and lamps gleamed brightly, and
rockets flew towards the heavens in streams of fire. The splendour of
that day yet lives in the remembrance of men, but it lives through him,
the young scholar of the military school, who was trying in sorrow and
tears to escape unperceived from the land: he was compelled to leave
all— mother, native country, those he loved — unless he could resign
himself ¢o sink into the stream of oblivion among his fellows.

The old bell was better off than he, for the bell would remain peace-
ably by the churchyard wall in Marbach, safe, and almost forgotten.
The wind whistled over it, and might have told a fine tale of him at
whose birth the bell had sounded, and over whom the wind had but now
8 Stories for the Household.

blown cold in the forest of a neighbouring land, where he had sunk
down, exhausted by fatigue, with his whole wealth, his only hope for the
future, the written pages of his tragedy “ Fiesco:” the wind might have
told of the youth’s only patrons, men who were artists, and who yet
slunk away to amuse themselves at skittles while his play was being
read: the wind could have told of the pale fugitive, who sat for weary
weeks and months in the wretched tavern, where the host brawled and
drank, and coarse boozing was going on while he sang of the ideal.
Heavy days, dark days! The heart inust suffer and endure for itself
the trials 1t is to sing.

Dark days and cold nights also passed over the old bell. The iron
frame did not feel them, but.the bell within the heart of man is affected
by gloomy times. How fared it with the young man? How fared it



REMOVING THE BELL.

with the old bell? The bell was carried far away, farther than its sound
could have been heard from the lofty tower in which it had once hung.
And the youth? The bell in his heart sounded farther than his eye
should ever see or his foot should ever wander; it is sounding and
sounding on, over the ocean, round the whole earth. But let us first
speak of the belfry bell. It was carried away from Marbach, was sold
for old metal, and destined for the melting furnace in Bavaria. But
when and how did this happen? In the capital of Bavaria, many years
after the bell had fallen from the tower, there was a talk of its being
melted down, to be used in the manufacture of a memorial in honour
of one of the great ones of the German land. And behold how suit-
able this was—how strangely and wonderfully things happened in the
world! In Denmark, on one of those green islands where the beech
woods rustle, and the many Hun’s Graves are to be seen, quite a poor
The Snail and the Rose Tree. 9

boy had been born. He had been accustomed to walk about in wooden
shoes, and to carry a dinner wrapped in an old handkerchief to his
father, who carved figure-heads on the ship-builder’s wharves ; but this
poor lad had become the pride of his country, for Thorwaldsen knew
how to hew marble blocks into such glorious shapes as made the whole
world wonder, and to him had been awarded the honourable commission
that he should fashion of clay a noble form that was to be cast in bronze
—a statue of him whose name the father in Marbach had inscribed in
the old Bible as Johann Christoph Friedrich.

And the glowing metal flowed into the mould. The old belfry bell—
of whose home and of whose vanished sounds no one thought—this
very old bell flowed into the mould, and formed the head and bust of
the figure that was soon to be unveiled, which now stands in Stuttgard,
before the old palace—a representation of him who once walked to and
fro there, striving and suttering, harassed by the world without—he,
the boy of Marbach, the pupil of the “ Karlschule,” the fugitive, Ger-
many’s great immortal poet, who sang of the liberator of Switzerland
and of the Heaven-inspired Maid of Orleans.

Tt was a beautiful sunny day; flags were waving from roofs and
steeples in the royal city of Stuttgard; the bells rang for joy and fes-
tivity ; one bell alone was silent, but it gleamed in another form in the
bright sunshine—it gleamed from the head and breast of the statue
of honour. On that day, exactly one hundred years had elapsed since
the day on which the bell at Marbach had sung comfort and peace to
the suifering mother, when she bore her son, in poverty, in the humble
cottage —him who was afterwards to become the rich man, whose
treasures enriched the world, the poet who sang of the nobie virtues of
woman, who sang of all that was great and glorious—Johann Christoph
Friedrich Schiller.

THE SNAIL AND THE ROSE TREE.

Arounp the garden ran a hedge of hazels; beyond this hedge lay
fields and meadows, wherein were cows and sheep; but in the midst of
the garden stood a blooming Rose Tree; and under this Rose Tree lived
a Snail, who had a good deal in his shell—namely, himself. __

“Wait till my time comes!” he said: “I shall do something more
than produce roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the Rose Tree, the hazel
bush, and the cows!”

“T expect a great deal of you,” said the Rose Tree. “But may I ask
when it will appear ?”

“T take my time,” replied the Snail. “ You’re always in sucha hurry.
You don’t rouse people’s interest by suspense.” p

When the next year came, the Snail lay almost in the same spot, in
the sunshine under the Rose Tree, which again bore buds that bloomed
10 Stories for the Household.

into roses, until the snow fell and the weather became raw and cold;
then the Rose Tree bowed its head and the Snail crept into the ground.

A new year began; and, the roses came out, and the Snail came out
also.

“You’re an old Rose Tree now!” said the Snail. “You must make
haste and come to an end, for you have given the world all that was in
you: whether it was of any use is a question that I have had no time to
consider; but so much is clear and plain, that you have done nothing
at all for your own development, or you would have produced something
else. How can you answer for that? Inalittle time you will be nothing
at all but a stick. Do you understand what I say ?”

“You alarm me!” replied the Rose Tree. “I never thought of that
at all.”



THE MAIDEN AND THE ROSE.

“ No, you have not taken the trouble to consider anything. Have you
ever given an account to yourself, why you bloomed, and how it is that
your blooming comes about—why it is thus, and not otherwise ?”

“ No,” answered the Rose Tree. “TI bloomed in gladness, because I
could not do anything else. The sun shone and warmed me, and the
air refreshed me. I drank the pure dew and the fresh rain, and I
lived, I breathed. Out of the earth there arose a power within me, from
above there came down a strength: I perceived a new ever-increasing
happiness, and consequently I was obliged to bloom over and over again ;
that was my life; I could not do otherwise.”

“You have led a very pleasant life,” observed the Snail.

“Certainly. Everything I have was given to me,” said the Rose
Tree. “ But more still was given to you. You are one of those deep
thoughtful characters, one of those highly gifted spirits, which will cause
the world to marvel.”

“Y’ve no intention of doing anything of the kind,” cried the Suail.
The Snail and the Rose Tree. ll

“The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the world? I
have enough of myself and in myself.”

“ But must we not all, here on earth, give to others the best that we
have, and offer what lies in our power? Certainly I have only given
roses. But you—you who have been so richly gifted—what have you
given to the world ? what do you intend to give?” :

“What have I given—what do I intend to give? Ispitatit. It’s
worth nothing. It’s no business of mine. Continue to give your roses,
if you like: you can’t do anything better. Let the hazel bush bear
nuts, and the cows and ewes give milk: they have their public; but I
have mine within myself—I retire within myself, and there I remain.
The world is nothing to me.”



THE YOUNG CHILD'S KISS.

And so saying the Snail retired into his house, and closed up the
entrance after him.

“That is very sad!” said the Rose Tree. “I cannot creep into myself,
even if I wish it—I must continue to produce roses. Theg drop their
leaves, and are blown away by the wind. But I saw how a rose was
laid in the matron’s hymn-book, and one of my roses had a place on
the bosom of a fair young girl, and another was kissed by the lips of a
child in the full joy of life. That did me good; it was a real blessing.
That ’s my remembrance—my life!”

And the Rose Tree went on blooming in innocence, while the Snail
lay andidled away his time in his house—the world did not concern him.

And years rolled by.
12 Stories for the Household.

The Snail had become dust in the dust, and the Rose Trce was earth
in the earth; the rose of remembrance in the hymn-book was faded,
but in the garden bloomed fresh rose trees, and under the trees lay new
snails ; and these still crept into their houses, and spat at the world,
for it did not concern them.

Suppose we begin the story again, and read it right through. It
will never alter.

LITTLE IDA’S FLOWERS.

“My poor flowers are quite dead!” said little Ida. ‘They were so
pretty yesterday, and now all the leaves hang withered. Why do they
do that?” she asked the student, who sat on the sofa; for she liked
him very much. He knew the prettiest stories, and could cut out the
most amusing pictures—hearts, with little ladies in them who danced,
flowers, and great castles in which one could open the doors: he was a
merry student. ‘“ Why do the flowers look so faded to-day ?” she asked
again, and showed him a nosegay, which was quite withered.

“Do you know what’s the matter with them?” said the student.
“The flowers have been at a ball last night, and that’s why they hang
their heads.”

“But flowers cannot dance!” cried little Ida.

“ Oh, yes,” said the student, “ when it grows dark, and we are asleep,
they jump about merrily. Almost every night they have a ball.”

“Can children go to this ball?”

“Yes,” said the student, “quite little daisies, and lilies of the valley.”

“Where do the beautiful flowers dance?” asked little Ida.

“ Have you not often been outside the town-gate, by the great castle,
where the king lives in summer, and where the beautiful garden is with
all the flowers P You have seen the swans, which swim up to you when
you want to give them bread crumbs? There- are capital balls there,
believe me.”

“Twas out there in the garden yesterday, with my mother,” said
Ida; “but all the leaves were off the trees, and there was not one
flower left. Where are they? In the summer I saw so many.” ;

“They are within, in the castle,” replied the student. “ You must
know, as soon as the king and all the court go to town, the flowers run
out of the garden into the castle, and are merry. You should see that.
The two most beautiful roses seat themselves on the throne, and then
they are king and queen ; all the red coxcombs range themselves on either
side, and stand and bow; they are the chamberlains. Then all the pretty
flowers come, and there is a great ball. The blue violets represent
little naval cadets: they dance with hyacinths and crocuses, which they
call young ladies; the tulips and the great tiger-lilies are old ladies
who keep watch that the dancing is well done, and that everything goes

”

on with propriety.




THE STUDENT TELLING LITTLE 1DA THE STORY OF THE FLOWERS.

“But,” asked little Ida, “is nobody there who hurts the flowers, for
dancing in the king’s castle ?”

“There is nobody who really knows about it,” answered the student.
“Sometimes, certainly, the old steward of the castle comes at night, and
he has to watch there. He has a great bunch of keys with him; but
as soon as the flowers hear the keys rattle they are quite quiet, hide
behind the long curtains, and only poke their heads out. Then the old
steward . says, ‘I smell that there are flowers here,’ but he cannot see
them.”

“That is famous!” cried little Ida, clapping her hands. “ But should
not I be able to see the flowers?”

“Yes,” said the student; “only remember, when you go out again, to
peep through the window; then you will see them. That is what I did
to-day. ‘There was a long yellow lily lying on the sofa and stretching
herself. She was a court lady.” ~
14 Stories for the Household.

“ Can the flowers out of the Botanical Garden get there? Can the
go the long distance ?”

“Yes, certainly ;” replied the student, “if they like they can fly.
Have you not seen the beautiful butterflies, red, yellow, and white?
They almost look like flowers ; and that is what they have been. They
have flown off their stalks high ito the air, and have beaten it with
their leaves, as if these leaves were little wings, and thus they flew.
And because they behaved themselves well, they got leave to fly about
in the day-time too, and were not obliged to sit still upon their stalks at
home; and thus at last the leaves became real wings. That you have
seen yourself. It may be, however, that the flowers in the Botanical
Garden have never been in the king’s castle, or that they don’t know of
the merry proceedings there at night. Therefore I will tell you some-
thing: he will be very much surprised, the botanical professor, who
lives close by here. You know him, do you not? When you come
into his garden, you must tell one of the flowers that there is a great
ball yonder in the castle. Then that flower will tell it to all the rest,
and then they will fly away: when the professor comes out into the
garden, there will not be a single flower left, and he won’t be able to
make out where they are gone.”

“ But bow can one flower tell it to another? For, you know, flowers
cannot speak.” ,

“ That they cannot, certainly,” replied the student; “but then they
make signs. Have you not noticed that when the wind blows a little,
the flowers nod at one another, and move all their green leaves? They
can understand that just as well as we when we speak together.”

“ Can the professor understand these signs?” asked Ida.

“Yes, certainly. We came one morning into his garden, and saw a
ereat stinging-nettle standing there, and making signs to a beautiful red
carnation with its leaves. It was saying, ‘You are so pretty, and I love
you with all my heart.’ But the professor does not like that kind of
thing, and he directly slapped the stinging-nettle upon its leaves, for
those are its fingers; but he stung himself, and since that time he has
not dared to touch a stinging-nettle.”

“That is funny,” cried little _Ida; and she laughed.

“How can any one put such notions into a child’s head?” said the
tiresome privy councillor, who had come to pay a visit, and was sitting
on the sofa. He did not like the student, and always grumbled when
he saw him cutting out the merry funny pictures—sometimes a man
hanging on a gibbet and holding a heart in bis hand, to show that he
stole hearts; sometimes an old witch riding on a broom, and carrying
her husband on her nose. The councillor could not bear this, and then
he said, just as he did now, “ How can any one put such notions into a
child’s head? Those are stupid fancies!”

But to little Ida, what the student told about her flowers seemed very
droll; and she thought much about it. The flowers hung their heads,
for they were tired because they had danced all night; they were cer-
tainly ul, Then she went with theni to her other toys, which stood.on
Little Ida’s Flowers. 15

a pretty little table, and the whole drawer was full of beautiful things.
In the doll’s bed lay her doll Sophy, asleep; but little Ida said to her,

“You must really get up, Sophy, and manage to lie in the drawer for
to-night. The poor flowers are ill, and they must lie in your bed; per-
haps they will then get well again.”

And she at once took the doll out; but the doll looked cross, and did
not say a single word; for she was cross because she could not keep her
own bed.

Then Ida laid the flowers in the doll’s bed, pulled the little coverlee
quite up over them, and said they were to lie still and be good, and she
would make them some tea, so that they might get well again, and be
nble to get up to-morrow. And she drew the curtains closely round the
little bed, so that the sun should not shine in their eyes. The whole
evening through she could not help thinking of what the student had
told her. And when she was going to bed herself, she was obliged first
to look behind the curtain which hung before the windows where her
mother’s beautiful flowers stood—hyacinths as well as tulips; then she
whispered, “I know you ’re going to the ball to-night!” But the flowers
made as if they did not understand a word, and did not stir a leaf; but
still little Ida knew what she knew.

‘When she was in bed she lay for a long time thinking how pretty it
must be to see the beautiful flowers dancing out. in the king’s castle.
“T wonder if my flowers have really been there?” And then she fell
asleep. In the night she awoke again: she had dreamed of the flowers,
and of the student with whom the councillor found fault. It was quite
quiet in the bed-room where Ida lay; the night-lamp burned on the
table, and father and mother were asleep.

“T wonder if my flowers are still lying in Sophy’s bed?” she thought
to herself. “How I should like to know it!” She raised herself a
little, and looked at the door, which stood ajar; within lay the flowers
and all her playthings. She listened, and then it seemed to her as if she
heard some one playing on the piano in the next room, but quite softly
and prettily, as she had never heard it before.

“ Now all the flowers are certainly dancing in there!” thought she.
“Qh, how glad I should be to see it!” But she dared not get up, for
she would have disturbed her father and mother.

“Tf they would only come in!” thought she. But the flowers did
not come, and the music continued to play beautifully; then she could
not bear it any longer, for it was too pretty; she crept out of her little
bed, and went quietly to the door, and looked into the room. Oh, how
Splendid it was, what she saw !

There was no night-lamp burning, but still it was quite light: the

-moon shone through the window into the middle of the floor; it was
almost like day. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in two long rows in
tbe room; there were none at all left at the window. ‘There stood the
empty flower-pots. On the floor all the flowers were dancing very
gracefully round each other, making perfect turns, and holding each
other by the long green leaves ag they swang round. But at the piano
16 Stories for the Household.

sat a great yellow lily, which little Ida had certainly seen in summer,
for she remembered how the student had said, “ How like that one is to
Miss Lina.” Then he had been laughed at by all; but now it seemed
really to little Ida as if the long yellow flower looked like the young
lady; and it had just her manners in playing—sometimes bending its
long yellow face to one side, sometimes to the other, and nodding in
tune to the charming music! No one noticed little Ida. Then she saw
a great blue crocus hop into the middle of the table, where the toys
stood, and go to the doll’s bed and pull the curtains aside ; there Jay the
sick flowers, but they got up directly, and nodded to the others, to say -
that they wanted to dance too. The old chimney-sweep doll, whose
under lip was broken off, stood up and bowed to the pretty flowers :
these did not look at all ill now; they jumped down to the others, and
were very merry.

Then it seemed as if something fell down from the table. Ida looked
that way. It was the birch rod which was jumping down! it seemed
almost as if it belonged to the flowers. At any rate it was very neat;
and a little wax doll, with just such a broad hat on its head as the
councillor wore, sat upon it. The birch rod hopped about among the
flowers on its three stilted legs, and stamped quite loud, for it was
dancing the mazourka; and the other flowers could not manage that
dance, because they were too light, and unable to stamp like that.

The wax doll on the birch rod all at once became quite great and long,
turned itself over the paper flowers, and said, “ How can one put such
things in a child’s head ? those are stupid fancies!” and then the wax
doll was exactly like the councillor with the broad hat, and looked just as
yellow and cross as he. But the paper flowers hit him on his thin legs,
and then he shrank up again, and became quite a little wax doll. That was
very amusing to see; and little Ida could not restrain her laughter. The
birch rod went on dancing, and the councillor was obliged to dance too ;
it was no use, he might make himself great and long, or remain the little
yellow wax doll with the big black hat. Then the other flowers put in
a good word for him, especially those who had lain in the doll’s bed, and
then the birch red. gave over. At the same moment there was a loud
knocking at the drawer, inside where Ida’s doll, Sophy, lay with many
other toys. The chimney-sweep ran to the edge of the table, lay flat
down on his stomach, and began to pull the drawer out a little. Then
Sophy raised herself, and looked round quite astonished.

“There must be a ball here,” said she; “why did nobody tell me?”

“ Will you dance with me ?” asked the chimney-sweep.

“You are a nice sort of fellow to dance!” she replied, and turned her
back upon him.

Then she seated herself upon the drawer, and thought that one of the
flowers would come and ask her; but not one of them came. Then she
coughed, “ Hem! hem! hem!” but for all that not one came. The
chimney-sweep now danced all alone, and that was not at all so bad.

As none of the flowers seemed to notice Sophy, she let herself fall
down from the drawer straight upon the floor, so that there was a great
Little Ida’s Flowers. 17

noise. The flowers now all came running up, to ask if she had not hurt
herself ; and they were all very polite to her, especially the flowers that
had lain in her bed. But she had not hurt herself at all; and Ida’s
flowers all thanked her for the nice bed, and were kind to her, took her
into the middle of the room, where the moon shone in, and danced with
her; and all the other flowers formed a circle round her. Now Sophy was
glad, and said they might keep her bed; she did not at all mind lying
in the drawer.

But the flowers said, “We thank you heartily, but in any way we
cannot live long. To-morrow we shall be quite dead. But tell little
Ida she is to bury us out in the garden, where the canary lics; then we
shall wake up again in summer, and be far more beautiful.”

“No, you must not die,” said Sophy; and she kissed the flowers.

Then the door opened, and a great number of splendid flowers came
dancing in. Ida could not imagine whence they had come; these must
certainly all be flowers from the king’s castle yonder. First of all came
two glorious roses, and they had little gold crowns on; they were a
king and a queen. ‘Then came the prettiest stocks and carnations;
and they bowed in all directions. They had music with them. Great
poppies and peonies blew upon pea pods till they were quite red in the
face. The blue hyacinths and the little white snowdrops rang just as
if they had been bells. That was wonderful music! Then came many
other flowers, and danced all together; the blue violets and the pink
primroses, daisies and the lilies of the valley. And all the flowers
kissed one another. It was beautiful to look at!

At last the flowers wished one another goodnight; then little Ida,
too, crept to bed, where she dreamed of all she had seen.

When she rose next morning, she went quickly to the little table, to
see if the little flowers were still there. She drew aside the curtains of
the little bed; there were they all, but they were quite faded, far more
than yesterday. Sophy was lying in the drawer where Ida had laid
her; she looked very sleepy.

“Do you remember what you were to say to me?” asked little Ida.

But Sophy looked quite stupid, and did not say a single word.

“You are not good at all!” said Ida. “And yet they all danced
with you.”

_Then she took a little paper box, on which were painted beautiful
birds, and opened it, and laid the dead flowers in it.

“That shall be your pretty coffin,” said she, “and when my cousins
come to visit me by and bye, they shall help me to bury you outside in
the garden, so that you may grow again in summer, and become more
beautiful than ever.”

These cousins were two merry boys. Their names were Gustave and
Adolphe; their father had given them two new crossbows, and they had
, brought these with them to show to Ida. She told them about the

poor flowers which had died, and then they got leave to bury them.
. The two boys went first, with their crossbows on their shoulders, and

little Ida followed with the dead flowers in the pretty box. Out in the
18 Stories for the Household.

garden a little grave was dug. Ida first kissed the flowers, and then
laid them in the earth in the box, and Adolphe and Gustave shot with
their crossbows over the grave, for they had neither guns nor cannons.

THE TINDER-BOX.

Tere came a soldier marching along the high road—one, two! one,
two! He had his knapsack on his back and a sabre by his side, for he
had been in the wars, and now he wanted to go home. And on the way
he met with an old witch: she was very hideous, and her under lip hung
down upon her breast. She said, “ Good evening, soldier. What a fine
sword you have, and what a big knapsack! You’re a proper soldier!
Now you shall have as much money as you like to have.”

“TY thank you, you old witch!” said the soldier.

“Do you see that great tree ?” quoth the witch; and she pointed to
a tree which stood beside them. “It’s quite hollow inside. You must
climb to the top, and then you’ll see a hole, through which you can let
yourself down and get deep into the tree. I'll tie a rope round your
body, so that I can pull you up again when you call me.”

“ What am I to do down in the tree ?” asked the soldier.

“Get money,” replied the witch. “ Listen tome. When you come
down to the earth under the tree, you will find yourself in a great hall:
it is quite light, for above three hundred lamps are burning there. Then
you will see three doors; these you can open, for the keys are hanging
there. If you go into the first chamber, you "ll see a great chest in the
middle of the floor; on this chest sits a dog, and he’s got a pair of eyes
as big as two tea-cups. But you need not care for that. I’ll give you
my blue-checked apron, and you can spread it out upon the floor; then
go up quickly and take the dog, and set him on my apron; then open
the chest, and take as many shillings as you like. They are of copper:
if you prefer silver, you must go into the second chamber. But there
sits a dog with a pair of eyes as big as mill-wheels. But do not you
care for that. Set him upon my apron, and take some of the money.
And if you want gold, you can have that too— in fact, as much as you
can carry—if you go into the third chamber. But the dog that sits on
the money-chest there has two eyes as big as round towers. He isa
fierce dog, you may be sure; but you needn’t be afraid, for all that.
Only set him on my apron, and he won’t hurt you; and take out of the
chest as much gold as you like.”

“That ’s not so bad,” said the soldier. “But what am I to give you,
you old witch ? for you will not do it for nothing, I fancy.”

“No,” replied the witch, “ not a single shilling will 1 have. You shall
only bring me an old tinder-box which my grandmother forgot when she
was down there last.”

“Then tie the rope round my body,” cried the soldier.


















THE WITCH INDUCES THE SOLDIER TO CLIMB THE TREE.

“Here it is,” said the witch, “and here’s my blue-checked apron.”

Then the soldier climbed up into the tree, let himself slip down into
the hole, and stood, as the witch had said, in the great hall where the
three hundred lamps were burning.

Now he opened the first door. Ugh! there sat the dog with eyes as
big as tea-cups, staring at him. “ You’re a nice fellow!” exclaimed the
soldier; and he set him on the witch’s apron, and took as many copper
shillings as his pockets would hold, and then locked the chest, set the
dog on it again, and went into the second chamber. Aha! there sat the
dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels. :

“You should not stare so hard at me,” said the soldier; “you might
strain your eyes.” And he set the dog upon the witch’s apron. And
when he saw the silver money in the chest, he threw away all the copper
money he had, and filled his pockets and his knapsack with silver only.
Then he went into the third chamber. Oh, but that was-horrid! The

C2
20 Stories for the Household.

dog there really had eyes as big as towers, and they turned round and
round in his head like wheels. :

“ Good evening!” said the soldier; and he touched his cap, for he had
never seen such a dog as that before. When he had looked at him a
little more closely, he thought, “ That will do,” and lifted him down to
the floor, and opened the chest. Mercy! what a quantity of gold was
there! He could buy with it the whole town, and the sugar sucking-
pigs of the cake woman, and all the tin soldiers, whips, and rocking-
horses in the whole world. Yes, that was a quantity of money! Now
the soldier threw away all the silver coin with which he had filled his
pockets and his knapsack, and took gold instead: yes, all his pockets,
his knapsack, his boots, and his cap were filled, so that he could scarcely
walk. Now indeed he had plenty of money. He put the dog on the
chest, shut the door, and then called up through the tree, “ Now pull
me up, you old witch.”

“ Have you the tinder-box ?’’ asked the witch.

“Plague on it!” exclaimed the soldier, “I had clean forgotten that.”
And he went and brought it.

The witch drew him up, and he stood on the high road again, with
pockets, boots, knapsack, and cap full of gold.

“What are you going to do with the tinder-box ?” asked the soldier.

“That ’s nothing to you,” retorted the witch. ‘“You’ve had your
money—just give me the tinder-box.”

“ Nonsense!” said the soldier. “Tell me directly what you ’re going
' to do with it, or I'll draw my sword and cut off your head.”

“No!” cried the witch.

So the soldier cut off her head. There she lay! But he tied up all
his money in her apron, took it on his back like a bundle, put the
tinder-box in his pocket, and went straight off towards the town.

That was a splendid town! And he put up at the very best inn, and
asked for the finest rooms, and ordered his favourite dishes, for now he
was rich, as he had so much money. The servant who had to clean his
boots certainly thought them a remarkably old pair for such a rich gen-
tleman ; but he had not bought any new ones yet. The next day he
procured proper boots and handsome clothes. Now our soldier had
become a fine gentleman; and the people told him of all the splendid
things which were in their city, and about the king, and what a pretty
princess the king’s daughter was.

“Where can one get to see her?” asked the soldier.

“She is not to be seen at all,” said they all together; she lives ina
great copper castle, with a great many walls and towers round about it;
no one but the king may go in and out there, for it has been prophesied
that she shall marry a common soldier, and the king can’t bear that.”

“T should like to see her,” thought the soldier; but he could not get
leave to do so. Now he lived merrily, went to the theatre, drove in the
king’s garden, and gave much money to the poor; and this was very
kind of him, for be knew from old times how hard it is when one has
not a shilling. Now he was rich, had fine clothes, and gained many


THE PRINCESS ARRIVES ON THE DOG’S BACK.

friends, who all said he was a rare one, a true cavalier; and that pleased
the soldier well. But as he spent money every day and never earned
any, he had at last only two shillings left; and he was obliged to turn
out of the fine rooms in which he had dwelt, and had to live in a little
garret under the roof, and clean his boots for himself, and mend them
with a darning-needle. None of his friends came to sce him, for there
were too many stairs to climb.

It was quite dark one evening, and he could not even buy himself a
candle, when it occurred to him that there was a candle-end in the
tinder-box which he had taken out of the hollow tree into which the
witch had helped him. He brought out the tinder-box and the candle-
end; but as soon as he struck fire and the sparks rose up from the flint,
the door flew open, and the dog who had eyes as big as a couple of tea-
cups, and whom he had seen in the tree, stood before him, and said,

“What are my lord’s commands ?”

“What is this?” said the soldier. “'That’s a famous tinder-box, if

\
22 Stories for the Household.

Ican get everything with it that I want! Bring me some money,” said
he to the dog; and whisk! the dog was gone, and whisk! he was back
again, with a great bag full of shillings in his mouth.

Now the soldier knew what a capital tinder-box this was. If he struck
it once, the dog came who sat upon the chest of copper money; if he
struck it twice, the dog came who had the silver; and if he struck it
three times, then appeared the dog who had the gold. Now the soldier
moved back into the fine rooms, and appeared again in handsome clothes;
and all his friends knew him again, and cared very much for him indeed.

Once he thought to himself, “It is a very strange thing that one
cannot get to see the princess. They all say she is very beautiful; but
what is the use of that, if she has always to sit in the great copper castle
with the many towers? Can I not get to see her at all? Where is my
tinder-box ?” And so he struck a light, and whisk ! came the dog with
eyes as big as tea-cups.

“Tt is midnight, certainly,” said the soldier, “ but I should very much
like to see the princess, only for one little moment.”

And the dog was outside the door directly, and, before the soldier
thought it, came back with the princess. She sat upon the dog’s back
and slept; and every one could see she was a real princess, for she was
so lovely. The soldier could not refrain from kissing her, for he was a
thorough soldier. Then the dog ran back again with the princess. But
when morning came, and the king and queen were drinking tea, the prin-
cess said she had hada strange dream the night before, about a dog anda
soldier—that she had ridden upon the dog, and the soldier had kissed her.

“That would be a fine history !” said the Queen.

So one of the old court ladies had to watch the next night by the
princess’s bed, to see if this was really a dream, or what it might be.

The soldier had a great longing to see the lovely princess again; so
the dog came in the night, took her away, and ran as fast as he could.
But the old lady put on water-boots, and ran just as fast after him.
When she saw that they both entered a great house, she thought, “Now
I know where it is;” and with a bit of chalk she drew a great cross on
the door. Then she went home and lay down, and the dog came up
with the princess; but when he saw that there was a cross drawn on
the door where the soldier lived, he took a piece of chalk too, and drew
crosses on all the doors in the town. And that was cleverly done, for
now the lady could not find the right door, because all the doors had
crosses upon them.

In the morning early came the King and the Queen, the old court lady
and all the officers, to see where it was the princess had been. “Here
it is!” said the King, when he saw the first door with a cross upon it.
“No, my dear husband, it is there!” said the Queen, who descried
another door which also showed a cross. ‘“ But there is one, and there
is one!” said all, for wherever they looked there were crosses on the
doors. So they saw that it would avail them nothing if they searched on.

But the Queen was an exceedingly clever woman, who covjd do more
than ride in a coach. She took her great gold scissors, cut a piece of
The Tinder-Box. 293

silk into pieces, and made a neat little bag ; this bag she filled with fine
wheat flour, and tied it on the princess’s back; and when that was done,
she cut a little hole in the bag, so that the flour would be scattered
along all the way which the prmcess should take.

In the night the dog came again, took the princess on his back, and
ran with her to the soldier, who loved her very much, and would glad]
have been a prince, so that he might have her for his wife. The dog did
not notice at all how the flour ran out ina stream from the castle to the
windows of the soldier’s house, where he ran up the wall with the prin-
cess. In the morning the King and the Queen saw well enough where
their daughter had been, and they took the soldier and put him in prison.

There he sat. Oh, but it was dark and disagreeable there! And they
said to him, “To-morrow you shall be hanged.” That was not amusing
to hear, and he had left his tinder-box at the inn. In the morning he
could see, through the iron grating of the little window, how the people
were hurrying out of the town to see him hanged. He heard the drums
beat and saw the soldiers marching. All the people were running out,
and among them was a shoemaker’s boy with leather apron and slippers,
and he gallopped so fast that one of his slippers flew off, and came right
against the wall where the soldier sat looking through the iron grating.

“ Halloo, you shoemaker’s boy! you needn’t be in such a hurry,” cried
the soldier to him: “it will not begin till I come. But if you'will run
to where I lived, and bring me my tinder-box, you shall have four shil-
lings; but you must put your best leg foremost.”

The shoemaker’s boy wanted to get the four shillings, so he went and
brought the tinder-box, and—well, we shall hear now what happened.

Outside the town a great gallows had been built, and round it stood
the soldiers and many hundred thousand people. The king and queen
sat on a splendid throne, opposite to the judges and the whole council.
The soldier already stood upon the ladder; but as they were about to
put the rope round his neck, he said that before a poor criminal suffered
his punishment an innocent request was always granted to him. He
wanted very much to smoke a pipe of tobacco, and it would be the last
pipe he should smoke in the world. The king would not say “No” to
this ; so the soldier took his tinder-box, and struck fire. One—two—
three !—and there suddenly stood all the dogs—the one with eyes as big
as tea-cups, the one with eyes as large as mill-wheels, and the one whose
eyes were as big as round towers.

“Help me now, so that I may not be hanged,” said the soldier,

And the dogs fell upon the judge and all the council, seized one by the
leg and another by the nose, and tossed them all many feet into the air,
so that they fell down and were all broken to pieces.

“T won’t!” cried the King; but the biggest dog took him and the
Queen, and threw them after the others. Then the soldiers were afraid,
and the people cried, “ Little soldier, you shall be our king, and marry

-the beautiful princess!”

So they put the soldier into the king’s coach, and all the three dogs

darted on in front and cried “ Hurrah!” and the boys whistled through
24 Stories for the Household.

their fingers, and the soldiers presented arms. The princess came out
of the copper castle, and became queen, and she liked that well enough.
The wedding lasted a week, and the three dogs sat at the table too, and
opened their eves wider than ever at all they saw.

GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS.

Turn lived two men in one village, and they had the same name—
each was called Claus; but one had four horses, and the other only a
single horse. To distinguish them from each other, folks called him who
had fonr horses Great Claus, and the one who had only a single horse
Little Claus. Now we shall hear what happened to each of them, for
this is a true story.

The whole week through Little Claus was obliged to plough for Great
Claus, and to lend him his one horse; then Great Claus helped him out
with all his four, but’ only once a week, and that ona holiday. Hurrah!
how Little Claus smacked his whip over all five horses, for they were as -
good as his own on that one day. The sun shone gaily, and all the bells
in the steeples were ringing; the people were all dressed in their best,
aud were going to church, with their hymn-books under their arms, to
hear the clergyman preach, and they saw Little Claus ploughing with
five horses; but he was so merry that he smacked his whip again and
again, and cried, “ Gee up, all my five!”

“You must not talk so,” said Great Claus, “for only the one horse 1s
yours.”

But when no one was passing Little Claus forgot that he was not to
say this, and he cried, “ Gee up, all my horses!”

“Now, I must beg of you to let that alone,” cried Great Claus, “for
if you say it again, I shall hit your horse on the head, so that it will fall
down dead, and then it will be all over with him.”

“T will certainly not say it any more,” said Little Claus.

But when people came by soon afterwards, and nodded “ good day”
to him, he became very glad, and thought it looked very well, after all,
that he had five horses to plough his field; and so he smacked his whip
again, and cried, “ Gee up, all my horses!”

“Tl ‘gee up’ your horses!” said Great Claus. And he took the
hatchet and hit the only horse of Little Claus on the head, so that it fell
down, and was dead immediately.

“Oh, now I haven’t any horse at all!” said Little Claus, and began
to cry.

Then he flayed the horse, and let the hide dry in the wind, and put it
ina sack and hung it over his shoulder, and went to the town to sell
his horse’s skin.

He had a very long way to go, and was obliged to pass through a great
dark wood, and the weather became dreadfully bad. He went quite
nn tenner ete A I

i
t
{
5
\
i






Sm - X
: ree j



LITTLE CLAUS DEPLORING THE DEATH OF HIS HORSE.

astray, and before he got into the right way again it was evening, and it
was too far to get home again or even to the town before nightfall.

Close by the road stood a large farm-house. The shutters were closed
outside the windows, but the light could still be seen shining out over
them.

“T may be able to get leave to stop here through the night,” thought
Little Claus; and he went and knocked.

The farmer’s wife opened the door; but when she heard what he
wanted she told him to go away, declaring that her husband was not at
home, and she would not receive strangers.

“Then I shall have to lie outside,” said Little Claus. And the
farmer’s wife shut the door in his face.

Close by stood a great haystack, and between this and the farm-house
was a little outhouse thatched with straw.

“Up there 1 can lie,” said Little Claus, when he looked up at the
26 Stories for the Household.

roof; “that isa capital bed. I suppose the stork won’t fly down and
bite me in the legs.” Fora living stork was standing on the roof, where
he had his nest:

Now little Claus climbed up to the roof of the shed, where he lay, and
turned round to settle himself comfortably. The wooden shutters did
not cover the windows at the top, and he could look straight into the
room. There was a great table, with the cloth laid, and wine and roast
meat and a glorious fish upon it. The farmer’s wife and the clerk were
seated at table, and nobody besides. She was filling his glass, and he
was digging his fork into the fish, for that was his favourite dish.

“Tf one could only get some too!” thought Little Claus, as he
stretched out his head towards the window. Heavens! what a glorious
cake he saw standing there! Yes, certainly, that was a feast.

Now he heard some one riding along the high road. It was the
woman’s husband, who was coming home. He was a good man enough,
but he had the strange peculiarity that he could never bear to see a
clerk. Ifa clerk appeared before his eyes he became quite wild. And
that was the reason why the clerk had gone to the wife to wish her good
day, because he knew that her husband was not at home; and the good
woman therefore put the best fare she had before him. But when they
heard the man coming they were frightened, and the woman begged the
clerk to creep into a great empty chest which stood there; and he did
so, for he knew the husband could not bear the sight of a clerk. The
woman quickly hid all the excellent meat and wine in her baking-oven ;
for if the man had seen that, he would have been certain to ask what it
meant.

“Ah; yes!” sighed Little Claus, up in his shed, when he saw all the
good fare put away.

“Ts there any one up there?” asked the farmer; and he looked up at
Little Claus. ‘Who are you lying there? Better come with me into
the room.”

And Little Claus told him how he had lost his way, and asked leave
to stay there for the night.

“Yes, certainly,” said the peasant, “ but first we must have something
to live on.”

The woman received them both in a very friendly way, spread the
cloth on a long table, and gave them a great dish 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 in the oven. Under the table, at his feet, he had laid the
sack with the horse’s hide in it; for we know that he had come out to
sell it in the town. He could not relish the porridge, so he trod upon
the sack, and the dry skin inside crackled quite loudly.

“Why, what have you in your sack ?” asked the farmer.

“Oh, that’s a magician,” answered Little Claus. “He says we are
not to eat porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of roast meat, fish,
and cake.”

“Wonderful!” cried the farmer; and he opened the oven in a hurry,
Great Claus and Little Claus. 27

and found all the dainty provisions which his wife had hidden there, but
which, as he thought, the wizard had conjured forth. The woman dared
not say anything, but put the things at once on the table; and so they
both ate of the meat, the fish, and the cake. Now Little Claus again
trod on his sack, and made the hide creak.

“What does he say now?” said the farmer.

“ He says,” replied Claus, “that he has conjured three bottles of wine
for us, too, and that they are standing there in the corner behind the oven.”

Now the woman was obliged to bring out the wine which she had
hidden, and the farmer drank it and became very merry. He would
have been very glad to see such a conjuror as Little Claus had there in
the sack.

“Can he conjure the demon forth?” asked the farmer. “I should
like to see him, for now I am merry.”

“Oh, yes,” said Little Claus, “my conjuror can do anything that I
ask of him.—Can you not?” he added, and trod on the hide, so that it
crackled. “He says ‘Yes.’ But the demon is very ugly to look at: we
had better not see him.”

“Oh, I’m not at all afraid. Pray, what will he look like ?”

“Why, hell look the very image of a clerk.”

“Ha!” said the farmer, “that is ugly! You must know, I can’t bear
the sight of a clerk. But it doesn’t matter now, for I know that he’s a
demon, so I shall easily stand it. Now I have courage, but he must not
come too near me.”

“ Now I will ask my conjuror,” said Little Claus; and he trod on the
sack and held his ear down.

“What does he say ?”

“He says you may go and open the chest that stands in the corner,
and you will see the demon crouching in it; but you must hold the lid
so that he doesn’t slip out.”

“Will you help me to hold him ?” asked the farmer. And he went to
the chest where the wife had hidden the real clerk, who sat in there and
was very much afraid. The farmer opened the lid a little way and
peeped in underneath it.

“Hu!” he cried, and sprang backward. “Yes, now I’ve seen him,
and he looked exactly like our clerk. Oh, that was dreadful !”

Upon this they must drink. So they sat and drank until late into
the night.

“You must sell me that conjuror,” said the farmer. “Ask as much
as you like for him: I’ll give you a whole bushel of money directly.”

“No, that I can’t do,” said Little Claus: ‘only think how much use
I can make of this conjuror.”

“Oh, I should so much like to have him!” cried the farmer; and he
went on begging.

“Well,” said Little Claus, at last, “as you have been so kind as to
give me shelter for the night, I will let it beso. You shall have the con-
juror for a bushel of money; but I must have the bushel heaped up.”

“That you shall have,” replied the farmer. “But you must take the
28 Stories for the Household.

chest yonder away with you. I will not keep it in my house an hour.
One cannot know,—perhaps he may be there still.”

Little Claus gave the farmer his sack with the dry hide in it, and got
in exchange a whole bushel of money, and that heaped up. The farmer
also gave him a big truck, on which to carry off his money and chest.

“Farewell!” said Little Claus; and he went off with his money and
the big chest, in which the clerk was still sitting.

On the other side of the wood was a great deep river. The water
rushed along so rapidly that one could scarcely swim against the stream.
A fine new bridge had been built over it. Little Claus stopped on the
centre of the bridge, and said quite loud, so that the clerk could hear it,

“To, what shall I do with this stupid chest? It’s as heavy as if
stones were in it. I shall only get tired if I drag it any farther, so Ill
throw it into the river: if it swims home to me, well and good; and if
it does not, it will be no great matter.”

And he took the chest with one hand, and lifted it up alittle, as if he
intended to throw it into the river. |

“No! let be!” cried the clerk from within the chest; “let me out
first!”

“Hu!” exclaimed Little Claus, pretending to be frightened, “he’s in
there still! I must make haste and throw him into the river, that he
may be drowned.”

‘**Oh, no, no!” screamed the clerk. “I’J] give you a whole bushel-full
of money if you’ll let me go.”

“Why, that’s another thing!” said Little Claus; and he opened the
chest.

The clerk crept quickly out, pushed the empty chest into the water,
and went to his house, where Little Claus received a whole bushel-full
of money. He had already received one from the farmer, and so now he
had his truck loaded with money.

“See, I’ve been well paid for the horse,” he said to himself when he
had got home, to his own room, and was emptying all the money into
a heap in the middle of the floor. ‘That will vex Great Claus when he
hears how rich I have grown through my one horse; but I won’s tell
him about it outright.”

So he sent a boy to Great Claus to ask for a bushel measure.

“What can he want with it?” thought Great Claus. And he smeared
some tar underneath the measure, so that some part of whatever was
measured should stick to it. And thus it happened; for when he re-
ceived thé measure back, there were three new eight-shilling pieces
adhering theretv.

“Whats this?” cried Great Claus; and he ran off at once to Little
Claus. “Where did you get all that money from ?”

“Oh, that’s for my horse’s skin. I sold ‘it yesterday evening.”

“That ’s really being well paid,” said Great Claus. And he ran home
in a hurry, took an axe, and killed all his four horses; then he flayed
them, and carried off their skins to the town.”

“ Hides! hides! who’ll buy any hides ?” he cried through the streets.


















GREAT CLAUS BEATEN BY THE SHOEMAKERS AND TANNERS.

All the shoemakers and tanners came running, and asked how much
he wanted for them.

“A bushel of money for each!” said Great Claus.

“Are you mad?” said they. “ Do you think we have money by the
bushel ?”

“ Hides! hides!” he cried again; and to all who asked him what the
hides would cost he replied, “A bushel of money.”

“He wants to make fools of us,” they all exclaimed. And the shoe-
makers took their straps, and the tanners their aprons, and they began
to beat Great Claus.

“Hides! hides!” they called after him, jeeringly. “Yes, we’ll tan
your hide for you till the red broth runs down. Out of the town with
him!” And Great Claus made the best haste he could, for he had never
yet been thrashed as he was thrashed now.

“Well,” said he when he got home, “ Little Claus shall pay for this.
T’ll kill him for it.”
30 - Stories for the Household.

Now, at Little Claus’s the old grandmother had died. She had been
very harsh and unkind to him, but yet he was very sorry, and took the
dead woman and laid her in his warm bed, to see if she would not come
to life again. There he intended she should remain all through the
night, and he himself would sit in the corner and sleep on a chair, as he
had often done before. As he sat there, in the night the door opened,
and Great Claus came in with his axe. He knew where Little Claus’s
bed stood; and, going straight up to it, he hit the old grandmother on
the head, thinking she was Little Claus.

“D’ ye see,” said he, “you shall not make a fool of me again.” And
then he went home.

“That’s a bad fellow, that man,” said Little Claus. “He wanted to
kill me. It wasa good thing for my old grandmother that she was dead
already. He would have taken her life.”

And he dressed his grandmother in her Sunday clothes, borrowed a
horse of his neighbour, harnessed it to a car, and put the old lady on the
back seat, so that she could not fall out when he drove. And so they
trundled through the wood. When the sun rose they were in front of
an inn; there Little Claus pulled up, and went in to have some refresh-
ment.

The host had very, very much money; he was also a very good man,
but exceedingly hot, as if he had pepper and tobacco in him.

“Good morning,” said he to Little Claus. “You’ve put on your
Sunday clothes early to-day.”

“Yes,” answered Little Claus; “I’m going to town with my old
grandmother: she’s sitting there on the car without. I can’t bring her
into the room—will you give her a glass of mead? But you must speak
very loud, for she can’t hear well.”

“Yes, that Ill do,” said the host. And he poured out a great glass
of mead, and went out with it to the dead grandmother, who had been
placed upright in the carriage.

“ Here’s a glass of mead from your son,” quoth mine host. But the
dead woman replied not a word, but sat quite still. “Don’t you hear?”
cried the host, as loud as he could, “here is a glass of mead from your
son |”

Once more he called out the same thing, but as she persisted in not
hearing him, he became angry at last, and threw the glass in her face,
so that the mead ran down over her nose, and she tumbled backwards
into the car, for she had only been put upright, and not bound fast.

“ Hallo!” cried Little Claus, running out at the door, and seizing the
host by the breast ; “you ’ve killed my grandmother now! See, there ’s
a big hole in her forehead.”

“ Oh, here’s a misfortune!” cried the host, wringing his hands. “That
all comes of my hot temper. Dear Little Claus, I’ll give you a bushel
of money, and have your grandmother buried as if she were my own;
only keep quiet, or I shall have my head cut off, and that would be so
very disagreeable |”

So Little Claus again received a whole bushel of money, and the host
Great Claus and Litile Claus. 81

buried the old grandmother as if she had been his own. And when
Little Claus came home with all his money, he at once sent his boy to
Great Claus to ask to borrow a bushel measure.

“What’s that?” said Great Claus. ‘Have I not killed him? I
must go myself and see to this.” And so he went over himself with the
bushel to Little Claus.

“Now, where did you get all that money from?” he asked; and he
opened. his eyes wide when he saw all that had been brought together.

“You killed my grandmother, and not me,” replied Little Claus;
“and L’ve been and sold her, and got a whole bushel of money for her.”

“That’s really being well paid,” said Great Claus; and he hastened
home, took an axe, and killed his own grandmother directly. Then he
put her on a carriage, and drove off to the town with her, to where the
apothecary lived, and asked him if he would buy a dead person.

“ Who is it, and where did you get him from?” asked the apothecary.

“It’s my grandmother,” answered Great Claus. “I’ve killed her to
get a bushel of money for her.”

“ Heaven save us!” cried. the apothecary, “you’re raving! Don’t say
such things, or you may lose your head.” And he told him earnestly
what a bad deed this was that he had done, and what a bad man he was,
and that he must be punished. And Great Claus was so frightened that
he jumped out of the surgery straight into his carriage, and whipped the
horses, and drove home. But the apothecary and all the people thought
him mad, and so they let him drive whither he would.

“You shall pay for this!” said Great Claus, when he was out upon
the high road: “yes, you shall pay me for this, Little Claus!” And
directly he got home he took the biggest sack he could find, and went
over to Little Claus, and said, “ Now, you’ve tricked me again! First
T killed my horses, and then my old grandmother! That’s all your fault ;
but you shall never trick me any more.” And he seized Little Claus
round the body, and thrust him into the sack, and took him upon his
back, and called out to him, “ Now I shall go off with you and drown

ou.” .

It was a long way that he had to travel before he came to the river,
and Little Claus was not too light to carry. The road led him close to a
church: the organ was playing, and the people were singing so beauti-
fully! Then Great Claus put down his sack, with Little Claus in it,
close to the church door, and thought it would be a very good thing to
go in and hear a psalm before he went farther; for Little Claus could
not get out, and all the people were in church; and so he went in.

“Ah, yes! yes!” sighed Little Claus in the sack. And he turned and
twisted, but he 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
stumbled against the sack in which Little Claus was confined, so that
it wag overthrown.

“Oh, dear!” sighed Little Claus, “1’m so young yet, and am to go to
heaven directly!”
32 Stories for the Household.

“ And I, poor fellow,” said the drover, “am so old already, and can’t
get there yet!”

“Open the sack,” cried Little Claus; “creep into it instead of me,
and you will get to heaven directly.”

“With all my heart,” replied the drover; and he untied the sack, out
of which Little Claus crept forth immediately.

“ But will you look after the cattle?’ said the old man; and he crept
into the sack at once, whereupon Little Claus tied it up, and went his
way with all the cows and oxen.

Soon afterwards Great Claus came out of the church. He took the sack
on his shoulders again, although it seemed to him as if the sack had
become lighter ; for the old drover was only half as heavy as Little Claus.

“ How light he is to carry now! Yes, that is because I have heard a

sal.”
2 So he went to the river, which was deep and broad, threw the sack
with the old drover in it into the water, and called after him, thinking
that it was little Claus, “ You lie there! Now you shan’t trick me any
more!”

Then he went home; but when he came to a place where there was a
cross road, he met little Claus driving all his beasts.

“What’s this?” cried great Claus. ‘‘ Have I not drowned you?”

“Yes,” replied Little Claus, “ you threw me into the river less than
half an hour ago.”

“ But wherever did you get all those fine beasts from?” asked Great
Claus.

“These beasts are sea-cattle,” replied Little Claus. “TIL tell you
the whole story,—and thank you for drowning me, for now I’m at the
top of the tree. I am really rich! How frightened I was when I lay
huddled in the sack, and the wind whistled about my ears when you
threw me down from the bridge into the cold water! I sank to the
bottom immediately ; but I did not knock myself, for the most splen-
did soft grass grows down there. Upon that I fell; and immediately
the sack was opened, and the loveliest maiden, with snow-white gar-
ments and a green wreath upon her wet hair, took me by the hand, and
said, ‘Are you come, Little Claus? Here you have some cattle to
begin with. A mile farther along the road there is a whole herd more,
which I will give to you.’ And now I saw that the river formed a great
highway for the people of the sea. Down in its bed they walked and
drove directly from the sea, and straight into the land, to where the
river ends. There it was so beautifully full of flowers and of the
freshest grass; the fishes, which swam in the water, shot past my ears,
just as here the birds in the air. What pretty people there were there,
and what fine cattle pasturing on mounds and in ditches!”

“But why did you come up again to us directly?” asked Great
Claus. “TI should not have done that, if it is so beautiful down there.”

“Why,” replied Little Claus, “in that I just acted with good policy.
You heard me tell you that the sea-maiden said, ‘ A mile farther along
the road ’—and by the road she meant the river, for sh> can’t go any-
The Princess onthe Pea. 33

where else—‘ there is a whole herd of cattle for you.’ But I know what
bends the stream makes—sometimes this way, sometimes that; there’s
a long way to go round: no, the thing can be managed in a shorter way
by coming here to.the land, and driving across the fields towards the
river again. In this manner I save myself almost half a mile, and get
all the quicker to my sea-cattle !”

“Ob, you are a fortunate man!” said Great Claus. ‘Do you think
I should get some sea-cattle too if I went down to the bottom of the
river ?”

“Yes, I think so,” replied Little Claus. “ But I cannot carry you in
the sack as far as the river; you are too heavy for me! But if you will
go there, and creep into the sack yourself, I will throw you in with a
great deal of pleasure.”

“Thanks!” said Great Claus; ‘ but if I don’t get any sea-cattle
when I am down there, I shall beat you, you may be sure!”

“Oh, no; don’t be so fierce!” :

And so they went together to the river. When tho beasts, which were
ihirsty, saw the stream, they ran as fast as they could to get at the water.

‘‘See how they hurry!” cried Little Claus. “They are longing to
get back to the bottom.”

“Yes, but help me first!” said Great Claus, “or else you shall be
beaten.”

And so he crept into the great sack, which had been laid across the
back of one of the oxen.

“ Put a stone in, for I’m afraid I shan’t sink else,” said Great Claus.

“That can be done,” replied Little Claus; and he put a big stone
into the sack, tied the rope tightly, and pushed against it. Plump!
There lay Great Claus in the river, and sank at once to the bottom.

“Tm afraid he won’t find the cattle!” said Little Claus ; and then
he drove homeward with what he had.

THE PRINCESS ON THE PEA.

THERE was once a Prince who wanted to marry a princess; but she
was to be a real princess. So he travelled about, all through the world,
to find a geal one, but everywhere there was something in the way.
There were princesses enough, but whether they were real princesses
he could not quite make out: there was always something that did not
seem quite right. So he came home again, and was quite sad; for he
wished so much. to have a real princess.

One evening a terrible storm came on. It lightened and thundered,
the rain streamed down; it was quite fearful! Then there was a knock-
ing at the town gate, and the old King went out to open it.

It was a Princess who stood outside the gate. But, mercy! how she
looked, from the rain and the rough weather! The water ran down

D
a ie.





THE PRINCESS COMPLAINING OF THE PEA IN HER BED.

from her hair and her clothes; it ran in at the points of her shoes, and
out at the heels; and yet she declared that she was a real princess.

“Yes, we will soon find that out,” thought the old Queen. But she
said nothing, only went into the bed-chamber, took all the bedding off,
and put a pea on the flooring of the bedstead; then she took twenty
mattresses and laid them upon the pea, and then twenty eider-down
beds upon the mattresses. On this the Princess had to lie all night.
In the morning she was asked how she had slept.

“Oh, miserably!” said the Princess. “I scarcely closed my eyes all
night long. Goodness knows what was in my bed. I lay upon some-
thing hard, so that I am black and blue all over. It is quite dreadful!”

Now they saw that she was a real princess, for through the twenty
mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds she had felt the pea. No
one but a real princess could be so delicate.

So the Prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a
true princess; and the pea was put in the museum, and it is there now,
unless somebody has carried it off.

Look you, this is a true story.


THUMBELINA AND THE TOADS.

THUMBELINA.

THERE was once a woman who wished for a very little child; but she
did not know where she should procure one. So she went to an old
witch, and said,

“T do so very much wish for a little child! can you not tell me where
I can get one?”

“Oh! that could easily be managed,” said the witch. ‘There you
have a barleycorn: that is not of the kind which grows in the coun-
tryman’s field, and which the chickens get to eat. Put that into a
flower-pot, and you shall see what you shall see.”

“Thank you,” said the woman; and she gave the witch twelve shil-
lings, for that is what it cost.

Then she went home and planted the barleycorn, and immediately
there grew up a great handsome flower, which looked like a tulip; but
the leaves were tightly closed, as though it were still a bud.

“That is a beautiful flower,” said the woman; and she kissed its
yellow and red leaves. But just as she kissed it the flower opened with
apop. It was a real tulip, as one could now see; but in the middle of
the flower there sat upon the green velvet stamens a little maiden, deli-
cate and praceful to behold. She was scarcely half a thumb’s length in
height, and therefore she was called Thumbelina.

A neat polished walnut-shell served Thumbelina for a cradle, blue
violet-leaves were her mattresses, with a rose-leaf for a coverlet. There
she slept at night; but in the day-time she played upon the table, where
the woman had put a plate with a wreath of flowers around it, whose
stalks stood in water; on the water swam a great tulip-leaf, and on this
the little maiden could sit, and row from one side of the plate to the

other, with two white horse-hairs for oars. That looked pretty indeed!
D2
36 Stories for the Household.

She could also sing, and, indeed, so delicately and sweetly, that the like
had never been heard.

Once as she lay at night in her pretty bed, there came an old Toad
creeping through the window, in which one pane was broken. The Toad
was very ugly, big, and damp: it hopped straight down upon the table,
where humbelina lay sleeping under the rose-leaf.

“That would be a handsome wife for my son,” said the Toad; and she
took the walnut-shell in which Thumbelina lay asleep, and hopped with
it through the window down into the garden.

There ran a great broad brook; but the margin was swampy and soft,
and here the Toad dwelt with her son. Ugh! he was ugly, and looked
just like his mother. “Croak! croak! brek kek-kex!” that was all he
could say when he saw the graceful little maiden in the walnut-shell.

“ Don’t speak so loud, or she will awake ;” said the old Toad. “She
might run away from us, for she is as light as a bit of swan’s-down. We
will put her out in the brook upon one of the broad water-lily leaves.
That will be just like an island for her, she is so small and light. Then
she can’t get away, while we put the state room under the marsh in
order, where you are to live and keep house together.”

Out in the brook there grew many water-lilies with broad green
leaves, which looked as if they were floating on the water. The leaf
which lay farthest out was also the greatest of all, and to that the old
Toad swam out and laid the walnut-shell upon it with Thumbelina. The
little tiny Thumbelina woke early in the morning, and when she saw
where she was, she began to cry very bitterly; for there was water on
every side of the great green leaf, and she could not get to land at all.
The old Toad sat down in the marsh, decking out her room with rushes
and yellow weed—it was to be made very pretty for the new daughter-
in-law; then she swam out, with her ugly son, to the leaf on which
Thumbelina was. They wanted to take her pretty bed, which was to be
put in the bridal chamber before she went in there herself. The old
Toad bowed low before her in the water, and said,

“ Here is my son; he will be your husband, and you will live splen-
didly together in the marsh.”

“Croak! croak! brek-kek-kex !” was all the son could say.

Then they took the delicate little bed, and swam away with it; but
Thumbelina, sat all alone upon the green leaf and wept, for she did not
like to live at the nasty Toad’s, and have her ugly son for a husband.
The little fishes swimming in the water below had both seen the Toad,
and had also heard what she said; therefore they stretched forth their
heads, for they wanted to see the little girl. So soon as they saw her
they considered her so pretty that they felt very sorry she should have
to go down to the ugly Toad. No, that must never be! They assem-
bled together in the water around the green stalk which held the leaf
on which the little maiden stood, and with their teeth they gnawed
away the stalk, and so the leaf swam down the stream; and away went
Thumbelina far away, where the Toad could not get at her.

Thumbelina sailed by many cities, and the little birds which sat in
Thumbelina. 3

the bushes saw her, and said, “ What a lovely little girl!” The leaf
swam away with them, farther and farther; so Thumbelina travelled
out of the country. ,

A graceful little white butterfly always fluttered round her, and at
last alighted on the leaf. Thumbelina pleased him, and she was very
glad of this, for now the Toad could not reach them; and it was so
beautiful where she was floating along—the sun shone upon the water,
and the water glistened like the most splendid gold. She took her
girdle and bound one end of it round the butterfly, fastening the other
end of the ribbon to the leaf. The leaf now glided onward much faster,
and Thumbelina too, for she stood upon the leaf.

There came a big Cockchafer flying up; and he saw her, and imme-
diately clasped his claws round her slender waist, and flew with her up
into a tree. The green leaf went swimming down the brook, and the
butterfly with it ; for he was fastened to the leaf, and could not get away
from it.

Mercy! how frightened poor little Thumbelina was when the Cock-
chafer flew with her up into the tree! But especially she was sorry for
the fine white butterfly whom she had bound fast to the leaf, for, if he
could not free himself from it, he would be obliged to starve. The
Cockchafer, however, did not trouble himself at all about this. He
seated himself with her upon the biggest green leaf of the tree, gave
her the sweet part of the flowers to eat, and declared that she was very
pretty, though she did not in the least resemble a cockchafer. After-
wards came all the other cockchafers who lived in the tree to pay a visit :
they looked at Thumbelina, and said,

“Why, she has not even more than two legs !—that has a wretched
appearance.”

“She has not any feelers!” cried another.

“ Her waist is quite slender—tie! she looks like a human creature—
how ugly she is!” said all the lady cockchafers.

And yet Thumbelina was very pretty. Even the Cockchafer who had
carried her off saw that; but when all the others declared she was ugly,
he believed it at last, and would not have her at all—she might go
whither she liked. Then they flew down with her from the tree, and set
her upon a daisy, and she wept, because she was so ugly that the cock-
chafers would have nothing to say to her; and yet she was the loveliest
little being one could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a rose-leaf.

The whole summer through poor Thumbelina lived quite alone in the
great wood. She wove herself a bed out of blades of grass, and hung
it up under a shamrock, so that she was protected from the rain; she
plucked the honey out of the flowers for food, and drank of the dew
which stood every morning upon the leaves. Thus summer and autumn
passed away; but now came winter, the cold long winter. All the birds
who had sung so sweetly before her flew away; trees and flowers shed
their leaves; the great shamrock under which she had lived shrivelled
up, and there remained nothing of it but a yellow withered stalk; and
she was dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn, and she herself was
38 Stories for the Household.

so frail and delicate—poor little Thumbelina! she was nearly frozen.
It began to snow, and every snow-flake that fell upon her was like a
whole shovel-full thrown upon one of us, for we are tall, and she was
only an inch long. Then she wrapped herseif in a dry leaf, and that
tore in the middle, and would not warm her—she shivered with cold.

Close to the wood into which she had now come lay a great corn-field,
but the corn was gone long ago; only the naked dry stubble stood up
out of the frozen ground. These were just like a great forest for her to
wander through; and, oh! how she trembled with cold. Then she
arrived at the door of the Field Mouse. This mouse had a little hole
under the stubble. There the Field Mouse lived, warm and comfortable,
and had a whole room-full of corn—a glorious kitchen and larder. Poor
Thumbelina stood at the door just like a poor beggar girl, and begged
for a little bit of a barleycorn, for she had not had the smallest morsel
to eat for the last two days

“You poor little creature,” said the Field Mouse—for after all she
was a good old Field Mouse—“ come into my warm room and dine with
me.”

As she was pleased with Thumbelina, she said, “If you like you may
stay with me through the winter, but you must keep my room clean and
neat, and tell me little stories, for I am very fond of those.”

And Thumbelina did as the kind old Field Mouse bade her, and had
a very good time of it.

“Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the Field Mouse. “My

neighbour is in the habit of visiting me once a week. He is even better
off than I am, has great rooms, and a beautiful black velvety fur. If
you could only get him for your husband you would be well provided
for. You must tell him the prettiest stories you know.”
_ But Thumbelina did not care about this; she thought nothing of the
neighbour, for he was a Mole. He came and paid his visits in his black
velvet coat. The Field Mouse told how'rich and how learned he was, and
how his house was more than twenty times larger than hers; that he
had learning, but that he did not like the sun and beautiful flowers, for
he had never seen them.

Thumbelina had to sing, and she sang “ Cockchafer, fly away,” and
“When the parson goes afield.” Then the Mole fell in love with her,
because of her delicious voice; but he said nothing, for he was a sedate
man. j
A short time before, he had dug a long passage through the earth
from his own house to theirs; and Thumbelina and the Field Mouse
obtained leave to walk in this passage as much as they wished. But he
begged them not to be afraid of the dead bird which was lying in the
passage. It was an entire bird, with wings and a beak. It certainly
must have died only a short time before, and was now buried just where
the Mole had made his passage.

The Mole took a bit.of decayed wood in his mouth, and it glimmered
like fire in the dark ; and then he went first and lighted them through
the long dark passage. When they came where the dead bird lay, the
Thumbelina. 39

Mole thrust up his broad nose against the ceiling, so that a great hole
was made, through which the daylight could shine down. In the middle
of the floor lay a dead Swallow, his beautiful wings pressed close against
his sides, and his head and feet drawn back under his feathers: the poor
bird had certainly died of cold. Thumbelina was very sorry for this;
she was very fond of all the little birds, who had sung and twittered so
prettily before her through the summer; but the Mole gave him a push
with his crooked legs, and said, “ Now he doesn’t pipe any more. It
must be miserable to be born a little bird. I’m thankful that none of
my children can be that: such a bird has nothing but his ‘ tweet-tweet,’
and has to starve in the winter!”

“Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man,” observed the Field
Mouse. “ Of what use is all this ‘ tweet-tweet’ to a bird when the
winter comes? He must starve and freeze. But they say that’s very
aristocratic.”

Thumbelina said nothing; but when the two others turned their
backs on the bird, she bent down, put the feathers aside which covered
his head, and kissed him upon his closed eyes.

“ Perhaps it was he who sang so prettily before me in the summer,”
she thought. ‘“ How much pleasure he gave me, the dear beautiful bird!”

The Mole now closed up the hole through which the daylight shone
in, and accompanied the ladies home. But at night Thumbelina could
not sleep at all; so she got up out of her bed, and wove a large beau-
tiful carpet of hay, and carried it and spread it over the dead bird,
and laid the thin stamens of flowers, soft as cotton, and which she had
found in the Field Mouse’s room, at the bird’s sides, so that he might lie
soft in the ground.

“Farewell, you pretty little bird!” saidshe. “ Farewell! and thanks
to you for your beautitul song in the summer, when all the trees were
green, and the sun shone down warmly upon us.” And then she laid the
bird’s head upon her heart. But the bird was not dead; he was only
lying there torpid with cold; and now he had been warmed, and came
to life again.

In autumn all the swallows fly away to warm countries; but if one
happens to be belated, it becomes so cold that it falls down as if dead,
and lies where it felJ, and then the cold snow covers it.

Thumbelina fairly trembled, she was so startled; for the bird was
large, very large, compared with her, who was only an inch in height.
But she took courage, laid the cotton closer round the poor bird, and
brought a leaf that she had used as her own coverlet, and laid it over
the bird’s head. .

The next night she crept out to him again—and now he was alive,
but quite weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment, and look
at Thumbelina, who stood before him with a bit of decayed wood in
her hand, for she had not a lantern.

“T thank you, you pretty little child,” said the sick Swallow; “I
have been famously warmed. Soon I shall get my strength back again,
and I shall be able to fly about in the warm sunshine.”
40 Stories for the Household.

“ Oh,” she said, “it is so cold without. It snows and freezes. Stay
in your warm bed, and I will nurse you.”

Then she brought the Swallow water in the petal of a flower; and the
Swallow drank, and told her how he had torn one of his wings in a
thorn bush, and thus had not been able to fly so fast as the other swal-
lows, which had sped away, far away, to the warm countries. So at
last he had fallen to the ground, but he could remember nothing more,
and did not know at all how he had come where she had found him.

The whole winter the Swallow remained there, and Thumbelina nursed
and tended him heartily. Neither the Field Mouse nor the Mole heard
anything about it, for they did not like the poor Swallow. So soon as
the spring came, and the sun warmed the earth, the Swallow bade
Thumbelina farewell, and she opened the hole which the Mole had made
in the ceiling. The sun shone in upon them gloriously, and the Swallow
asked if Thumbelina would go with him; she could sit upon his back,
and they would fly away far into the green wood. But Thumbelina
knew that the old Field Mouse would be grieved if she left her.

* No, I cannot!” said Thumbelina.

“ Farewell, farewell, you good, pretty girl!” said the Swallow; and
he flew out into the sunshine. Thumbelina looked after him, and the
tears came into her eyes, for she was heartily and sincerely fond of. the
poor Swallow.

“ Tweet-weet! tweet-weet !” sang the bird, and flew into the green
‘forest. Thumbelina felt very sad. She did not get permission to go
out into the warm sunshine. The corn which was sown in the field
over the house of the Field Mouse grew up high into the air; it was
quite a thick wood for the poor girl, who was only an inch in height.

“ You are betrothed now, Thumbelina,” said the Field Mouse. “ My
neighbour has proposed for you. What great fortune for a poor child
like you! Now you must work at your outfit, woollen and linen clothes
both ; for you must lack nothing when you have become the Mole’s
wife.”

Thumbelina had to turn the spindle, and the Mole hired four spiders
to weave for her day and night. Every evening the Mole paid her a
visit ; and he was always saying that when the summer should draw to
a close, the sun would not shine nearly so hot, for that now it burned
the earth almost as hard as a stone. Yes, when the summer should
have gone, then he would keep his wedding day with Thumbelina. But
she was not glad at all, for she did not like the tiresome Mole. Every
morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it went down, she
crept out at the door ; and when the wind blew the corn ears apart, so
that she could see the blue sky, she thought how bright and beautiful
it was out here, and wished heartily to see her dear Swallow again. But
the Swallow did not come back ; he had doubtless flown far away, in the

fair green forest. When autumn came on, Thumbelina had all her
outfit ready.

“Jn four weeks you shall celebrate your wedding,” said the Field
Mouse to her.
Thumbelina. 41

ie Thumbelina wept, and declared she would not have the tiresome
ole.

“« Nonsense,” said the Field Mouse; “don’t be obstinate, or I will
bite you with my white teeth. Ue is a very fine man whom you will
marry. The Queen herself has not such a black velvet fur; and his
lutchen and eellar are full. Be thankful for your good fortune.”

Now the wedding was to be held. The Mole had already come to
fetch Thumbelina ; she was to live with him, deep under the earth, and
never to come out into the warm sunshine, for that he did not like. The
poor little thing was very sorrowful ; she was now to say farewell to the
glorious sun, which, after all, she had been allowed by the Field Mouse
to see from the threshold of the door.



THUMBELINA’S JOURNEY ON THE SWALLOW’S BACK.

“ Farewell, thou bright sun!’ she said, and stretched out her arms
towards it, and walked a little way forth from the house of the Field
Mouse, for now the corn had been reaped, and only the dry stubble stood
in the fields. “ Farewell!” she repeated, twining her arms round a little
red flower which still bloomed there. “ Greet the little Swallow from
me, if you see her again.”

“ Tweet-weet ! tweet-weet!”’ a voice suddenly sounded over her head.
She looked up ; it was the little Swallow, who was just flymg by. When
he saw Thumbelina he was very glad; and Thumbelina told him how
loth she was to have the ugly Mole for her husband, and that she was to
live deep under the earth, where the sun never shone. And she could
not refrain from weeping.

“The cold winter is coming now,” said the Swallow; “I am going to
fly far away into the warm countries. Will you come with me? You
42 Stories for the Household.

can sit upon my back, then we shall fly from the ugly Mole and his dark
room—away, far away, over the mountains, to the warm countries, where
the sun shines warmer than here, where it is always summer, and there
are lovely flowers. Only fly with me, you dear little Thumbelina, you
who have saved my life when I lay frozen in the dark earthy passage.”

“Yes, I will go with you!” said Thumbelina, and she seated herself
on the bird’s back, with her feet on his outspread wing, and bound her
girdle fast to one of his strongest feathers; then the Swallow flew up
into the air over forest and over sea, high up over the great mountains,
where the snow always lies; and Thumbelina felt cold in the bleak air,
but then she hid under the bird’s warm feathers, and only put out her
little head to admire all the beauties beneath her.

At last they came to the warm countries. There the sun shone far
brighter than here; the sky seemed twice as high; in ditches and on
the hedges grew the most beautiful blue and green grapes ; lemons and
oranges hung in the woods; the air was fragrant with myrtles and bal-
sams, and on the roads the loveliest children ran about, playing with the
gay butterflies. But the Swallow flew still farther, and it became more
and more beautiful. Under the most glorious green trees by the blue
lake stood a palace of dazzling white marble, from the olden time. Vines
clustered around the lofty pillars; at the top were many swallows’ nests,
and in one of these the Swallow lived who carried Thumbelina. .

“That is my house,” said the Swallow; “ but it is not right that you
should live there. It is not yet properly arranged by a great deal, and
you will not be content with it. Select for yourself one of the splendid
flowers which grow down yonder, then I will put you into it, and you
shall have everything ag nice as you can wish.”

“That is capital,” cried she, and clapped her little hands.

A great marble pillar lay there, which had fallen to the ground and
had been broken into three pieces ; but between these pieces grew the
most beautiful great white flowers. The Swallow flew down with Thum-
belina, and set her upon one of the broad leaves. But what was the
little maid’s surprise ? There sat a little man in the midst of the flower,
as white and transparent as if he had been made of glass: he wore the
neatest of gold crowns on his head, and the brightest wings on his
shoulders ; he himself was not bigger than Thumbelina. He was the
angel of the flower. In each of ‘the flowers dwelt such a little man or
woman, but this one was king over them all.

“Heavens! how beautiful he is!” whispered Thumbelina to the
Swallow.

The little prince was very much frightened at the Swallow; for it was
quite a gigantic bird to him, who was so small. But when he saw
humbelina, he became very glad; she was the prettiest maiden he had
ever seen. Therefore he took off his golden crown, and put it upon her,
asked her name, and if she would be his wife, and then she should be
queen of all the flowers. Now this was truly a different kind of man
to the son of the Toad, and the- Mole with the black velvet fur. She
therefore said, “ Yes” to the charming prince. And out of every flower
The Naughty Boy. 43

came a lady or a lord, so pretty to behold that it was a delight: each one
brought Thumbelina a present; but the best gift was a pair of beantiful
wings which had belonged to a great white fly; these were fastened to
Thumbelina’s back, and now she could fly from flower to flower. Then
there was much rejoicing ; and the little Swallow sat above them in her
nest, and was to sing the marriage song, which she accordingly did as
well as she could; but yet in her heart she was sad, for she was so fond,
oh! so fond of Thumbelina, and would have hked never to part from her.

“ You shall not be called Thumbelina,” said the Flower Angel to her ;
“that is an ugly name, and you are too fair for it—we will call you
Maia.” -

“ Farewell, farewell!” said the little Swallow, with a heavy heart; and
she flew away again from the warm countries, far away back to Denmark.
There she had a little nest over the window of the man who can tell
fairy tales. Before him she sang, “ Tweet-weet! tweet-weet!” and from
him we have the whole story.

THE NAUGHTY BOY.

THERE was once an old poet—a very good old poet. One evening, as
he sat at home, there was dreadfully bad weather without. The rain
streamed down: but the old poet sat comfortably by his stove, where the
fire was burning and the roasting apples were hissing.

“There won’t be a dry thread left on the poor people who are out in
this weather |” said he, for he was a good old poet.

“Oh, open tome! Iam cold and quite wet,” said a little child out-
side ; and it cried, and knocked at the door, while the rain streamed
down, and the wind made all the casements rattle. f

“You poor little creature!” said the poet; and he went to open the
door. There stood a little boy ; he was quite naked, and the water ran
in streams from his long fair curls. He was shivering with cold, and
had he not been let in, he would certainly have perished in the bad
weather.

“You little creature!” said the poet, and took him by the hand,
“come to me, and I will warm you. You shall have wine and an apple,
for you are a capital boy.”

And so he was. His eyes sparkled like two bright stars, and though
the water ran down from his fair curls, they fell in beautiful ringlets.
He looked like a little angel-child, but was white with cold and trembled
all over. In his hand he carried a famous bow, but it looked quite
spoiled by the wet; all the colours in the beautiful arrows had been
blurred together by the rain.

The old poet sat down by the stove, took the little boy on his knees,
pressed the water out of the long curls, warmed his hands in his own,
and made him some sweet whine-whey ; then the boy recovered himself,










































































































































































































7 = ae ee
PVF re ~ “ ——_— oe? =

THE OLD POET SHOT THROUGH THE HEART BY CUPID.

and his cheeks grew red, and he jumped to the floor and danced round
the old poet.

“ You are a merry boy,” said the old poet. “ What is your name ?”

“ My name is Cupid,” he replied ; “ don’t you know me? There lies
my bow—I shoot with that, you may believe me! See, now the weather
is clearing up outside, and the moon shines.”

“ But your bow is spoiled,” said the old poet.

“That would be a pity,” replied the little boy; and he took the bow
and looked at it. “ Oh, it is quite dry, and has suffered no damage ; the
string is quite stiff—I will try it!’ Then he bent it, and laid an arrow
across, aimed, and shot the good old poet straight through the heart.
“Do you see now that my bow was not spoiled P” said he, and laughed
out lond and ran away. What a naughty boy to shoot at the old poet
in that way, who had admitted him into the warm room, and been so
kind to him, and given him the best wine and the best apple!
The Travelling Companion. 4:

uo

The good poet lay upon the floor and wept ; he was really shot straight
into the heart. “ Fie!” he cried, “ what a naughty boy this Cupid is!
I shall tell that to all good children, so that they may take care, and
never play with him, for he will do them a hurt !”

All good children, girls and boys, to whom he told this, took good
heed of this naughty Cupid; but still he tricked them, for he is very
cunning. When the students come out from the lectures, he runs at
their side with a book under his arm, and has a black coat on. They
cannot recognize him at all. And then they take his arm and fancy he
is a student too; but he thrusts the arrow into their breasts. Yes, he
is always following people! He sits in the great chandelier in the
theatre and burns brightly, so that the people think he is a lamp; but
afterwards they see their error. He runs about in the palace garden and
on the promenades. Yes, he once shot your father and your mother
straight through the heart! Only ask them, and you will hear what
they say. Oh, he is a bad boy, this Cupid ; you must never have any-
thing to do with him. He is after every one. Only think, once he shot
an arrow at old grandmamma; but that was a long time ago. The
wound has indeed healed Jong since, but she will never forget it. Fie
on that wicked Cupid! But now you know him, and what a naughty
boy he is.

THE TRAVELLING COMPANION.

Poor John was in great tribulation, for his father was very ill, and
could not get well again. Except these two, there was no one at all in
the little room: the lamp on the table was nearly extinguished, and it
was quite late in the evening.

“ You have been a good son, John,” said the sick father. “ Providence
will help you through the world.” And he looked at him with mild
earnest eyes, drew a deep breath, and died: it was just as if he slept.
But John wept; for now he had no one in the world, neither father nor
mother, neither sister nor brother. Poor John! He lay on his knees
before the bed, kissed his dead father’s hand, and shed very many bitter
tears ; but at last his eyes closed, and he went to sleep, lying with his
head against the hard bed-post.

Then he dreamed a strange dream: he saw the sun and moon shine
upon him, and he beheld his father again, fresh and well, and he heard
his father laugh as he had always laughed when he was very glad. A
beautiful girl, with a golden crown upon her long shining hair, gave h:m
her hand; and his father said, “Do you see what a bride you have
gained ? She is the most beautiful in the whole world!” Then he
awoke, and all the splendour was gone. His father was lying dead and
cold in the bed, and there was no one at all with them. Poor John!

In the next week the dead man was buried. The son walked close
46 Stories for the Household.

behind the coffin, and could now no longer see the good father who had
loved him go much. He heard how they threw the earth down upon the
coffin, and stopped to see the last corner of it; but the next shovel-full
of earth hid even that; then he felt just as if his heart would burst into
pieces, so sorrowful was he. Around him they were singing a psalm ;
those were sweet. holy tones that arose, and the tears came into John’s
eyes ; he wept, and that did him good in his sorrow. The sun shone
magnificently on the green trees, Just as it would have said, “ You may
no longer be sorrowful, John! Do you see how beautiful the sky is ?
Your father is up there, and prays to the Father of all that it may b

always well with you.” .



JOHN AT THE DEATH-BED OF HI8 FATHER

“T will always do right, too,” said John, “then I shall go to heaven
to my father ; and what joy that will be when we see each other again !
How much I shall then have to tell him! and he will show me so many
things, and explain to me the glories of heaven, just as he taught me
here on earth. Oh, how joyful that will be!”

He pictured that to himself so plainly, that he smiled, while the tears
were still rolling down his cheeks. The little birds sat up in the
chestnut trees, and twittered, “ Tweet-weet! tweet-weet!” They were
joyful and merry, though they had been at the burying, 5+ they seemed
to know that the dead man was now in heaven; that he had wings, far
larger and more beautiful than theirs; that he was now happy, because
he had been a good man upon earth, and they were glad at it. John saw
how they flew trom the green tree out into the world, and he felt inclined
to fly too. But first he cut out a great cross of wood to put on his
The Travelling Companion. AY

father’s grave ; and when he brought it there in the evening the grave
was decked with sand and flowers; strangers had doue this, for they were
all very fond of the good father who was now dead.

Early next morning John packed his little bundle, and put in his belt
his whole inheritance, which consisted of fifty dollars and a few silver
shillings; with this he intended to wander out into the world. But
first he went to the churchyard, to his father’s grave, to say a prayer
and to bid him farewell.

Out in the field where he was walking all the flowers stood fresh and
beautiful in the warm sunshine ; and they nodded in the wind, just as if
they would have said, “ Welcome to the green wood! Is it not fine
here ?” But John turned back once more to look at the old church, in
which he had been christened when he was a little child, and where he
had been every Sunday with his father at the service, and had sung his
psalm; then, high up in one of the openings of the tower, he saw the
ringer standing in his little pointed red cap, shading his face with his
bent arm, to keep the sun from shining in his eyes. John nodded a
farewell to him, and the little ringer waved his red cap, laid his hand on
his heart, and kissed his hand to John a great many times, to show that
he wished the traveller well and hoped he would have a prosperous
journey.

John thought what a number of fine things he would get to see in the
great splendid world; and he went on farther—farther than he had ever
‘been before. He did not know the places at all through which he came,
nor the people whom he met. Now he was far away in a strange region.

The first night he was obliged to lie down on a haystack in the field
to sleep, for he had no other bed. But that was very nice, he thought ;
the king could not be better off. There was the whole field, with the
brook, the haystack, and the blue sky above it; that was certainly a
beautiful sleeping-room. ‘The green grass with the little red and white
flowers was the carpet; the elder bushes and the wild rose hedges were
garlands of flowers ; and for a wash-hand basin he had the whole brook
with the clear fresh water ; and the rushes bowed before him and wished
him “ good evening ” and “ good morning.” The moon was certainly a
great night-lamp, high up under the blue ceiling, and that lamp would
never set fire to the curtains with its light. John could sleep quite
' safely, and he did so, and never woke until the sun rose and all the little
birds were singing around, “Good morning! good morning! Are you
not up yet?” a

The bells were ringing for church ; it was Sunday. The people went
to hear the preacher, and John followed them, and sang a psalm and
heard God’s word. It seemed to him just as if he was in his own
arcs where he had been christened and had sung psalms with his
ather.

Out in the churchyard were many graves, and on some of them the
grass grew high. Then he thought of his father’s grave, which would at
last look like these, as he could not weed it and adorn it. So he sat
‘down and plucked up the long grass, set up the wooden crosses which
48 Stories for the Household.

‘had fallen down, and put back in their places the wreaths which the
wind had blown away from the graves; for he thought, “‘ Perhaps some
one will do the same to my father’s grave, as I cannot do it.”

Outside the churchyard gate stood an old beggar, leaning upon his
erutch. John gave him the silver shillings which he had, and then went
away, happy and cheerful, into the wide world. Towards evening the
weather became terribly bad. He made haste to get under shelter, but
dark night soon came on; then at last he came to a little church, which
lay quite solitary on a small hill.

“ Here I will sit down in a corner,” said he, and went in; “TI am quite

tired and require a little rest.” Then he sat down, folded his hands,

and said his evening prayer ; and before he was aware of it he was asleep
and dreaming, while it thundered and lightened without.

When he woke it was midnight; but the bad weather had passed by,
and the moon shone in upon him through the windows. In the midst
of the church stood an open coffin with a dead man in it who had not
yet been buried. John was not at all timid, for he had a good con-
science ; and he knew very well that the dead do not harm any one.
The living, who do evil, are bad men. ‘Two such living bad men stood

close by the dead man, who had been placed here in the church till he .

should be buried. They had an evil design against him, and would not
let him rest quietly in his coffin, but were going to throw him out before
the church door—the poor dead man !

“Why will you do that?” asked John; “that is bad and wicked.
Let him rest, for mercy’s sake.”

“ Nonsense!” replied the bad men; “ he has cheated us. He owed
us money and could not pay it, and now he’s dead into the bargain, and
we shall not get a penny! So we mean to revenge ourselves famously:
he shall lie like a dog outside the church door!”

“‘T have not more than fifty dollars,” cried John, “that is my whole
inheritance ; but I will gladly give it you, if you will honestly promise
me to leave the poor dead man in peace. T shall manage to get on with-
out the money; I have hearty strong limbs, and Heaven will always
help me.” ;

“ Yes,” said these ugly bad men, “ if you will pay his debt we will do
nothing to him, you may depend upon that!” And then they took the
money he gave them, laughed aloud at his good nature, and went their
way. But he laid the corpse out again in the coffin, and folded its
hands, took leave of it, and went away contentedly through the great
forest.

All around, wherever the moon could shine through between the trees,
he saw the graceful little elves playing merrily. They did not let him
disturb them ; they knew that he was a good innocent man; and it is
only the bad people who never get to see the elves. Some of them were
not larger than a finger’s breadth, and had fastened up their long yellow
hair with golden combs: they were rocking themselves, two and two, on
the great dew-drops that lay on the leaves and on the high grass ; some-
times the drop rolled away, and then they fell down between the long

8
The Travelling Companion. 49

grass-stalks, and that occasioned much laughter and noise among the
other little creatures. It was charming. ‘They sang, and John recog-
nized quite plainly the pretty songs which he had learned as a little boy.
Great coloured spiders, with silver crowns on their heads, had to spin
long banging bridges and palaces from hedge to hedge ; and as the tiny
dew-drops fell on these they looked like gleaming glass in the moonlight.
This continued until the sun rose. Then the little elves crept into the
flower-buds, and the wind caught their bridges and palaces, which flew
through the air in the shape of spider’s webs.

John had just come out of the wood, when a strong man’s voice called
out behind him, “ Halloo, comrade! whither are you journeying ?”

“Into the wide world!” he replied. “I have neither father nor
mother, and am but a poor lad; but Providence will help me.”

“T am going out into the wide world, too,” said the strange man:
“shall we two keep one another company P”

“Yes, certainly,” said John; and so they went on together. Soon
they became very fond of each other, for they were both good men. But
John saw that the stranger was much more clever than himself. He
had travelled through almost the whole world, and knew how to tell of
almost everything that existed.

The sun already stood high when they seated themselves under a great
tree to eat their breakfast ; and just then an old woman came up. Oh,
she was very old, and walked quite bent, leaning upon a crutch-stick ;
upon her back she carried a bundle of firewood which she had collected
in the forest. Her apron was untied, and John saw that three great
stalks of fern and some willow twigs looked out from within it. When
she was close to them, her foot slipped; she fell and gave a loud scream,
for she had broken her leg, the poor old woman!

John directly proposed that they should carry the old woman home to
her dwelling ; but the stranger opened his knapsack, took out a little
box, and said that he had a salve there which would immediately make
her leg whole and strong, so that she could walk home herself, as if she
had never broken her leg at all. But for that he required that she should
give him the three rods which she carried in her apron.

“That would be paying well!” said the old woman, and she nodded
her head in a strange way. She did not like to give away the rods, but
then it was not agreeable to lie there with a broken leg. So she gave
him the wands; and as soon as he had only rubbed the ointment on her
jeg, the old mother arose, and walked much better than before—such
was the power of this ointment. But then it was not to be bought at
the chemist’s.

“ What do you want with the rods ?” John asked his travelling com-

anion.
Pe They are three capital fern brooms,” replied he. “TI like those verr
much, for I am a whimsical fellow.”

And they went on a good way.

“See how the sky is becoming overcast,” said John, pointing straight
before them. “ Those are terribly thick clouds.”

E
50 Stories for the Household.

“No,” replied his travelling companion, “those are not clouds, they
are mountains—the great glorious mountains, on which one gets quite
up over the clouds, and into the free air. Believe me, it is delicious!
To-morrow we shall certainly be far out into the world.”

But that was not so near as it looked; they had to walk for a whole
day-before they came to the mountains, where the black woods grew
straight up towards heaven, and there were stones almost as big as a
whole town. It might certainly be hard work to get quite across them,
and for that reason John and his comrade went into the inn to rest them-
selves well, and gather strength for the morrow’s journey.

Down in the great common room in the inn many guests were assem-
bled, for a man was there exhibiting a puppet-show. He had just put
up his little theatre, and the people were sitting round to see the play.
Quite in front a fat butcher had taken his seat in the very best place ;
his great bulldog, who looked very much inclined to bite, sat at his side,
and made big eyes, as all the rest were doing too.

Now the play began ; and it was a very nice play, with a king and a
queen in it; they sat upon a beautiful throne, and had gold crowns on
their heads and long trains to their clothes, for their means admitted of
that. The prettiest of wooden dolls with glass eyes and great mous-
taches stood at all the doors, and opened and shut them so that fresh air
might come into the room. It was a very pleasant play, and not at all
mournful. But—goodness knows what the big bulldog can have been
thinking of !—just as the queen stood up and was walking across the
boards, as the fat butcher did not hold him, he made a spring upon the
stage, and seized the queen round her slender waist so that it cracked
again. It was quite terrible!

The poor man who managed the play was very much frightened and
quite sorrowful about his queen, for she was the daintiest little doll he
possessed, and now the ugly bulldog had bitten off her head. But after-
wards, when the people went away, the stranger said that he would put
her to rights again ; and then he brought out his little box, and rubbed
the doll with the ointment with which he had cured the old woman when
she broke her leg. As soon as the doll had been rubbed, she was whole
again; yes, she could even move all her limbs by herself; it was no
longer necessary to pull her by her string. The doll was like a living
person, only that she could not speak. The man who had the little
puppet-show was very glad, now he had not to hold this doll any more.
She could dance by herself, and none of the others could do that.

When night came on, and all the people in the inn had gone to bed,
there was some one who sighed so fearfully, and went on doing it so long,
that they all got up to see who this could be. The man who had shown
the play went to his little theatre, for it was there that somebody was
sighing. All the wooden dolls lay mixed together, the king and all his
followers ; and it was they who sighed so pitiably, and stared with their
glass eyes ; for they wished to be rubbed a little as the queen had been,
so that they might be able to move by themselves. The queen at once
sank on her knees, and stretched forth her beautiful crown, as if she
The Travelling Companion. 51

begged, “Take this from me, but rub my husband and my courtiers !”
Then the poor man, the proprietor of the little theatre and the dolls,
could not refrain from weeping, for he was really sorry for them. He
immediately promised the travelling companion that he would give him
all the money he should receive the next evening for the representation
if the latter would only anoint four or five of his dolls. But the comrade
said he did not require anything at all but the sword the man wore by
his side ; and, on receiving this, he anointed six of the dolls, who imme-
diately began to dance so gracefully that all the girls, the living human
girls, fell a dancing too. The coachman and the cook danced, the waiter
and the chambermaid, and all the strangers, and the fire-shovel and
tongs; but these latter fell down just as they made their first leaps.
Yes, it was a merry night!



THE BULLDOG WORRIES THE PUPPET.

Next morning John went away from them all with his travelling com-
panion, up on to the high mountains, and through the great pine woods.
They came so high up that the church steeples under them looked at
last like little blueberries among all the green ; and they could see very
far, many, many miles away, where they had never been. So much
splendour in the lovely world John had never seen at one time before.
And the sun shone warm in the fresh blue air, and among the mountains
he could hear the huntsmen blowing their horns so gaily and sweetly
that tears came into his eyes, and he could not help calling out, “ How
kind has Heaven been to us all, to give us all the splendour that is in
this world !”

The travelling companion also stood there with folded hands, and
looked over the forest and the towns into the warm sunshine. At the
same time there arose lovely sounds over their heads: they looked up,
and a great white swan was soaring in the air, and singing as they had

HQ
52 Stories for the Household.

never heard a bird sing till then. But the song became weaker and
weaker; he bowed his head and sank quite slowly down at their feet,
where he lay dead, the beautiful bird ! ;

“Tho such splendid wings,” said the travelling companion, “so white
and large, as those which this bird has, are worth money ; I will take
them with me. Do you see that it was good I got a sabre ?”

And so, with one blow, he cut off both the wings of the dead swan,
for he wanted to keep them.

They now travelled for many, many miles over the mountains, till at
last they saw a great town before them with hundreds of towers, which
glittered like silver in the sun. In the midst of the town was a splen-
did marble palace, roofed with pure red gold. And there the King lived.

John and the travelling companion would not go into the town at
once, but remained in the inn outside the town, that they might dress
themselves; for they wished to look nice when they came out into the
streets. The host told them that the King was a very good man, who
never did harm toany one; but. his daughter, yes, goodness preserve us!
she was a bad Princess. She possessed beauty enough—no one could
be so pretty and so charming as she was—but of what use was that ?
She was a wicked witch, through whose fault many gallant Princes had
lost their lives. She had given permission to all men to seek her hand.
Any one might come, be he Prince or beggar : it was all the same to her.
He had only to guess three things she had just thought of, and about
which she questioned him. If he could do that she would marry him,
and he was to be King over the whole country when her father should
die; but if he could not guess the three things, she caused him to be
hanged or to have his head cut off! Her father, the old King, was very
sorry about it; but he could not forbid her to be so wicked, because he
had once said that he would have nothing to do with her lovers; she
might do as she liked. Every time a Prince came, and was to guess to
gain the Princess, he was unable to do it, and was hanged or lost his
head. He had been warned in time, you see, and might have given over
his wooing. The old King was so sorry for all this misery and woe, that
he used to lie on his knees with all his soldiers for a whole day in every
year, praying that the Princess might become good; but she would not,
by any means. The old women who drank brandy used to colour it
quite black before they drank it, they were in such deep mourning—and.
they certainly could not do more.

“The ugly Princess!’’ said John; “she ought really to have the rod;
that would do her good. If I were only the old King she should be
punished ! ”

Then they heard the people outside shouting “ Hurrah!” The Prin-
cess came by; and she was really so beautiful that all the people forgot
Aow wicked she was, and that is why they cried “Hurrah!” Twelve
beautiful virgins, all in white silk gowns, and each with a golden tulip
in her hand, rode on coal-black steeds at her side. The Princess herself
had a snow-white horse, decked with diamonds and rubies. Her riding-
habit was all of cloth of gold, and the whip she held in her hand looked
The Travelling Companion. 53

like a sunbeam; the golden crown on her head was just like little stars
out of the sky, and her mantle was sewn together out oftiore than a
thousand beautiful butterflies’ wings. In spite of this, she:herself was
much more lovely than all her clothes.

When John saw her, his face became as red as a drop of blood, and
he could hardly utter a word. The Princess looked just like the beau-
tiful lady with the golden crown, of’ whom he had dreamt on the night
when his father died. He found her so enchanting that he could not
help loving her greatly. It could not be true that sbe was a wicked
witch, who caused people to be hanged or beheaded if they could not
guess the riddles she put to them.





JOHN AND HIS COMPANION SEE TIIE PRINCESS RIDING BY.

“Every one has permission to aspire to her hand, even the poorest
beggar. I will really go to the castle, for I cannot help doing it!”

They all told him not to attempt it, for certainly he would fare as all
the rest had done. His travelling companion too tried to dissuade him ;
but John thought it would end well. He brushed his shoes and his
coat, washed his face and his hands, combed his nice fair hair, and then
went quite alone into the town and to the palace.

“ Come in!” said the old King, when John knocked at the door. |

John opened it, and the old King came towards him in a dressing-.
gown and embroidered slippers ; he had the crown on his head, and the
54: Stories for the Household.

sceptre in one hand and the orb in the other. “ Wait a little!” said
he, and put the orb under his arm, so that he could reach out his hand
to John. But as soon as be learned that his visitor was a suitor, he
began to weep so violently that both the sceptre and the orb fell to the
ground, and he was obliged to wipe his eyes with his dressing-gown. Poor
old King! ~

“ Give it up!” said he. “ You will fare badly, as all the others have
done. Well, you shall see!”

Then he led him out into the Princess’s pleasure garden. There was

-a terrible sight! In every tree there hung three or four Kings’ sons who
had wooed the Princess, but had not been able to guess the riddles she
proposed to them. Each time that the breeze blew all the skeletons
rattled, so that the little birds were frightened, and never dared to come
into the garden. All the flowers were tied up to human bones, and in
the flower-pots skulls stood and grinned. That was certainly a strange
garden for a Princess.

“Here you see it,” said the old King. ‘It will chance to you as it
has chanced to all these whom you see here; therefore you had better
give it up. You will really make me unhappy, for I take these things
very much to heart.”

John kissed the good old King’s hand, and said it would go well, for
that he was quite enchanted with the beautiful Princess.

Then the Princess herself came riding into the courtyard, with all
her ladies; and they went out to her and wished her good morning.
She was beautiful to look at, and she gave John her hand. And he
cared much more for her then than before—she could certainly not bea
wicked witch, as the people asserted. Then they betook themselves to
the hall, and the little pages waited upon them with preserves and.
gingerbread nuts. But the old King was quite sorrowful; he could not
eat anything at all. Besides, gingerbread nuts were too hard for bim.

Tt was settled that John should come to the palace again the next
morning ; then the judges and the whole council would be assembled,
and would hear how he succeeded with his answers. If it went well,
he should come twice more; but no one had yet come who had suc-
ceeded in guessing right the first time; and if he did not manage better
than they he must die.

John was aot at all anxious as to how he should fare.. On the con-
trary, he was merry, thought only of the beautiful Princess, and felt
quite certain that he should be helped; but how he did not know, and
preferred not to think of it. He danced along on the road returning
to the inn, where his travelling companion was waiting for him,

John could not leave off telling how polite the Princess had been to
him, and how beautiful she was. He declared he already longed for
the next day, when he was to go into the palace and try his luck in
guessing.

But the travelling companion shook his head and was quite down-
cast. “Tam so fond of you!” said he. “We might have been together
a long time yet, and now I am to lose you already! You poor dear
The Travelling Companion. 55

John! Ishould like to ery, but I will not disturb your merriment on
the last evening, perhaps, we shall ever spend together. We will be
merry, very merry! To-morrow, when you are gone, I can weep un-
Aisturbed.”

All the people in the town had heard directly that a new suitor for
the Princess had arrived; and there was great sorrow on that account.
The theatre remained closed; the women who sold cakes tied bits of
crape round their sugar men, and the King and the priests were on
their knees in the churches. There was great lamentation; for John
would not, they all thought, fare better than the other suitors had fared.

Towards evening the travelling companion mixed a great bowl of
punch, and said to John, ‘ Now we will be very merry, and drink to
the health of the Princess.” But when John had drunk two glasses,
he became so sleepy that he found it impossible to keep his eyes open,
and he sank into a deep sleep. The travelling companion lifted him very
gently from his chair, and laid him in the bed; and when it grew to be
dark night, he took the two great wings which he had cut off the swan,
and bound them to his own shoulders. Then he put in his pocket the
longest of the rods he had received from the old woman who had fallen
and broken her leg; and he opened the window and flew away over the
town, straight towards the palace, where he seated himself in a corner
under the window which looked into the bed-room of the Princess.

All was quiet in the whole town. Now the clock struck a quarter to
twelve, the window was opened, and the Princess came out in a long
white cloak, and with black wings, and flew away across the town to a
great mountain. But the travelling companion made himself invisible,
so that she could not see him at all, and. flew behind her, and whipped
the Princess with his rod, so that the blood almost. came wherever he
struck. Oh, that was a voyage through the air! The wind caught her
cloak, so that it spread out on all sides like a great sail, and the moon
shone through it.

“ How it hails! how it hails!” said the Princess at every blow she
got from the rod; and it served her right. At last she arrived at the
mountain, and knocked there. There was a rolling like thunder, and
the mountain opened, and the Princess went in. The travelling com-
panion followed her, for no one could see him—he was invisible. They
went through a great long passage, where the walls shone in quite a
‘peculiar way: there were more thanathousand glowing spiders running
up and down the walls and gleaming like fire. Then they came into a
great hall built of silver and gold; flowers as big as sunflowers, red and
blue, shone on the walls; but no one could pluck these flowers, for the
stems were ugly poisonous snakes, and the flowers were streams of fire
pouring out of their mouths. The whole ceiling was covered with
shining glowworms and sky-blue bats, flapping their thin wings. It
looked quite terrific! In the middle of the floor was a throne, carried
by four skeleton horses, with harness of fiery red spiders ; the throne
itself was of milk-white glass, and the cushions were little black mice,
biting each other’s tails. Above it was a canopy of pink spider’s web,
56 Stories for the Household.

trimmed with the prettiest little green flies, which gleamed like jewels.
On the throne sat an old magician, with a crown on his ugly head and
asceptre in his hand. He kissed the Princess on the forehead, made
her sit down beside him on the costly throne, and then the music began.
Great black grasshoppers played on jews’-harps, and the owl beat her
wings upon her body, because she hadn’tadrum. That was a strange
concert! Little black goblins with a Jack-o’-lantern light on their caps
danced about in the hall. But no one could see the travelling com-
panion: he had placed himself just behind the throne, and heard and
saw everything. The courtiers, who now came in, were very grand and
noble; but he who could see it all knew very well what it all meant.
They were nothing more than broomsticks with heads of cabbages on
them, which the magician had animated by his power, and to whom he
had given embroidered clothes. But that did not matter, for, you see,
they were only wanted for show. \

After there had been a little dancing, the Princess told the magician
that she had a new suitor, and therefore she inquired of him what she
should think of to ask the suitor when he should come to-morrow to
the palace.

“ Tisten!” said the magician, “I will tell you that: you must choose

- something very easy, for then he won’t think of it. Think of one of
your shoes. That he will not guess. Let him have his head cut off:
but don’t forget, when you come to me to-morrow night, to bring me
his eyes, for I’il eat them.”

The Princess courtesied very low, and said she would not forget the
eyes. The magician opened the mountain, and she flew home again;
but the travelling companion followed her, and beat her again so hard
with the rod that she sighed quite deeply about the heavy hail-storm,
and hurried as much as she could to get back into the bed-room through

_ the open window. The travelling companion, for his part, flew back to
the inn, where John was still asleep, took off his wings, and then lay
down upon the bed, for he might well be tired.

It was quite early in the morning when John awoke. The travelling
companion also got up, and said he had had a wonderful dream in the
night, about the Princess and her shoe; and ‘he therefore begged John
to ask if the Princess had not thought about her shoe. For it was this
he had heard from the magician in the mountain.

“T may just as well ask about that as about anything else,” said John.
“Perhaps it is quite right, what you have dreamed. But I will bid you
farewell; for, if I guess wrong, I shall never see you more.”

Then they embraced each other, and John went into the town and to
the palace. The entire hall was filled with people: the judges sat in
their arm-chairs and had eider-down pillows behind their heads, for they
had a great deal to think about. The old King stood up, and wiped his
eyes with a white pocket handkerchief. Now the Princess came in.
She was much more beautiful than yesterday, and bowed to all ina very
affable manner; but to John she gave her hand, and said, ‘Good morn-
ing to you.”
The Travelling Companion. 57

Now John was to guess what she bad thought of. Oh, how lovingly

- She looked at him! But as soon as she heard the single word “ shoe”

pronounced, she became as white as chalk in the face, and trembled all
over. But that availed her nothing, for John had guessed right !

- Wonderful! How glad the old King was! He threw a somersault
beautiful to behold. And all the people clapped their hands in honour of
him and of John, who had guessed right the first time!

The travelling companion was very glad too, when he heard how well
matters had gone. But John felt very grateful; and he was sure he
should receive help the second and third time, as he had been helped the
first. The next day he was to guess again.

The evening passed just like that of yesterday. While John slept the
travelling companion flew behind the Princess out to the mountain, and
beat her even harder than the time before, for now he had taken two
rods. No one saw him, and he heard everything. The Princess was to
think of her glove ; and this again he told to John as if it had been a
dream. Thus John could guess well, which caused great rejoicing in
the palace. The whole court threw somersaults, just as they had seen
the King do the first time; but the Princess lay on the sofa, and would
not say a single word. Now, the question was, if John could guess
properly the third time. If he succeeded, he was to have the beautiful
Princess and inherit the whole kingdom after the old King’s death. If
he failed, he was to lose his life, and the magician would eat his beau-
tiful blue eyes,

That evening John went early to bed, said his prayers, and went to
sleep quite quietly. But the travelling companion bound his wings to
his back and his sword by his side, and took all three rods with him,
and so flew away to the palace.

Jt was a very dark night. The wind blew so hard that the tiles flew
off from the roofs, and the trees in the garden where the skeletons hung
bent like reeds before the storm. The lightning flashed out every
minute, and the thunder rolled just as if it were one peal lasting the
whole night. Now the window opened, and the Princess flew out. She
was as pale as death; but she laughed at the bad weather, and declared
it was not bad enough yet. And her white cloak fluttered in the wind
like a great sail; but the travelling companion beat her with the three
rods, so that the blood dripped upon the ground, and at last she could
scarcely fly any farther. At length, however, she arrived at the moun-
tain.

“Tt hails and blows dreadfully !” she said. “I have never been out in
such weather.”

“One may have too much of a good thing,” said the magician. “I
shall think of something of which he has never thought, or he must be
a greater conjuror than I. But now we will be merry.” And he took
the Princess by the hands, and they danced about with all the little
goblins and Jack-o’-lanterns that were in the room. The red spiders
jumped just as merrily up and down the walls: it looked as if fiery
flowers were spurting out. The owl played the drum, the crickets piped,
58 Stories for the Household.

and the black grasshoppers played on the jew’s-harp. It was a merry
ball.

When they had danced long enough the Princess was obliged to go
home, for she might be missed in the palace. The magician said he would
accompany her, then they would have each other’s company on the way.

Then they flew away into the+bad weather, and the travelling com-
panion broke his three rods across their backs. Never had the magician
been out in such a hail-storm. In front of the palace he said good-bye
to the Princess, and whispered to her at the-same time, “Think of
my head.” But the travelling companion heard it; and just at the
moment when the Princess slipped through the window into her bed-
room, and the magician was about to turn back, he seized him by his
long beard, and with his sabre cut off the ugly conjuror’s head just by
the shoulders, so that the magician did not even see him. The body he
threw out into the sea to the fishes; but the head he only dipped into
the water, and then tied it in his silk handkerchief, took it with him
into the inn, and then lay down to sleep.

Next morning he gave John the handkerchief, and told him not to
untie it until the Princess asked him to tell her thoughts.

There were so many people in the great hall of the palace, that they
stood as close together as radishes bound together in a bundle. “The
council sat in the chairs with the soft pillows, and the old King had new
clothes on; the golden crown and sceptre had been polished, and every-
thing looked quite stately. But the Princess was very pale, and had
a coal-black dress on, as if she were going to be buried.

“Of what have I thought ?” she asked John. And he immediately
untied the handkerchief, and was himself quite frightened when he saw
the ugly magician’s head. All present shuddered, for it was terrible to
look upon; but the Princess sat just like a statue, and would not utter
a single word. At length she stood up, and gave John her hand, for he
had guessed well. She did not look at any one, only sighed aloud, and
said, “ Now you are my lord !—this evening we will hold our wedding.”

“T like that!” cried the old King. “Thus I will have it.”

All present cried “ Hurrah!” The soldiers’ band played music in the
streets, the bells rang, and the.cake-women took off the black crape from
their sugar dolls, for joy now reigned around ; three oxen roasted whole,
and stuffed with ducks and fowls, were placed in the middle of the market,
that every one might cut himself a slice; the fountains ran with the
best wine ; and whoever bought a penny cake at a baker’s got six biscuits
into the bargain, and the biscuits had raisins in them.

In the evening the whole town was illuminated; the soldiers fired off
the cannon, and the boys let off crackers; and there was eating and
drinking, clinking of glasses, and dancing, in the palace. All the noble
gentlemen and pretty ladies danced with each other, and one could hear,
a long distance off, how they sang—

“Here are many pretty girls, who all love to dance;
See, they whirl like spiuning-wheels, retire and advance.
Turn, my pretty maiden, do, till the sole falls from your shoe.”
















DEATH OF THE MAGICIAN,

But still the Princess was a witch, and did not like John. That
occurred to the travelling companion; and so he gave John three feathers
out of the swan’s wings, and a little bottle with a few drops in it, and
told John that he must put a large tub of water before the Princess’s
bed; and when the Princess was about to get into bed, he should give
her a little push, so that she should fall into the tub; and then he must
dip her three times, after he had put in the feathers and poured in the
drops; she would then lose her magic qualities, and love him very much.

John did all that the travelling companion had advised him to do.
The Princess screamed out loudly while he dipped her in the tub, and
struggled under his hands in the form of a great coal-black swan with
fiery eyes. When she came up the second time above the water, the
swan was white, with the exception of a black ring round her neck.
John let the water.close for the third time over the bird, and in the
same moment it was again changed to the beautiful Princess, She was
60 Stories for the Household.

more beautiful even than before, and thanked him, with tears in her
lovely eyes, that he had freed her from the magic spell.

The next morning the old King came with his whole court, and then
there was great congratulation till late into the day. Last of all came
the travelling companion ; he had his staff in his hand and his knapsack
on his back. John kissed him many times, and said he must not depart,
he must remain with the friend of whose happiness he was the cause.
But the travelling companion shook his head, and said mildly and kindly,

“No, now my timeisup. I have only paid my debt. Do you remem-
ber the dead man whom the bad people wished to injure? You gave
all you possessed in order that he might have rest in his grave. I am
that man.”

And in the same moment he vanished.

The wedding festivities lasted a whole month. John and the Princess
loved each other truly, and the old King passed many pleasant days, and
let their little children ride on his knees and play with his sceptre. And
John afterwards became King over the whole country.

THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES.

Many years ago there lived an Emperor, who cared so enormously. for
new clothes that he spent all his money upon them, that he might be
very fine. He did not care about his soldiers, nor about the theatre,
and only liked to drive out and show his new clothes. Ie had a coat
for every hour of the day ; and just as they say of a king, “ He is in
council,” one always said of him, “The Emperor is in the wardrobe.”

In the great city in which he lived it was always very merry ; every day
a auumber of strangers arrived there. One day two cheats came: they
gave themselves out ag weavers, and declared that they could weave the
finest stuff any one could imagine. Not only were their colours and
patterns, they said, uncommonly beautiful, but the clothes made of the
stuff possessed the wonderful quality that they became invisible to any
one who was unfit for the office he held, or was incorrigibly stupid.

“Those would be capital clothes!” thought the Emperor. “If I wore
those, I should be able to find out what men in my empire are not fit
for the places they have; I could distinguish the clever from the stupid.
Yes, the stuff must be woven for me directly !”

And he gave the two cheats a great deal of cash in hand, that they
might begin their work at once.

As for them, they put up two looms, and pretended to be working;
but they had nothing at all on their looms. They at once demanded the
finest silk and the costliest gold; this they put into their own pockets,
and worked at the empty looms till late into the night.

“T should like to know how far they have got on with the stuff,”
thought the Emperor. But he felt quite uncomfortable when he






























THE EMPEROK INSPECTING THE INVISIBLE STUFF.

thought that those who were not fit for their offices could not see it.
He believed, indeed, that he had nothing to fear for himself, but yet he
preferred first to send some one else to see how matters stood. All the
people in the whole city knew what peculiar power the stuff possessed,
and all were anxious to see how bad or how stupid their neighbours
were.

“T will send my honest old Minister to the weavers,” thought the
Emperor. “He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he has sense,
and no one understands his office better than he.”

Now the good old Minister went out into the hall where the twe
cheats sat working at the empty looms.

“Mercy preserve us!” thought the old Minister, and he opened his
eyes wide. “I cannot see anything at all!” But he did not say this.

Both the cheats begged him to be kind enough to come nearer, and
asked if he did not approve of the colours and the pattern. Then they
62 Stories for the Household.

pointed to the empty loom, and the poor old Minister went on opening
his eyes; but he could see nothing, for there was nothing to see.

“ Mercy !”” thought he, “ can I indeed be so stupid? I never thought
that, and not a soul must know it. Am I not fit for my office P—No,
it will never do for me to tell that I could not see the stuff.”

“Do you say nothing to it?” said one of the weavers.

“ Oh, it is charming,—quite enchanting !”” answered the old Minister,
as he peered through his spectacles. “ What a fine pattern, and what
colours! Yes, I shall tell the Emperor that I am very much pleased
with it.”

“Well, we are glad of that,” said both the weavers; and then they
named the colours, and explained the strange pattern. The old Minister
listened attentively, that he might be able to repeat it when the Emperor
eame. And he did so. ‘

Now the cheats asked for more money, and more silk and gold, which
they declared they wanted for weaving. They put all into their own
pockets, and not a thread was put upon the loom; but they continued
to work at the empty frames as before.

The Emperor soon sent again, dispatching another honest statesman,
to see how the weaving was going on, and if the stuff would soon be
ready. He fared just like the first: he looked and looked, but, as there
was nothing to be seen but the empty looms, he could see nothing.

“Ts not that a pretty piece of stuff?” asked the two cheats; and
they displayed and explained the handsome pattern which was not there
at all.

“Tam not stupid!” thought the man,—“it must be my good office,
for which I am not fit. It is funny enough, but I must not let it be
noticed.”” And so he praised the stuff which he did not see, and ex-
pressed his pleasure at the beautiful colours and the charming pattern.
“Yes, it is enchanting,’ he said to the Emperor.

All the people in the town were talking of the gorgeous stuff. The
Emperor wished to see it himself while it was still upon the loom.
With a whole crowd of chosen men, among whom were also the two
honest statemen who had already been there, he went to the two cunning
cheats, who were now weaving with might and main without fibre or
thread.

“Ts that not splendid ? ” said the two old statesmen, who had already
been there once. “ Does not your Majesty remark the pattern and the
colours?” And then they pointed to the empty loom, for they thought
that the others could see the stuff.

“What’s this?” thought the Emperor. “I can see nothing at all!
That is terrible. Am TI stupid? Am I not fit to be Emperor? That
would be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me.—Oh, it ig
very pretty!” he said aloud. “Tt has our exalted approbation.” And
he nodded in a contented way, and gazed at the empty loom, for he
would not say that he saw nothing. The whole suite whom he had with
him looked and looked, and saw nothing, any more than the rest; but,
like the Emperor, they said, “That is pretty !’? and counselled him to
The Emperor's New Clothes. 63

wear these splendid new clothes for the first time at the great procession
that was presently to take place. “It is splendid, tasteful, excellent!”
went from mouth to mouth. On all sides there seemed to be genera.
rejoicing, and the Emperor gave the cheats the title of Imperial Court
Weavers.

The whole night before the raorning on which the procession was to
take place the cheats were up, and had lighted more than sixteen candles.
The people could see that they were hard at work, completing the Em-
peror’s new clothes. They pretended to take the stuff down from the
loom; they made cuts in the air with great scissors; they sewed with
needles without thread; and at last they said, “ Now the clothes are
ready !”

The Emperor came himself with his noblest cavaliers; and the two
cheats lifted up one arm as if they were holding something, and said,
“ See, here are the trousers! here is the coat! here is the cloak!” and
soon. “It is as light as a spider’s web: one would think one had no-
thing on; but that is just the beauty of it.”

“ Yes,” said all the cavaliers; but they could not see anything, for
nothing was there.

“Does your Imperial Majesty please to condescend to undress?” said
the cheats ; “then we will put you on the new clothes here in front of
the great mirror.”

The Emperor took off his clothes, and the cheats pretended to put on
him each new garment as it was ready ; and the Emperor turned round
and round before the mirror.

“Oh, how well they look! how capitally they fit!” said all. “ What
a pattern! what colours! That zs a splendid dress!”

“They are standing outside with the canopy which is to be borne
above your Majésty in the procession!” announced the head master of
the ceremonies.

“Well, I am ready,” replied the Emperor. “Does it not suit me
well?” And then he turned again to the mirror, for he wanted it to
appear as if he contemplated his adornment with great interest.

The chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stooped down with
their hands towards the floor, just as if they were picking up the mantle ;
then they pretended to be holding something up in the air, They did
not dare to let it be noticed that they saw nothing.

So the Emperor went in procession under the rich canopy, and every
one in the streets said, “ How incomparable are the Emperor’s new
clothes! what a train he has to his mantle! how it fits him!” No one
would let it be perceived that he could see nothing, for that would have
shown that he was not fit for his office, or was very stupid. No clothes
of the Emperor’s had ever had such a success as these. .

“But he has nothing on!” a little child cried out at last.

* Just hear what that innocent says!” said the father; and one whis-
pered to another what the child had said.

“But he has nothing on!” said the whole people at length. That
touched the Emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right; but he
64 Stories for the Household.

thought within himself, “I must go through with the procession.” And
the chamberlains held on tighter than ever, and carried the train which
did not exist at all.

THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE.
I.
A Beginning.

Iw a house in Copenhagen, not far from the King’s New Market, a
eompany—a very large company—had assembled, having received invi-
tations to an evening party there. One-half of the company already
sat at the card tables, the other half awaited the result of the hostess’s
question, “ What shall we do now?” They had progressed so far, and
the entertainment began to take some degree of animation. Among
other subjects the conversation turned upon the Middle Ages. Some
considered that period much more interesting than our own times: yes,
Councillor Knap defended this view so zealously that the lady of the
house went over at once to his side; and both loudly exclaimed against
Oersted’s treatise in the Almanac on old and modern times, in which
the chief advantage is given to our own day. The councillor considered
the times of the Danish King Hans as the noblest and happiest age.

While the conversation takes this turn, only interrupted for a momeut
by the arrival of a newspaper, which contained nothing worth reading,
we will betake ourselves to the antechamber, where the cloaks, sticks,
and goloshes had found a place. Here sat two maids—an old one and
a young one. One would have thought they had come to escort their
mistresses home; but, on looking at them more closely, the observer
could see that they were not ordinary servants: their shapes were too
graceful for that, their complexions too delicate, and the cut of their
dresses too uncommon. They were two fairies. The younger was not
Fortune, but lady’s-maid to one of her ladies of the bed-chamber, who
earry about the more trifling gifts of Fortune. The elder one looked
somewhat more gloomy—she was Care, who always goes herself in her
own exalted person to perform her business, for thus she knows that it
is well done.

They were telling each other where they had been that day. The
messenger. of Fortune had only transacted a few unimportant affairs, as,
for instance, she had preserved a new bonnet from a shower of rain, had
procured an honest man a bow from a titled Nobody, and so on; but
what she had still to relate was something quite extraordinary.

“T can likewise tell,” said she, “that to-day is my birthday; and in
honour of it a pair of goloshes has been entrusted to me, which I am to
The Goloshes of Fortune. 65

bring to the human race. These goloshes have the property that every
one who puts them on is at once transported to the time and place in
which he likes best to be—every wish in reference to time, place, and
oor is at once fulfilled ; and so for once man can be happy here
elow!”
‘‘ Believe me,” said Care, “he will be very unhappy, and will bless
the moment when he can get rid of the goloshes again.”




a
i.















THE GOLOSHES LEFT AT THE DOOR.

“What are you thinking of ?” retorted the other. ‘“ Now I shali
put them at the door. Somebody will take them by mistake, and
become the happy one!”

You see, that was the dialogue they held.

II.
What happened to the Councillor.

Tt was late. Councillor Knap, lost in contemplation of the times of
King Hans, wished to get home; and fate willed that instead of his own
goloshes he should put on those of Fortune, and thus went out into
East Street. But by the power of the goloshes he had been put back
three hundred years—into the days of King Hans; and therefore he
put his foot into mud and mire in the street, because in those days
there was not any pavement.

F
66 Stories for the Household.

“Why, this is horrible—how dirty it is here!” said the councillor.
“The good pavement is gone, and all the lamps are put out.”

The moon did not yet stand high enough to give much light, and the
air was tolerably thick, so that all objects seemed to melt together in
the darkness. At the next corner a lamp hung before a picture of the
Madonna, but the light it gave was as good as none; he only noticed it
when he stood just under it, and his eyes fell upon the painted figure.

“That is probably a museum of art,” thought he, “ where they have
forgotten to take down the sign.”

A couple of men in the costume of those past days went by him.

“How they look!” he said. “They must come from a masquerade.”

Suddenly there was a sound of drums and fifes, and torches gleamed
brightly. The councillor started. And now he saw a strange proces-
sion go past. First came a whole troop of drummers, beating their
instruments very dexterously; they were followed by men-at-arms,
with longbows and crossbows. The chief man in the procession was a
clerical lord. The astonished councillor asked what was the meaning
of this, and who the man might be.

“That is the Bishop of Zealand.”

“What in the world has come to the bishop ?” said the councillor,
with a sigh, shaking his head. “ This could not possibly be the bishop!”

Ruminating on this, and without looking to the right or to the left,
the councillor went through the East Street, and over the Highbridge
Place. The bridge which led to the Palace Square was not to be found;
he perceived the shore of a shallow water, and at length encountered
two people, who sat in a boat.

“Do you wish to be ferried over to the Holm, sir ?” they asked.

“To the Holm!” repeated the councillor, who did not know, you
see, in what period he was. “I want to go to Christian’s Haven and to
Little Turf Street.”

The men stared at him.

“ Pray tell me where the bridge is?” said he. “It is shameful that
no lanterns are lighted here; and it is as muddy, too, as if one were
walking in a marsh.” But the longer he talked with the boatmen the
less could he understand them. “I don’t understand your Bornholm.
talk,” he at last cried, angrily, and turned his back upon them. He
could not find the bridge, nor was there any paling. “It is quite
scandalous how things look here!” he said—never had he thought his
own times so miserable as this evening. “TI think it will be best if I
take a cab,” thought he. But where were the cabs ?—not one was to
be seen. “I shall have to go back to the King’s New Market, where
there are many carriages standing, otherwise I shall never get as far as
Christian’s Haven.”

Now he went towards East Street, and had almost gone through it
when the moon burst forth.

“What in the world have they been erecting here?” he exclaimed,
when he saw the East Gate, which in those days stood at the end of
Bast Street.
























THE COUNCILLOR IS ALARMED.

In the meantime, however, he found a passage open, and through this
he came out upon our New Market; but it was a broad meadow. Single
bushes stood forth, and across the meadow ran a great canal or stream.
A few miserable wooden booths for Dutch skippers were erected on the
opposite shore.

“Hither I behold a Fata Morgana, or I am tipsy,” sighed the coun-
cillor. “ What can that be? what can that be?”

He turned back, in the full persuasion that he must be ill. In walk-
ing up the street he looked more closely at the houses; most of them
were built of laths, and many were only thatched with straw.

“No, I don’t feel well at all!” he lamented. “And yet I only drank
one glass of punch! But I cannot stand that; and besides, it was very
foolish to give us punch and warm salmon. I shall mention that to
our hostess—the agent’s lady. Suppose I go back, and say how I feel ?
But that looks ridiculous, and it is a question if they will be up still.”

He looked for the house, but could not find it.

“ That is dreadful!” he cried ; “ I don’t know East Street again. Not

Fa
68 Stories for the Household.

one shop is to be seen; old, miserable, tumble-down huts are all I see,
as if I were at Roeskilde or Ringstedt. Oh, Iam ill! It’s no use to
make ceremony. But where in all the world is the agent’s house? It
is no longer the same; but within there are people up still. I certainly
must be ill!”

He now reached a half-open door, where the light shone through a
chink. It was a tavern of that date—a kind of beer-house. The room
had the appearance of a Dutch wine shop ; a number of people, consist-
ing of seamen, citizens of Copenhagen, and a few scholars, sat in deep
conversation over their jugs, and paid little attention to the new comer.

“J beg pardon,” said the councillor to the hostess, “but I feel very
unwell; would you let them get me a fly to go to Christian’s Haven?”

The woman looked at him and shook her head; then she spoke to
him in German.

The councillor now supposed that she did not understand Danish,
so he repeated his wish in the German language. This, and his cos-
tume, convinced the woman that he was a foreigner. She soon under-
stood that he felt unwell, and therefore brought him a jug of water.
It certainly tasted a little of sea water, though it had been taken from
the spring outside.

The councillor leaned his head on his hand, drew a deep breath, and
thought of all the strange things that were happening about him.

“Ys that to-day’s number of the ‘Day’ ?” he said, quite mechanically,
for he saw that the woman was putting away a large sheet of paper..

She did not understand what he meant, but handed him the leaf: it
was a woodeut representing a strange appearance in the air which had
been seen in the city of Cologne.

“That is very old!” said the councillor, who became quite cheerful
at sight of this antiquity. “ How did you come by this strange leaf?
That is very interesting, although the whole thing is a fable. Now-a-
days these appearances are explained to be northern lights that have
been seen; probably they arise from electricity.”

Those who sat nearest to him and heard his speech, looked at him in
surprise, and one of them rose, took off his hat respectfully, and said,
with a very grave face,

“You must certainly be a very learned man, sir!”

“Oh, no!” replied the councillor; “I can only say a word or two
about things one ought to understand.”

“ Modestia is a beautiful virtue,” said the man: “ Moreover, I must
say to your speech, ‘mihi secus videtur ;? yet I will gladly suspend my
fudiciwm.”

“ May I ask with whom I have the pleasure of speaking ?” asked the
councillor.

“T am a bachelor of theology,” replied the nan.

This answer sufficed for the councillor; the title corresponded with
the garb.

“ Certainly,” he thought, “this must be an old village schoolmaster,
a queer character, such as one finds sometimes over in Jutland.”
The Goloshes of Fortune. 69

“This is certainly not a locus docendi,” began the man; “but I beg
you to take the trouble to speak. You are doubtless well read in the
ancients ?”

“Oh, yes,” replied the councillor. “Iam fond of reading useful
old books; and am fond of the modern ones, too, with the exception of
the ‘ Every-day Stories,’ of which we have enough, in all conscience.”

“ Fivery-day Stories P”’ said the bachelor, inquiringly.

“ Yes, | mean the new romances we have now.”

“Oh!” said the man, with a smile, “they are very witty, and are
much read at court. The King is especially partial to the romance by
Messieurs Iffven and Gaudian, which talks about King Arthur and his
knights of the Round Table. He has jested about it with his noble lords.

“That I have certainly not yet read,” said the councillor: “ that must
be quite a new book published by Heiberg.”

“No,” retorted the man, “it is not published by Heiberg, but by
Godfrey von Gehmen.*

“Indeed! is he the author?” asked the councillor. “That is a very
old name: was not thaé the name of about the first printer who appeared
in Denmark ?”

“Why, he zs our first printer,” replied the man.

So far it had gone well. But now one of the men began to speak of
a pestilence which he said had been raging a few years ago: he meant
the plague of 1484. The councillor supposed that he meant the cholera,
and so the conversation went on tolerably. The Freebooters’ War of
1490 was so recent that it could not escape mention. The English
pirates had taken ships from the very wharves, said the man; and the
councillor, who was well acquainted with the events of 1801, joined in
manfully against the English. The rest of the talk, however, did not
pass over so well; every moment there was a contradiction. The good
bachelor was terribly ignorant, and the simplest assertion of the coun-
cillor seemed too bold or too fantastic. They looked at each other, and
when it became too bad, the bachelor spoke Latin, in the hope that he
would be better understood ; but it was of no use.

“ How are you now?” asked the hostess, and she plucked the coun-
cillor by the sleeve.

Now his recollection came back: in the course of the conversation he
had forgotten everything that had happened.

“Good heavens! where am 1?” he said, and he felt dizzy when he
thought of it.

“Well drink claret, mead, and Bremen beer,” cried one of the
guests, “and you shall drink with us.”

Two girls came in. One of them had on a cap of two colours. They
poured out drink and bowed: the councillor felt a cold shudder running
all down his back. ‘“ What’s that? what’s that ?” he cried; but he
was obliged to drink with them. They took possession of the good man

* The first printer ond publisher in Denmark, under King Hans.
70 Stories for the Household.

quite politely. He was in despair, and when one said that he was tipsy
he felt not the slightest doubt regarding the truth of the statement, and
only begged them to procure him a droschky. Now they thought he
was speaking Muscovite.

Never had he been in such rude vulgar company.

“ One would think the country was falling back into heathenism,” waz
his reflection. “ This is the most terrible moment of my life.”

But at the same time the idea occurred to him to bend down under
the table, and then to creep to the door. He did so; but just as he
had reached the entry the others discovered his intention. They seized
him by the feet ; and now the goloshes, to his great good fortune, came
off, and—the whole enchantment vanished.

The councillor saw quite plainly, in front of him, a lamp burning, and
behind it a great building; everything looked familiar and splendid.
It was East Street, as we know it now. He lay with his legs turned
towards a porch, and opposite to him sat the watchman asleep.

“ Good heavens! have I been lying here in the street dreaming ?” he
exclaimed. “Yes, this is East Street sure enough! how splendidly
bright and gay! It is terrible what an effect that one glass of punch
must have had on me!”

Two minutes afterwards he was sitting in a fly, which drove him out
to Christian’s Haven. He thought of the terror and anxiety he had
undergone, and praised from his heart the happy present, our own time,
which, with all its shortcomings, was far better than the period in which
he had been placed a short time before.

TIT.
The Watchman’s Adventures.

- “On my word, yonder lies a pair a goloshes!” said the watchman.
“They must certainly belong to the lieutenant who lives upstairs. They
are lying close to the door.”

The honest man would gladly have rung the bell and delivered them,
for upstairs there. was a light still burning; but he did not wish to
disturb the other people in the house, and so he let it alone.

“Tt must be very warm to have a pair of such things on,” said he.
“How nice and soft the leather is ”! They fitted his feet very well.
“ How droll it is in the world! Now, he might lie down in his warm
bed, and yet he does not! There he is pacing up and down the room.
He is a happy man! He has neither wife nor children, and every
evening he is at a party. Oh, I wish I were he, then I should be a
happy man!”

As he uttered the wish, the goloshes he had put on produced their
effect, and the watchman was transported into the body and being of
the lieutenant. Then he stood up in the room, and held a little pink
paper in his fingers, on which was a poem, a poem written by the lieu-
The Goloshes of Fortune. val

tenant himself. For who is there who has not once in his life had a
poetic moment P and at such a moment, if one writes down one’s
thoughts, there is poetry.

Yes, people write poetry when they are in love; but a prudent man
does not print such poems. The lieutenant was in love—and poor—
that ’s a triangle, or, so to speak, the half of a broken square of happi-
ness. The lieutenant felt that very keenly, and so he laid his head
against the window-frame and sighed a deep sigh.

“ The poor watchman in the street yonder is far happier than J. He
does not know what I call want. He has a home, a wife, and children,
who weep at his sorrow and rejoice at his joy. Oh! I should be happier
than I am, could I change my being for his, and pass through life with
his humble desires and hopes. Yes, he is happier than I!”









THE WATCHMAN THINKS OF GOING TO THE MOON.

In that same moment the watchman became a watchman again; for
through the power of the goloshes of Fortune he had assumed the per-
sonality of the lieutenant; but then we know he felt far less content,
and preferred to be just what he had despised a short time before. So
the watchman became a watchman again.

“That was an wely dream,” said he, “but droll enough. It seemed
to me that I was the lieutenant up yonder, and that it was not pleasant
at all. I was without the wife and the boys, who are now ready to half
stifle me with kisses.” 2

He sat down again and nodded. The dream would not go quite out
of his thoughts. He had the goloshes still on his feet. A falling star
glided down along the horizon.

“There went one,” said he, “ but for all that, there are enough left.
I should like to look at those things a little nearer, especially the moon,
for that won’t vanish under one’s hands. The student for whom my wife
72 Stories for the Household.

washes says that when we die we fly from one star to another. That’s
not true, but it would be very nice. If I could only make a little
spring up there, then my body might lie here on the stairs for all I care.”

Now there are certain assertions we should be very cautious of making
in this world, but doubly careful when we have goloshes of Fortune on
our feet. Just hear what happened to the watchman.

So far as we are concerned, we all understand the rapidity of dispatch
by steam ; we have tried it either in railways, or in steamers across the
sea. But this speed is as the crawling of the sloth or the march of the
snail in comparison with the swiftness with which light travels. That
flies nineteen million times quicker. Death is an electric shock we
receive in our hearts, and on the wings of electricity the liberated soul
flies away. The sunlight requires eight minutes and a few seconds for
a journey of more than ninety-five millions of miles; on the wings of
electric power the soul requires only a few moments to accomplish the
game flight. The space between the orbs of the universe is, for her, not
greater than, for us, the distances between the houses of our friends
dwelling in the same town and even living close together. Yet this
electric shock costs us the life of the body here below, unless, like the
watchman, we have the magic goloshes on.

In a few seconds the watchman had traversed the distance of two
hundred and sixty thousand miles to the moon, which body, as we know,
consists of a much lighter material than that of our earth, and is, as we
should say, soft as new-fallen snow. He found himself on one of the
many ring mountains with which we are familiar from Dr. Madler’s
great map of the moon. Within the ring a great bowl-shaped hollow
went down to the depth of a couple of miles. At the base of the
hollow lay a town, of whose appearance we can only form an idea by
pouring the white of an egg into a glass of water: the substance here
was just as soft as white of egg, and formed similar towers, and cupolas,
and terraces like sails, transparent and floating in the thin air. Our
earth hung over his head like a great dark red ball.

He immediately became aware of a number of beings, who were cer-
tainly what we call “men,” but their appearance was very different from
ours. If they had been put up in a row and painted, one would have
said, “ That’s a beautiful arabesque!” They had also a language, but
no one could expect that the soul of the watchman should understand
it. But the watchman’s soul did understand it, for our souls have far
greater abilities than we suppose. Does not its wonderful dramatic
talent show itself in our dreams? Then every one of our acquaintances
appears speaking in his own character and with his own voice, in a way
that not one of us could imitate in our waking hours. How does our
soul bring back to us people of whom we have not thought for many
years ? Suddenly they come into our souls with their smallest pecu-
liarities about them. In fact, it is a fearful thing, that memory which
our souls possess: it can reproduce every sin, every bad thought. And
then, it may be asked, shall we be able to give an account of every idle
word that has been in our hearts and on our lips P
The Goloshes of Fortune. 73

Thus the watchman’s soul understood the language of the people in
the moon very well. They disputed about this earth, and doubted if
it could be inhabited; the air, they asserted, must be too thick for a
sensible moon-man to live there. They considered that the moon alone
was peopled; for that, they said, was the real body in which the old-
world people dwelt. They also talked of politics.

But let us go down to the Hast Street, and see how it fared with the
body of the watchman.

He sat lifeless upon the stairs. His pike had fallen out of his hand,
and his eyes stared up at the moon, which his honest body was wonder-
ing about.

“ What’s o’clock, watchman?” asked a passer-by. But the man who
didn’t answer was the watchman. Then the passengers tweaked him
quite gently by the nose, and then he lost his balance. There lay the
body stretched out at full length—the man was dead. All his comrades
were very much frightened: dead he was, and dead he remained. It
was reported, and it was discussed, and in the morning the body was
carried out to the hospital.

That would be a pretty jest for the soul if it should chance to come
back, and probably seek its body in the Hast Street, and not find it!
Most likely it would go first to the police and afterwards to the address
office, that inquiries might be made from thence respecting the missing
goods; and then it would wander out to the hospital. But we may
console ourselves with the idea that the soul is most clever when it acts
upon its own account; it is the body that makes it stupid.

As we have said, the watchman’s body was taken to the hospital, and
brought into the washing-room; and naturally enough the first thing
they did there was to pull off the goloshes; and then the soul had to
come back. It took its way directly towards the body, and in a few
seconds there was life in the man. He declared that this had been the
most terrible night of his hfe; he would not have such feelings again,
not for a shilling; but now it was past and over.

The same day he was allowed to leave; but the goloshes remained at
the hospital.

Iv.
A Great Moment.—A very Unusual Journey.

Every one who belongs to Copenhagen knows the look of the entrance
to the Frederick’s Hospital in Copenhagen ; but as, perhaps, a few will
read this story who do not belong:to Copenhagen, it becomes necessary
to give a short description of it.

The hospital is separated from the street by a tolerably high railing,
in which the thick iron rails stand so far apart, that certain very thin
inmates are said to have squeezed between them, and thus paid their
little visits outside the premises. The part of the body most difficult
to get through was the head; and here, as it often happens in the
74: Stories for the Household.

world, small heads were the most fortunate. This will be sufficient as
an introduction.

One of the young volunteers, of whom one could only say in one
sense that he had a great head, had the watch that evening. The rain
was pouring down; but in spite of this obstacle he wanted to go out,
only for a quarter of an hour. It was needless, he thought, to tell the
porter of his wish, especially if he could slip through between the rails.
There lay the goloshes which the watchman had forgotten. It never
occurred to him in the least that they were goloshes of Fortune. They
would do him very good service in this rainy weather, and he pulled
them on. Now the question was whether he could squeeze through the
bars; till now he had never tried it. There he stood.

“T wish to goodness I had my head outside!” cried he. And imme-
diately, though his head was very thick and big, it glided easily and
quickly through. The goloshes must have understood it well; but now
the body was to slip through also, and that could not be done.

“T’m too fat,” said he. “I thought my head was the thickest. I
shan’t get through.”

Now he wanted to pull his head back quickly, but he could not
manage it: he could move his neck, but that was all. His first feeling
was one of anger, and then his spirits sank down to zero. The goloshes
of Fortune had placed him in this terrible condition, and, unfortunately,
it never occurred to him to wish himself free. No: instead of wishing,
he only strove, and could not stir from the spot. The rain poured down;
not a creature was to be seen in the street; he could not reach the gate
bell, and how was he to get loose? He foresaw that he would have to
remain here until the morning, and then they would have to send for a
blacksmith, to file through the iron bars. But such a business is not to
be done quickly. The whole charity school would be upon its legs ; the
whole sailors’ quarter close by would come up and see him standing in
the pillory ; and a fine crowd there would be.

“Hu!” he eried, “the blood ’s rising to my head, and I shall go mad!
Yes, I’m going mad! If I were free, most likely it would pass over.’

That’s what he ought to have said at first. The very moment he had
uttered the thought his head was free ; and now he rushed in, quite dazed
with the fright the goloshes of Fortune had given him. But we must
not think the whole affair was over ; there was much worse to come yet.

The night passed away, and the following day too, and nobody sent
for the goloshes. In the evening a display of oratory was to take place
in an amateur theatre in a distant street. The house was crammed ; and
among the audience was the volunteer from the hospital, who appeared
to have forgotten his adventure of the previous evening. He had the
goloshes on, for they had not been sent for; and as it was dirty in the
streets, they might do him good service. A new piece was recited: it was
called “My Aunt’s Spectacles.” These were spectacles which, when
any one put them on in a great assembly of people, made all present
look like cards, so that one could prophesy from them all that would
happen in the coming year.
-The Goloshes of Fortune. 75

The idea struck him: he would have liked to possess such a pair of
‘spectacles. If they were used rightly, they would perhaps enable the
wearer to look into people’s hearts; and that, he thought, would be more
interesting than to see what was going to happen in the next year; for
future events would be known in time, but the people’s thoughts never.

“ Now Ill look at the row of ladies and gentlemen on the first bench :
if one could look directly into their hearts! yes, that must be a hollow,
a sort of shop. How my eyes would wander about in that shop! In
every lady’s, yonder, I should doubtless find a great milliner’s warehouse: .
with this one here the shop is empty, but it would do no harm to have
it cleaned out. But would there really be such shops? Ah, yes!” he
continued, sighing, “I know one in which all the goods are first-rate,
but there’s a servant in it already; that’s the only drawback in the
whole shop! From one and another the word would be ‘ Please to step
in!’ Oh that I might only step in, like a neat little thought, and slip
through their hearts !”

That was the word of command for the goloshes. The volunteer
shrivelled up, and began to take a very remarkable journey through the
hearts of the first row of spectators. The first heart through which he
passed was that of a lady; but he immediately fancied himself in the
Orthopedic Institute, in the room where the plaster casts of deformed
limbs are kept hanging against the walls; the only difference was, that
these casts were formed in the institute when the patients came in, but
here in the heart they were formed and preserved after the good persons
had gone away. For they were casts of female friends, whose bodily
and mental faults were preserved here.

Quickly he had passed into another female heart. But this seemed
to him like a great holy church; the white dove of innocence fluttered
over the high altar. Gladly would he have sunk down on his knees; but
he was obliged to go away into the next heart. Still, however, he heard
the tones of the organ, and it seemed to him that he himself had become
another and a better man. He felt himself not unworthy to enter into
the next sanctuary, which showed itself in the form of a poor garret,
containing a sick mother. But through the window the warm sun
streamed in, and two sky-blue birds sang full of childlike joy, while
the sick mother prayed for a blessing on her daughter.

Now he crept on his hands and knees through an over-filled butcher’s
shop. There was meat, and nothing but meat, wherever he went. It
was the heart of a rich respectable man, whose name is certainly to be
found in the address book.

Now he was in the heart of this man’s wife: this heart was an old
dilapidated pigeon-house. The husband’s portrait was used as a mere
weathercock: it stood in connection with the doors, and these doors
opened and shut according as the husband turned.

Then he came into a cabinet of mirrors, such as we find in the castle
of Rosenburg; but the mirrors magnified in a great degree. In the
middle of the floor sat, like a Grand Lama, the insignificant Z of the
proprietor, astonished in the contemplation of his own greatness.
76 Stories for the Household.

Then he fancied himself transported into a narrow needle-case full of
pointed needles; and he thought, “This must decidedly be the heart of
an old maid!” But that was not the case. It was a young officer,
wearing several orders, and of whom one said, “ He’s a man of intellect
and heart.”

Quite confused was tne poor volunteer when he emerged from the
heart of the last person in the first row. He could not arrange his
thoughts, and fancied it must be his powerful imagination which had
run away with him.

“Gracious powers!” he sighed, “I must certainly have a great
tendency to go mad. It is also unconscionably hot in here: the blood is
rising to my head!”

iaivee||,
OOOOH |

a

Sa





ee





THE VOLUNTEER TRIES A BLISTER.

And now he remembered the great event of the last evening, how his
head had been caught between the iron rails of the hospital.

“That’s where I must have caught it,” thought he. “I musi do
something at once. A Russian bath might be very good. I wish I
were lying on the highest board in the bath-house.”

And there he lay on the highest board in the vapour bath; but he
was lying there in all his clothes, in boots and goloshes, and the hot drops
from the ceiling were falling on his face.

“ Wi!” he eried, and jumped down to take a plunge bath.

The attendant uttered aloud cry on seeing a person there with all his
clothes on. The volunteer had, however, enough presence of mind to
whisper to him, “It’s for a wager!” But the first thing he did when
he got into his own room was to puta big blister on the nape of his
neck, and another on his back, that they might draw out his madness.

. Next morning he had a very sore back; and that was all he had got
by the goloshes of Fortune.
The Goloshes of Fortune. 77

Vv.
The Transformation of the Copying Clerk.

The watchman, whom we surely have not yet forgotten, in the mean-
time thought of the goloshes, which he had found and brought to the
hospital. He took them away; but as neither the lieutenant nor any
one in the street would own them, they were taken to the police office.

“They look exactly like my own goloshes,” said one of the copying
gentlemen, as he looked at the unowned articles and put them beside
his own. “More than a shoemaker’s eye is required to distinguish them
from one another.”

’ “Mr. Copying Clerk,” said a servant, coming in with some papers.

The copying clerk turned and spoke to the man: when he had done
this, he turned to look at the goloshes again; he was in great doubt if
the right-hand or the left-hand pair belonged to him.

“Tt must be those that are wet,” he thought. Now here he thought
wrong, for these were the goloshes of Fortune; but why should not
the police be sometimes mistaken? He put them on, thrust his papers
into his pocket, and put a few manuscripts under his arm, for they were
to be read at home, and abstracts to be made from them. But now it
was Sunday morning, and the weather was fine. “A walk to Frede-
ricksburg would do me good,” said he; and he went out accordingly.

There could not be a quieter, steadier person than this young man.
We grant him his little walk with all our hearts; it will certainly do
him good after so much sitting. At first he only walked like a vegeta-
ting creature, so the goloshes had no opportunity of displaying their
magic power.

In the avenue he met an acquaintance, one of our younger poets,
who told him that he was going to start, next day, on a summer trip.

“Are you going away again already?” asked the copying clerk.
“What a happy, free man you are! You can fly wherever you hike; we
others have a chain to our foot.”

“ But it is fastened to the bread tree!” replied the poet. “ You need not
be anxious for the morrow; and when you grow old you get a pension.”

“ But you are better off, after all,” said the copying clerk. “It must
be a pleasure to sit and write poetry. Everybody says agreeable vhings
to you, and then you are your own master. Ah, you should just Gey it,
poring over the frivolous affairs in the court.”

The poet shook his head; the copying clerk shook his head also:
each retained his own opinion; and thus they parted.

“ They are a strange race, these poets!” thought the copying clerk.
“T should like to try and enter into such a nature—to become a poet
myself. Iam certain I should not write such complaining verses as the-
rest. What a splendid spring day for a poet! The air is so remarkably
clear, the clouds are so beautiful, and the green smells so sweet. For
many years I have not felt as I feel at this moment.”
78 Stories for the Household.

We already notice that he has become a poet. To point this out
would, in most. cases, be what the Germans call “mawkish.” It is a
foolish fancy to imagine a poet different from other people, for among
the latter there may be natures more poetical than those of many an
acknowledged poet. The difference is only that the poet has a better
spiritual memory: his ears hold fast the feeling and the idea until they
are embodied clearly and firmly in words; and the others cannot do
that. But the transition from an every-day nature to that of a poet
is always a transition, and as such it must be noticed in the copying
clerk.

“What glorious fragrance!” he cried. “How it reminds me of the
violets at Aunt Laura’s! Yes, that was when I was a little boy. I
have not thought of that for a long time. The good old lady! She lies
yonder, by the canal. She always had a twig or a couple of green
shoots in the water, let the winter be as severe as it might. The
violets bloomed, while I had to put warm farthings against the frozen
window-panes to make peep-holes. That was a pretty view. Out in
the canal the ships were frozen in, and deserted by the whole crew;
a screaming crow was the only living creature left. Then, when the
spring breezes blew, it all became lively: the ice was sawn asunder
amid shouting and cheers, the ships were tarred and rigged, and then
they sailed away to strange lands. I remained here, and must always
remain, and sit at the police office, and let others take passports for
abroad, That’s my fate. Oh, yes!” and he sighed deeply. Suddenly
he paused. “ Good Heaven! what is come tome? I never thought or
felt as 1 do now. It must be the spring air: it is just as dizzying as
it is charming!” He felt in his pockets for his papers. “These will
give me something else to think of,” said he, and let his eyes wander
over the first leaf. Therehe read: “‘ Dame Sigbirth ; an original tragedy
in five acts. What is that? And it is my own hand. Have I written
this tragedy? ‘ The Intrigue on the Promenade; or, the Day of Pe-
nance.—Vaudeville.’ But“where did I get that from? It must have
been put into my pocket. Here is a letter. Yes, it was from the
manager of the theatre; the pieces were rejected, and the letter is not
at all politely worded. -H’m! H’m!” said the copying clerk, and he
sat down upon a bench: his thoughts were elastic; his head was quite
soft. Involuntarily he grasped one of the nearest flowers; it was a
eommon little daisy. What the botanists require several lectures to
explain to us, this flower told in a minute. It told the glory of its
birth ; it told of the strength of the sunlight, which spread out the
delicate leaves and made them give out fragrance. Then he thought
of the battles of life, which likewise awaken feelings in our breasts.
Air and light are the lovers of the flower, but light is the favoured one.
Towards the light it turned, and only when the light vanished the flower
-rolled her leaves together and slept in the embrace of the air.

“Tt is light that adorns me!” said the Flower.

“ But the air allows you to breathe,” whispered the poet’s voice.

Just by him stood a boy, knocking with his stick upon the marshy
The Goloshes of Fortune. 79

ground. « The drops of water spurted up among the green twigs, and
the copying clerk thought of the millions of infusoria which were cast
up on high with the drops, which was the same to them, in proportion
to their size, as it would be to usif we were hurled high over the region
of clouds. And the copying clerk thought of this, and of the great
change which had taken place within him; he smiled. “I sleep and
dream! It is wonderful, though, how naturally one can dream, and yet
know all the time that it isa dream. I should like to be able-to remember
it all clearly to-morrow when I wake. I seem to myself quite unusually
excited. What a clear appreciation I have of everything, and how free
I feel! But I am certain that if I remember anything of it to-morrow,
it will be nonsense. That has often been so with me before. It is with
all the clever famous things one says and hears in dreams, as with the
money of the elves under the earth; when one receives it, it is rich and
beautiful, but looked at by daylight, it is nothing but stones and dried
leaves. Ah!” he sighed, quite plaintively, and gazed at the chirping
birds, as they sprang merrily from bough to bough, “they are much
better off than I. Flying isa noble art. Happy he who is born with
wings. Yes, if I could change myself into anything, it should be mto
a lark.”

In a moment his coat-tails and sleeves grew together and formed
wings; his clothes became feathers, and his goloshes claws. He noticed
it quite plainly, and laughed inwardly. ‘“‘ Well, now I can see that I am
dreaming, but so wildly I have never dreamed before.” And he flew up
into the green boughs and sang; but there was no poetry in the song,
for the poetic nature was gone. The goloshes, like every one who wishes.
to do any business thoroughly, could only do one thing at atime. He
wished to be a poet, and he became one. Then he wished to be a little
bird, and, in changing thus, the former peculiarity was lost.

“That is charming!” he said. “In the day-time I sit in the police
office among the driest of law papers; at night I can dream that I am
flying about, as a lark in the Fredericksburg Garden. One could really
write quite a popular comedy upon it.”

Now he fiew down into the grass, turned his head in every direction,
and beat with his beak upon the bending stalks of grass, which, in pro-
portion to his size, seemed to him as long as palm branches of Northern
Africa.

Tt was only for a moment, and then all around him became as the
blackest night. It seemed to him that some immense substance was cast
over him; it was a great cap, which a sailor boy threw over the bird. A
hand came in and seized the copying clerk by the back and wings in a
way that made him whistle. In his first terror he cried aloud, “The
impudent rascal! I am copying clerk at the police office!” But that
sounded to the boy only like “piep! piep!” and he tapped the bird on
the beak and wandered on with him.

In the alley the boy met with two other boys, who belonged to the
educated classes, socially speaking; but, according to abilities, they
ranked in the lowest class in the school, These bought the bird for
80 Stories for the Household.

afew Danish shillings; and so the copying clerk was carried back to
Copenhagen. : :

“Tt’s a good thing that I am dreaming,” he said, “ or I should become
really angry. First I was a poet, and now I’m a lark! Yes, it must
have been the poetic nature which transformed me into that little
creature. It is a miserable state of things, especially when one falls
into the hands of boys. I should like to know what the end of it
will be.”

The boys carried him into a very elegant room. A stout smiling lady
received them. But she was not at all gratified to see the common
field bird, as she called the lark, coming in too. Only for one day she
would consent to it; but they must put the bird in the empty cage
which stood by the window.













THE COPYING CLERK CUANGES HANDS.

“Perhaps that will please Polly,” she added, and laughed at a great
Parrot swinging himself proudly in his ring in the handsome brass cage.

“Tt’s Polly’s birthday,” she said, simply, “so the little field bird shall
congratulate him.”

Polly did not answer a single word; he only swung proudly to and
fro. Buta pretty Canary bird, who had been brought here last summer
out of his warm fragrant fatherland, began to sing loudly.

“Screamer!” said the lady; and she threw a white handkerchief over
the cage.

“Piep! piep!” sighed he; “here’s a terrible snow-storm.” And thus
sighing, he was silent.

The copying clerk, or, as.the lady called him, the field bird, was placed
in a little cage close to the Canary, and not far from the Parrot. The
only human words which Polly could say, and which often sounded very
comically, were “ Come, let’s be men now!” Hyverything else that he
The Goloshes of Fortune. 81

screamed out was just as unintelligible as the song of the Canary bird,
except for the copying clerk, who was now also a bird, and who under-
stood his comrades very well.

“T flew under the green palm tree and the blossoming almond tree!”
sang the Canary. “I flew with my brothers and sisters over the beautiful
flowers and over the bright sea, where the plants waved in the depths.
T also saw many beautiful parrots, who told the merriest stories.”

“Those were wild birds,” replied the Parrot. “They had no educa-
tion. Let us be men now! Why don’t you laugh? If the lady and
all the strangers could laugh at it,socan you. Itis a great fault to have
no taste for what is pleasant. No, let us be men now.”

“Do you remember the pretty girls who danced under the tents
spread out beneath the blooming trees? Do you remember the sweet
fruits and the cooling juice in the wild plants ?”

“Oh, yes!” replied the Parrot; “but here I am far better off. I have
good care and genteel treatment. I know I’ve a good head, and I don’t
ask for more. Let us be men now. You are what they call a poetic
soul. I have thorough knowledge and wit. You have genius, but no
prudence. You mount up into those high natural notes of yours, and
then you get covered up. That is never done to me; no, no, for I cost
them a little more. J make an impression with my beak, and can cast
wit round me. Now let us be men!”

“O my poor blooming fatherland!” sang the Canary. “TI will praise
thy dark green trees and thy quiet bays, where the branches kiss the
clear watery mirror; Ill sing of the joy of all my shining brothers and
sisters, where the plants grow by the desert springs.”

“Now, pray leave off these dismal tones,” cried the Parrot. “Sing
something at which one can laugh! Laughter is the sign of the highest
mental development. Look if a dog or a horse can laugh! No: they
can cry; but laughter—that is given to men alone. Ho! ho! ho!”
screamed Polly, and finished the jest with “Let us be men now.”

“You little grey Northern bird,” said the Canary ; “so you have also
become a prisoner. It is certainly cold in your woods, but still liberty
is there. Fly out! they have forgotten to close your cage; the upper
window is open. Fly! fly!”

Tustinctively the copying clerk obeyed, and flew forth from his prison.
At the same moment the half opened door of the next room creaked, and
stealthily, with fierce sparkling eyes, the house cat crept in, and made
chase upon him. The Canary fluttered in its cage, the Parrot flapped
its wings, and cried “ Let us be men now.” The copying clerk felt
mortally afraid, and flew through the window, away over the houses
and streets; at last he was obliged to rest a little.

The house opposite had a homelike look: one of the windows stood
open, and he flew in. It was his own room: he perched upon the table.

“Tet us be men now,” he broke out, involuntarily imitating the
Parrot; and in the same moment he was restored to the form of the
copying clerk; but he was sitting on the table.

“Heaven preserve me!” he cried. ‘“ How could I have come here

G
82 Stories for the Household.

and fallen so soundly asleep? That was an unquiet dream, too, that I
had. The whole thing was great nonsense.”

VI.
The Best that the Goloshes brought.

On the following day, quite early in the morning, as the clerk still lay
in bed, there came a tapping at his door: it was his neighbour who lodged
on the same floor, a young theologian; and he came in.

“Lend me your goloshes,” said he. “It is very wet in the garden,
but the sun shines gloriously, and I should like to smoke a pipe down
there.”

He put on the goloshes, and was soon in the garden, which contained
a plum tree and an apple tree. Even a little garden like this is highly
prized in the midst of great cities.

The theologian wandered up and down the path; it was only six
o’clock, and a post-horn sounded out in the street.

“ Oh, travelling! travelling!” he cried out, “that’s the greatest hap-
piness in all the world. That’s the highest goal of my wishes. Then
this disquietude that I feel would be stilled. But it would have to be
far away. I should like to see beautiful Switzerland, to travel through
Italy, to——”

Yes, it was a good thing that the goloshes took effect immediately, for
he might have gone too far even for himself, and for us others too. He
was travelling; he was in the midst of Switzerland, packed tightly with
eight others in the interior of a diligence. He had a headache and a
weary feeling in his neck, and his feet had gone to sleep, for they were
swollen by the heavy boots he had on. He was hovering in a condition
between sleeping and waking. In his right-hand pocket he had his letter
of credit, in his left-hand pocket his passport, and a few louis d’or were
sewn into a little bag he wore on his breast. Whenever he dozed off,
he dreamed he had lost one or other of these possessions; and then he
would start up in a feverish way, and the first movement his hand made
was to describe a triangle from left to right, and towards his breast, to
feel whether he still possessed them or not. Umbrellas, hats, and walk-
ing sticks swang in the net over him, and almost took away the pros-
pect, which was impressive enough: he glanced out at it, and his heart
sang what one poet at least, whom we know, has sung in Switzerland,
_ but has not yet printed:

‘Mis a prospect as fine as heart can desire,
Before me Mont Blanc the rough:
"Tis pleasant to tarry here and admire,
If only you’ve money enough.”

Great, grave, and dark was all nature around him. The pine woods

looked like little mosses upon the high rocks, whose summits were lost
in cloudy mists; and then it began to snow, and the wind blew eold.
The Goloshes of Fortune. 83

“Hu!” he sighed; “if we were only on the other side of the Alps,
then it would be summer, and I should have got money on my letter of
credit: my anxiety about this prevents me from enjoying Switzerland.
Oh, if I were only at the other side!”

- And then he was on the other side, in the midst of Italy, between
Florence and Rome. The lake Thrasymene lay spread out in the even-
ing light, like flaming gold among the dark blue hills. Here, where
Hannibal beat Flaminius, the grape-vines held each other by their green
fingers; pretty half naked children were keeping a herd of coal-black
pigs under a clump of fragrant laurels by the way-side. If we could
reproduce this scene accurately, all would ery, “ Glorious Italy!” But
neither the theologian nor any of his travelling companions in the
carriage of the vetturino thought this.

Poisonous flies and gnats flew into the carriage by thousands. In vain
they beat the air frantically with a myrtle branch—the flies stung them
nevertheless. There was not one person in the carriage whose face was
not swollen and covered with stings. The poor horses looked miserable,
the flies tormented them wofully, and it only mended the matter for a
moment when the coachman dismounted and scraped them clean from
the insects that sat upon them in great swarms. Now the sun sank
down ; a short but icy coldness pervaded all nature ; it was like the cold
air of a funeral vault after the sultry summer day; and all around the
hills and clouds put on that remarkable green tone which we notice on
some old pictures, and consider unnatural unless we have ourselves
witnessed a similar play of colour. It was a glorious spectacle; but
the stomachs of all were empty and their bodies exhausted, and every
wish of the heart turned towards a resting-place for the night; but how
could that be won? To descry this resting-place all eyes were turned
more eagerly to the road than towards the beauties of nature.

The way now led through an olive wood: he could have fancied him-
self passing between knotty willow trunks at home. Here, by the soli-
tary inn, a dozen crippled beggars had taken up their positions: the
quickest among them looked, to quote an expression of Marryat’s, like
the eldest son of Famine, who had just come of age. The others were
either blind or had withered legs, so that they crept about on their
hands, or they had withered arms with fingerless hands. This was
misery in rags indeed. “ Hecellenza, miserabili!” they sighed, and
stretched forth their diseased limbs. The hostess herself, im untidy
hair, and dressed in a dirty blouse, received her guests. The doors
were tied up with string; the floor of the room was of brick, and half
of it was grubbed up; bats flew about under the roof, and the smell
within:

“Yes, lay the table down in the stable,” said one of the travellers
“There, at least, one knows what one is breathing.”

The windows were opened, so that alittle fresh air might find its way
in; but quicker than the air came the withered arms and the continual
whining, “ MWiserabilt, Eccellenza!” On the walls were many inscrip-
tions; half of them were against “ Za bella Italia.”



G2
84 Stories for the Household.

The supper was served. It consisted of a watery soup, seasoned with
pepper and rancid oil. This last dainty played a chief part in the salad ;
musty eges and roasted cocks’-combs were the best dishes. Even the
wine had a strange taste—it was a dreadful mixture.

At night the boxes were placed against the doors. One of the tra-
vellers kept watch while the rest slept. The theologian was the sentry.
Oh, how close it was in there! The heat oppressed him, the gnats
buzzed and stung, and the miserabili outside moaned in their dreams.

“Yes, travelling would be all very well,” said the theologian, “if one
had no body. If the body could rest, and the mind fly!) Wherever I
go, I find a want that oppresses my heart: it is something better than
the present moment that I desire. Yes, something better—the best;
but what is that, and where is it? In my own heart I know very well
what I want: I want to attain to a happy goal, the happiest of all!”

And so soon as the word was spoken he found himself at home. The
long white curtains hung down from the windows, and in the middle of
the room stood a black coffin; in this he was lying in the quiet sleep
of death: his wish was fulfilled—his body was at rest and his spirit
roaming. ‘Esteem no man happy who is not yet in his grave,” were
the words of Solon; here their force was proved anew.

Every corpse is a sphinx of immortality ; the sphinx here also in the
black sarcophagus answered, what the living man had laid down two
days before:

“Thou strong, stern Death! Thy silence waketh fear
Thou leavest monld’ring gravestones for thy traces.
Shall not the soul see Jacob’s ladder here?

No resurrection type but churchyard grasses ?
The deepest woes escape the world’s dull eye:
Thou that alone on duty’s path hast sped,

Heavier those duties on thy heart would lie
Than lies the earth now on thy coffined head.”

Two forms were moving to and froin the room. We know them both.
They were the Fairy of Care and the Ambassadress of Happiness. They
bent down over the dead man.

“Do you see?” said Care. “ What happiness have your goloshes
brought to men ?”’

“They have at least brought a permanent benefit to him who slum-
bers here,” replied Happiness.

“Oh, no!” said Care. “He went away of himself, he was not sum-
moned. His spirit was not strong enough to lift the treasures which
he had been destined to lift. I will do him a favour.”

And sbe drew the goloshes from his feet ; then the sleep of death was
ended, and the awakened man raised himself up. Care vanished, and
with her the goloshes disappeared too: doubtless she looked upon them
es her property.


















H 22
ons

eri ie



THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT OF T1N SOLDIERS,

THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

TuEReE were once five and twenty tin soldiers ; they were all brothers,
for they had all been born of one old tin spoon. They shouldered their
muskets, and looked straight before them: their uniform was read and
blue, and very splendid. The first thing they had heard in the world,
when the lid was taken off their box, had been the words “Tin
soldiers!” These words were uttered by a little boy, clapping his
hands: the soldiers had been given to him, for it was his birthday; and
now he put them upon the table. Each soldier was exactly like the
rest ; but one of them had been cast last of all, and there had not been
enough tin to finish him; but he stood as firmly upon his one leg as
the others on their two; and it was just this Soldier who became re-
markable.

On the table on which they had been placed stood many other play-
things, but the toy that attracted most attention was a neat castle of
86 Stories for the Household.

cardboard. Through the little windows one could see straight into
the hall. Before the castle some little trees were placed round a little
looking-glass, which was to represent a clear lake. Waxen swans swam
on this lake, and were mirrored in it. This was all very pretty; but
the prettiest of all was a little lady, who stood at the open door of the
castle: she was also cut out in paper, but she had adress of the clearest
gauze, and a little narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders, that looked
like a scarf; and in the middle of this ribbon was a shining tinsel rose
as big as her whole face. The little lady stretched out both her arms,
for she was a dancer; and then she lifted one leg so high that the Tin
Soldier could not see it at all, and thought that, like himself, she had
but one leg.

“That would be the wife for me,” thought he ; “ but she is very grand.
She lives in a castle, and 1 have only a box, and there are five and
twenty of us in that. It is no place for her. But I must try to make
acquaintance with her.”

And then he lay down at full length behind a snuff-box which was
on the table; there he could easily watch the little dainty lady, who
continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance.

‘When the evening came, all the other tin soldiers were put into their
box, and the people in the house went to bed. Now the toys began to
play at “visiting,” and at “ war,” and “ giving balls.”’ The tin soldiers
rattled in their box, for they wanted to join, but could not lift the lid.
The nutcracker threw somersaults, and the pencil amused itself on the
table: there was so much noise that the canary woke up, and began to
speak too, and even in verse. The only two who did not stir from their
places were the Tin Soldier and the dancing lady : she stood straight up
on the point of one of her toes, and stretched out both her arms; and
he was just as enduring on his one leg; and he never turned his eyes
away from her. ; :

Now the clock struck twelve—and, bounce !—the lid flew off the
snuff-box; but there was not snuff in it, but a little black Goblin: you
see it was a trick.

“Tin Soldier!” said the Goblin, “ don’t stare at things that don’t con-
cern you.”

But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him.

“ Just you wait till to-morrow!’ said the Goblin.

But when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin Soldier
was ‘placed in the window ; and whether it was the Goblin or the draught
that did it, all at once the window flew open, and the Soldier fell head
over heels out of the third.storey. That was a terrible passage! He
put his leg straight up, and stuck with his helmet downwards and his
bayonet between the paving-stones.

The servant-maid and the little boy came’ down directly to look for
him, but though they almost trod upon him they could not see him. If
the Soldier had cried out “Here I am!” they would have found him;
nee he did not think it fitting to call out loudly, because he was in uni-
orm. : a
The Hardy Tin Soldier. 87

Now it began to rain ; the drops soon fell thicker, and at last it came
down in a complete stream. When the rain was past, two street boys
came by.

“ Just look!” said one of them, “ there lies a tin soldier. He must
come out and ride in the boat.”

And they made a boat out of a newspaper, and put the Tin Soldier in
the middle of it; and so he sailed down the gutter, and the two boys
ran beside him and clapped their hands. Goodness preserve us! how
the waves rose in that gutter, and how fast the stream ran! But then
it had been a heavy rain. The paper boat rocked up and down, and
sometimes turned round so rapidly that the Tin Soldier trembled; but
he remained firm, and never changed countenance, and looked straight
before him, and shouldered his musket.

All at once the boat went into a long drain, and it became as dark as
if he had been in his box.

“Where am I going now?” he thought. “Yes, yes, that’s the
Goblin’s fault. Ah! if the little lady only sat here with me in the boat,
it might be twice as dark for what I should care.”

Suddenly there came a great Water Rat, which lived under the drain.

“ Have you a passport?” said the Rat. “ Give me your passport.”

But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and held his musket tighter than ever.

The boat went on, but the Rat came after it. Hu! how he gnashed
his teeth, and called out to the bits of straw and wood,

“ Hold him! hold him! he hasn’t paid toll—he hasn’t shown his pass-

ort!”

But the stream became stronger and stronger. The Tin Soldier could
see the bright daylight where the arch ended; but he heard a roaring
noise, which might well frighten a bolder man. Only think—just where
the tunnel ended, the drain ran into a great canal; and for him that
would have been as dangerous as for us to be carried down a great
waterfall.

Now he was already so near it that he could not stop. The boat was
carried out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as much as he could,
and no one could say that he moved an eyelid. The boat whirled round
three or four times, and was full of water to the very edge—it must
sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his neck in water, and the boat sank
deeper and deeper, and the paper was loosened more and more ; and now
the water closed over the Soldier’s head. Then he thought of the pretty
little dancer, and how he should never see her again; and it sounded in
the soldier’s ears: -

* Farewell, farewell, thou warrior brave,
For this day thou must die!”

And now the paper parted, and the Tin Soldier fell out; but at that
moment he was snapped up by a great fish.

Ob, how dark it was in that fish’s body! It was darker yet than in
the drain tunnel; and then it was very narrow too. But the Tin Soldier
remained unmoved, and lay at full length shouldering his musket. -
88 Stories for the Household.

The fish swam to and fro; he made the most wonderful movements,
and then became quite still. At last something flashed through him
like lightning. The daylight shone quite clear, and a voice said aloud,
“The Tin Soldier!” The fish had been caught, carried to market, bought,
and taken into the kitchen, where the cook cut him open with a large
knife. She seized the Soldier round the body with both her hands, and
carried him into the room, where all were anxious to see the remarkable
man who had travelled about in the inside of a fish; but the Tin Soldier
was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and there—no!
What curious things may happen in the world! The Tin Soldier was in
the very room in which he had been before! he saw the same children,
and the same toys stood on the table; and there was the pretty castle
with the graceful little dancer. She was still balancing herself on one
leg, and held the other extended in the air. She was hardy too. That
moved the Tin Soldier: he was very nearly weeping tin tears, but that
would not have been proper. He looked at her, but they said nothing
to each other.

Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him into
the stove. He gave no reason for doing this. It must have been the
fault of the Goblin in the snuff-box.

The Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat that was
terrible; but whether this heat proceeded from the real fire or from love
he did not know. The colours had quite gone off from him; but whether
that had happened on the journey, or had been caused by grief, no one
could say. He looked at the little lady, she looked at him, and he felt
that he was melting; but he still stood firm, shouldering his musket.
Then suddenly the door flew open, and the draught of air caught the
dancer, and she flew like a sylph just into the stove to the Tin Soldier,
and flashed up in a flame, and she was gone. Then the Tin Soldier melted
down into a lump, and when the servant-maid took the ashes out next
day, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the dancer
nothing remained but the tinsel rose, and that was burned as black as
a coal.

THE STORY OF A MOTHER.

A MorHER sat by her little child: she was very sorrowful, and feared
that if would die. Its little face was pale, and its eyes were closed.
The child drew its breath with difficulty, and sometimes so deeply as if
it were sighing; and then the mother looked more sorrowfully than
before on the little creature.

Then there was a knock at the door, and a poor old man came in,
wrapped up in something that looked like a great horse-cloth, for that
keeps warm; and he required it, for it was cold winter. Without,
everything was covered with ice and snow, and the wind blew so sharply
that it cut one’s face.
































THE MOTHER WATCHING HER SICK CHILD.

And as the old man trembled with cold, and the child was quiet for a
moment, the mother went and put some beer on the stove in a little pot,
to warm it for him. The old man sat down and rocked the cradle, and
the mother seated herself on an old chair by him, looked at her sick
child that drew its breath so painfully, and seized the little hand.

“You think I shall keep it, do you not ?” she asked. ‘ The good God
will not take it from me!”

And the old man—he was Death—nodded in such a strange way, that
it might just as well mean yes as no. Aud the mother cast down her
90 Stories for the Household.

eyes, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her head became heavy: for
three days and three nights she had not closed her eyes; and now she
slept, but only for a minute; then she started up and shivered with cold.

“What is that?” she asked, and looked round on all sides; but the
old man was gone, and her little child was gone; he had taken it with
him. And there in the corner the old clock was humming and whirring ;
the heavy leaden weight ran down to the floor—plump !—and the clock
stopped.

But the poor mother rushed out of the house crying for her child.

Out in the snow sat a woman in long black garments, and she said,
“Death has been with you in your room; I saw him hasten away with
your child: he strides faster than the wind, and never brings back what
he has taken away.”

“ Only tell me which way he has gone,” said the mother. “Tell me
the way, and I will find him.”

“T know him,” said the woman in the black garments ; “ but before I
tell you, you must sing me all the songs that you have sung to your
child. I love those songs; I have heard them before. I am Night, and
[saw your tears when you sang them.”

“JT will sing them all, all!” said the mother. “But do not detain
me, that I may overtake him, and find my child.”

But Night sat dumb and still. Then the mother wrung her hands,
and sang and wept. And there were many songs, but yet more tears,
and then Night said, “ Go to the right into the dark fir wood; for I saw
Death take that path with your little child.”

Deep in the forest there was across road, and she did not know which
way to take. There stood a Blackthorn Bush, with not a leaf nor a
blossom upon it; for it was in the cold winter-time, and icicles hung
from the twigs. ,

“Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child P”

“Yes,” replied the Bush, “but I shall not tell you which way he
went unless you warm me on your bosom. I’m freezing to death here,
I’m turning to ice.”

And she pressed the Blackthorn Bush to her bosom, quite close, that it
might be well warmed. And the thorns pierced into her flesh, and her
blood oozed out in great drops. But the Blackthorn shot out fresh
green leaves, and blossomed in the dark winter night: so warm is the
heart of a sorrowing mother! And the Blackthorn Bush told her the
way that she should go.

Then she came toa great Lake, on which there were neither ships nor
boat. The Lake was not frozen enough to carry her, nor sufficiently
open to allow her to wade through, and yet she must cross it if she was
to find her child. Then she laid herself down to drink the Lake; and
that was impossible for any one to do. But the sorrowimg mother
thought that perhaps a miracle might be wrought.

“No, that can never succeed,” said the Lake. ‘Let us rather see
how we can agree. I’m fond of collecting pearls, and your eyes are
the two clearest I have ever seen: if you will weep them out into me I
Lhe Story of a Mother. 91

will carry you over mto the great green-house, where Death lives and
cultivates flowers and trees; each of these is a human life.”

“Oh, what would I not give to get my child!” said the afflicted
mother ; and she wept yet more, and her eyes fell into the depths of the
Jake, and became two costly pearls. But the lake lifted her up, as if
she sat in a swing, and she was wafted to the opposite shore, where
stood a wonderful house, miles in length. One could not tell if it was
a mountain containing forests and caves, or a place that had been built.
But the poor mother could not see it, for she had wept her eyes out.

“Where shall I find Death, who went away with my little child?”
she asked.

“He has not arrived here yet,” said an old grey-haired woman, who
was going about and watching the hothouse of Death. “How have
you found your way here, and who helped you?”

“The good God has helped me,” she replied. “He is merciful, and
you will be merciful too. Where shall I find my little child?”

“JF do not know it,” said the old woman, “and you cannot see.
Many flowers and trees have faded this night, and death will soon
come and transplant them. You know very well that every human
being has his tree of life, or his flower of life, just as each is arranged.
They look like other plants, but their hearts beat. Children’s hearts
can beat too. Think of this. Perhaps you may recognize the beating of
your child’s heart. But what will you give me if I tell you what more
you must do?”

“T have nothing more to give,” said the afflicted mother. “But I
will go for you to the ends of the earth.”’

“T have nothing for you to do there,” said the old woman, “but you
can give me your long black hair. You must know yourself that it is
beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white hair for it, and
that is always something.”

“Do you ask for nothing more?” asked she. “I will give you that
gladly.” And she gave her beautiful hair, and received in exchange the
old woman’s white hair.

And then they went into the great hothouse of death, where flowers
and trees were growing marvellously intertwined. There stood the fine
hyacinths under glass bells, some quite fresh, others somewhat sickly ;
water snakes were twining about them, and black crabs clung tightly to
the stalks. There stood gallant palm trees, oaks, and plantains, and
parsley and blooming thyme. Each tree and flower had its name ; each
was a human life: the people were still alive, one in China, another in
Greenland, scattered about in the world. There were great trees thrust
into little pots, so that they stood quite crowded, and were nearly burst-
ing the pots; there was also many a little weakly flower in rich earth,
with moss round about it, cared for and tended. But the sorrowful
mother bent down over all the smallest plants, and heard the human heart
beating in each, and out of millions she recognized that of her child.

“That is it!” she cried, and stretched out her hands over a little
crocus flower, which hung down quite sick and pale.
92 Stories for the Household.

“Do not touch the flower,” said the old dame; “but place yourself
here ; and when Death comes—I expect him every minute—then don’t
let him pull up the plant, but threaten him that you will do the same to
the other plants ; then he’ll be frightened. He has to account for them
all; not one may be pulled up till he receives commission from Heaven.”

And all at once there was an icy cold rush through the hall, and the
blind mother felt that Death was arriving.

“How did you find your way hither?” said he. “How have you
been able to come quicker than I ?”

“T am a mother,” she answered.

Aud Death stretched out his long hands towards the little delicate
flower; but she kept ber hands tight about it, and held it fast; and yet
she was full of anxious care lest he should touch one of the leaves.
Then Death breathed upon her hands, and she felt that his breath was
colder than the icy wind; and her hands sank down powerless.

“You can do nothing against me,” said Death.

“ But the merciful God can,” she replied.

“T only do what He commands,” said Death. “TI am His gardener.
1 take all His trees and flowers, and transplant them into the great
Paradise gardens, in the unknown land.. But how they will flourish
there, and how it is there, I may not tell you.”

“Give me back my child,” said the mother; and she implored and
wept. All at once she grasped two pretty flowers with her two hands,
and called to Death, “Ill tear off all your flowers, for I am in despair.”

“Do not touch them,” said Death. “You say you are so unhappy,
and now you would make another mother just as unhappy !”

“Another mother?” said the poor woman; and she let the flowers go.

“ There are your eyes for you,” said Death. “TI have fished them up
out of the lake; they gleamed up quite brightly. I did not know that
they were yours. Take them back—they are clearer now than before—
and then look down into the deep well close by. I will tell you the
names of the two flowers you wanted to pull up, and you will see what
you were about to frustrate and destroy.”

And she looked down into the well, and it was a happiness to see how
one of them became a blessing to the world, how much joy and gladness
she diffused around her. And the woman looked at the life of the
other, and it was made up of care and poverty, misery and woe.

“ Both are the will of God,” said Death.

“ Which of them is the flower of misfortune, and which the blessed
one P” she asked.

“That I may not tell you,” answered Death; “but this much you
shall hear, that one of these two flowers is that of your child. It was
the fate of your child that you saw—the future of your own child.”

Then the mother screamed aloud for terror.

“Which of them belongs to my child? Tell me that! Release the
innocent child! Let my child free from all that misery! Rather carry
it away! Carry it into God’s kingdom! Forget my tears, forget my
entreaties, and all that I have done!”
The Daisy. 93

“JT do not understand you,” said Death. “ Will you have your child
back, or shall J carry it to that place that you know not?”

Then the mother wrung her hands, and fell on her knees, and prayed
to the good God.

“ Hear me not when I pray against Thy will, which is at all times the
best! Hear me not! hear me not!” And she let her head sink down
on her bosom.

And Death went away with her child into the unknown land.

THE DAISY.

Now rov shall hear!

Out in the country, close by the road-side, there was a country house:
you yourself have certainly once seen it. Before it is a little garden
with flowers, and a paling which is painted. Close by it, by the ditch,
in the midst of the most beautiful green grass, grew a little Daisy. The
sun shone as warmly and as brightly upon it as on the great splendid
garden flowers, and so it grew from hour to hour. One morning it
stood in full bloom, with its little shining white leaves spreading like
rays round the little yellow sun in the centre. It never thought that
no man would notice it down in the grass, and that it was a poor de-
spised floweret; no, it was very merry, and turned to the warm sun,
looked up at it, and listened to the Lark carolling high in the air.

The little Daisy was as happy as if it were a great holiday, and yet it
was only a Monday. All the children were at school; and while they sat
on their benches learning, it sat on its little green stalk, and learned also
from the warm sun, and from all around, how good God is. And the
Daisy was very glad that everything it silently felt was sung so loudly
and charmingly by the Lark. And the Daisy looked up with a kind of
respect to the happy bird who could sing and fly; but it was not at all
sorrowful because it could not fly and sing also.

“T can see and hear,” it thought: “the sun shines on me, and the
forest kisses me. Oh, how richly have I been gtfted!”

Within the palings stood many stiff, aristocratic flowers —the less
scent they had the more they flaunted. The peonies blew themselves
out to be greater than the roses, but size will not do it; the tulips had
the most splendid colours, and they knew that, and held themselves bolt
upright, that they might be seen more plainly. They did not notice the
little Daisy outside there, but the Daisy looked at them the more, and
thought, “ How rich and beautiful they are! Yes, the pretty bird flies
across to them and visits them. Iam glad that I stand so near them,
fer at any rate I can enjoy the sight of their splendour!” And just as
she thought that— keevit !”—down came flying the Lark, but not down
to the peonies and tulips— no, down into the grass toe the lowly Daisy,
which started so with joy that it did not know what to think.
94: Stories for the Household.

The little bird danced round about it, and sang,

“ Oh, how soft the grass is! and see what a lovely little flower, with
gold in its heart and silver on its dress!”

For the yellow point in the Daisy looked like gold, and the little
leaves around it shone silvery white.

How happy was the little Daisy —no one can conceive how happy!
The bird kissed it with his beak, sang to it, and then flew up again into
the blue air. A quarter of an hour passed, at least, before the Daisy
could recover itself. Half ashamed, and yet inwardly rejoiced, it looked
at the other flowers in the garden; for they had seen the honour and
happimess it had gained, and must understand what a joy it was. But
the tulips stood up twice as stiff as before, and they looked quite peaky
in the face and guite red, for they had been vexed. The peonies were
quite wrong-headed: it was well they could not speak, or the Daisy
would have received a good scolding. The poor little flower could see
very well that they were not in a good humour, and that hurt it sensibly.
At this moment there came into the garden a girl with a great sharp
shining knife; she went straight up to the tulips, and cut off one after
another of them.

“Oh!” sighed the little Daisy, “this is dreadful; now it is all over
with them.”

Then the girl went away with the tulips. The Daisy was glad to
stand out in the grass, and to be only a poor little flower; it felt very
grateful; and when the sun went down it folded its leaves and went to
sleep, and dreamed all night long about the sun and the pretty little
bird.

Next morning, when the flower again happily stretched out all its
white leaves, like little arms, towards the air and the light, it recognized
the voice of the bird, but the song he was singing sounded mournfully.
Yes, the poor Lark had good reason to be sad: he was caught, and now
sat Ina cage close by the open window. He sang of free and happy
roaming, sang of the young green corn in the fields, and of the glorious
journey he might make on‘his wings high through the air. The poor
Lark was not in good spirits, for there he sat a prisoner in a cage.

The little Daisy wished very much to help him. But what was it to
do? Yes, that was difficult to make out. It quite forgot how every-
thing was beautiful around, how warm the sun shone, and how splendidly
white its own leaves were. Ah! it could think only of the imprisoned
bird, and how it was powerless to do anything for him.

Just then two little boys came out of the garden. One of them
carried in his hand the knife which the girl had used to cut off the
tulips. They went straight up to the little Daisy, which could not at
all make out what they wanted.

“ Here we may cut a capital piece of turf for the Lark,” said one of
the boys; and he began to cut off a square patch round about the Daisy,
so that the flower remained standing in its piece of grass.

“Tear off the flower!” said the other boy.

And the Daisy trembled with fear, for to be torn off would be to lose




















THE LITTLE BOYS CUT THE TURF WITH THE DAISY ON IT.

its life; and now it wanted particularly to live, as it was to be given
with the piece of turf to the captive Lark.

“No, let it stay,” said the other boy; “it makes such a nice orna-
ment.”

And so it remained, and was put into the Lark’s cage. But the poor
bird complained aloud of his lost liberty, and beat his wings against the
wires of his prison; and the little Daisy could not speak—could say no
consoling word to him, gladly as it would have done so. And thus the
whole morning passed.

“ Here is no water,” said the captive Lark. “They are all gone out,
and have forgotten to give me anything to drink. My throat is dry and
burning. I¢ is like fire and ice within me, and the air is so close. Oh,
I must die! I must leave the warm sunshine, the fresh green, and all
the splendour that God has created!”

And then he thrust his beak into the cool turf to refresh himself a

little with it. Then the bird’s eye fell upon the Daisy, and he nodded
to it, and kissed it with his beak, and said,
96 Stories for the Household.

“You also must wither in here, you poor little flower. They have
given you to me with the little patch of green grass on which you grow,
instead of the whole world which was mine out there! very little
blade of grass shall be a great tree for me, and every one of your fra-
grant leaves a great flower. Ah, you only tell me how much I have
lost!”

“Tf T could only comfort him!” thought the little Daisy.

Tt could not stir a leaf; but the scent which streamed forth from its
delicate leaves was far stronger than is generally found in these flowers ;
the bird also noticed that, and though he was fainting with thirst, and
in his pain plucked up the green blades of grass, he did not touch the
flower.

The evening came, and yet nobody appeared to bring the poor bird a
drop of water. Then he stretched out his pretty wings and beat the air
frantically with them; his song changed to a mournful piping, his little
head sank down towards the flower, and the bird’s heart broke with
want and yearning. Then the flower could not fold its leaves, as it had
done on the previous evening, and sleep ; it drooped, sorrowful and sick,
towards the earth.

Not till the next morning did the boys come; and when they found
the bird dead they wept—wept many tears—and dug him a neat grave,
which they adorned with leaves of flowers. The bird’s corpse was put
into a pretty red box, for he was to be royally buried — the poor bird!
While he was alive and sang they forgot him, and let him sit in his.
cage and suffer want; but now that he was dead he had adornment and
many tears.

But the patch of turf with the Daisy on it was thrown out into the
high road: no one thought of the flower that had felt the most for the
little bird, and would have been so glad to console him.

A GREAT GRIEF,

Tuis story really consists of two parts; the first part might be left
out, but it gives us a few particulars, and these are useful.

We were staying in the country at a gentleman’s seat, where it hap-
pened that the master was absent for a few days. In the meantime
there arrived from the next town a lady; she had a pug dog with her,
and came, she said, to dispose of shares in her tan-yard. She had her
papers with her, and we advised her to put them in an envelope, and to
write thereon the address of the proprietor of the estate, “ General
War-Commissary Knight,” &c.

She listened to us attentively, seized the pen, paused, and begged us
to repeat the direction slowly, We complied, and she wrote; but in
the midst of the “ General War..... ” she stuck fast, sighed deeply,
and said, “I am only a woman!” Her Puggie had seated itself on the
A Great Grief. 97

ground while she wrote, and growled; for the dog had come with her
for amusement and for the sake of its health; and then the bare floor
ought not to be offered to a visitor. His outward appearance was
characterized by a snub nose and a very fat back.

“ He doesn’t bite,” said the lady ; “he has no teeth. He is like one
of the family, faithful and grumpy; but the latter is my grandchildren’s
fault, for they have teazed him: they play at wedding, and.want to give
him the part of the bridesmaid, and that’s too much for him, poor old
fellow.”







WAITING TO SEE PUGGIE’S GRAVE.

And she delivered her papers, and took Puggie upon her arm. And
this is the first part of the story, which might have been left out.

Puegers piep!! That’s the second part.

It was about a week afterwards we arrived in the town, and put up at
the inn. Our windows looked into the tan-yard, which was divided
into two parts by a partition of planks; in one half were many skins
and hides, raw and tanned. Here was all the apparatus necessary to
carry on a tannery, and it belonged to the widow. Puggie had died in
the morning, and was to be buried in this part of the yard: the grand-
children of the widow (that is, of the tanner’s widow, for Puggie had
never been married) filled up the grave, and it was a beautiful grave—
it must have been quite pleasant to lie there.

The grave was bordered with pieces of flower-pots and strewn over
with sand; quite at the top they had stuck up half a beer bottle, with
the neck upwards, and that was not at all allegorical.

HA
98 Stories for the Household.

The children danced round the grave, and the eldest of the boys among
them, a practical youngster of seven years, made the proposition that
there should be an exhibition of Puggie’s burial-place for all who lived
in the lane; the price of admission was to be a trouser button, for every
boy would be sure to have one, and each might also give one for a little

irl. This proposal was adopted by acclamation.

And all the children out of the lane—yes, even out of the little lane
at the back—flocked to the place, and each gave a button. Many were
noticed to go about on that afternoon with only one brace; but then
they had seen Puggie’s grave, and the sight was worth much more.

But in front of the tan-yard, close to the entrance, stood a little girl
clothed in rags, very pretty to look at, with curly hair, and eyes so blue
and clear that it was a pleasure to look into them. The child said not
a word, nor did she cry; but each time the little door was opened she
gave a long, long look into the yard. She had not a button—that she
knew right well, and therefore she remained standing sorrowfully out-
side, till all the others had seen the grave and had gone away; then
she sat down, held her little brown hands before her eyes, and burst
into tears: this girl alone had not seen Puggie’s grave. It was a grief
as great to her as any grown person can experience.

‘We saw this from above; and, looked at from above, how many a erief
of our own and of others can make us smile! That is the story, and
whoever does not understand it may go and purchase a share in the
tan-yard from the widow.

THE JUMPER.

Tut Flea, the Grasshopper, and the Skipjack once wanted to see which
of them could jump highest; and they invited the whole world, and
whoever else would come, to see the grand sight. And there the three
famous jumpers were met together in the room.

“Yes, I'll give my daughter to him who jumps highest,” said the
King, “for it would be mean to let these people jump for nothing.”

The Flea stepped out first. He had very pretty manners, and bowed
in all directions, for he had young ladies’ blood in his veins, and was
accustomed to consort only with human beings; and that was of great
consequence.

Then came the Grasshopper: he was certainly much heavier, but he
had a good figure, and wore the green uniform that was born with him.
This person, moreover, maintained that he belonged to a very old family
in the land of Egypt, and that he was highly esteemed there. He had
just come from the field, he said, and had been put into a card house
three storeys high, and all made of picture cards with the figures turned
inwards. There were doors and windows in the house, cut in the body
of the Queen of Hearts,






THE THREE CANDIDATES.

“J sing so,” he said, “that sixteen native crickets who have chirped
from their youth up, and have never yet had a card house of their own,
would become thinner than they are with envy if they were to hear me.”

Both of them, the Flea and the Grasshopper, took care to announce
who they were, and that they considered themselves entitled to marry
a Princess.

The Skipjack said nothing, but it was said of him that he thought all
the more; and directly the Yard Dog had smelt at him he was ready to
assert that the Skipjack was of good tamily, and formed from the breast-
bone of an undoubted goose. The old councillor, who had received
three medals for holding his tongue, declared that the Skipjack pos-
sessed the gift of prophecy: one could tell by his bones whether there
would be a severe winter or a mild one; and that’s more than one can
always tell from the breast-bone of the man who writes the almanack.

I shall not say anything more,” said the old King. “TI only go on
quietly, and always think the best.”

Now they were to take their jump. The Flea sprang so high that no
100 Stories for the Household.

one could see him; and then they asserted that he had not jumped at
all. That was very mean. The Grasshopper only sprang half as high,
but he sprang straight into the King’s face, and the King declared that
was horribly rude. The Skipjack stood a long time considering; at last
people thought that he could not jump at all.

“T only hope he’s not become unwell,” said the Yard Dog, and then
he smelt at him again. ;

“Tap!” he sprang with a little crooked jump just into the lap of the
Princess, who sat on a low golden stool.

Then the King said, “ The highest leap was taken by him who jumped
up to my daughter; for therein lies the point; but it requires head to
achieve that, and the Skipjack has shown that he has a head.”

And so he had the Princess.

“T jumped highest, after all,” said the Flea. “ But it’s all the same.
Let her have the goose-bone with its lump of wax and bit of stick. I
jumped at the highest ; but in this world a body is required if one wishes
to be seen.”

And the Flea went into foreign military service, where it is said he
was killed.

The Grasshopper seated himself out in the ditch, and thought and
considered how things happened in the world. And he too said, “ Body
is required! body is required!” And then he sang his own melancholy
song, and from that we have gathered this story, which they say is not
true, though it’s in print.

THE SHIRT COLLAR.

THERE was once a rich cavalier whose whole effects consisted of a
Bootjack and a Hair-brush, but he had the finest Shirt Collar in the
world, and about this Shirt Collar we will tell a story.

The Collar was now old enough to think of marrying, and it happened
that he was sent to the wash together with a Garter.

“ My word!” exclaimed the Shirt Collar. “TI have never seen any-
thing so slender and delicate, so charming and genteel. May I ask your
name P”

“J shall not tell you that,” said the Garter.

“Where is your home ?” asked the Shirt Collar.

But the Garter was of rather a retiring nature, and it seemed such a
strange question to answer.

“JT presume you are a girdle?” said the Shirt Collar—“a sort of
eh der girdle? I see that you are useful as well as ornamental, my little
a y.”

“You are not to speak to me,” said the Garter. “I have not, I think,
given you any occasion to do so.”
The Shirt Collar. 101

“ Oh! when one is as beautiful as you are,” cried the Shirt Collar, “T
fancy that is occasion enough.” :

“Go!” said the Garter ; “don’t come so near me: you look to me
quite like a man.

“T am a fine cavalier, too,” said the Shirt Collar.

ce I b .
jack and a hair-brush.” pore



THE SHIRT COLLAR IN ITS GLORY.

And that was not true at all, for it was his master who owned these
things, but he was boasting.

“Don’t come too near me,” said the Garter ; “I’m not used to that.”

“ Affectation!” cried the Shirt Collar.

And then they were taken out of the wash, and starched, and hung
over a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-board ; and
now came the hot Iron.

“Mrs. Widow!” said the Shirt Collar, “little Mrs. Widow, I’m
102 Stories for the Household.

getting quite warm; I’m being quite changed; I’m losing all my
creases; you’re burning a hole in me! Ugh! 1 propose to you.”

“ You old rag!” said the Iron, and rode proudly over the Shirt Collar,
for it imagined that it was a steam boiler, and that it ought to be out on
the railway, dragging carriages. “ You old rag!” said the Iron.

The Shirt Collar was a little frayed at the edges, therefore the Paper
Scissors came to smooth away the frayed places.

“Fo, ho!” said the Shirt Collar; “I presume you are a. first-rate
dancer. How you can point your toes! no one in the world can do that
like you.”

“ T know that,” said the Scissors.

“You deserve to be a countess,” said the Shirt Collar. “ All that I
possess consists of a genteel cavalier, a bootjack, and a comb. If I had
only an estate !”

“What! do you want to marry ?” cried the Scissors ; and they were
angry, and gave such a deep cut that the Collar had to be cashiered.

“J shall have to propose to the Hair-brush,” thought the Shirt Collar.
“Tt is wonderful what beautiful hair you have, my little lady. Have
you never thought of engaging yourself P”

“Yes, you can easily imagine that,” replied. the Hair-brush. “TI am
engaged to the Bootjack.”

“ Engaged!” cried the Shirt Collar.

Now there was no one left to whom he could offer himself, and so he
despised love-making. ;

A long time passed, and the Shirt Collar was put into the sack of a
paper dealer. There was a terribly ragged company, and the fine ones
kept to themselves, and the coarse ones to themselves, as is right. They
all had much to tell, but the Shirt Collar had most of all, for he was a
terrible Jack Brag.

“J have had a tremendous number of love affairs,” said the Shirt
Collar. “They would not leave me alone; but I was a fine cavalier, a
starched one. I hada bootjack and a hair-brush that I never used: you
should only have seen me then, when I was turned down. I shall never
forget my first love; it was a girdle; and how delicate, how charming,
how genteel it was! And my first love threw herself into a washing-tub,
and all forme! There was also a widow desperately fond of me, but I
let her stand ‘alone till she turned quite black. Then there was a dancer
who gave me the wound from which T still suffer—she was very hot
tempered. My own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair
from neglected love. Yes, 1’ve had many experiences of this kind ; but
I am most sorry for the Garter—I mean for the girdle, that jumped
into the wash-tub for love of me. I’ve a great deal on my conscience.
It’s time I was turned into white paper.”

And to that the Shirt Collar. came. All the rags were turned into
white paper, but the Shirt Collar became the very piece of paper we see
here, and upon which this story has been printed, and that was done
because he boasted so dreadfully about things that were not at all true.
And this we must remember, so that we may on no account do the same,
Ole Luk-Oie. 103

for we cannot know at all whether we shall not be put into the rag bag
and manufactured into white paper, on which our whole history, even
the most secret, shall be printed, so that we shall be obliged to run
about and tell it, as the Shirt Collar did.



OLE LUK-OIE’s VISIT.

OLE LUK-OIE.

Turre’s nobody in the whole world who knows so many stories as
Ole Luk-Oie. He can tell capital histories.

Towards evening, when the children still sit nicely at table, or upon
their stools, Ole Luk-Oie comes. He comes up the stairs quite softly,
for he walks in his socks: he opens the door noiselessly, and whisk ! he
squirts sweet milk in the children’s eyes, a small, small stream, but
enough to prevent them from keeping their eyes open; and thus they
cannot see him. He creeps just among them, and blows softly upon
their necks, and this makes their heads heavy. Yes, but it doesn’t hurt
them, for Ole Luk-Oie is very fond of the children; he only wants them
to be quiet, and that they are not until they are taken to bed: they are
to be quiet that he may tell them stories

When the children sleep, Ole Luk-Oie sits down upon their bed. He
is well dressed: his coat is of silk, but it is impossible to say of what
colour, for it shines red, green, and blue, according as he turns. Under
each arm he carries an umbrella: the one with pictures on it he spreads
over the good children, and then they dream all night the most glorious
stories; but on his other umbrella nothing at all is painted: this he
spreads over the naughty children, and these sleep in a dull way, and
when they awake in the morning they have not dreamed of anything.
104: Stories for the Household.

Now we shall hear how Ole Luk-Oie, every evening through one
whole week, came to a little boy named Hjalmar, and what he told him.
There are seven stories, for there are seven days in the week.

MONDAY.

“ Listen,” said Ole Luk-Oie in the evening, when he had put Hjalmar
to bed; “now I’ll clear up.”

And all the flowers in the flower-pots became great trees, stretching
out their long branches under the ceiling of the room and along the walls,
so that the whole room looked like a beauteous bower ; and all the twigs
were covered with flowers, and each flower was more beautiful than a rose,
and smelt so sweet that one wanted to eat it—it was sweeter than jam.
The fruit gleamed like gold, and there were cakes bursting with raisins.
It was incomparably beautiful. But at the same time a terrible wail
sounded from the table drawer, where Hjalmar’s school-book lay.

“Whatever can that be?” said Ole Luk-Oie; and he went to the
table, and opened the drawer. It was the slate which was suffering
from convulsions, for a wrong number had got into the sum, so that it
was nearly falling in pieces; the slate pencil tugged and jumped at its
string, as if it had been a little dog who wanted to help the sum; but
he could not. And thus there was a great lamentation in Hjalmar’s
copy-book; it was quite terrible to hear. On each page the great
letters stood in a row, one underneath the other, and each with a little
one at its side; that was the copy ; and next to these were a few more
letters which thought they looked just like the first; and these Hjalmar
had written ; but they lay down just as if they had tumbled over the
pencil lines on which they were to stand.

“See, this is how you should hold yourselves,” said the Copy. “ Look,
sloping in this way, with a powerful swing!”

“Oh, we should be very glad to do that,” replied Hjalmar’s Letters,
“but we cannot; we are too weakly.”

“Then you must take medicine,” said Ole Luk-Oie.

“Oh, no,” cried they ; and they immediately stood up so gracefully
that it was beautiful to behold.

“Yes, now we cannot tell any stories,” said Ole Luk-Oie; “now I
must exercise them. One, two! one two!” and thus he exercised the
setters; and they stood quite slender, and as beautiful as any copy can
be. But when Ole Luk-Oie went, away, and Hjalmar looked at them
next morning, they were as weak and miserable as ever.

TUESDAY.

As soon as Hjalmar was in bed, Ole Luk-Oie touched all the furni-
ture in the room with his little magic squirt, and they immediately
began to converse together, and each one spoke of itself, with the
exception of the spittoon, which stood silent, and was vexed that they
Ole Luk-Oie. 105

should be so vain as to speak only of themselves, and think only of
themselves, without any regard for him who stood so modestly in the
corner for every one’s use.

Over the chest of drawers hung a great picture in a gilt frame—it
was a landscape. One saw therein large old trees, flowers in the grass,
and a broad river which flowed round about a forest, past many castles,
and far out into the wide ocean.

Ole Luk-Oie touched the painting with his magic squirt, and the
birds in it began to sing, the branches of the trees stirred, and the
clouds began to move across 1t; one could see their shadows glide over
the landscape.

Now Ole Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the frame, and put the
boy’s feet into the picture, just in the high grass; and there he stood;
and the sun shone upon him through the branches of the trees. He ran
to the water, and seated himself in a little boat which lay there; it was
painted red and white, the sails gleamed like silver, and six swans, each
with a gold circlet round its neck and a bright blue star on its forehead,
drew the boat past the great wood, where the trees tell of robbers and
witches, and the flowers tell of the graceful little elves, and of what the
butterflies have told them.

Gorgeous fishes, with scales like silver and gold, swam after their
boat ; sometimes they gave a spring, so that it splashed in the water; and
birds, blue and red, little and great, flew after them in two long rows;
the gnats danced, and the cockchafers said, “ Boom! boom!” They all
wanted to follow Hjalmar, and each one had a story to tell.

_ That was a pleasure voyage. Sometimes the forest was thick and
dark, sometimes like a glorious garden full of sunlight and flowers ; and
there were great palaces of glass and of marble; on the balconies stood
Princesses, and these were all little girls whom Hjalmar knew well—he
had already played with them. ach one stretched forth her hand, and
held out the prettiest sugar heart which ever a cake-woman could sell ;
and Hjalmar took hold of each sugar heart as he passed by, and the
Princess held fast, so that each of them got a piece—she the smaller
share, and Hjalmar the larger. At each palace little Princes stood
sentry. They shouldered golden swords, and caused raisins and tin
soldiers to shower down: one could see that they were real Princes.
Sometimes Hjalmar sailed through forests, sometimes throngh great
halls or through the midst of a town. Ie also came to the town where
his nurse lived, who had carried him in her arms when he was quite a
little boy, and who had always been so kind to him; and she nodded
and beckoned, and sang the pretty verse she had made herself and had
sent to Hjalmar.

“T’ve loved thee, and kissed thee, Hjalmar, dear boy;
I’ve watched thee waking and sleeping;

May the good Lord gnard thee in sorrow, in joy,
And have thee in His keeping.”

And all the birds sang too, the flowers danced on their stalks, and the
old trees nodded, just as if Ole Luk-Oie had been telling stories to them.
106 Stories for the Household.
WEDNESDAY.

How the rain was streaming down without! Tjalmar could hear it
in his sleep ; and when Ole Luk-Oie opened a window, the water stood
quite up to the window-sill: there was quite a lake outside, and a noble
ship lay close by the house.

“Tf thou wilt sail with me, little Hjalmar,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “ thou
canst voyage to-night to foreign climes, and be back again to-morrow.”

And Hjalmar suddenly stood in his Sunday clothes upon the glorious
ship, and immediately the weather became fine, and they sailed through
the streets, and steered round by the church; and now everything was
one great wild ocean. They sailed on until land was no longer to be
seen, and they saw a number of storks, who also came from their home,
and were travelling towards the hot countries: these storks flew in a
row, one behind the other, and they had already flown far—far! One
of them was so weary that his wings would scarcely carry him farther:
he was the very last in the row, and soon remained a great way behind
the rest; at last he sank, with outspread wings, deeper and deeper; he
gave a few more strokes with his pinions, but it was of no use; now he
touched the rigging of the ship with his feet, then he glided down from
the sail, and—bump !—he stood upon the deck.

Now the cabin boy took him and put him into the hencoop with the
Fowls, Ducks, and Turkeys; the poor Stork stood among them quite
embarrassed.

“ Just look at the fellow !” said all the Fowls.

And the Turkey-cock swelled himself up as much as ever he could,
and asked the Stork who he was; and the Ducks walked backwards and
quacked to each other, “ Quackery! quackery !”

And the Stork told them of hot Africa, of the pyramids, and of the
ostrich, which runs like a wild horse through the desert ; but the Ducks
did not understand what he said, and they said to one another,

“Were all of the same opinion, namely, that he’s stupid.”

“Yes, certainly he’s stupid,” said the Turkey-cock ; and he gobbled.

Then the Stork was quite silent, and thought of his Africa. ;

“Those are wonderful thin legs of yours,” said the Turkey-cock.
“ Pray, how much do they cost a yard ?”

“ Quack! quack! quack!” grinned all the Ducks; but the Stork
pretended not to hear it at all.

“You may just as well laugh too,” said the Turkey-cock to him, “ for
that was very wittily said. Or was it, perhaps, too high for you? Yes,
yes, he isn’t very penetrating. Let us continue to be interesting among
ourselves.”

And then he gobbled, and the Ducks quacked, “ Gick! gack! gick!
gack!” Jt was terrible how they made fun among themselves.

But Hjalmar went to the hencoop, opened the back door, and called
to the Stork ; and the Stork hopped out to him on to the deck. Now
he had rested, and it seemed as if he nodded at Hjalmar, to thank him.
Then he spread his wings, and flew away to the warm countries; but
Ole Luk-Oie. 107

the Fowls clucked, and the Ducks quacked, and the Turkey-cock became
fiery red in the face.

“To-morrow we shall make songs of you,” said Hjalmar ; and so saying
he awoke, and was lying in his linen bed. It was a wonderful journey
that Ole Luk-Oie had caused him to take that night.

THURSDAY.

“T tell you what,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “ you must not be frightened.
Here you shall see a little Mouse,” and he held out his hand with the
pretty little creature in it. “It has come to invite you to a wedding.
There are two little Mice here who are going to enter into the marriage
state to-night. They live under the floor of your mother’s store-closet :
that is said to be a charming dwelling-place !”

“ But how can I get through the little mouse-hole in the floor F” asked
Hjalmar.

“Let me manage that,” said Ole Luk-Oie. “TI will make you small.”

And he touched Hjalmar with his magic squirt, and the boy began to
shrink and shrink, until he was not so long as a finger.

“ Now you may borrow the uniform of a tin soldier: I think it would
fit you, and it looks well to wear a uniform when one is in society.”

“Yes, certainly,” said Hjalmsy.

And in a moment he was dressed like the spiciest of tin soldiers.

“Will your honour not be kind enough to take a seat in your mamma’s
thimble?” asked the Mouse. “Then I shall have the honour of draw-
ing you.” :

"e ‘Will the young lady really take so much trouble?” cried Hjalmar.

And thus they drove to the mouse’s wedding. First they came into
a long passage beneath the boards, which was only just so high that they
could drive through it in the thimble; and the whole passage was lit up
with rotten wood.

“Tg there not a delicious smell here?” observed the Mouse. “ The
entire road has been greased with bacon rinds, and there can be nothing
more exquisite.”

Now they came into the festive hall. On the right hand stood all the
little lady mice ; and they whispered and giggled as if they were making
fun of each other; on the left stood all the gentlemen mice, stroking
their whiskers with their fore paws; and in the centre of the hall the
bridegroom and bride might be seen standing in a hollow cheese rind,
and kissing each other terribly before all the guests; for this was the
betrothal, and the marriage was to follow immediately.

More and more strangers kept flocking in. One mouse was nearly
treading another to death; and the happy couple had stationed them-
selves just in the doorway, so that one could neither come in nor go out.
Like the passage, the room had been greased with bacon rinds, and that
was the entire banquet ; but for the dessert a pea was produced, in which
a mouse belonging to the family had bitten the name of the betrothed


























OLE LUK-OIE TAKES HJALMAR TO SEE A WEDDING.

pair—that is to say, the first letter of the name: that was something
quite out of the common way.

All the mice said it was a beautiful wedding, and that the entertain-
ment had been very agreeable. And then Hjalmar drove home again:
he had really been in grand company ; but he had been obliged to crawl,
to make himself little, and to put on a tin soldier’s uniform.

FRIDAY.

“Tt is wonderful how many grown-up people there are who would be
glad to have me!” said Ole Luk-Oie; “especially those who have done
something wrong. ‘Good little Ole,’ they say to me, ‘ we cannot close
our eyes, and so we lie all night and see our evil deeds, which sit on the
bedstead like ugly little goblins, and throw hot water over us; will you
not come and drive them away, so that we may have a good sleep ?’—
and then they sigh deeply—‘we would really be glad 40 pay for it.
Ole Luk-Oie. 109

Good night, Ole; the money lies on the window-sill.” But I do nothing
for money,” says Ole Luk-Oie.

“ What shall we do this evening ?’’ asked Hjalmar.

“T don’t know if you care to go to another wedding to-night. Tt ig
of a different kind from that of yesterday. Your sister’s great doll, that
looks like a man, and is called Hermann, is going to marry the doll
Bertha. Moreover, it is the dolls’ birthday, and therefore they will
receive very many presents.”

“Yes, I know that,” replied Hjalmar. “ Whenever the dolls want
new clothes my sister lets them either keep their birthday or.celebrate a
wedding; that has certainly happened a hundred times already.”

“Yes, but to-night is the hundred and first wedding; and when
number one hundred and one is past, it is all over; and that is why it
will be so splendid. Only look!”

And Hjalmar looked at the table. There stood the little cardboard
house with the windows illuminated, and in front of it all the tin soldiers
were presenting arms. The bride and bridegroom sat quite thoughtful,
and with good reason, on the floor, leaning against a leg of the table.
And Ole Luk-Oie, dressed up in the grandmother’s black gown, married
them to each other. When the ceremony was over, all the pieces of
furniture struck up the following beautiful song, which the pencil had
written for them. It was sung to the melody of the soldiers’ tattoo.

«Let the song swell like the rushing wind,
In honour of those who this day are joined,
Although they stand here so stiff and blind,
Because they are both of a leathery kind.
Hurrah! hurrah! though they’re deaf and blind,
Let the song swell like the rushing wind.”

And now they received presents—but they had declined to accept pro-
visions of any kind, for they intended to live on love.

“Shall we now go into a summer lodging, or start on a journey?”
asked the bridegroom.

And the Swallow, who was a great traveller, and the old yard Hen,
who had brought up five broods of chickens, were consulted on the
subject. And the Swallow told of the beautiful warm climes, where the
grapes hung in ripe heavy clusters, where the air is mild, and the moun-
tains glow with colours unknown here.

“ But you have not our brown cole there!” objected the Hen. “I
was once in the country, with my children,in one surnmer that lasted
five weeks. There was a sand pit, in which we could walk about and

‘ seratch; and we had the entrée to a garden where brown cole grew: it
was so hot there that one could scarcely breathe ; and then we have not
all the poisonous animals that infest these warm countries of yours,
and we are free from robbers. He is a villain who does not consider
our country the most beautiful—he certainly does not deserve to be .
here!” And then the Hen wept, and went on: “TI have also travelled.
I rode in a coop above twelve miles; and there is no pleasure at all in
travelling!”
110 Stories for the Household.

“ Ves, the Hen isasensible woman!” said the doll Bertha. “TI don’t
think anything of travelling among mountains, for you only have to go
up, and then down again. No, we will go into the sand pit beyond
the gate, and walk about in the cabbage garden.”

And,so it was settled.

SATURDAY.

“Am I to hear some stories now ?” asked little Hjalmar, as soon as
Ole Luk-Oie had set him to sleep.

“This evening we have no time for that,” replied Ole Luk-Oie; and
he spread his finest umbrella over the lad. ‘ Only look at these China-
men |”

And the whole umbrella looked like a great China dish, with blue trees
and pointed bridges with little Chinamen upon them, who stood there
nodding their heads.

“We must have the whole world prettily decked out for to-morrow
morning,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “for that will be a holiday—it will be Sun-
day. I will goto the church steeples to see that the little church goblins
are polishing the bells, that they may sound sweetly. I will go out
into the field, and see if the breezes are blowing the dust from the grass
and leaves; and, what is the greatest work of all, I will bring down all
the stars, to polish them. I take them in my apron; but first each one
must be numbered, and the holes in which they are to be placed up
there must be numbered likewise, so that they may be placed in the
same grooves again: otherwise they would not sit fast, and we should
have too many shooting stars, for one after another would fall down.”

“Hark ye! Do you know, Mr. Ole Luk-Oie,” said an old Portrait
which hung on the wall where Hjalmar slept, “1'am Hjalmar’s great-
grandfather ? I thank you for telling the boy stories; but you must
not confuse his ideas. The stars cannot come down and be polished!
The stars are world-orbs, just lise our own earth, and that is just the
good thing about them.”

“YT thank you, old great-erandfather,” said Ole Luk-Oie, “I thank
you! You are the head of the family. You are the ancestral head;
but I am older than you! I am an old heathen: the Romans and
Greeks called me the Dream God. I have been in the noblest houses,
and am admitted there still! I know how to act with great people and
with small! Now you may tell your own story!” And Ole Luk-Oie
took his umbrella, and went away.

“Well, well! May one not even give an opinion now-a-days?”
grumbled the old Portrait. And Hjalmar awoke.

SUNDAY.

“Good evening!” said Ole Tuk-Oie ; and Hjalmar nodded, and then
ran and turned his great-grandfather’s Portrait against the wall, that it
might not interrupt them, as it had done yesterday.
Jack the Dullard. Ill

“Now you must tell me stories; about the five green peas that lived
in one shell, and about the cock’s foot that paid court to the hen’s foot,
and of the darning-needle who gave herself such airs because she thought
herself a working-needle.”

“There may be too much of a good thing!” said Ole Luk-Oie. “ You
know that I prefer showing you something. I will show you my own
brother. His name, like mine, is Ole Luk-Oie, but he never comes to
any one more than once; and he takes him to whom he comes upon his
horse, and tells him stories. He only knows two. One of these is so
exceedingly beautiful that no one in the world can imagine it, and the
other so horrible and dreadful that it cannot be described.”

And then Ole Luk-Oie lifted little Hjalmar up to the window, and said,

“There you will see my brother, the other Ole Luk-Oie. They also
call him Death! Do you see, he does not look so terrible as they make
him in the picture-books, where he is only a skeleton. No, that is
silver embroidery that he has on his coat; that is a splendid hussar’s
uniform; a mantle of black velvet flies behind him over the horse. See
how he gallops along!”

And Hjalmar saw how this Ole Imk-Oie rode away, and took young
people as well as old upon bis horse. Some of them he put before him,
and some behind; but he always asked first, “ How stands it with the
mark-book ?” “ Well,” they all replied. “ Yes, let me see it myself,”
he said. And then each one had to show him the book; and those who
had “very well” and “remarkably well” written in their books, were
placed in front of his horse, and a lovely story was told to them; while
those who had “ middling” or “ tolerably well,” had to sit up behind,
and hear a very terrible story indeed. They trembled and wept, and
wanted to jump off the horse, but this they could not do, for they had

‘all, as it were, grown fast to it.

“But Death is a most splendid Ole Luk-Oie,” said Hjalmar. “Iam
not afraid of him!”

“ Nor need you be,” replied Ole Luk-Oie; “but see that you have a
good mark-book!”

“Yes, that is improving!” muttered the great-grandfather’s Picture.
“Tt is of some use giving one’s opinion.” And now he was satisfied.

You see, that is the story of Ole Luk-Oie; and now he may tell you
more himself, this evening !

JACK THE DULLARD.

AN OLD STORY TOLD ANEW.

Fa in the interior of the country lay an old baronial hall, and in L
lived an old proprietor, who had two sons, which two young men thought
themselves too clever by half. They wanted to go out and. woo the
112 Stories for the Household.

King’s daughter; for the maiden in question had publicly announced
that she would choose for her husband that youth who could arrange
his words best.

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

“T shall win the Princess!” So cried both of them. Therefore ther
old papa gave to each a handsome horse. The youth who knew the
dictionary and newspaper by heart had a black horse, and he who knew
all about the corporation laws received a milk-white steed. Then they
rubbed the corners of their mouths with fish-oil, so that they might
become very smooth and glib. All the servants stood below in the
courtyard, and looked on while they mounted their horses; and just by
chance the third son came up. Jor the proprietor had really three
sons, though nobody counted the third with his brothers, because he
was not so learned as they, and indeed he was generally known as “ Jack
the Dullard.”

“Hallo!” said Jack the Dullard, “where are you going? I declare
you have put on your Sunday clothes!”

“ We’re going to the King’s court, as suitors to the King’s daughter.
Don’t you know the announcement that has been made all through the
country ?” And they told him all about it.

“My word! I’ll be in it too!” cried Jack the Dullard: and his
two brothers burst out laughing at him, and rode away.

“Father dear,” said Jack, “I must have a horse too. I do feel so
desperately inclined to marry! If she accepts me, she accepts me; and
if she won’t have me, I ‘ll have her; but she shalZ be mine!”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” replied the old gentleman. “ You shall have
no horse from me. You don’t know how to speak—you can’t arrange
your words. Your brothers are very different fellows from you.”

“Well,” quoth Jack the Dullard, “if I can’t have a horse, Ill take
the billy-goat, who belongs to me, and he can carry me very well!”

And so said, so done. He mounted the billy-goat, pressed his heels
into its sides, and gallopped down the high street like a hurricane.

“ Hei, houp ! that was a ride! Here I come!” shouted Jack the
Dullard, and he sang till his voice echoed far and wide.

But his brothers rode slowly on in advance of him. They spoke not
a word, for they were thinking about the fine extempore speeches they
would have to bring out, and these had to be cleverly prepared beforehand.


i aye

13 Qy2} |

HI
Nai a
Ni























JACK’S INTRODUCTION TO THE PRINCESS.

“Hallo!” shouted Jack the Dullard. “Here am1! Look what I
have found on the high road.” And he showed them what it was, and
it was a dead crow.

be Dollard !” exclaimed the brothers, “what are you going to do with
that?”

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

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

“ Hallo, here Tam again! Just see what I have found now: you don’t
find that on the high road every day!”

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

“Dullard!” they cried, “that is only an old wooden shoe, and the
upper part is missing into the bargain; are you going to give that also
to the Princess ?”

“ Most certainly I shall,” replied Jack the Dullard; and again the
brothers laughed and rode on, and thus they got far in advance of him;
but——

“ Hallo—hop rara!” and there was Jack the Dullard again. “ It is
getting better and better,” he cried. ‘“ Hurrah! it is quite famous.”

I
114: Stories for the Household.

“ Why, what have you found this time ?”’ inquired the brothers.

“ Oh,” said Jack the Dullard, “I can hardly tell you. How glad the
Princess will be!”

“Bah !” said the brothers ; “ that is nothing but clay out of the ditch.”

“Yes, certainly it is,” said Jack the Dullard; “and clay of the finest
sort. See, it is so wet, it runs through one’s fingers.” And he filled
his pocket with the clay.

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

All the inhabitants of the country round about stood in great crowds
around the castle, almost under the very windows, to see the Princess
receive the suitors; and as each stepped into the hall, his power of
speech seemed to desert him; like the light of a candle that is blown out.
Then the Princess would say, “ He is of no use! away with him out of
the hall!”

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

“Tt is dreadfully hot here!” observed the first brother.

“Yes,” replied the Princess, “my father is going to roast young
pullets to-day.”

“Baa!” there he stood like a baa-Jamb. He had not been prepared
for a speech of this kind, and had not a word to say, though he intended
to say something witty. “Baa!”

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

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

“Tt is terribly warm here!” he observed.

“ Yes, we’re roasting pullets to day,” replied the Princess.

“ What—what were you—were you pleased to ob ——”’ stammered he
—and all the clerks wrote down, “ pleased to ob——”

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

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

“Well, it’s most abominably hot here.”

“Yes, because I’m roasting young pullets,” replied the Princess.
The Beetle. 115

“ Ah, that’s lucky!” exclaimed Jack the Dullard, “for I suppose

ou ll let me roast my crow at the same time ? ”

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

“ Certainly I have!” said Jack. ‘ Here’s a cooking utensil with a
tin handle.”

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

“Well, that 7s a famous dish!” said the Princess. “ But what shall
we do for sauce ? ”

“Oh, I have that in my pocket,” said Jack: “T have so much of it
that I can afford to throw some away ;” and he poured some of the clay
out of his-pocket.

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

But she only said this to frighten Jack the Dullard: and the clerks
gave a preat crow of delight, and each one spurted a blot out of his pen
on to the floor.

“Qh, those are the gentlemen, are they?” said Jack; ‘‘ then I will
give the best I have to the head clerk.” And he turned out his pockets,
and flung the wet clay full in the head clerk’s face.

“That was very cleverly done,” observed the Princess. “I could not
have done that; but I shall learn in time.”

And accordingly Jack the Dullard was made a king, and received a
crown and a wife, and sat upon a throne. And this report we have wet
from the press of the head clerk and the corporation of printers—but
they ave not to be depended upon in the least!

THE BEETLE.

Tar Emperor’s favourite horse was shod with gold. It had a golden
shoe on each of its feet.

And why was this ? Panes ;

He was a beautiful creature, with delicate legs, bright intelligent eyes,
and a mane that hung down over his neck like a veil. He had carried
his master through the fire and smoke of battle, and heard the bullets
whistling around him, had kicked, bitten, and taken part m the fight
when the enemy advanced, and had sprung with his master on his back
over the fallen foe, and had saved the crown of red gold, and the life of
the Emperor, which was more valuable than the red gold; and that is
why the Emperor’s horse had golden shoes.

I2
116 Stories for the Household.

And a Beetle came creeping forth.

“ First the great ones,” said he, “and then the little ones; but great-
ness is not the only thing that does it.” And so saying, he stretched out
his thin legs.

“ And pray what do you want?” asked the smith.

“ Golden shoes, to be sure,”’ replied the Beetle.

“Why, you must be out of your senses,” cried the smith. “Do you
want to have golden shoes too?”

“Golden shoes ? certainly,” replied the Beetle. “Am I not just as
good as that big creature yonder, that is waited on, and brushed, and
has meat and drink put before him? Don’t I belong to the imperial
stable ?”

“But why is the horse to have golden shoes? Don’t you understand
that?” asked the smith.

“Understand? I understand that it is a personal slight offered to
myself,” cried the Beetle. “It is done to annoy me, and therefore I am
going into the world to seek my fortune.”

“ Go along!” said the smith.

“Youre a rude fellow!” cried the Beetle ; and then he went out of
the stable, flew a little way, and soon afterwards found himself in a
beautiful flower garden, all fragrant with roses and lavender.

“Ts it not beautiful here?” asked one of the little Lady-Birds that
flew about, with their delicate wings and their red-and-black shields on
their backs. “‘ How sweet it is here—how beautiful it is!”

“I’m accustomed to better thiny»,” said the Beetle. “Do you call
this beautiful? Why, there is not so much as a dung-heap.”

Then he went on, under the shadow of a great stack, and found a
Caterpillar crawling along.

“ How beautiful the world is!” said the Caterpillar: “the sun is so
warm, and everything so enjoyable! And when I go to sleep, and die,
as they call it, I shall wake up as a butterfly, with beautiful wings to
fly with.”

Ye How conceited you are!” exclaimed the Beetle. “ You fly about
as a butterfly, indeed! I’ve come out of the stable of the Emperor, and
no one there, not even the Emperor’s favourite horse—that by the way
wears my cast-off golden shoes—has any such idea. To have wings to
fly! why, we can fly now;” and he spread his wings and flewaway. “I
don’t want to be aunoyed, and yet I am annoyed,” he said, as he flew off.

Soon afterwards he fell down upon a great lawn. For awhile he lay
there and feigned slumber; at last he fell asleep in earnest.

Suddenly a heavy shower of rain came falling from the clouds. The
Beetle woke up at the noise, and wanted to escape into the earth, but
could not. He was tumbled over and over: sometimes he was swimming
on his stomach, sometimes on bis back, and as for flying, that was out
of the question; he doubted whether he should escape from the place
with his life. He therefore remained lying where he was.

When the weather had moderated a little, and the Beetle had rubbed
the water out of his eyes, he saw something gleaming. It was linen
the Beetle. 117

that had been placed there to bleach. He managed to make his way up
to it, and crept into a fold of the damp linen. ‘Certainly the place was
not so comfortable to lie in as the warm stable; but there was no better
to be had, and therefore he remained lying there for a whole day anda
whole night, and the rain kept on during all the time. Towards morning
he crept forth: he was very much out of temper about the climate.

On the linen two Frogs were sitting. Their bright eyes absolutely
gleamed with pleasure.

“Wonderful weather this!” one of them cried. ‘ How refreshing!
And the linen keeps the water together so beautifully. My hind legs
seem to quiver as if I were going to swim.”

“T should like to know,” said the second, “if the swallow, who flies
so far round, in her many journeys in foreign lands ever meets with a
better climate than this. What delicious dampness! It is really as if
one were lying in a wet ditch. Whoever does not rejoice in this, cer-
tainly does not love his fatherland.”

“Vave you been in the Emperor’s stable?” asked the Beetle; “ there
the dampness is warm and refreshing. That’s the climate for me; but
I cannot take it with me on my journey. Is there never a muck-heap,
here in the garden, where a person of rank, like myself, can feel himself
at home, and take up his quarters ?”

But the Frogs either did not or would not understand him.

“T never ask a question twice!” said the Beetle, after he had already
asked this one three times without receiving any answer.

Then he went a little farther, and stumbled against a fragment of
pottery, that certainly ought not to have been lying there; but as it was
once there, it gave a good shelter against wind and weather. Here
dwelt several families of Earwigs; and these did not require much, only
sociality. The female members of the community were full of the purest
maternal affection, and accordingly each one considered her own child
the most beautiful and cleverest of all.

“Our son has engaged himself,” said one mother. “ Dear, innocent
boy! His greatest hope is that he may creep one day into a clergyman’s
ear. It’s very artless and lovable, that; and being engaged will keep
him steady. What joy for a mother!”

“ Our son,” said another mother, “had scarcely crept out of the egg,
when he was already off on his travels. He’s all life and spirits; he’ll
run his horns of! What joy that is for a mother! Is it not so, Mr.
Beetle ?”’ for she knew the stranger by his horny coat.

“You are both quite right,” said he; so they begged him to walk in;
that is to say, to come as far as he could under the bit of pottery.

“Now, you also see my little earwig,”’ observed a third mother and a
fourth ; “they are lovely little things, and highly amusing. They are
never ill-behaved, except when they are uncomfortable in their inside ;
but, unfortunately, one is very subject to that at their age.”

Thus each mother spoke of her baby; and the babies talked among
themselves, and made use of the little nippers they have in their tails ;
to nip the beard of the Beetle.
118 Stories for the Household.

“Yes, they are always busy about something, the little rogues!” said
the mothers; and they quite beamed with maternal pride; but the
Beetle felt bored by that, and therefore he inquired how far it was to
the nearest muck-heap.

“That is quite out in the big world, on the other side of the ditch,”
answered an Earwig. “I hope none of my children will go so far, for
it would be the death of me.”

“But I shall try to get so far,” said the Beetle; and he went off
without taking formal leave; for that is considered the polite thing to:
do. And by the ditch he met several friends; Beetles, all of them.

“ Here we live,” they said. “We are very comfortable here. Might
we ask you to step down into this rich mud? You must be fatigued
after your journey.”

“ Certainly,” replied the Beetle. “Ihave been exposed to the rain,
and have had to lie upon linen, and cleanliness is a thing that greatly
exhausts me. I have also pains in one of my wings, from standing in a
draught under a fragment of pottery. It is really quite refreshing to
be among one’s companions once more.”

“ Perhaps you come from a muck-heap ?” observed the oldest of them.

“Indeed, I come from a much higher place,” replied the Beetle. “T
came from the Emperor’s stable, where I was born with golden shoes on
my feet. Iam travelling on a secret embassy. You must not ask me
any questions, for I can’t betray my secret.”

With this the Beetle stepped down into the rich mud. There sat -
three young maiden Beetles; and they tittered, because they did not
know what to say.

“ Not one of them is engaged yet,” said their mother; and the Beetle
maidens tittered again, this time from embarrassment.

“T have never seen greater beauties in the royal stables,” exclaimed
the Beetle, who was now resting himself.

“ Don’t spoil my girls,” said the mother; “and don’t talk to them,
please, unless you have serious intentions. But of course your inten-
tions are serious, and therefore I give you my blessing.”

“ Hurrah!” cried all the other Beetles together; and our friend was
engaged. Immediately after the betrothal came the marriage, for there
was no reason for delay.

The following day passed very pleasantly, and the next in tolerable
comfort ; but on the third it was time to think of food for the wife, and
perhaps also for children.

“T have allowed myself to be taken in,” said our Beetle to himself.
“ And now there’s nothing for it but to take ¢hem in, in turn.”

So said, so done. Away he went, and he stayed away all day, and
stayed away all night; and his wife sat there, a forsaken widow.

“Oh,” said the other Beetles, “ this fellow whom we received into our
family is nothing more than a thorough vagabond. He has gone away,
and has left his wife a burden upon our hands.”

“Well, then, she shall be unmarried again, and sit here among m.
daughters,” said the mother. “ Fie on the villain who forsook her!”








THE SCHOLARS FIND THE BEETLE.

In the meantime the Beetle had been journeying on, and had sailed
across the ditch on a cabbage leaf. In the morning two persons came
to the ditch. "When they saw him, they took him up, and turned him
over and over, and looked very learned, especially one of them—a boy.

“ Allah sees the black beetle in the black stone and in the black rock.
Ts not that written in the Koran?’ Then he translated the Beetle’s
name into Juatin, and enlarged upon the creature’s nature and history.
The second person, an older scholar, voted for carrying him home. Hae
said they wanted just such good specimens; and this seemed an uncivil
speech to our Beetle, and in consequence he flew suddenly out of the
speaker’s hand. As he had now dry wings, he flew a tolerable distance,
and reached a hotbed, where a sash of the glass roof was partly open, so
he quietly slipped in and buried himself in the warm earth.

“Very comfortable it is here,” said he.

Soon after he went to sleep, and dreamed that the Emperor’s favourite

horse had fallen, and had given him his golden shoes, with the promise
that he should have two more.
120 Stories for the Household.

That was all very charming. When the Beetle woke up, he crept
forth and looked around him. What splendour was in the hothouse!
In the background great palm trees growing up on high; the sun made
them look transparent; and beneath them what a luxuriance of green,
and of beaming flowers, red as fire, yellow as amber, or white as fresh-
fallen snow !

“ This is an incomparable plenty of plants,” cried the Beetle. “How
good they will taste when they are decayed! A capital store-room this!
There must certainly be relations of mine living here. I will just see if
T can find any one with whom I may associate. I’m proud, certainly,
and I’m proud of being so.”,

And so he prowled about in the earth, and thought what a pleasant
dream that was about the dying horse, and the golden shoes he had
inherited.

Suddenly a hand seized the Beetle, and pressed him, and turned him
round and round.

The gardener’s little son and a companion had come to the hotbed,
had espied the Beetle, and wanted to have their fun with him. Tirst he
was wrapped in a vine leaf, and then put into warm trousers pocket.
He cribbled and crabbled about there with all his might; but he got a
good pressing from the boy’s hand for this, which served as a hint to
him to keep quiet. Then the boy went rapidly towards the great lake
that lay at the end of the garden. Here the Beetle was put in an old
broken wooden shoe, on which a little stick was placed upright for a.
mast, and to this mast the Beetle was bound with a woollen thread.
Now he was a sailor, and had to sail away.

The lake was not very large, but to the Beetle it seemed an ocean;
and he was so astonished at its extent, that he fell over on his back and
kicked out with his legs.

The little ship sailed away. The current of the water seized it; but
whenever it went too far from the shore, one of the boys turned up his
trousers and went in after it, and brought it back to the land. But at
length, just as it went merrily out again, the two boys were called away,
and very harshly, so that they hurried to obey the summons, ran away
from the lake, and left the little ship to its fate. Thus it drove away
from the shore, farther and farther into the open sea: it was terrible
work for the Beetle, for he could not get away in consequence of being
bound to the mast.

Then a Fly came and paid him a visit.

“What beautiful weather!” said the Fly. ‘“1I’ll rest here, and sun
myself. You have an agreeable time of it.”

“You speak without knowing the facts,” replied the Beetle. “ Don’t
you see that I’m a prisoner?”

“Ah! but I’m not a prisoner,” observed the Fly; and he flew away
accordingly.

“ Well, now I know the world,” said the Beetle to himself. “It is
an abominable world. I’m the only -honest person in it. First, they.
refuse me my golden shoes; then I have to lie on wet linen, and to
The Beetle. 12]

stand in the draught; and, to crown all, they fasten a wife upon me.
Then, when I’ve taken a quick step out into the world, and found out
how one can have it there, and how I wished to have it, one of those
human boys comes and ties me up, and leaves me to the mercy of the
wild waves, while the Emperor’s favourite horse prances about proudly
in golden shoes. That is what annoys me more than all. But one must
not look for sympathy in this world! My career has been very inte-
resting ; but what’s the use of that, if nobody knows it? The world
does not deserve to be made acquainted with my history, for it ought to
have given me golden shoes, when the Emperor’s horse was shod, and I
stretched out my feet to be shod too. If I had received golden shoes,
I should have become an ornament to the stable. Now the stable has
lost me, and the world has lost me. It is all over!”

But all was not over yet. A boat, in which there were a few young
girls, came rowing up.

“Look, yonder is an old wooden shoe sailing along,” said one of the
girls.

“There ’s a little creature bound fast to it,” said another.

The boat came quite close to our Beetle’s ship, and the young girls
fished him out of the water. One of them drew a small pair of scissors
from her pocket, and cut the woollen thread, without hurting the Beetle ;
and when she stepped on shore, she put him down on the grass.

“Creep, creep—tly, fly—if thou canst,” she said. “ Liberty is a
splendid thing.”

And the Beetle flew up, and straight through the open window of a
great building; there he sank down, tired and exhausted, exactly on the
mane of the Emperor’s favourite horse, who stood in the stable when
he was at home, and the Beetle also. The Beetle clung fast to the mane,
and sat there a short time to recover himself.

“Here I’m sitting on the Emperor’s favourite horse—sitting on him
just like the Emperor himself!” he cried. ‘“ But what was I saying ?
Yes, now I remember. That’s a good thought, and quite correct. The
smith asked me why the golden shoes were given to the horse. Now
I’m quite clear about the answer. They were given to the horse on my
account.”

And now the Beetle was in a good temper again.

“Travelling expands the mind rarely,” said he.

The sun’s rays came streaming into the stable, and shone upon him,
and made the place lively and bright.

“The world is not so bad, upon the whole,” said the Beetle; “ but
ene must know how to take things as they come.”
WHAT THE OLD MAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT.

I witt tell you the story which was told to me when I was alittle boy.
Every time I thought of the story, it seemed to me to become more and
more charming; for it is with stories as it is with many people—they
become better as they grow older.

I take it for granted that you have been in the country, and seen a
very old farm-house with a thatched roof, and mosses and small plants
growing wild upon the thatch. There is a stork’s nest on the summit. of
the gable; for we can’t do without the stork. The walls of the house
are sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter is made
so that it will open. The baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a little
fat body. The elder tree hangs over the paling, and beneath its branches,
at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water in which a few ducks are
disporting themselves. There is a yard dog too, who barks at all comers.

Just such a farm-house stood out in the country; and in this house
dwelt an old couple—a peasant and his wife. Small as was their pro-
perty, there was one article among it that they could do without—a
horse, which made a living out of the grass it found by the side of the
highroad. The old peasant rode into the town on this horse; and often
his neighbours borrowed it of him, and rendered the old couple some
service in return for the loan of it. But they thought it would be best
if they sold the horse, or exchanged it for something that might be more
useful to them. But what might this something be?

“ You’ll know that 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 be right to me. Ride off to the
fair.”

And she fastened his neckerchief for him, for she could do that better
than he could; and she tied it ina double bow, for she could do that
very prettily. Then she brushed his hat round and round with the palm
of her hand, and gave him a kiss. So he rode away upon the horse that
was to be sold or to be bartered for something else. Yes, the old man
knew what he was about.

The sun shone hotly down, and not a cloud was to be seen in the sky.
The road was very dusty, for many people who were all bound for the
fair were driving, or riding, or walking upon it. There was no shelter
anywhere from the sunbeams. 4

Among the rest, a man was trudging along, and driving a cow to the
fair. The cow was as beautiful a creature as any cow can be.

“She gives good milk, I’m sure,” said the peasant. “ That would be
a very good exchange—the cow for the horse.

“Hallo, you there with the cow!” he said; “I tell you what—I
fancy a horse costs more than a cow, but I don’t care for that; a cow
would be more useful to me. If you like, we’ll exchange.”

“To be sure I will,” said the man; and they exchanged accordingly.
What the Old Man does is always right. 123

So that was settled, and the peasant might have turned back, for he
had done the business he came to do; but as he had once made up his
mind to go to the fair, he determined to proceed, merely to have a look
at it; and so he went on to the town with his cow.

Leading the animal, he strode sturdily on; and after a short time, he
overtook a man who was driving a sheep. Jt was a good fat sheep, with
a fine fleece on its back.

“T should like to have that fellow,” said our peasant to himself.
“We would find plenty of grass by our palings, and in the winter we
could keep him in the room with us. Perhaps it would be more prac-
tical to have a sheep instead of a cow. Shall we exchange ?”

The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was struck.
So our peasant went on in the high road with his sheep.

Soon he overtook another man, who came into the road from a field,
carrying a great goose under his arm.

“ That’s a heavy thing you have there. It has plenty of feathers and
plenty of fat, and would look well tied to a string, and paddling in the
water at our place. That would be something for my old woman; she
could make all kinds of profit out of it. How often she has said, ‘If
we only had a goose!’. Now, perhaps, she can have one; and, if pos-
sible, it shall be hers. Shall we exchange? I'll give you my sheep for
your goose, and thank you into the bargain.”

The other man had not the least objection; and accordingly they ex-
changed, and our peasant became proprietor of the goose.

By this time he was very near the town. The crowd on the high road
became greater and greater; there was quite a crush of men and cattle.
They walked in the road, and close by the palings; and at the barrier
they even walked into the toll-man’s potato-field, where his own fowl
was strutting about with a string to its leg, lest it should take fright at
the crowd, and stray away, and so be lost. This fowl had short tail-
feathers, and winked with both its eyes, and looked very cunning.
“ Cluck, cluck!” said the fowl. What it thought when it said this [
cannot tell you ; but directly our good man saw it, he thought, “ That’s
the finest fowl I’ve ever seen in my life! Why, it’s finer than our
parson’s brood hen. On my word, I should like to have that fowl. A
fowl can always find a grain or two, and can almost keep itself. I think
it would be a good exchange if I could get that for my goose.

“Shall we exchange P” he asked the toll-taker.

ra Exchange!” repeated the man; “well, that would not be a bad
thing.”

And so they exchanged; the toll-taker at the barrier kept the goose,
and the peasant carried away the fowl.

Now, he had done a good deal of business on his way to the fair, and
he was hot and tired. He wanted something to eat, and a glass of
brandy to drink ; and soon he was in front of the inn. He was just
about to step in, when the hostler came out, so they met at the door.
The hostler was carrying a sack.

“What have you in that sack?” asked the peasant.
124 Stories for the Household.

“ Rotten apples,” answered the hostler; “awhole sack-full of them—
enough to feed the pigs with.”

“Why, that’s terrible waste! I should like to take them to my old
woman at home. ‘Last year the old tree by the turf-hole only bore a
single apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till it was quite rotten and
spoiled. ‘It was always property,’ my old woman said; but here she
could see a quantity of property—a whole sack-full. Yes, I shall be glad
to show them to her.”

“ What will you give me for the sack-full ?” asked the hostler.

“ What will I give? I will give my fowl in exchange.”

And he gave the fowl accordingly, and received the apples, which he
carried into the guest-room. He leaned the sack carefully by the stove,
and then went to thetable. But the stove was hot: he had not thought
of that. Many guests were present—horse dealers, ox-herds, and two
Englishmen—and the two Englishmen were so rich that their pockets
bulged out with gold coins, and almost burst; and they could bet, too,
as you shall hear.

Hiss-s-s! hiss-s-s! What was that by the stove? The apples were
beginning to roast!

“What is that ?”

“Why, do you know—” said our peasant.

And he told the whole story of the horse that he had changed for a
cow, and all the rest of it, down to the apples.

“Well, your old woman will give it you well when you get home!”
said one of the two Englishmen. “ There will be a disturbance.”

“What ?—give me what?” said the peasant. “She will kiss me, and
say, ‘ What the old man does is always right.’ ”

“ Shall we wager?” said the Englishman. “ We’il wager coined gold
by the ton—a hundred pounds to the hundredweight!”

“A bushel will be enough,” replied the peasant. “TI can only set the
bushel of apples against it; and I’ll throw myself and my old woman
into the bargain—and I fancy that’s piling up the measure.”

“ Done—taken !”

And the bet was made. The host’s carriage came up, and the English-
men got in, and the peasant got in; away they went, and soon they
stopped before the peasant’s hut.

“Good evening, old woman.”

“ Good evening, old man.”

“TT ’ve made the exchange.”

“Yes, you understand what you ’re about,” said the woman.

And she embraced him, and paid no attention to the stranger guests,
nor did she notice the sack.

“T got a cow in exchange for the horse,” said he.

“ Heaven be thanked!’ said she. “ What glorious milk we shall now
have, and butter and cheese on the table! That was a most capital ex-
change!”

“ Yes, but I changed the cow for a sheep.”

“ Ah, that’s better still!” cried the wife. “ You always think of


















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THE OLD MAN RELATES HIS SUCCESS.

everything: we have just pasture enough fora sheep. Ewe’s-milk and
cheese, and woollen jackets and stockings! The cow cannot give those,
and her hairs will only come off. How you think of everything!”

“ But I changed away the sheep for a goose.”

“Then this year we shall really have roast goose to eat, my dear old
man. You are always thinking of something to give me pleasure. How
charming that is! We can let the goose walk about with a string to
her leg, and she “Il grow fatter still before we roast her.”

“ But I gave away the goose for a fowl,” said the man.
126 Stories for the Household.

“A fowl? That was a good exchange!’ replied the woman. “The
fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall have chickens: we shal)
have a whole poultry-yard! Oh, that ’s just what I was wishing for.”

“ Yes, but I exchanged the fow! for a sack of shrivelled apples.”

“What !—I must positively kiss you for that,” exclaimed the wife.
“ My dear, good husband! NowI’ll tell you something. Do you know,
you had hardly left me this morning, before I began thinking how I
could give you something very nice this evening. I thought it should
be pancakes with savoury herbs. I had eggs, and bacon too; but I
wanted herbs. So I went over to the schoolmaster’s—they have herbs
there, I know—but the schoolmistress is a mean woman, though she
looks so sweet. I begged her to lend me a handful of herbs. ‘Lend!’
she answered me; ‘nothing at all grows in our garden, not even a
shrivelled apple. I could not even lend you a shrivelled apple, my dear
woman.’ But now J can lend her ten, or a whole sack-full. That I’m
very glad of; that makes me laugh!” And with that she gave him a
sounding kiss.

“T like that!” exclaimed both the Englishmen together. “ Always
going down-hill, and always merry ; that ’s worth the money.”

So they paid a hundredweight of gold to the peasant, who was not
scolded, but kissed.

Yes, it always pays, when the wife sees and always asserts that her
husband knows best, and that whatever he does is right.

You see, that is my story. I heard it when I was a child; and now |
you have heard it too, and know that “ What the old man does is always
right,’

OLE THE TOWER-KEEPER.

“Iw the world it’s always going up and down—and now I can’t go up
any higher!” So said Ole the tower-keeper. “Most people have to
try both the ups and the downs; and, rightly considered, we all get to
be watchmen at last, and look down upon life from a height.”

Such was the speech of Ole, my friend, the old tower-keeper, a strange
talkative old fellow, who seemed to speak out everything that came into
his head, and who for all that had many a serious thought deep in his
heart. Yes, he was the child of respectable people, and there were even
some who said that he was the son of a privy councellor, or that he
might have been; he had studied too, and had been assistant teacher
and deputy clerk; but of what service was all that to him? In those
days he lived in the clerk’s house, and was to have everything in the
house, to be at free quarters, as the saying is; but he was still, so to
speak, a fine young gentlemen. He wanted to have his boots cleaned
with patent blacking, and the clerk could only afford ordinary grease ;
and upon that point they split—one spoke of stinginess, the other of
Ole the Tower-Keeper. 127

vanity, and the blacking became the black cause of enmity between
them, and at last they parted.

This is what he demanded of the world in general—namely, patent
blacking—and he got nothing but grease. Accordingly he at last drew
back from all men, and became a hermit; but the church tower is the
only place in a great city where hermitage, office, and bread can be found
together. So he betook himself up thither, and smoked his pipe as he
made his solitary rounds. He looked upward and downward, and had
his own thoughts, and told in his way of what he read in books and in
himself. I often lent him books, good books; and you may know a man
by the company he keeps. He loved neither the English governess-
novels, nor the French ones, which he called a mixture of empty wind
and raisin-stalks: he wanted biographies and descriptions of the won-
ders of the world. I visited him at least once a year, generally directly
after New Year’s-day, and then he always spoke of this and that which
the change of the year had put into his head.

I will tell the story of three of these visits, and will reproduce his
own words whenever I can remember them.

FIRST VISIT.

Among the books which I had lately lent Ole, was one which had
greatly rejoiced and occupied him. It was a geological book, containing
an account of the boulders.

“Yes, they ’re rare old fellows, those boulders!” he said; “and to
think that we should pass them without noticing them! And over the
street pavement, the paving-stones, those fragments of the oldest re-
mains of antiquity, one walks without ever thinking about them. I
have done the very thing myself. But now I look respectfully at every
paving-stone. Many thanks for the book! It has filled me with
thought, and has made me long to read more on the subject. The
romance of the earth is, after all, the most wonderful of all romances.
It’s a pity one can’t read the first volumes of it, because they ’re written
in a language that we don’t understand. One must read in the different
strata, in the pebble-stones, for each separate period. Yes, it is a ro-
mance, a very wonderful romance, and we all have our place init. We
grope and ferret about, and yet remain where we are, but the ball keeps
turning, without emptying the ocean over us; the clod on which we
move about, holds, and does not jet us through. And then it’s a story
that has been acting for thousands upon thousands of years, and is still
going on. My best thanks for the book about the boulders. Those are
fellows indeed! they could tell us something worth hearing, if they only
knew how to talk. It’s really a pleasure, now and then to become a
mere nothing, especially when a man is as highly placed as Tam. And
then to think that we all, even with patent lacquer, are nothing more
than insects of a moment on that ant-hill the earth, though we may be
insects with stars and garters, places and offices! One feels quite a
128 Stories for the Household.

novice beside these venerable million-year-old boulders. On last New
Year’s-eve I was reading the book, and had lost myself in it so com-
pletely, that I forgot my usual New Year's diversion, namely, the wild
hunt to Amack. Ah, you don’t know what that is!

“The journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough known—
that journey is taken on St. John’s-eve, to the Brocken; but we have a
wild journey also, which is national and modern, and that is the journey
to Amack on the night of the New Year. All indifferent poets and
poetesses, musicians, newspaper writers, and artistic notabilities, 1 mean
those who are no good, ride in the New Year’s-night through the air to



{THE RIDE TO AMACK.

Amack. They sit backwards on their painting brushes or quill pens,
for steel pens won’t bear them, they’re too stiff. As I told you, I see
that every New Year’s-night, and could mention the majority of the
riders by name, but I should notlike to draw their enmity upon myself,
for they don’t like people to talk about their ride to Amack on quill
pens. I’ve a kind of niece, who is a fishwife, and who, as she tells me,
supplies three respectable newspapers with the terms of abuse and vitu-
peration they use, and she has herself been at Amack as an invited
guest; but she was carried out thither, for she does not own a quill pen,
nor can she ride. She hag told me all about it. Half of what she said
is not true, but the other half gives us information enough. When she
was out there, the festivities began with a song: each of the guests had
written his own song, and each one sang his own song, for he thought
that the best, and it was all one, all the same melody. Then those came
Ole the Tower-Keeper. 129

marching up, in little bands, who are only busy with their mouths.
There were ringing bells that sang alternately ; and then came the little
drummers that beat their tattoo in the family circle ; and acquaintance
was made with those who write without putting their names, which here
means as much as using grease instead of patent blacking; and then
there was the beadle with his boy, and the boy was the worst off, for in
general he gets no notice taken of him; then too there was the good
street-sweeper with his cart, who turns over the dust-bin, and calls it
‘good, very good, remarkably good.’ And in the midst of the pleasure
that was afforded by the mere meeting of these folks, there shot up out
of the great dirt-heap at Amack a stem, a tree, an immense flower, a
great mushroom, a perfect roof, which formed a sort of warehouse for the
worthy company, for in it hung everything they had given to the world
during the Old Year. Out of the tree poured sparks like flames of fire ;
these were the ideas and thoughts, borrowed from others, which they
had used, and which now got free and rushed away like so many fire-
works. They played at ‘the stick burns,’ and the young poets played
at ‘heart-burns,’ and the witlings played off their jests, and the jests
rolled away with a thundering sound, as if empty pots were being
shattered against doors. ‘It was very amusing!’ my niece said; in
fact, she said many things that were very malicious but very amusing,
but I won’t mention them, for a man must be good-natured and not a
carping critic. But you will easily perceive that when a man once
knows the rights of the journey to Amack, as I know them, it’s quite
natural that on the New Year’s-night one should look out to see the
wild chase go by. If in the New Year I miss certain persons who used
to be there, I am sure to notice others who are new arrivals; but this
year I omitted taking my look at the guests. I bowled away on the
boulders, rolled back through millions of years, and saw the stones
break loose high up in the North, saw them drifting about on icebergs,
long before Noah’s ark was constructed, saw them sink down to the
bottom of the sea, and reappear with a sand-bank, with that one that
peered forth from the flood and said, ‘ This shall be Zealand!’ I saw
them become the dwelling-place of birds that are unknown to us, and
then became the seat of wild chiefs of whom we know nothing, until
with their axes they cut their Runic signs into a few of these stones,
which then came into the calendar of time. But as for me, I had gone
quite beyond all lapse of time, and had become a cipher and a nothing.
Then three or four beautiful falling stars came down, which cleared the
air, and gave my thoughts another direction. You know what a falling
star is, do you not? The learned men are not at all clear about it. I
have my own ideas about shooting stars, as the common people in many
parts call them, and my idea is this: How often are silent thanksgivings
offered up for one who has done a good and noble action! the thanks
are often speechless, but they are not lost for all that. I think these
thanks are caught up, and the sunbeams bring the silent, hidden thank-
fulness over the head of the benefactor; and if it be a whole people that
has been expressing its gratitude through a long lapse of time, the

Kk
1380 Stories for the Household.

thankfulness appears as a nosegay of flowers, and at length falls in the
form of a shooting star over the good man’s grave. I am always very
much pleased when I see a shooting star, especially in the New Year’s-
night, and then find out for whom the gift of gratitude was intended.
Lately a gleaming star fell in the south-west, as a tribute of thanks-
giving to many, many! ‘For whom was that star intended ?’ thought
iL. Jt fell, no doubt, on the hill by the Bay of Flensberg, where the
Danebrog waves over the graves of Schleppegrell, Lislées, and their
comrades. One star also fell in the midst of the land, fell upon Soré,
a flower on the grave of Holberg, the thanks of the year from a great
many—thanks for his charming plays!

“Tt is a great and pleasant thought to know that a shooting star falls
upon our graves: on mine certainly none will fall—no sunbeam brings
thanks to me, for here there is nothing worthy of thanks. I shall not
get the patent lacquer,” said Ole; “for my fate on earth is only grease,
after all.”

SECOND VISIT.

It was New Year’s-day, and I went up on the tower. Ole spoke of
the toasts that were drunk on the transition from the Old Year into the
New, from one grave into the other, as he said. And he told me a story
about the glasses, and this story had a very deep meaning. It was this:

“When on the New Year’s-night the clock strikes twelve, the people
at the table rise up, with full glasses in their hands, and drain these
glasses, and drink success to the New Year. They begin the year with
the glass in their hands ; that 1s a good beginning for topers. They begin
the New Year by going to bed, and that’s a good beginning for drones.
Sleep is sure to play a great part in the New Year, and the glass like-
wise. Do you know what dwells in the glass?” asked Ole. “I will tell
you—there dwell in the glass, first, health, and then pleasure, then the
most complete sensual delight; and misfortune and the bitterest woe
dwell in the glass also. Now suppose we count the glasses—of course
T count the different degrees in the glasses for different people.

“You see, the first glass, that’s the glass of health, and in that the
herb of health is found growing; put it up on the beam in the ceiling,
and at the end of the year you may be sitting in the arbour of health.

“Tf you take the second glass—tfrom this a little bird soars upwards,
twittering in guileless cheerfulness,so that a man may listen to his song
and perhaps join in ‘ Fair is life! no downcast looks! Take courage
and march onward!’

“Out of the third glass rises a little winged urchin, who cannot cer-
tainly be called an angel-child, for there is goblin blood in his veins,
and he has the spirit of a goblin; not wishing to hurt or harm you,
indeed, but very ready to play off tricks upon you. He’ll sit at your
ear and whisper merry thoughts to you; he’ll creep into your heart and
warm you, so that you grow very merry and become a wit, so far as the
wits of the others can judge,
Ole the Tower-Keeper. 131

“Tn the fourth glass is neither herb, bird, nor urchin: in that glass is
the pause drawn by reason, and one may never go beyond that sign.

“Take the fi/th glass, and you will weep at yourself, you will feel such
a deep emotion; or it will affect you in a different way. Out of the
glass there will spring with a bang Prince Carnival, nine times and
extravagantly merry : he'll draw you away with him, you’ll forget your
dignity, if you have any, and you'll forget more than you should or
ought to forget. All is dance, song, and sound; the masks will carry
you away with them, and the daughters of vanity, clad in silk and satin,
will come with loose hair and alluring charms; but tear yourself away
if you can !

“The sixth glass! Yes, in that glass sits a demon, in the form of a
little, well-dressed, attractive and very fascinating man, who thoroughly
understands you, agrees with you in everything, and becomes quite a
second self to you. He has a lantern with him, to give you light as he
accompanies you'home. There is an old legend about a saint who was
allowed to choose one of the seven deadly sins, and who accordingly
chose drunkenness, which appeared to him the least, but which led him
to commit all the other six. The man’s blood is mingled with that of the
demon—it is the sixth glass, and with that the germ of all evil shoots
up within us; and each one grows up with a strength like that of the
grains of mustard seed, and shoots up into a tree, and spreads over the
whole world; and most people have no choice but to go into the oven,
to be re-cast in a new form.

“That’s the history of the glasses,” said the tower-keeper Ole, “ and
‘ can be told with lacquer or only with grease; but I give it you with

oth!”

THIRD VISIT.

On thig occasion I chose the general “ moving-day” for my visit to
Ole, for on that day it is anything but agreeable down in the streets in
the town; for they are full of sweepings, shreds, and remnants of all
sorts, to say nothing of the cast-off rubbish in which one has to wade
about. But this time I happened to see two children playing in this
wilderness of sweepings. They were playing at “ going to bed,” for the
occasion seemed especially favourable for this sport: they crept under
the straw, and drew an old bit of ragged curtain over themselves by way
of coverlet. “It was splendid!” they said; but it was a little too strong
for me, and besides, I was obliged to mount up on my visit to Ole.

“It’s moving-day to-day,” he said; “streets and houses are like a
dust-bin, a large dust-bin ; but I’m content with a cartload. I may get
something good out of that, and I really did get something good out of
it, once. Shortly after Christmas I was going up the street; it was
rough weather, wet and dirty; the right kind of weather to catch cold
in, The dustman was there with his cart, which was full, and looked
like a sample of streets on moving-day. At the back of the cart stood
a fir tree, quite green still, and with tinsel on its twigs: it had been

K2
182 Stories for the Household.

used on Christmas-eve, and now it was thrown out into the street, and
the dustman had stood it up at the back of his cart. It was droll to
look at, or you may say it was mournful—all depends on what you
think of when you see it; and I thought about it, and thought this
and that of many things that were in the cart: or I might have done
so, and that comes to the same thing. There was an old lady’s glove
too: I wonder what that was thinking of? Shall I tell you? The glove
was lying there, pointing with its little finger at the tree. ‘I’m sorry
for the tree,’ it thought; ‘and I was also at the feast, where the chan-
deliers glittered. My life was, so to speak, a ball-night: a pressure of
the hand, and I burst! My memory keeps dwelling upon that, and
I have really nothing else to live for!’ This is what the glove thought,
or what it might have thought. ‘That’s a stupid affair with yonder fir
tree,’ said the Potsherds. You see, potsherds think everything is stupid.
‘When one is in the dust-cart,’ they said, ‘one ought not to give one’s
self airs and wear tinsel. I know that I have been useful in the world,
far more useful than such a green stick.’ That was a view that might
be taken, and I don’t think it quite a peculiar one; but for all that the
fir tree looked very well: it was like a little poetry in the dust-heap;
and truly there is dust enough in the streets on moving-day. The way
is difficult and troublesome then, and I feel obliged to run away out of
the confusion ; or if I am on the tower, I stay there and look down, and
it is amusing enough.

“There are the good people below, playing at ‘changing houses.’
They toil and tug away with their goods and chattels, and the house-
hold goblin sits in an old tub and moves with them ; all the little griefs
of the lodging and the family, and the real cares and sorrows, move with
them out of the old dwelling into the new ; and what gain is there for
them or for us in the whole affair? Yes, there was written long ago
the good old maxim: ‘Think on the great moving-day of death!’ That
is a serious thought: I hope it is not disagreeable to you that I should
have touched upon it? Death is the most certain messenger, after all,
in spite of his various occupations. Yes, Death is the omnibus con-
ductor, and he is the passport writer, and he countersigns our service-
book, and he is director of the savings bank of life. Do you understand
me? All the deeds of our life, the great and the little alike, we put
into this savings bank; and when Death calls with his omnibus, and we
have to step in, and drive with him into the land of eternity, then on
the frontier he gives us our service-book as a pass. As a provision for
the journey, he takes this or that good deed we have done, and lets it
accompany us; and this may be very pleasant or very terrific. Nobody
has ever escaped this omnibus journey: there is certainly a talk about
one who was not allowed to go—they call him the Wandering Jew: he
has to ride behind the omnibus. If he had been allowed to get ir. he
would have escaped the clutches of the poets. :

“ Just cast your mind’s eye into that great omnibus. The society is
mixed, for King and beggar, genius and idiot, sit side by side: they must
go without their property and money; they have only the service-book








THE REJECTED TRAVELLER.

and the gift out of the saving’s bank with them. But which of our
deeds is selected and given tous? Perhaps quite a little one, one that
we have forgotten, but which has been recorded—small asa pea, but the
pea can send out a blooming shoot. The poor bumpkin, who sat ona
low stool in the corner, and was jecred at and flouted, will perhaps have
his worn-out stool given him as a provision; and the stool may become
a litter in the land of eternity, and rise up then as a throne, gleaming
like gold and blooming as an arbour. He who always lounged about,
and drank the spiced draught of pleasure, that he might forget the
wild things he had done here, will have his barrel given to him on the
journey, and will have to drink from it as they go on; and the drink is
bright and clear, so that the thoughts remain pure, and all good and
134, Stories for the Househoid.

noble feelings are awakened, and he sees and feels what in life he could
not or would not see; and then he has within him the punishment, the
gnawing worm, which will not die through time incalculable. If on the
glasses there stood written ‘oblivion, on the barrel ‘remembrance’ is
inscribed.

“When I read a good book, an historical work, I always think at last
of the poetry of what I am reading, and of the omnibus of death, and
wonder which of the hero’s deeds Death took out of the savings bank
for him, and what provisions he got on the journey into eternity. There
was once a French King—I have forgotten his name, for the names of
good people are sometimes forgotten, even by me, but it will come back
some day; there was a King who, during a famine, became the bene-
factor of his people; and the people raised to his memory a monument
of snow, with the inscription, ‘Quicker than this melts didst thou
bring help!” I fancy that Death, looking back upon the monument,
gave him a single snow-flake as provision, a sncw-flake that never melts,
and this flake floated over his royal head, like «. white butterfly, into the
land of eternity. Thus too, there was a Louis XJ. I have remembered
his name, for one remembers what is bad—a trait of him often comes
into my thoughts, and I wish one could say the story is not trne. He
had his lord high constable executed, and he could execute him, right
or wrong; but he had the innocent children of the constable, one seven
and the other eight years old, placed under the scaffold so that the warm
blood of their father spurted over them, and then he had them sent to
the Bastille, and shut up in iron cages, where not even a coverlet was
given them to protect them from the cold. And King Louis sent the
executioner to them every week, and had a tooth pulled out of the head
of each, that they might not be too comfortable; and the elder of the
boys said, ‘My mother would die of grief if she knew that my younger
brother had to suffer so cruelly; therefore pull out two of my teeth,
and spare him.’ The tears came into the hangman’s eyes, but the King’s
will was stronger than the tears; and every week two little teeth were
brought to him on a silver plate; he had demanded them, and he had
them. I fancy that Death took these two teeth out of the savings
bank of life, and gave them to Louis XJ., to carry with him on the
great journey into the land of immortality: they fly before him like two
flames of fire; they shine and burn, and they bite him, the innocent
children’s teeth.

“Yes, that’s a serious journey, the omnibus ride on the great moving-
day! And when is it to be undertaken? That’s just the serious part of
it. Any day, any hour, any minute, the omnibus may draw up. Which
of our deeds will Death take out of the savings bank, and give to us as
provision? Let us think of the moving-day that is not marked in the
calendar.”
GOOD HUMOUR.

My father left me the best inheritance; to wit—good humour. And
who was my father? Why, that has nothing to do with the humour.
He was lively and stout, round and fat; and bis outer and inner man
were in direct contradiction to his calling. And pray what was he by
profession and calling in civil society P Yes, if this were to be written
down and printed in the very beginning of a book, it is probable that
many when they read it would lay the book aside, and say, “ It looks
so uncomfortable; I don’t like anything of that sort.” And yet my
father was neither a horse slaughterer nor an executioner; on the con-
trary, his office placed him at the head of the most respectable gentry
of the town; and he held his place by right, for it was his right place.
He had to go first before the bishop even, and before the Princes of the
Blood. He always went first—for he was the driver of the hearse!

There, now it’s out! And I will confess that when people saw my
father sitting perched up on the omnibus of death, dressed in his long,
wide, black cloak, with his black-bordered three-cornered hat on his
head—and then his face, exactly as the sun is drawn, round and jocund
—it was difficult for them to think of the grave and of sorrow. The
face said, “ It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter; it will be better than
one thinks.”

You see, I have inherited my good humour from him, and also the
habit of going often to the churchyard, which is a good thing to do if
it be done in the right spirit; and then I take in the “ Intelligencer,”
just as he used to do.

I am not quite young. I have neither wife, nor children, nor a
library ; but, as aforesaid, I take in the “ Intelligencer,” and that’s my
favourite newspaper, as it was also my father’s. It is very useful, and
contains everything that a man needs to know—such as who preaches
in the church and in the new books. And then what a lot of charity,
and what a number of innocent, harmless verses are found in it! Ad-
vertisements for husbands and wives, and requests for interviews—all
quite simple and natural. Certainly, one may live merrily and be con-
tentedly buried if one takes in the “Intelligencer.” And, as a concluding
advantage, by the end of his life a man will have such a capital store of
paper, that he may use it as a soft bed, unless he prefers to rest upon
wood-shavings.

The newspaper and my walk to the churchyard were always my
most exciting occupations—they were like bathing-places for my good
humour. :

The newspaper every one can read for himself. But please come with
me to the churchyard; let us wander there where the sun shines and
the trees grow green. Each of the narrow houses is like a closed book,
with the back placed uppermost, so that one can only read the title
and judge what the book contains, but can tell nothing about it; but I
186 dtorics for the Household.

know something of them. I heard it from my father, or found it out
myself. I have it all down in my record that I wrote out for my own
use and pleasure: all that lie here, and a few more, too, are chronicled
in it.

Now we are in the churchyard.

Here, behind this white railing, where once a rose tree grew—it is
gone now, but a little evergreen from the next grave stretches out its
green fingers to make a show—there rests a very unhappy man; and
yet, when he lived, he was in what they call a good position. He had
enough to live upon, and something over ; but worldly cares, or, to speak
more correctly, his artistic taste, weighed heavily upon him. If in the
evening he sat in the theatre to enjoy himself thoroughly, he would be
quite put out if the machinist had put too strong a light into one side
of the moon, or if the sky-pieces hung down over the scenes when they
ought to have hung behind them, or when a palm tree was introduced
into a scene representing the Berlin Zoological Gardens, or a cactus in
a view of the Tyrol, or a beech tree in the far north of Norway. As if
that was of any consequence. Is it not quite immaterial ? Who would
fidget about such a trifle? It’s only make-believe, after all, and every
one is expected to be amused. Then sometimes the public applauded
too much to suit his taste, and sometimes too little. “They ’re like wet
wood this evening,” he would say; “they won’t kindle at all!” And
then he would look round to see what kind of people they were; and
sometimes he would find them laughing at the wrong time, when they
ought not to have laughed, and that vexed him; and he fretted, and ~
was an unhappy man, and at last fretted himself into his grave.

Here rests a very happy man. That is to say, a very grand man.
He was of high birth, and that was lucky for him, for otherwise he
would never have been anything worth speaking of; and nature orders
all that very wisely, so that it’s quite charming when we.think of it.
He used to go about in a coat embroidered back and front, and appeared
in the saloons of society just like one of those costly, pearl-embroidered
bell-pulls, which have always a good, thick, serviceable cord behind them
to do the work. He likewise had a good stout cord behind him, in the -
shape of a substitute, who did his duty, and who still continues to
do it behind another embroidered bell-pull. Everything is so nicely
managed, it’s enough to put one into a good humour.

Here rests—well, it’s a very mournful reflection—here rests a man
who spent sixty-seven years considering how he should get a good idea.
The object of his life was to say a good thing, and at last he felt con-
vinced in his own mind that he had got one, and was so glad of it that
he died of pure joy at having caught an idea at last. Nobody derived
any benefit from it, and nobody even heard what the good thing was.
Now, I can fancy that this same good thing won’t let him lie quiet in
his grave ; for let us suppose that it is a good thing which can only be
brought out at breakfast if it is to make an effect, and that he, according
to the received opinion concerning ghosts, can only rise and walk at
midnight. Why, then the good thing would not suit the time, and the


















dN
NA WY
ehh Vi i , A Wy



3
: eal
THE CHURCHYARL) NARRATION.

man must carry his good idea down with him again. What an unhappy
man he must be!

Here rests a remarkably stingy woman. During her lifetime she used
to get up at night and mew, so that the neighbours might think she
kept a cat—she was so remarkably stingy.

Here is a maiden of another kind. When the canary bird of the
heart begins to chirp, reason puts her fingers in her ears. The maiden
was going to be married, but—well, it’s an every-day story, and we will
let the dead rest.

Here sleeps a widow who carried melody in her mouth and gall in
her heart. She used to go out for prey in the families round about ;
and the prey she hunted was her neighbours’ faults, and she was an
indefatigable hunter.
138 Stories for the Household.

Here’s a family sepulchre. Every member of this family held so
firmly to the opinions of the rest, that if all the world, and the news-
papers into the bargain, said of a certain thing it is so and so, and the
little boy came home from school and said, “I’ve learned it thus and
thus,” they declared his opinion to be the only true one, because he
belonged to the family. And it is an acknowledged fact, that if the
yard cock of the family crowed at midnight, they would declare it was
morning, though the watchmen and all the clocks in the city were
crying out that it was twelve o’clock at night.

The great poet Goéthe concludes his “ Faust” with the words “ may
be continued ;” and our wanderings in the churchyard may be continued
too. If any of my friends, or my non-friends, go on too fast for me, I
go out to my favourite spot, and select a mound, and bury him or her
there—bury that person who is yet alive; and there those I bury must
stay till they come back as new and improved characters. I inscribe
their life and their deeds, looked at in my fashion, in my record; and
that’s what all people ought to do. They ought not to be vexed when
any one goes on ridiculously, but bury him directly, and maintain their
good humour, and keep to the “Intelligencer,” which is often a book
written by the people with its hand guided.

When the time comes for me to be bound with my history in the
boards of the grave, 1 hope they will put up as my epitaph, “A good
humoured one.” And that’s my story.

“IT’S QUITE TRUE!”

“Tar is a terrible affair!” saida Hen; and she said it in a quarter of
the town where the occurrence had not happened. “That is a terrible
affair in the poultry-house. I cannot sleep alone to-night! It is quite
fortunate that there are many of us on the roost together!” And she
told a tale, at which the feathers of the other birds stood on end, and
the cock’s comb fell down flat. It’s quite true!

But we will begin at the beginning; and the beginning begins in a
poultry-house in another part of the town. The sun went down, and
the fowls jumped up on their perch to roost. There was a Hen, with
white feathers and short legs, who laid her right number of eggs, and
was a respectable hen in every way ; as she flew up on to the roost she
pecked herself with her beak, and a little feather fell out.

“There it goes!” said she ; “the more I peck myself the handsomer
I grow!” And she said it quite merrily, for she was a joker among the
hens, though, as I have said, she was very respectable; and then she
went to sleep.

Jt was dark all around; hen sat by hen, but the one that sat next to
the merry Hen did not sleep: she heard and she didn’t hear, as one
“© Tt’?s Quite True!’ 139

should do in this world if one wishes to live in quiet; but she could
not refrain from telling it to her next neighbour.

“Did you hear what was said here just now? I name no names; but
here is a hen who wants to peck her feathers out to look well. If I
were a cock I should despise her.”

And just above the Hens sat the Owl, with her husband and her little
owlets; the family had sharp ears, and they all heard every word that
the neighbouring Hen had spoken, and they rolled their eyes, and the
Mother-Owl clapped her wings and said,

“Don’t listen to it! But I suppose you heard what was said there ?
Theard it with my own ears, and one must hear much before one’s ears





















































THE OWLS TELL THE PIGEONS THE DREADFUL NEWS.

fall off. There is one among the fowls who has so completely forgotten
what is becoming conduct in a hen that she pulls out all her feathers,
and then lets the cock see her.”

“ Prenez garde aux enfants,” said the Father-Owl. ‘ That’s not fit
for the children to hear.”

“T’ll tell it to the neighbour owl; she’s avery proper owl to associate
with.” And she flew away.

“Hoo! hoo! to-whoo!” they both screeched in front of the neigh-
bour’s dovecot to the doves within. “Have you heard it? Have you
heard it P Hoo! hoo! there’s a hen who has pulled out all her feathers
for the sake of the cock. She’ll die with cold, if she’s not dead already.”

“Coo! coo! Where, where?” cried the Pigeons.

“In the neighbour’s poultry-yard. I’ve as good as seen it myself.
It’s hardly proper to repeat the story, but it’s quite true!”
140 Stories for the Household.

“Believe it! believe every single word of it!” cooed the Pigeons,
and they cooed down into their own pouitry-yard. “There’s a hen, and
some say that there are two of them that have plucked out all their
feathers, that they may not look like the rest, and that they may attract
the cock’s attention. That’s a bold game, for one may catch cold and
die of a fever, and they are both dead.”

“Wake up! wake up!” crowed the Cock, and he flew up on to the
plank; his eyes were still very heavy with sleep, but’ yet he crowed.
“Three hens have died of an unfortunate attachment toa cock. They
have plucked out all their feathers. That’s a terrible story. I won’t
keep it to myself; let it travel farther.”

“Let it travel farther!” piped the Bats; and the fowls clucked and
the cocks crowed, “ Let it go farther! let it go farther!” And so the
story travelled from poultry-yard to poultry-yard, and at last came back
to the place from which it had gone forth.

“Five fowls,” it was told, “have plucked out all their feathers to
show which of them had become thinnest out of love to the cock; and
then they have pecked each other, and fallen down dead, to the shame
and disgrace of their families, and to the great loss of the proprietor.”

And the Hen who had lost the little loose feather, of course did not
Inow her own story again; and as she was a very respectable Hen, she
said,

“TY despise those fowls; but there are many of that sort. One ought
not to hush up such a thing, and I shall do what I can that the story .
may get into the papers, and then it will be spread over all the country,
and that will serve those fowls right, and their families too.”

It was put into the newspaper ; it was printed; and it’s quite true—
that one little feather may swell till it becomes five fowls.

CHILDREN’S PRATTLE.

Ar the rich merchant’s there was a children’s party ; rich people’s
children and grand people’s children were there. The merchant was a
learned man: he had once gone through the colle;ye examination, for his
honest father had kept him to this, his father who had at first only been
a cattle dealer, but always an honest and industiious man. The trade
had brought money, and the merchant had managed to increase the
store. Clever he was, and he had also a heart, but there was less said
of his heart than of his money. At the merchani’s, prand people went
in and out—people of blood, as it is called, and people of intellect, and
people who had both of these, and people who had neither. Now there
was a children’s party there, and children’s prattle, and children speak
frankly from the heart. Among the rest there was a beautiful little
girl, but the little one was terribiy proud; but the servants had taught
her that, not her parents, who were far too sensible people. Her father
Children’s Prattle. 141

was a groom of the bed-chamber, and that is a very grand office, and she
knew it.

“T am a child of the bed-chamber,” she said.

Now she might just as well have been a child of the cellar, for nobody
can help his birth; and then she told the other children that she was
“well born,” and said that no one who was not well born could get on
far in the world: it was of no use to read and to be industrious, if one
was not well born one could not achieve anything.

“ And those whose names end with ‘sen,’ ” said she, “they cannot be
anything at all. One must put one’s arms akimbo and make the elbows
quite pointed, and keep them at a great distance, these ‘sen !’”









THE POOR BOY AT THE DOOR.

And she stuck out her pretty little arms, and made the elbows quite
pointed, to show how it was to be done, and her little arms were very

retty. She was a sweet little girl.

But the little daughter of the merchant became very angry at this
speech, for her father’s name was Petersen, and she knew that the name
ended in “sen;” and therefore she said, as proudly as ever she could,

“But my papa can buy a hundred dollars’ worth of bon-bons, and
throw them to the children! Can your papa do that?”

“Yes, but my papa,” said an author’s little daughter, “my papa can
put your papa and everybody’s papa into the newspaper. All people
are afraid of him, my mamma says, for it is my father who rules in the
paper.”

And the little maiden looked exceedingly proud, as though she had
been a real Princess, who is expected to look proud.
142 Stories for the Household.

But outside at the door, which was ajar, stood a poor boy, peeping
through the crack of the door. He was of such lowly station that he
was not even allowed to enter the room. He had turned the spit for the
cook, and she had allowed him to stand behind the door, and to look at
the well-dressed children who were making a merry day within, and for
him that was a great deal.

“Oh, to be one of them!” thought he; and then he heard what was
said, which was certainly calculated to make him very unhappy. His
parents at home had not a penny to spare to buy a newspaper, much
less could they write one; and what was worst ofall, his father’s name,
and consequently his own, ended completely in ‘sen,’ and so he could not
turn out well. That was terrible. But, after all, he had been born, and
very well born as it seemed to him; that could not be otherwise.

And that is what was done on that evening.

Many years have elapsed since then, and in the course of years
children become grown-up persons.

In the town stood a splendid house; it was filled with all kinds of
beautiful objects and treasures, and all people wished to see it; even
people who dwelt out of town came in to see it. Which of the children
of whom we have told might call this house his own? To know that is
very easy. No, no; it is not so very easy. The house belonged to the
poor little boy who had stood on that night behind the door, and he had
become something great, although his name ended in “sen,”-—Thor-
waldsen.

And the three other children? the children of blood and of money,
and of spiritual pride? Well, they had nothing wherewith to reproach
each other—they turned out well enough, for they had been well
dowered by nature; and what they had thought and spoken on that
evening long ago was mere children’s prattle.

THE FLYING TRUNK.

THERE was once a merchant, who was so rich that he could pave the
whole street with gold, and almost have enough left for a little lane.
But he did not do that; he knew how to employ his money differently.
‘When he spent a shilling he got back a crown, such a clever merchant
was he; and this continued till he died.

His son now got all this money; and he lived merrily, going to the
masquerade every evening, making kites out of dollar notes, and playing
at ducks and drakes on the sea coast with gold pieces instead of pebbles.
In this way the money might soon be spent, and indeed it was so. At
last he had no more than four shillings left, and no clothes to wear but
a pair of slippers and an old dressing-gown. Now his friends did not
trouble themselves any more about him, as they could not walk with
The Flying Trunk. 143 |

him in the street, but one of them, who was good natured, sent him an
old trunk, with the remark, “Pack up!” Yes, that was all very well
but he had nothing to pack, therefore he seated himself in the trunk.

That was a wonderful trunk. So soon as any one pressed the lock
the trunk could fly. He pressed it, and, whirr! away flew the trunk





\

ae

1
———



THE MERCHANT’S SON VISITS THE PRINCESS.

with him through the chimney and over the clouds, farther and farther
away. But as often as the bottom of the trunk cracked a little he was
in great fear lest it might go to pieces, and then he would have flung a
fine somersault! In that way he came to the land of the Turks. He
hid the trunk in a wood under some dry leaves, and then went into the
town. He could do that very well, for among the Turks all the people
went dressed like himself in dressing-gown and slippers. Then he met
a nurse with a little child.
144 Stories for the Household.

“Here, you Turkish nurse,” he began, “ what kind of a great castle
is that close by the town, in which the windows are so high up P”

‘There dwells the Sultan’s daughter,” replied she. “ It is prophesied
that she will be very unhappy respecting a lover; and therefore no-
body may go to her, unless the Sultan and Sultana are there too.”

“Thank you!” said the merchant’s son; and he went out into the
forest, seated himself in his trunk, flew on the roof, and crept through
the window into the Princess’s room.

She was lying asleep on the sofa, and she was so beautiful that the
merchant’s son was compelled to kiss her. Then she awoke, and was
very much startled; but he said he was a Turkish angel who had come
down to her through the air, and that pleased her.

They sat down side by side, and he told her stories about her eyes;
he told her they were the most glorious dark lakes, and that thoughts
were swimming about in them like mermaids. And he told her about
her forehead; that it was asnowy mountain with the most splendid
halls and pictures. And he told her about the stork who brings the
lovely little children.

Yes, those were fine histories! Then he asked the Princes if she
would marry him, and she said “ Yes,” directly.

“ But you must come here on Saturday,” said she. “Then the Sultan
and the Sultana will be here to tea. They will be very proud that I
am to marry a Turkish angel. But take care that you know a very
pretty story, for both my parents are very fond indeed of stories. My |
mother likes them high-flown and moral, but my father likes them
merry, so that one can laugh.”

“Yes, I shall bring no marriage gift but a story,” said he; and so
they parted. Butthe Princess gave hima sabre, the sheath embroidered
with gold pieces, and that was very useful to him.

Now he flew away, bought a new dressing-gown, and sat in the forest
and made up a story; it was to be ready by Saturday, and that was not
an easy thing.

By the time he had finished it Saturday had come. The Sultan and
his wife and all the court were at the Princess’s to tea. He was re-
ceived very graciously.

“Will you relate us a story ?” said the Sultana; “one that is deep
and edifying.”

“Yes, but one that we can Jaugh at,” said the Sultan.

“ Certainly,” he replied ; and began. And now listen well.

“There was once a bundle of Matches, and these Matches were par-
ticularly proud of their high descent. Their genealogical tree, that is
to say, the great fir tree of which each of them was a little splinter, had
been a great old tree out in the forest. The Matches now lay between
a Tinder-Box and an old iron Pot; and they were telling about the days
of their youth. ‘ Yes, when we were upon the green boughs,’ they said,
‘then we really were upon the green boughs! Every morning and
evening there was diamond tea for us, I mean dew; we had sunshine
all day long whenever the sun shone, and all the little birds had to tell
The Flying Trunk. 145

stories. We could see very well that we were rich, for the other trees
were only dressed out in summer, while our family had the means to
wear green dresses in the winter as well. But then the woodeutter
came, like a great revolution, and our family was broken up. The head
of the family got an appointment as mainmast in a first-rate ship, which
could sail round the world if necessary; the other branches went to
other places, and now we have the office of kindling a light for the
vulgar herd. That’s how we grand people came to be in the kitchen.’

“* My fate was of a different kind,’ said the iron Pot which stood
next to the Matches. ‘From the beginning, ever since I came into the
world, there has been a great deal of scouring and cooking done in me.
I look after the practical part, and am the first here in the house. My
only pleasure is to sit in my place after dinner, very clean and neat,
and to carry on a sensible conversation with my comrades. But except
the Water-Pot, which sometimes is taken down into the courtyard, we
always live within our four walls. Our only newsmonger is the Market
Basket; but he speaks very uneasily about the government and the
people. Yes, the other day there was an old pot that fell down from
fright, and burst. He’s liberal, I can tell you!’ ‘Now you’re talking
too much,’ the Tinder-Box interrupted, and the steel struck against the
flint, so that sparks flew out. ‘Shall we not have a merry evening ?’

“Yes, let us talk about who is the grandest,’ said the Matches.

“No, I don’t like to talk about myself, retorted the Pot. ‘Let us
get up an evening entertainment. I will begin. I will tell astory from
real life, something that every one has experienced, so that we can easily
imagine the situation, and take pleasure in it. On the Baltic, by the
Danish shore—’

“That's a pretty beginning!’ cried all the Plates. ‘ That will be a
story we shall like.’

“* Yes, it happened to mein my youth, when I lived in a quiet family
where the furniture was polished, and the floors scoured, and new cur-
tains were put up every fortnight.’

“* What an interesting way you have of telling a story !’ said the Car-
pet Broom. ‘One can tell directly that a man is speaking who has been
in woman’s society. There’s something pure runs through it.’

“And the pot went on telling his story, and the end was as good
as the beginning.

“AN the Plates rattled with joy,and the Carpet Broom brought some
green parsley out of the dust-hole, and put it like a wreath on the Pot,
for he knew that it would vex the others. ‘IfI crown him to-day,’ it
thought, ‘he will crown me to-morrow.’

“ ‘Now I'll dance,’ said the Fire Tongs, and they danced. Preserve us!
how that implement could lift wp one leg! The old chair-cushion burst
to see it. ‘Shall I be crowned too?’ thought the Tongs; and indeed a
wreath was awarded.

«They ’re only common people, after all!’ thought the Matches.

Now the Tea-Urn was to sing; but she said she had taken cold, and
could not sing unless she felt boiling within. But that was only affec-

L
146 Stories for the Household.

tation; she did not want to sing, except when she was in the parlour
with the grand people.

“Tn the window sat an old Quill Pen, with which the maid generally
wrote: there was nothing remarkable about this pen, except that it had
been dipped too deep into the ink, but she was proud of that. ‘If the
Tea-Urn won’t sing,’ she said ‘she may leave it alone. Outside hangs a
nightingale in a cage, and he can sing. He hasn’t had any education,
but this evening we’Jl say nothing about that.’

“¢T think it very wrong,’ said the Tea Kettle—he was the kitchen
singer, and half-brother to the Tea- Urn—‘ that that rich and foreign bird
should be listened to! Is that patriotic? Letthe Market Basket decide.’

“TF am vexed,’ said the Market Basket. ‘No one canimagine how
much I am secretly vexed. Is that a proper way of spending the even-
ing P Would it not be more sensible to put the house in order? Let
each one go to his own place, and I would arrange the whole game. °
That would be quite another thing.’

“«*Ves, les us make a disturbance,’ cried they all. Then the door
opened and the maid came in, and they all stood still; not one stirred.
But there was not one pot among them who did not know what he could
do, and how grand he was. ‘Yes, if I had liked,’ each one thought, ‘ it
might have been a very merry evening.’

“The servant girl took the Matches and lighted the fire with them.
Mercy! how they sputtered and burst out into flame! ‘Now every one
can see,’ thought they, ‘that we are the first. How we shine! whata |
light !’—and they burned out.”

“That was a capital story,” said the Sultana. “I feel myself quite
carried away to the kitchen, to the Matches. Yes, now thou shalt
marry our daughter.”

“Yes, certainly,” said the Sultan, “thou shalt marry our daughter
on Monday.”

And they called him ¢how, because he was to belong to the family.

The wedding was decided on, and on the evening before it the whole
city was illuminated. Biscuits and cakes were thrown among the
people, the street boys stood on their toes, called out “ Hurrah!” and
whistled on their fingers. It was uncommonly splendid.

“Yes, I shall have to give something as a treat,” thought the mer-
chant’s son. So he bought rockets and crackers, and every imaginable
sort of firework, put them all into his trunk, and flew up into the air.

“ Crack!” how they went, and how they went off! All the Turks
hopped up with such a start that their slippers flew about their ears;
such a meteor they had never yet seen. Now they could understand
that it must be a Turkish angel who was going to marry the Princess.

What stories people tell! Every one whom he asked about it had
seen it in a separate way; but one and all thought it fine.

“T saw the Turkish angel himself,’ said one. “He had eyes like
glowing stars, and a beard like foaming water.”

“He flew in a fiery mantle,” said another; “the most lovely little
cherub peeped forth from among the folds.”
The Last Pearl. 147

Yes, they were wonderful things that he heard ; and on the following
day he was to be married.

Now he went back to the forest to rest himself in his tronk. But
what had become of that? A spark from the fireworks had set fire to
it, and the trunk was burned to ashes. He could not fly any more, and
could not get to his bride.

She stood all day on the roof waiting; and most likely she is waiting
still. But he wanders through the world telling fairy tales; but they
are not so merry as that one he told about the Matches.



THE ANGELS DISCOURSING ABOUT THE CHILD.

THE LAST PEARL.

WE are in a-rich, a happy house; all are cheerful and full of joy,
master, servants, and friends of the family; for on this day an heir, a
son had been born, and mother and child were doing exceedingly well.

The burning lamp in the bed-chamber had been partly shaded, and
the windows were guarded by heavy curtains of some costly silken
fabric. The carpet was thick and soft as a mossy lawn, and everything
invited to slumber—was charmingly suggestive of repose ; and the nurse
found that, for she slept; and here she might sleep, for everything was

Lg
148 Stories for the Household.

good and blessed. The guardian spirit of the house leaned against the
head of the bed; over the child at the mother’s breast there spread as
jt were a net of shining stars in endless number, and each star was a
pearl of happiness. All the good stars of life had brought their gifts
to the new-born one; here sparkled health, wealth, fortune, and love—
in short, everything that man can wish for on earth. w

“ Everything has been presented here,” said the guardian spirit.

“ No, not everything,” said a voice near him, the voice of the child’s
good angel. “ One fairy has not yet brought her gift; but she will do
so some day; even if years should elapse first, she will bring her gift.
The last pearl is yet wanting.” ; aN A

“Wanting! here nothing may be wanting; and if it should be the
case, let me go and seek the powerful fairy; let us betake ourselves to
her!”

“ She comes! she will come some day unsought! Her pearl may not
be wanting ; it must be there, so that the complete crown may be won.”

“Where is she to be found? Where does she dwell? ‘Tell it me,
and I will procure the pearl.”

“You will do that 2” said the good angel of the child. “TI will lead
you to her directly, wherever she may be. She has no abiding-place—
sometimes she rules in the Emperor’s palace, sometimes you will find
her in the peasant’s humble cot; she goes by no person without leaving
a trace: she brings two gifts to all, be it a world or a trifle! To this
child also she must come. You think the time is equally long, but not
equally profitable. Come, let us go for this pearl, the last pearl in all
this wealth.”

And hand in hand they floated towards the spot where the fairy was
now lingering.

It was a great house, with dark windows and empty rooms, and a
peculiar stillness reigned therein; a whole row of windows had been
opened, so that the rough air could penetrate at its pleasure: the long
white hanging curtains moved to and fro in the current of wind.

In the middle of the room was placed an open coffin, and in this
coffin lay the corpse of a woman, still in the bloom of youth, and very
beautiful. Fresh roses were scattered over her, so that only the delicate
folded hands and the noble face, glorified in death by the solemn look
of consecration and entrance to the better world, were visible.

Around the coffin stood the husband and the children, a whole troop :
the youngest child rested on the father’s arm, and all bade their mother
the last farewell; the husband kissed her hand, the hand which now was
as a withered leaf, but which a short time ago had been working and
striving in diligent love for them all. Tears of sorrow rolled over their
cheeks, and fell in heavy drops to the floor; but not a word was spoken.

The silence which reigned here expressed a world of grief. With silent _

footsteps and with many a sob they quitted the room.

A burning light stands in the room, and the long red wick peers out
high above the flame that flickers in the current of air. Strange men
come in, and lay the lid on the coffin over the dead one, and drive the
The Storks. 143

nails firmly in, and the blows of the hammer resound through the
house, and echo in the hearts that are bleeding.

“Whither art thou leading me ?” asked the guardian spirit. “ Here
dwells no fairy whose pearl might be counted amongst the best gifts for
life!”

“Here she lingers; here in this sacred hour,” said the angel, and
pointed to a corner of the room; and there, where in her lifetime the
mother had taken her seat amid flowers and pictures; there from
whence, like the beneficent fairy of the house, she had greeted husband,
children, and friends; from whence, like the sunbeams she had spread
joy and cheerfulness, and been the centre and the heart of all—there
sat a strange woman, clad in long garments. It was “ the Chastened
Heart,” now mistress and mother here in the dead lady’s place. A hot
tear rolled down into her lap, and formed itself into a pearl glowing
with all the colours of the rambow. The angel seized it, and the pearl
shone like a star of sevenfold radiance.

The pearl of Chastening, the last, which must not be wanting! it
heightens the lustre and the meaning of the other pearls. Do you see
the sheen of the rainbow—of the bow that unites heaven and earth?
A bridge ‘has been built between this world and the heaven beyond.
Through the earthly night we gaze upward to the stars, looking for per-
fection. Contemplate it, the pearl of Chastening, for it hides within
itself the wings that shall carry us to the better world.

THE STORKS.

On the last house in a little village stood a Stork’snest. The Mother-
Stork sat in it with her four young ones, who stretched out their heads
with the pointed black beaks, for their beaks had not yet turned red. A
Itttle way off stood the Father-Stork, all alone on the ridge of the roof,
quite upright and stiff; he had drawn up one of his legs, so as not to be
quite idle while he stood sentry. One would have thought he had been
carved out of wood, so still did he stand. He thought, “It must look
very grand, that my wife has a sentry standing by her nest. They can’t
tell that it is her husband. They certainly think I have been com-
manded to-stand here. That looks so aristocratic!” And he went on
standing on one leg.

Below in the street a whole crowd of children were playing ; and when
they caught sight of the Storks, one of the boldest of the boys, and
afterwards all of them, sang the old verse about the Storks. But they
only sang it just as he could remember it:

“ Stork, stork, fly away;
Stand not on one leg to-day.

Thy dear wife is in the nest,
Where she rocks her young to rest.
150 Stories for the Household.

“ The first he will be hanged,
The second will be hit,
The third he will be shot,
And the fourth put on the spit.”

“ Just hear what those boys are saying!” said the little Stork-children.
“They say we’re to be hanged and killed.”

“ You ’re not to care for that!’ said the Mother-Stork. “ Don’t listen
to it, and then it won’t matter.”

But the boys went on singing, and pointed at the Storks mockingly
with their fingers; only one boy, whose name was Peter, declared that
it was a sin to make a jest of animals, and he would not join in it at all.

The Mother-Stork comforted her children. “Don’t you mind it at
all,” she said; “see how quiet your father stands, though it’s only on
one leg.”

“We are very much afraid,” said the young Storks: and they drew
their heads far back into the nest.

Now to-day, when the children came out again to play, and saw the
Storks, they sang their song:

“The first he will be hanged,
The second will be hit——”

“Shall we be hanged and beaten?” asked the young Storks.

“ No, certainly not,” replied the mother. “ You shall learn to fly ;
TU exercise you; then we shall fly out into the meadows and pay a visit
to the frogs; they will bow before us in the water, and sing ‘ Co-ax!
co-ax ’ and then we shall eat them up. That will be a real pleasure.”

“ And what then ?” asked the young Storks.

“Then all the Storks will assemble, all that are here in the whole
country, and the autumn exercises begin: then one must fly well, for
that is highly important, for whoever cannot fly properly will be thrust
dead by the general’s beak ; so take care and learn well when the exercis-
ing begins.”

“ But then we shall be killed, as the boys say :—and only listen, now
they’re singing again.” ,

“ Listen to me, and not to them,” said the Mother-Stork. “ After the
great review we shall fly away to the warm countries, far away from
here, over mountains and forests. We shall fly to Egypt, where there
are three covered houses of stone, which curl in a point and tower above
the clouds; they are called pyramids, and are older than a stork can
imagine. There is a river in that country which runs out of its bed,
and then all the land is turned to mud. One walks about in the mud,
and eats frogs.”

“Oh!” cried all the young ones.

“Yes! It is glorious there! One does nothing all day long but eat ;
and while we are so comfortable over there, here there is not a green
leaf on the trees; here it is so cold that the clouds freeze to pieces, and
fall down in little white rags!”

It was the snow that she meant, but she could not explain it in any
other way.

a


























































THE BOYS MOCKING THE STORKS.

“And do the naughty boys freeze to pieces?” asked the young
Storks.

“No, they do not freeze to pieces; but they are not far from it, and
must sit in the dark room and cower. You, on the other hand, can fly
about in foreign lands, where there are flowers, and the sun shines
warm.”

Now some time had elapsed, and the nestlings had grown so large
that they could stand upright in the nest and look far around; and the
Father-Stork came every day with delicious frogs, little snakes, and all
kinds of stork-dainties as he found them. Oh! it looked funny when
he performed feats before them! He laid his head quite back upon his
tail, and clapped with his beak as if he had been a littie clapper; and
then he told them stories, all about the marshes.

“Tisten! now you must learn to fly,” said the Mother-Stork one
day ; and all the four young ones had to go out on the ridge of the roof.
Oh, how they tottered! how they balanced themselves with their wings,
and yet they were nearly falling down.
q

152 Stories for the Household.

“Only look at me,” said the mother. “Thus you must hold your
heads! Thus you must pitch your feet! One, two! one, two! That’s
what will help you on in the world.”

Then she flew a little way, and the young ones made a little clumsy
leap. Bump !—there they lay, for their bodies were too heavy. .

“ T will not fly!” said one of the young Storks, and crept back into
the nest; “TI don’t care about getting to the warm countries.”

“Do you want to freeze to death here, when the winter comes? Are
the boys to come and hang you, and singe you, and roast you? Now
I'll call them.”

“Oh, no!” cried the young Stork, and hopped out on to the roof
again like the rest.

On the third day they could actually fly a little, and then they thought
they could also soar and hover inthe air. They tried it, but—bump !—
down they tumbled, and they had to shoot their wings again quickly
enough. Now the boys came into the street again, and sang their song :

“ Stork, stork, fly away!”

“Shall we fly down and pick their eyes out ?” asked the young Storks.

“No,” replied the mother, “let them alone. Only listen 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! See, that
was very good! the last kick with the feet was so neat and correct that
you shall have permission to-morrow to fly with me to the marsh!
Several nice stork families go there with their young: show them that
mine are the nicest, and that you can start proudly; that looks well,
and will get you consideration.”

“But are we not to take revenge on the rude boys?” asked the
young Storks.

“Let them scream as much as they like. You will fly up to the
clouds, and get to the land of the pyramids, when they will have to

- shiver, and not have a green leaf or a sweet apple.”

“Yes, we will revenge ourselves!” they whispered to one another;
and then the exercising went on.

Among all the boys down in the street, the one most bent upon sing-
ing the teasing song was he who had begun it, and he was quite a little
boy. He could hardly be more than six years old. The young Storks
certainly thought he was a hundred, for he was much bigger than their
mother and father; and how should they know how old children and
grown-up people can be? Their revenge was to come upon this boy,
for it was he who had begun, and he always kept on. The young Storks
were very angry; and as they grew bigger they were less inclined to
bear it: at last their mother had to promise them that they should be
revenged, but not till the last day of their stay.

“We must first see how you behave at the grand review. If you get
through badly, so that the general stabs you through the chest with his
beak, the boys will be right, at least in one way. Let us see.”

“Yes, you shall see!” cried the young Storks; and then they took
Grandmother. 153

all imaginable pains. They practised every day, and flew so neatly and
so lightly that it was a pleasure to see them.

Now the autumn came on; all the Storks began te assemble, to fly
away to the warm countries while it is winter here. That was a review.
They had to fly over forests and villages, to show how well they could
soar, for it was a long journey they had before them. The young Storks
did their part so well that they got as a mark, “ Remarkably well, with
frogs and snakes.” That was the highest mark; and they might eat
the frogs and snakes; and that is what they did.

“ Now we will be revenged!” they said.

“Yes, certainly!” said the Mother-Stork. ‘‘ What I have thought of
will be the best. I know the pond in which all the little mortals lie
till the stork comes and brings them to their parents. The pretty little
babies lie there and dream so sweetly as they never dream afterwards.
All parents are glad to have such a child, and all children want to have
a sister or a brother. Now we will fly to the pond, and bring one for
each of the children who have not sung the naughty song and laughed
at the storks.”

“ But he who began to sing—that naughty, ugly boy!” screamed 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 him a little dead brother. But that good boy—you have
not forgotten him, the one who said, ‘It is wrong to laugh at animals!’
for him we will bring a brother and a sister too. And as his name is
Peter, all of you shall be called Peter too.”

And it was done as she said; all the storks were named Peter, and
so they are all called even now.

GRANDMOTHER.

GRanpMOTHER is very old; she has many wrinkles, and her hair is
quite white; but her eyes, which are like two stars, and even more
beautiful, look at you mildly and pleasantly, and it does you good to
look into them. And then she can tell the most wonderful stories ; and
she has a gown with great flowers worked in it, and it is of heavy silk,
and it rustles. Grandmother knows a great deal, for she was alive
before father and mother, that’s quite certain! Grandmother has a
hymn-book with great silver clasps, and she often reads in that book ;
in the middle of the book lies a rose, quite flat and dry; it is not as
pretty as the roses she has standing in the glass, and yet she smiles at it
most pleasantly of all, and tears even come into her eyes. I wonder
why Grandmother looks at the withered flower in the old book in that
way? Doyoulknow? Why, each time that Grandmother’s tears fall
upon the rose, its colours become fresh again; the rose swells and fills


















GRANDMOTHER LOOKING AT THE WITHERED FLOWER.

the whole room with its fragrance ; the walls sink asif they were but
mist, and all around her is the glorious green wood, where in summer
the sunlight streams through the leaves of the trees ; and Grandmother
—why, she is young again, a charming maid with light curls and full
blooming cheeks, pretty and graceful, fresh as any rose; but the eyes,
the mild blessed eyes, they have been left to Grandmother. At her side
sits a young man, tall and strong: he gives the rose to her, and she
smiles; Grandmother cannot smile thus now!—yes, now she smiles!
But now he has passed away, and many thoughts and many forms of the
past; and the handsome young man is gone, and the rose lies in the
hymn-book, and Grandmother sits there again, an old- woman, and
glances down at the withered rose that lies in the book.

Now Grandmother is dead. She had been sitting in her arm-chair,
and telling a long, long, capital tale ; and she said the tale was told now,
and she was tired; and she leaned her head back to sleep awhile. One
could hear her breathing as she slept; but it became quieter and more
quiet, and her countenance was full of happiness and peace: it seemed
The Ugly Duckling. 155

as if a sunshine spread over her features; and she smiled again, and
then the people said she was dead.

She was laid in the black coffin; and there she lay shrouded in the
white linen folds, looking beautiful and mild, though her eyes were
closed; but every wrinkle had vanished, and there was a smile around
her mouth ; her hair was silver-white and venerable; and we did not feel
at all afraid to look at the corpse of her who had been the dear good
Grandmother. And the hymn-book was placed under her head, for she
had wished it so, and the rose was still in the old book; and then they
buried Grandmother.

On the grave, close by the churchyard wall, they planted a rose tree ;
and it was full of roses; and the nightingale flew singing over the
flowers and over the grave. In the church the finest psalms sounded
from the organ—the psalms that were written in the old book under
the dead one’s head. The moon shone down upon the grave, but the
dead one was not there. Every child could go safely, even at night, and
pluck a rose there by the churchyard wall. A dead person knows more
than all we living ones. The dead know what a terror would come upon
us, if the strange thing were to happen that they appeared among us:
the dead are better than we all; the dead return no more. The earth
has been heaped over the coffin, and it is earth that lies in the coffin ;
and the leaves of the hymn-book are dust, and the rose, with all its
recollections, has returned to dust likewise. But above there bloom
fresh roses; the nightingale sings and the organ sounds, and the
remembrance lives of the old Grandmother with the mild eyes that
always looked young. yes can never die! Ours will once behold
Grandmother again, young and beautiful, as when for the first time she
kissed the fresh red rose that is now dust in the grave.

THE UGLY DUCKLING.

Tz was glorious out in the country. It was summer, and the corn-
fields were yellow, and the oats were green; the hay had been put up
in stacks in the green meadows, and the stork went about on his long
red legs, and chattered Egyptian, for this was the language he had
learned from his good mother. All around the fields and meadows were
great forests, and in the midst of these forests lav deep lakes. Yes, it
was really glorious out in the country. In the midst of the sunshine
there lay an old farm, surrounded by deep canals, and from the wall
down to the water grew great burdocks, so high that little children
could stand upright under the loftiest of them. It was just as wild
there as in the deepest wood. Here sat a Duck upon her nest, for she
had to hatch her young ones; but she was almost tired out before the
little ones came ; and then she so seldom had visitors, The other ducks
156 Stories for the Household.

liked better to swim about in the canals than to run up to sit down
under a burdock, and cackle with her.

At last one egg-shell after another burst open. “ Piep! piep!” it cried,
and in all the eggs there were little creatures that stuck out their heads.

“Rap! rap!” they said; and they all came rapping out as fast as they
could, looking all round them under the green leaves; and the mother
let them look as much as they chose, for green is good for the eyes.

“ How wide the world is!” said the young ones, for they certainly
had much more room now than when they were in the eggs.

“Do you think this is all the world?” asked the mother. “That
extends far across the other side of the garden, quite into the parson’s
field, but I have never been there yet. I hope you areall together,” she
continued, and stood up. “No, I have notall. The largest egg still
lies there. How long is that to last? I am really tired of it.” And she
sat down again.

“Well, how goes it?” asked an old Duck who had come to pay her a
visit.

“Tt lasts a long time with that one egg,” said the Duck who sat there.
“Tt will not burst. Now, only look at the others; are they not the
prettiest ducks one could possibly see? They are all like their father:
the bad fellow never comes to see me.”

“Let me see the egg which will not burst,” said the old visitor.
“ Believe me, it is a turkey’s egg. I was once cheated in that way, and
had much anxiety and trouble with the young ones, for they are afraid .
of the water. I could not get them to venture in. I quacked and
clucked, but it was no use. Let me see the ege. Yes, that’saturkey’s
egg! Let it lie there, and teach the other children to swim.”

“T think I will sit on it a little longer,” said the Duck. “I’ve sat so
Jong now that I can sit a few days more.”

“ Just as you please,” said the old Duck; and she went away.

At last the great ege burst. “ Piep! piep!” said the little one, and
crept forth. It was very large and very ugly. The Duck looked at it.

“It’s avery large duckling,” said she; “none of the others look like
that: can it really be a turkey chick? Now we shall soon find it out.
It must go into the water, even if I have to thrust it in myself.”

The next day the weather was splendidly bright, and the sun shone
on all the green trees. The Mother-Duck went down to the water with
all her little ones. Splash she jumped into the water. “ Quack! quack!”
she said, and one duckling after another plunged in. The water closed
over their heads, but they came up in an instant, and swam capitally ;
their legs went of themselves, and there they were all in the water.
The ugly grey Duckling swam with them.

“No, it’s not a turkey,” said she; “look how well it can use its legs,
and how upright it holds itself. It is my own child! On the whole
it’s quite pretty, if one looks at it rightly. Quack! quack! come with
me, and I'll lead you out into the great world, and present you in the

poultry-yard; but keep close to me, so that no one may tread on you,
and take care of the cats!”
















THE DUCKLING TEASED BY THE GOOSE.

And so they came into the poultry-yard. There was a terrible riot
going on in there, for two families were quarrelling about an eel’s head,
and the cat got it after all.

“ See, that’s how it goes in the world!” said the Mother-Duck; and
she whetted her beak, for she, too, wanted the eel’s head. ‘“ Only use
your legs,” she said. “See that you can bustle about, and bow your
heads before the old duck yonder. She’s the grandest of all here; she’s
of Spanish blood—that’s why she’s so fat; and do you see, she has a red
rag round her leg; that’s something particularly fine, and the greatest
distinction a duck can enjoy: it signifies that one does not want to lose
her, and that she’s to be recognized by man aud beast. Shake your-
selves—don’t turn in your toes ; a well brought-up duck turns its toes
quite out, just like father and mother, so! Now bend your necks and
say ‘Rap !’”

And they did so; but the other ducks round about looked at them,
and said quite boldly,

“ Look there! now we’re to have these hanging on as if there were
158 Stories for the Household.

not enough of us already! And—fie!—how that Duckling yonder
looks; we won't stand that!” And one duck flew up immediately, and
bit it in the neck.

“ Let it alone,” said the mother ; “it does no harm to any one.”

“ Yes, but it’s too large and peculiar,” said the Duck who had bitten
it; “and therefore it must be buffeted.”

“Those are pretty children that the mother has there,” said the old
Duck with the rag round her leg. “They ’re all pretty but that one; that
was a failure. I wish she could alter it.”

“That cannot be done, my lady,” replied the Mother-Duck: “It is
not pretty, but it has a really good disposition, and swims as well as any
other; I may even say it swims better. I think it will grow up pretty,
and become smaller in time; it has lain too long in the egg, and there-
fore is not properly shaped.” And then she pinched it in the neck,
and smoothed its feathers. “ Moreover, it is a drake,” she said, “and
therefore it is not of so much consequence. I think he will be very
strong: he makes his way already.”

“The other ducklings are graceful enough,” said the old Duck. “ Make
yourself at home; and if you find an eel’s head, you may bring it me.”

And now they were at home. But the poor Duckling which had
crept last out of the ege, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and
jeered, as much by the ducks as by the chickens.

“Tt is too big!” they all said. And the turkey-cock, who had been
born with spurs, and therefore thought himself an emperor, blew him- .
self up like a ship in full sail, and bore straight down upon it; then he
gobbled, and grew quite red in the face. The poor Duckling did not
know where it should stand or walk; it was quite melancholy because
it looked ugly, and was scoffed at by the whole yard.

So it went on the first day; and afterwards it became worse and
worse. The poor Duckling was hunted about by every one; even its
brothers and sisters were quite angry with it, and said, “If the cat
would only catch you, you ugly creature!” And the mother said, “If
you were only far away!” And the ducks bit it, and the chickens beat
it, and the girl who had to feed the poultry kicked at it with her foot.

Then it ran and flew over the fence, and the little birds in the bushes
flew up in fear.

“That is because I am so ugly!” thought the Duckling; and it shut
its eyes, but flew on farther; thus it came out into the great moor,
where the wild ducks lived. Here it lay the whole night long; and it
was weary and downcast.

Towards morning the wild ducks flew up, and looked at their new
companion.

“ What sort of a one are you?” they asked; and the Duckling turned
in every direction, and bowed as well as it could. “You are remark-
ably ugly!” said the Wild Ducks. ‘ But that is very indifferent to us,
80 long as you do not marry into our family.”

Poor thing! it certainly did not think of marrying, and only hoped to
obtain leave to lie among the reeds and drink some of the swamp water
The Ugly Duckling. 159

Thus it lay two whole days; then came thither two wild geese, or,
properly speaking, two wild ganders. It was not long since each had
crept out of an egg, and that ’s why they were so saucy.

“Listen, comrade,” said one of them. “ You’re so ugly that I like
you. ‘Will you go with us,and become a bird of passage? Near here,
in another moor, there are a few sweet lovely wild geese, all unmarried,
and all able to say ‘Rap!’ You’ve achance of making your fortune, ugly
as you are!”

“'Piff! paff!” resounded through the air; and the two ganders fell
down dead in the swamp, and the water became blood-red. “ Piff! paff!”
it sounded again, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the
reeds. And then there was another report. A great hunt was going
on. The hunters were lying in wait all round the moor, and some were
even sitting up in the branches of the trees, which spread far over the
reeds. The blue smoke rose up like clouds among the dark trees, and
was wafted far away across the water; and the hunting dogs came—
splash, splash !—into the swamp, and the rushes and the reeds bent
down on every side. That wasa fright for the poor Duckling! It turned
its head, and put it under its wing; but at that moment a frightful
great dog stood close by the Duckling. His tongue hung far out of his
mouth and his eyes gleamed horrible and ugly; he thrust out his nose
close against the Duckling, showed his sharp tecth, and—splash, splash!
—on he went, without seizing it.

“Oh, Heaven be thanked!” sighed the Duckling. “I am go ugly,
that even the dog does not like to bite me!”

And so it lay quite quiet, while the shots rattled through the reeds
and gun after gun was fired. At last, late in the day, silence was re-
stored ; but the poor Duckling did not dare to rise up; it waited several
hours before it looked round, and then hastened away out of the moor
as fast as it could. It ran on over field and meadow; there was such a
storm raging that it was difficult to get from one place to another.

Towards evening the Duck came to a little miserable peasant’s hut.
This hut was so dilapidated that it did not know on which side it
should fall; and that’s why it remained standing. The storm whistled
round the Duckling in such a way that the poor creature was obliged to
sit down, to stand against it; and the tempest grew worse and worse.
Then the Duckling noticed that one of the hinges of the door had given
way, and the door hung so slanting that the Duckling could slip through
the crack into the room; and it did so.

Here lived a woman, with her Tom Cat and her Hen. And the Tom Cat,
whom she called Sounie, could arch his back and purr, he could even
give out sparks; but for that one had to stroke his fur the wrong way.
The Hen had quite little short legs, and therefore she was called
Chickabiddy-shortshanks ; she laid good eggs, and the woman loved her
as her own child.

In the morning the strange Duckling was at once noticed, and the
Tom Cat began to purr, and the Hen to cluck.

“ What’s this ?” said the woman, and looked all round; but she could
160 Stories for the Household.

not see well, and therefore she thought the Duckling was a fat duck that
had strayed. “This is a rare prize!” she said. ‘“ Now I shall have
duck’s eggs. I hope it is nota drake. We must try that.”

And so the Duckling was admitted on trial for three weeks; but no
eges came. And the Tom Cat was master of the house, and the Hen
was the lady, and always said “ We and the world!” for she thought
they were half the world, and by far the better half. The Duckling
thought one might have a different opinion, but the Hen would not
allow it.

“Can you lay eggs P” she asked.

cc 6,"

“Then you ll have the goodness to hold your tongue.”

And the Tom Cat said, ‘ Can you curve your back, and purr, and give
out sparks ?”

“ N 0.””

“Then you cannot have any opinion of your own when sensible people
are speaking.”

And the Duckling sat in a corner and was melancholy ; then the fresh
air and the sunshine streamed in; and it was seized with such a strange
longing to swim on the water, that it could not help telling the Hen of it.

“What are you thinking of?” cried the Hen. “ You have nothing to
do, that’s why you have these fancies. Purr or lay eggs, and they will
pass over.”

“But it is so charming to swim on the water!” said the Duckling,
“so refreshing to let it close above one’s head, and to dive down to the
bottom.”

“Yes, that must be a mighty pleasure, truly,” quoth the Hen. “I
fancy you must have gone crazy. Ask the Cat about it,—he’s the
cleverest animal I know,—ask him if he likes to swim on the water,
or to dive down: I won’t speak about myself. Ask our mistress, the .
old woman; no one in the world is cleverer than she. Do you think
she has any desire to swim, and to let the water close above her head ?”

“You don’t understand me,” said the Duckling.

‘We don’t understand you? Then pray who is to understand you?
You surely don’t pretend to be cleverer than the Tom Cat and the
woman—TI won’t say anything of mysel& Don’t be conceited, child,
and be grateful for all the kindness you have received. Did you not
get into a warm room, and have you not fallen into company from which
you may learn something? But you are a chatterer, and it is not
pleasant to associate with you. You may believe me, I speak for your
good. I tell you disagreeable things, and by that one may always know
one’s true friends! Only take care that you learn to lay eggs, or to
purr and give out sparks!”

“T think I will go out into the wide world,” said the Duckling.

“Yes, do go,” replied the Hen.

And the Duckling went away. It swam on the water, and dived, but
it was slighted by every creature because of its ugliness.

Now came the autumn. ‘The leaves in the forest turned yellow and


















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THE FOUR SWANS.

brown; the wind caught them so that they danced about, and up in
the air it was very cold. The clouds hung low, heavy with hail and
snow-flakes, and on the fence stood the raven, crying, “ Croak! croak !”
for mere cold; yes, it was enough to make one feel cold to think of
this. The poor little Duckling certainly had not a good time. One
evening—the sun was just setting in his beauty—there came a whole
flock of great handsome birds out of the bushes; they were dazzlingly
white, with long flexible necks; they were swans. They uttered a
very peculiar ery, spread forth their glorious great wings, and flew
away from that cold region to warmer lands, to fair open lakes. They
mounted so high, so high! and the ugly little Duckling felt quite
strangely as it watched them. It turned round and round in the water
like a wheel, stretched out its neck towards them, and uttered such a
strange loud cry as frightened itself. Oh! it could not forget those
beautiful, happy birds; and so soon as it could see them no longer,
it dived down to the very bottom, and when it came up again, it was

M
162 Stories for the Household.

quite beside itself. It knew not the name of those birds, and knew not
whither they were flying; but it loved them more than it bad ever loved
any one. Jt was not at all envious of them. How could it think of
wishing to possess such loveliness as they had? It would have been
glad if only the ducks would have endured its company—the poor ugly
creature !

And the winter grew cold, very cold! The Duckling was forced to
swim about in the water, to prevent the surface from freezing entirely ;
but every night the hole in which it swam about became smaller and
smaller. It froze so hard that the icy covering crackled again; and
the Duckling was obliged to use its legs continually to prevent the hole
from freezing up. At last it become exhausted, and lay quite still, and
thus froze fast into the ice.

Early in the morning a peasant came by, and when he saw what had
happened, he took his wooden shoe, broke the ice-crust to pieces, and
earried the Duckling home to his wife. Then it came to itself again.
The children wanted to play with it; but the Duckling thought they
would do it an injury, and in its terror fluttered up into the milk-pan,
so that the milk spurted down into the room. The woman clasped her
hands, at which the Duckling flew down into the butter-tub, and then
into the meal-barrel and out again. How it looked then! The woman
screamed, and struck at it with the fire-tongs; the children tumbled
over one another, in their efforts to catch the Duckling; and they
laughed and screamed finely! Happily the door stcod open, and the
poor creature was able to slip out between the shrubs into the newly-
fallen snow; and there it lay quite exhausted.

But it would be too melancholy if I were to tell all the misery and
care which the Duckling had to endure in the hard winter. It lay out
ou the moor among the reeds, when the sun began to shine again and
the larks to sing: it was a beautiful spring. ;

Then all at once the Duckling could flap its wings: they beat the air
more strongly than before, and bore it strongly away; and before it
well knew how all this happened, it found itself in a great garden,
where the elder trees smelt sweet, and bent their long green branches
down to the canal that wound through the region. Oh, here it was
so beautiful, such a gladness of spring! and from the thicket came
three glorious white swans; they rustled their wings, and swam lightly
on the water. The Duckling knew the splendid creatures, and felt
oppressed by a peculiar sadness.

“T will fly away to them, to the royal birds! and they will kill me,
because I, that am so ugly, dare to approach them.’ But it is of no
consequence! Better to be killed by them than to be pursued by ducks,
and beaten by fowls, and pushed about by the girl who takes care of
the poultry-yard, and to suffer hunger in winter!” And it flew out
into the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans: these looked
at it, and came sailing down upon it with outspread wings. “ Kall
me!” said the poor creature, and bent its head down upon the water,
expecting nothing but death. But what was this that it saw in the





The Loveliest Rose in the Woriu. 163

clear water? It beheld its own image; and, lo! it was no longer a
clumsy dark grey bird, ugly and hateful to look at, but—a swan!

It matters nothing if one is born in a duck-yard, if one has only lain
in a swan’s egg.

It felt quite glad at all the need and misfortune it had suffered, now
it realized its happiness in all the splendour that surrounded it. And
the great swans swam round it, and stroked it with their beaks.

Into the garden came little children, who threw bread and corn into
the water; and the youngest cried, “There is a new one!” and the
other children shouted joyously, “ Yes, a new one has arrived!” And
they clapped their hands and danced about, and ran to their father and |
mother; and bread and cake were thrown into the water; and they all
said, “The new one is the most beautiful of all! so young and hand-
some!” and the old swans bowed their heads before him.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wings, for he
did not know what to do; he was so happy, and yet not at all proud.
He thought how he had been persecuted and despised; and now he
heard them saying that he was the most beautiful of all birds. Even
the elder tree bent its branches straight down into the water before
him, and the sun shone warm and mild. Then his wings rustled, he
lifted his slender neck, and cried rejoicingly from the depths of his heart,
_ “I never dreamed of so much happiness when I was still the ugly
Duckling!”

THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD.

‘Oncz there reigned a Queen, in whose garden were found the most
glorious flowers at all seasons and from all the lands in the world; but
especially she loved roses, and therefore she possessed the most various
kinds of this flower, from the wild dog-rose, with the apple-scented
green leaves, to the most splendid Provence rose. They grew against
the earth walls, wound themselves round pillars and window-frames, into
the passages, and all along the ceiling in all the halls. And the roses
were various in fragrance, form, and colour.

But care and sorrow dwelt in these halls: the Queen lay upon a sick-
bed, and the doctors declared that she must die.

“There is still one thing that can serve her,” said the wisest of them.
“ Bring her the loveliest rose in the world, the one which is the expres-
sion of the brightest and purest love; for if that is brought before her
eyes ere they close, she will not die.”

And young and old came from every side with roses, the loveliest that
bloomed in each garden; but they were not the right sort. The flower
was to be brought out of the garden of Love; but what rose was tt
there that expressed the highest and purest love?

And the poets sang of the loveliest rose in the world, and each one

M2
164 Stories for the Household.

named his own; and intelligence was sent far round the land to every
heart that beat with love, to every class and condition, and to every
age.

ee No one has till now named the flower,” said the wise man. “No
one has pointed out the place where it bloomed in its splendour. They
are not the roses from the coffin of Romeo and Juliet, or from the
Walburg’s grave, though these roses will be ever fragrant in song. They
are not the roses that sprouted forth from Winkelried’s blood-stained
lances, from the blood that flows in a sacred cause from the breast of
the hero who dies for his country ; though no death is sweeter than

Poe J SS

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THE WISE MAN VISITS THE SICK QUEEN.

this, and no rose redder than the blood that flows then. Nor is it that
wondrous flower, to cherish which man devotes, in a quiet chamber,
many a sleepless night, and much of his fresh life—the magic flower of
science.”

“T know where it blooms,” said a happy mother, who came with her
pretty child to the bed-side of the Queen. “I know where the loveliest
rose of the world is found! The rose that is the expression of the
highest and purest love springs from the blooming cheeks of my sweet
child when, strengthened by sleep, it opens its eyes and smiles at me
with all its affection!”

“ Lovely is this rose; but there is still a lovelier,” said the wise man.

“Yes, a far lovelier one,” said one of the women. “I have seen it,
and a loftier, purer rose does not bloom. I saw it on the cheeks of the
Queen. She had taken off her golden crown, and in the long dreary
Holger Danske. 165

night she was carrying her sick child in her arms: she wept, kissed it,
and prayed for her child as a mother prays in the hour of her anguish.”

“Holy and wonderful in its might is the white rose of grief; but it is
not the one we seek.”

“No, the loveliest rose of the world I saw at the altar of the Lord,”
said the good old Bishop. “I saw it shine as if an angel’s face had
appeared. The young maidens went to the Lord’s Table, and renewed
the promise made at their baptism, and roses were blushing, and pale
roses shining on their fresh cheeks. A young girl. stood there; she
looked with all the purity and love of her young spirit up to heaven:
that was the expression of the highest and the purest love.”

“May she be blessed!” said the wise man; “ but not one of you has
yet named to me the loveliest rose of the world.”

Then there came into the room a child, the Queen’s little son. Tears
stood in his eyes and glistened on his cheeks: he carried a great open
book, and the binding was of velvet, with great silver clasps.

“ Mother!” cried the little boy, “only hear what I have read.”

And the child sat by the bed-side, and read from the book of Him
who suffered death on the Cross to save men, and even those who were
not yet born.

“ Greater love there is not—— ”

And a roseate hue spread over the cheeks of the Queen, and her eyes
gleamed, for she saw that from the leaves of the book there bloomed the
loveliest rose, that sprang from the blood of Curisr shed on the Cross.

“T see it!” she said: “he who beholds this, the loveliest rose on
earth, shall never die.”

HOLGER DANSKE.

“Tx Denmark there lies a castle named Kronenburg. It lies close
by the Oer Sound, where the ships pass through by hundreds every day
—English, Russian, and likewise Prussian ships. And they salute the
old castle with cannons—‘ Boom!’ And the castle answers with a
‘Boom!’ for that’s what the cannons say instead of ‘Good day’ and
‘Thank you!’ In winter no ships sail there, for the whole sea is
covered with ice quite across to the Swedish coast; but it has quite the
look of a high road. There wave the Danish flag and the Swedish
flag, and Danes. and Swedes say ‘ Good day’ and ‘Thank you!’ to each
other, not with cannons, but with a friendly grasp of the hand; and
one gets white bread and biscuits from the other—for strange fare tastes
best. But the most beautiful of all is the old Kronenburg; and here
it is that Holger Danske sits in the deep dark cellar, where nobody
goes. He is clad in iron and steel, and leans his head on his strong
- arm; his long beard hangs down over the marble table, and has grown
into it. He sleeps and dreams, but in his dreams he sees everything
166 ¢ Stories for the Household.

that happens up here in Denmark. Every Christmas-eve comes an
angel, and tells him that what he has dreamed is right, and that he may
go to sleep in quiet, for that Denmark is not yet in any real danger;
but when once such a danger comes, then old Holger Danske will rouse
himself, so that the table shall burst when he draws out his beard!
Then he will come forth and strike, so that it shall be heard im all the
countries in the world.” ,

An old grandfather sat and told his little grandson all this about
Holger Danske ; and the little boy knew that what his grandfather told
him was true. And while the old man sat and told his story, he carved
an image which was to represent Holger Danske, and to be fastened
to the prow of a ship; for the old grandfather was a carver of figure-
heads, that is, one who cuts out the figures fastened to the front of ships,
and from which every ship is named. And here he had cut out Holger
Danske, who stood there proudly with his long beard, and held the
broad battle-sword in one hand, while with the other he leaned upon
the Danish arms.

And the old grandfather told so much about distinguished men and
women, that it appeared at last to the little grandson as if he knew as
much as Holger Danske himself, who, after all, could only dream; and
when the little fellow was in his bed, he thought so much of it, that he
actually pressed his chin against the coverlet, and fancied he had a long
beard that had grown fast to it.

But the old grandfather remained sitting at his work, and carved .
away at the last part of it; and this was the Danish coat of arms. When
he had done, he looked at the whole, and thought of all he had read
and heard, and that he had told this evening to the little boy; and he
nodded, and wiped his spectacles, and put them on again, and said,

“Yes, in my time Holger Danske will probably not come; but the
boy in the bed yonder may get to see him, and be there when the push
really comes.”

And the old grandfather nodded again: and the more he looked at
Holger Danske the more plain did it become to him that it was a
good image he had carved. It seemed really to gain colour, and the
armour appeared to gleam like iron and steel; the hearts in the Danish
arms became redder and redder, and the lions with the golden crowns
on their heads leaped up.*

“ That’s the most beautiful coat of arms there is in the world! ” said the
old man. “The lions are strength, and the heart is gentleness and love!”

And he looked at the uppermost lion, and thought of King Canute,
who bound great England to the throne of Denmark; and he looked
at the second lion, and thought of Waldemar, who united Denmark
and conquered the Wendish lands; and he glanced at the third lion, and
remembered Margaret, who united Denmark, Sweden, and Norway.
But while he looked at the red hearts, they gleamed more brightly
than before ; they became flames, and his heart followed each of them.

* The Danish arms consist of three lions between nine hearts.






































HOLGER DANSKE.

The first heart led him into a dark narrow prison: there sat a pri-
soner, a beautiful woman, the daughter of King Christian IV., Eleanor
Ulfeld ;* and the flame, which was shaped like a rose, attached itself to
her bosom and blossomed, so that it became one with the heart of her,
the noblest and best of all Danish women.

And his spirit followed the second flame, which led him out upon the
sea, where the cannons thundered and the ships lay shrouded in smoke;
and the flame fastened itself in the shape of a ribbon of honour on the
breast of Hvitfeld, as he blew himself and his ship into the air, that he
might save the fleet.+

And the third flame led him'to the wretched huts of Greenland, where

* This highly gifted Princess was the wife of Corfitz Ulfeld, who was accused of high treason,
Her only crime was the most faithful love to her unhappy consort; but she was compelled to
pase twenty-two years in a horrible dungeon, until her persecutor, Queen Sophia Amelia, was

ead.

+ In the naval battle in Kjoge Bay between the Danes and the Swedes, in 1710, Hvitfeld’s ship,
the Danebrog, took fire. To save the town of Kjoge, and the Danish fleet which was being driven
by the wind towards his vessel, he blew himself and his whole crew into the air,
168 Stories for the Household.

the preacher Hans Egede * wrought, with love in every word and deed:
the flame was a star on his breast, another heart in the Danish arms.

And the spirit of the old grandfather flew on before the waving flames,
for his spirit knew whither the flames desired to go. In the humble
room of the peasant woman stood Frederick VI., writing his name with
chalk on the beam.t ‘The flame trembled on his breast, and trembled
in his heart; in the peasant’s lowly room hig heart too became a
heart in the Danish arms. And the old grandfather dried his eyes, for
he had known King Frederick with the silvery locks and the honest
blue eyes, and had lived for him: he folded his hands, and looked in
silence straight before him. Then came the daughter-in-law of the old
grandfather, and said it was late, he ought now to rest; and the supper
table was spread.

“But it is beautiful, what you have done, grandfather!” said she.
“ Holger Danske, and all our old coat of arms! It seems to me just as
if I had seen that face before!”

‘No, that can scarcely be,” replied the old grandfather; “but I have
seen it, and I have tried to carve it in wood as I have kept it in my
memory. It was when the English lay in front of the wharf, on the
Danish second of April,t when we showed that we were old Danes.
In the Denmark, on board which I was, in Steen Bille’s squadron, I
had a man at my side —it seemed as if the bullets were afraid of him!
Merrily he sang old songs, and shot and fought as if he were something
more than a man. I remember his face yet; but whence he came, and
whither he went, I know not—nobody knows. I have often thought
he might have been old Holger Danske himself, who had swum down
from the Kronenburg, and aided us in the hour of danger: that was my
idea, and there stands his picture.”

And the statue threw its great shadow up against the wall, and even
over part of the ceiling; it looked as though the real Holger Danske
were standing behind it, for the shadow moved; but this might have
been because the flame of the candle did not burn steadily. And the
daughter-in-law kissed the old grandfather, and led him to the great
arm-chair by the table; and she and her husband, who was the son of
the old man, and father of the little boy in the bed, sat and ate their
supper; and the grandfather spoke of the Danish lions and of the Danish
hearts, of strength and of gentleness; and quite clearly did he explain
that there was another strength besides the power that lies in the
sword; and he pointed to the shelf on which were the old books, where
stood the plays of Holberg, which had been read so often, for they

_* Hans Egede went to Greenland in 1721, and toiled there during fifteen years among incre-
llible hardships and privations. Not only did he spread Christianity, but exhibited in himself a
remarkable example of a Christian man.

+ Ona journey on the west coast of Jutland, the King visited an old woman. When he had
already quitted her house, the woman ran after him,and begged him, asa remembrance, to write
his name upon a beam; the King turned back, and complied. During his whole lifetime he
felt and worked for the peasant class; therefore the Danish peasants begged to be allowed to.
carry his coffin to the royal vault at Roeskilde, four Danish miles from Copenhagen.

¢ On the 2nd of April, 1801, oceurred the sanguinary naval battle between the Danes and the
English. under Sir Hyde Parker and Nelson.
The Puppet Showman. 169

were very amusing; one could almost fancy one recognized the people
of bygone days in them.

“See, he knew how to strike too,” said the grandfather: “ he scourged
the foolishness and prejudice of the people so long as he could” — and
the grandfather nodded at the mirror, above which stood the calendar,
with the “ Round Tower” * on it, and said, “Tycho Brahe was also one
who used the sword, not to cut into flesh and bone, but to build up a
plainer way among all the stars of heaven. And then he whose father
belonged to my calling, the son of the old figure-head carver, he whom
we have ourselves seen with his silver hairs and his broad shoulders, he
whose name is spoken of in all lands! Yes, he wasasculptor; Zam only
a carver. Yes, Holger Danske may come in many forms, so that one
hears in every country in the world of Denmark’s strength. Shall we
now drink the health of Bertel?” +

But the little lad in the bed saw plainly the old Kronenburg with
the Oer Sound, the real Holger Danske, who sat deep below, with his
beard grown through the marble table, dreaming of all that happens up
here. Holger Danske also dreamed of the little humble room where the
carver sat; he heard all that passed, and nodded in his sleep, and said,

“Yes, remember me, ye Danish folk; remember me. I shall come in
the hour of need.”

And without by the Kronenburg shone the bright day, and the wind
carried the notes of the hunting-horn over from the neighbouring land ;
the ships sailed past, and saluted—“ Boom! boom!” and from the Kro-
nenburg came the reply, “ Boom! boom!” But Holger Danske did not
awake, however loudly they shot, for it was only “Good day” and
“Thank you!” There must be another kind of shooting before he
awakes; but he will awake, for there is faith in Holger Danske.

THE PUPPET SHOWMAN.

On board the steamer was an elderly man with such a merry face that,
if it did not belie him, he must have been the happiest fellow in creation.
And, indeed, he declared he was the happiest man; I heard it out of his
own mouth. He was a Dane, a travelling theatre director. He had all
his company with him in a large box, for he was proprietor of a puppet-
show. His inborn cheerfulness, he said, had been purified by a Poly-
technic candidate, and the experiment had made him completely happy.
I did not at first understand all this, but afterwards he explained the
whole story to me, and here it is. He told me:

“Tt was in the little town of Slagelse I gave a representation in the
hall of the posting-house, and had a brilliant audience, entirely a juvenile

* The astronomical observatory at Copenhagen.
+ Berte) Thorwaldsen.
170 Stories for the Household.

one, with the exception of two respectable matrons. All at once a per-
gon in black, of student-like appearance, came into the room and sat
down ; he laughed aloud at the telling parts, and applauded quite appro-
priately. That was quite an unusual spectator for me! I felt anxious
to know who he was, and I heard he was a candidate from the Poly-
technic Institution in Copenhagen, who had been sent out to instruct
the folks in the provinces. Punctually at eight o’clock my performance
closed; for children must go early to bed, and a manager must consult
the convenience of his public. At nine o’clock the candidate commenced
his lecture, with experiments, and now I formed part of his audience.
It was wonderful to hear and to see. The greater part of it was beyond
my scope; but still it made me think.that if we men can find out so
much, we must be surely intended to last longer than the little span
until we are hidden away in the earth. They were quite miracles in a
small way that he showed, and yet everything flowed as naturally as
water! At the time of Moses and the prophets such a man would have
been received among the sages of the land; in the middle ages they
would have burned him ata stake. All night long I could not go to
sleep. And the next evening, when I gave another performance, and
the candidate was again present, I felt fairly overflowing with humour.
T once heard from a player that when he acted a lover he always thought
of one particular lady among the audience; he only played for her, and
forgot all the rest of the house; and now the Polytechnic candidate
was my ‘she,’ my ouly auditor, for whom alone I played. And when
the performance was over, all the puppets were called before the cur-
tain, and the Polytechnic candidate imvited me into his room to take
a glass of wine; and he spoke of my comedies, and I of his science;
and I believe we were both equally pleased. But I had the best of it,
for there was much in what he did of which he could not always give
meanexplanation. For instance, that a piece of iron that falls through
a spiral should become magnetic. Now, how does that happen? The
spirit comes upon it; but whence does it come? It is as with people
in this world; they are made to tumble through the spiral of this world,
and the spirit comes upon them, and there stands a Napoleon, or a
Luther, or a person of that kind. ‘The whole world is a series of
miracles,’ said the candidate; ‘but we are so accustomed to them that
we call them every-day matters.’ And he went.on explaining things
to me until my skull seemed lifted up over my brain, and I declared
that if I were not an old fellow I would at once visit the Polytechnic
Institution, that I might learn to look at the sunny side of the world,
though I am one of the happiest of men. ‘One of the happiest!” said
the candidate, and he seemed to take real pleasure in it. ‘Are you
happy?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘and they welcome me in all the towns
where I come with my company; but I certainly have one wish, which
sometimes lies like lead, like an Alp, upon my good humour: I should
like to become a real theatrical manager, the director of a real troupe
of men and women!’ ‘I see,’ he said, ‘you would like to have life
breathed into your puppets, so that they might be real actors, and you






















THE ANIMATED PUPPETS.

their director; and would you then be quite happy?’ He did not
believe it; but I believed it, and we talked it over all manner of ways
without coming any nearer to an agreement; but we clanked our glasses
together, and the wine was excellent. There was some magic in it, or
I should certainly have become tipsy. But that did not happen; I
retained my clear view of things, and somehow there was sunshine in
the room, and sunshine beamed out of the eyes of the Polytechnic can-
didate. It made me think of the old stories of the gods, in their eternal
youth, when they still wandered upon earth and paid visits to the mor-
tals; and I said so to him, and he smiled, and I could have sworn he
was one of the ancient gods in disguise, or that, at any rate, he belonged
to the family! and certainly he must have been something of the kind,
for my highest wish was to have been fulfilled, the puppets were to be
gifted with life,and I was to be director of a real company. We drank
to my success and clinked our glasses. He packed all my dolls into a
box, bound the box on my back, and then let me fall through a spiral.
Theard myself tumbling, and then I was lying on the floor—I know that
172 Stories for the Household.

quite well—and the whole company sprang out of the box. The spirit
had come upon all of us: all the puppets had become distinguished
artists, so they said themselves, and I was the director. All was ready
for the first representation ; the whole company wanted to speak to me,
and the public also. The dancing lady said the house would fall down
if she did not keep it up by standing on one leg; for she was the great
genius, and begged to be treated as such. The lady who acted the
queen wished to be treated off the stage as a queen, or else she should
get out of practice. The man who was only employed to deliver a letter
gave himself just as many airs as the first lover, for he declared the little
ones were just as important as the great ones, and all were of equal
consequence, considered as an artistic whole. The hero would only play
parts composed of nothing but points; for those brought him down the
applause. The prima donna would only play in a red light; for she
declared that a blue one did not suit her complexion. It was like a
company of flies in a bottle; and I was in the bottle with them, for I
was the director. My breath stopped and my head whirled round; I
was as miserable as a man can be. It was quite a novel kind of men
among whom I now found myself. I only wished I had them all in the
box again, and that I had never been a director at all; so I told them
roundly that after all they were nothing but puppets; and then they
killed me. I found myself lying on my hed in my room ; and how I got
there, and how I got away at all from the Polytechnic candidate, he may
perhaps know, for I don’t. The moon shone upon the floor where the
box lay open, and the dolls all ina confusion together—great and small
all scattered about; but Iwas not idle. Out of bed I jumped, and into
the box they had all to go, some on their heads, some on their feet, and
I shut down the lid and seated myself upon the box. ‘Now you ’ll just
have to stay there,’ said I, ‘and I shall beware how I wish you flesh and
blood again.’ I felt quite light; my good humour had come back, and I
was the happiest of mortals. The Polytechnic student had fully purified
me. I sat as happy as a king, and went to sleep on the box. The next
morning—strictly speaking it was noon, for I slept wonderfully late that
day——I was still sitting there, happy and conscious that my former wish
had been a foolish one. I inquired for the Polytechnic candidate, but
he was gone, like the Greck and Roman gods; and from that time I’ve
been the happiest of men. I ama happy director: none of my company
ever grumble, nor my public either, for they are always merry. I can
put my pieces together just as I please. I take out of every comedy
what pleases me best, and no one is angry at it. Pieces that are ne-
glected now-a-days by the great public, but which it used to run after
thirty years ago, and at which it used to ery till the tears ran down its
cheeks, these pieces I now take up: I put them before the little ones,
and the little ones cry just as papa and mamma used to cry thirty years
ago; but I shorten them, for the youngsters don’t like a long palaver;
what they want is something mournful, but quick.”












THE PIGS AT HOME IN THE OLD STATE COACH.

THE PIGS.

Cuar es Dickens once told us about a pig, and since that time we
are in a good humour if we only hear one grunt. St. Antony took the
pig under his protection; and when we think of the prodigal son we
always associate with him the idea of feeding swine; and it was in front
of a pig-sty that a certain carriage stopped in Sweden, about which I am
going to talk. The farmer had his pig-sty built out towards the high
road, close by his house, and it was a wonderful pig-sty. It was an old
state carriage. The seats had been taken out and the wheels taken off,
and so the body of the old coach lay on the ground, and four pigs were
shut up inside it. I wonder if these were the first that had ever been
there? That point could not certainly be determined; but that it had
been a real state coach everything bore witness, even to the damask rag
that hung down from the roof; everything spoke of better days.

“Humph! humph!” said the occupants; and the coach creaked and
groaned, for it had come to a mournful end. “The beautiful has de-
parted,” it sighed—or at least it might have done so.

We came back in autumn. The coach was there still, but the pigs
were gone. They were playing the grand lords out in the woods.
Blossoms and leaves were gone from all the trees, and storm and rain

ruled, and gave them neither peace nor rest; and the birds of passage
had flown.
174 Stories for the Household.

“The beautiful has departed! This was the glorious green wood,
but the song of the birds and the warm sunshine are gone! gone!”

Thus said the mournful voice that creaked in the lofty branches of
the trees, and it sounded like a deep-drawn sigh, a sigh from the bosom
of the wild rose tree, and of him who sat there; it was the Rose King.
Do you know him? He is all beard, the finest reddish-green beard; he
is easily recognized. Go up to the wild rose bushes, and when in
autumn all the flowers have faded from them, and only the wild hips
remain, you will often find under them a great red-green moss flower ;
and that is the Rose King. A little green leaf grows up out of his
head, and that’s his feather. He is the only man of his kind on the
rose bush; and he it was who sighed.

“Gone, gone! The beautiful is gone! The roses have faded, and
the leaves fall down. It’s wet here; it’s boisterous here. The birds
who used to sing are dumb, and the pigs go out hunting for acorns, and
they are the lords of the forest.”

The nights were cold and the days were misty; but, for all that, the
raven sat on the branch and sang, ‘‘ Good, good!”

Raven and crow sat on the high bough; and they had a large family,
who all said, “ Good, good!” and the majority is always right.

Under the high trees, in the hollow, was a great puddle, and here the
pigs reclined, great and small. They found the place so inexpressibly
lovely. “Oui! oui!” they all exclaimed. That was all the Irench
they knew, but even that was something; and they were so clever and
so fat.

The old ones lay quite still, and reflected ; the young ones were very
busy, and were not quiet a moment. One little porker had a twist in
his tail like a ring, and this ring was his mother’s pride: she thought
all the rest were looking at the ring, and thinking only of the ring; but
that they were not doing; they were thinking of themselves and of what
was useful, and what was the use of the wood. They had always heard
that the acorns they ate grew at the roots of. the trees, and accordingly
they had grubbed up the ground; but there came quite a little pig—it’s’
always the young ones who come out with their new-fangled notions—
who declared that the acorns fell down from the branches, for one had
just fallen down on his head, and the idea had struck him at once, after-
wards he had made observations, and now was quite certain on the point.
The old ones put their heads together.

“Umph!” they said, “umph! The glory has departed: the twitter-
ing of the birds is all over; we want fruit; whatever’s good to eat is
good, and we eat everything.”

“Qui! oui!” chimed in all the rest.

But the mother now looked at her little porker, the one with the ring
in his tail.

“One must not overlook the beautiful,” she said.

“Good! good!” cried the Crow, and flew down from the tree to try:
and get an appointment as nightineale ; for some one must be appointed ;
and the Crow obtained the oflice directly.
A Picture from the Fortress Wall. 175

“Gone! gone!” sighed the Rose King. “ All the beautiful is gone!”

It was boisterous, it was grey, cold, and windy ; and through the forest
and over the field swept the rain in long dark streaks. Where is the
bird who sang? where are the flowers upon the meadow, and the sweet
berries of the wood? Gone! gone!

Then a light gleamed from the forester’s house. It was lit up like a

star, and threw its long ray among the trees. A song sounded forth
out of the house. Beautiful children played there round the old grand-
father. He sat with the Bible on his knee, and read of the Creator and
of a better world, and spoke of spring that would return, of the forest
that would array itself in fresh green, of the roses that would bloom,
the nightingale that would sing, and of the beautiful that would reign
in its glory again.
- But the Rose King heard it not, for he sat in the cold, damp weather,
and sighed, “ Gone! gone!” And the pigs were the lords of the forest,
and the old Mother Sow looked proudly at her little porker with the
twist in his tail.

“ There is always somebody who has a soul for the beautiful!” she said.



COA

TIE PRISONER.

A PICTURE FROM THE FORTRESS WALL.

Tr is autumn; we stand on the fortress wall, and look out over the
sea; we look at the numerous ships, and at the Swedish coast on the
other side of the Sound, which rises far above the mirror of waters in
the evening glow; behind us the wood stands sharply out; mighty
176 Stories for the Household.

trees surround us, the yellow leaves flutter down from the. branches.
Below, at the foot of the wall, stand gloomy houses fenced in with
palisades ; in these it is very narrow and dismal, but still more dismal
18 it behind the grated loopholes in the wall, for there sit the prisoners,
the .vorst criminals.

A vay of the sinking sun shoots into the bare cell of one of the cap-
tives. The sun shines upon the good and the evil. The dark stubborn
criminal throws an impatient look at the cold ray. A little bird flies
towards the grating. The bird twitters to the wicked as to the just.
He only utters his short “tweet! tweet!” but he perches upon the
grating, claps his wings, pecks a feather from one of them, puffs himself
out, and sets his feathers on end on his neck and breast ; and the bad
chained man looks at him: a milder expression comes into the criminal’s
hard face; in his breast there swells up a thought—a thought he him-
self cannot rightly analyse; but the thought has to do with the sun-
beam, with the scent of violets which grow luxuriantly in spring at the
foot of the wall. Now the horns of the chasseur soldiers sound merry
and full. The little bird starts, and flies away; the sunbeam gradually
vanishes, and again it is dark in the room, and dark in the heart of the
bad man; but still the sun has shone into that heart, and the twittering
of the bird has touched it!

Sound on, ye glorious strains of the hunting-horns! Continue to
sound, for the evening is mild, and the surface of the sea, smooth as a
mirror, heaves slowly and gently.

IN THE DUCK-YARD.

A DUCK arrived from Portugal. Some said she came from Spain, but
that’s all the same. At any rate she was called the Portuguese, and
laid egos, and was killed and cooked, and that was her career. But the
ducklings which crept forth from her eggs were afterwards also called
Portuguese, and there is something in that. Now, of the whole family
there was only one left in the duck-yard, a yard to which the chickens
had access likewise, and where the cock strutted about in a very
aggressive manner.

“He annoys me with his loud crowing!” observed the Portuguese
Duck. “ But he’s a handsome bird, there ’s no denying that, though he is
notadrake. He ought to moderate his voice, but that’s an art insepar-
able from polite education, like that possessed by the little singing birds
over in the lime trees in the neighbour’s garden. How charmingly they
sing! There’s something quite pretty in their warbling. I call it
Portugal. If I had only such a little singing bird, I’d be a mother to
him, kind and good, for that’s in my blood, my Portuguese blood!”

And while she was still speaking, a little Singing Bird came head over
heels from the roof into the yard. The cat was behind him, but the
In the Duck-Yard. 177

Bird escaped with a broken wing, and that’s how he came tumbling into
the yard.

“Thats just like the cat; she’s a villain!” said the Portuguese Duck.
“T remember her ways when I had children of my own. That such a
creature should be allowed to live, and to wander about upon the roofs!
I don’t think they do such things in Portugal!”

And she pitied the little Singing Bird, and the other Ducks who were
not of Portuguese descent pitied him too.

“Poor little creature!” they said, as one after another came up. “ We
certainly can’t sing,” they said, “ but we have a sounding board, or some-
thing of the kind, within us ; we can feel that, though we don’t talk of it.”

“ But I can talk of it,” said the Portuguese Duck ; “and I’ll do some-
thing for the little fellow, for that’s my duty!” And she stepped into
the water-trough, and beat her wings upon the water so heartily, that
the little Singing Bird was almost drowned by the bath he got, but the
Duck meant it kindly. “That’s a good deed,” she said: “the others
may take example by it.”

“Piep!” 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 kindly meant. ‘ You are very kind-hearted, madam,” he said ; but
he did not wish for a second bath.

“T have never thought about my heart,” continued the Portuguese
Duck, “ but I know this much, that I love all my fellow-creatures except
the cat; but nobody can expect me to love her, for she ate up two of
my ducklings. But pray make yourself at home, for one can make
oneself comfortable. I myself am from a strange country, as you may
see from my bearing and from my feathery dress. My drake is a
native of these parts, he’s not of my race; but for all that I’m not
proud! If any one here in the yard can understand you, I may assert
that I am that person.”

“She’s quite full of Portulak,” said a little common Duck, who was
witty ; and all the other common Ducks considered the word Portulak
quite a good joke, for it sounded like Portugal; and they nudged each
other and said “Rapp!” It was too witty! And all the other Ducks
now began to notice the little Singing Bird.

“The Portuguese has certainly a greater command of language,” they
said. “For our part, we don’t care to fill our beaks with such long
words, but our sympathy is just as great. If we don’t do anything for
you, we march about with you everywhere; and we think that the best
thing we can do.”

“You have a lovely voice,” said one of the oldest. “It must be a
great satisfaction to be able to give so much pleasure as you are able to
impart. I certainly am no great judge of your song, and consequently
I keep my beak shut; and even that is better than talking nonsense to
you, as others do.”

“Don’t plague him so,” interposed the Portuguese Duck: “he requires
rest and nursing. My little Singing Bird, do you wish me to prepare
another bath for you?”

N
178 Stories for the Household.

“Oh, no! pray let me be dry!” was the little Bird’s petition.

“The water cure is the only remedy for me when J am unwell,” quoth
the Portuguese. “Amusement is beneficial too. The neighbouring
fowls will goon come to pay their visit. There are two Cochin Chinese
among them. They wear feathers on their legs, are well educated, and
have been brought from afar, consequently they stand higher than the
others in my regard.”

And the Fowls came, and the Cock came ; to-day he was polite enough
to abstain from being rude. ;

“You are a true Singing Bird,” he said, “and you do as much with
your little voice as can possibly be done with it. But one requires a
little more shrillness, that every hearer may hear that one is a male.”



THE LIITLE SINGING BIRD RECEIVES DISTINGUISHED PATRONAGE,

The two Chinese stood quite enchanted with the appearance of the
Singing Bird. He looked very much rumpled after his bath, so that he
seemed to them to have quite the appearance of a little Cochin China fowl.

“He’s charming,” they cried, and began a conversation with him,
speaking in whispers, and using the most aristocratic Chinese dialect.

“We are of your race,” they continued. “The Ducks, even the
Portuguese, are swimming birds,-as you cannot fail to have noticed.
You do not know us yet; very few know us, or give themselves the
trouble to make our acquaintance—not even any of the fowls, though
we are born to occupy a higher grade on the ladder than most of the
rest. But that does not disturb us: we quietly pursue our path amid
the others, whose principles are certainly not ours; for we look at
things on the favourable side, and only speak of what is good, though
it is difficult sometimes to find something when nothing exists. Except
us two and the Cock, there’s no one in the whole poultry-yard who is at
once talented and polite. It cannot even be said of the inhabitants of
In the Duck-Yard. 179

the duck-yard. We warn you, little Singing Bird: don’t trust that one
youder with the short tail-feathers, for she’s cunning. The pied one
there, with the crooked stripes on her wings, is a strife-seeker, and lets
nobody have the last word, though she’s always in the wrong. The fat
duck yonder speaks evil of every one, and that’s against our principles:
if we have nothing good to tell, we should hold our beaks. The Por-
tuguese is the only one who has any education, and with whom one can
associate, but she 1s passionate, and talks too much about Portugal.”

“T wonder what those two Chinese are always whispering to one
another about?” whispered one Duck to her friend. “They annoy me—
we have never spoken to them.”

Now the Drake came up. He thought the little Singing Bird was a
sparrow.

Pe Well, I don’t understand the difference,” he said; “and indeed it’s
all the same thing. He’s only a plaything, and if one has them, why,
one has them.”

“ Don’t attach any value to what he says,” the Portuguese whispered.
“He’s very respectable in business matters; and with him business
takes precedence of everything. But now I shall lie down for a rest.
One owes that to oneself, that one may be nice and fat when one is to
be embalmed with apples and pluins.”

And accordingly she lay down in the sun, and winked with one eye;
and she lay very comfortably, and she felé very comfortable, and she
slept very comfortably.

The little Singing Bird busied himself with his broken wing. At last
he lay down too, and pressed close to his protectress: the sun shone
warm and bright, and he had found a very good place.

But the neighbour’s fowls were awake. They went about scratching
up the earth; and, to tell the truth, they had paid the visit simply and
solely to find food for themselves. The Chinese were the first to leave
the duck-yard, and the other fowls soon followed them. The witty
little Duck said of the Portuguese that the old lady was becoming a
ducky dotard. At this the other Ducks laughed and cackled aloud.
“Ducky dotard,” they whispered; ‘‘that’s too witty!” and then they
repeated the former joke about Portulak, and declared that it was vastly
amusing. And then they lay down.

They had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenly something
was thrown into the yard for them to eat. It came down with such a
thwack, that the whole company started up from sleep and clapped their
wings. The Portuguese awoke too, and threw herself over on the other .
side, pressing the little Singing Bird very hard as she did so.

“ Piep!” he cried; “ you trod very hard upon me, madam.”

“Well, why do you lie in my way P” the Duck retorted. “ You must
not be so touchy. I have nerves of my own, but yet I never called out
¢ Pie 18 9

Ne Don’t be angry,” said the little Bird ; “the ‘piep’ came out of my
beak unawares.”

The Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast as she

N2
1806 Stories for the Household.

could, and made a good meal. When this was ended, and she lay down
again, the little Bird came up, and wanted to be amiable, and sang:
“Tillee-lilly lee,
Of the good spring-time

I'll sing so fine
As far away I flee.”

“ Now I want to rest after my dinner,” said the Portuguese. “ You
must conform to the rules of the house while you’re here. I want to
sleep now.”

The little Singing Bird was quite taken aback, for he had meant it
kindly. When Madam afterwards awoke, he stood before her again
with a little corn that he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she
had not slept well, she was naturally in a very bad humour.

“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 expression is
not exactly genteel; a fact to which I must call your attention.”

“Yesterday it was sunshine here,” said the little Bird, “but to-day
it’s cloudy and the air is close.”

“You don’t know much about the weather, I fancy,” retorted the
Portuguese. “The day is not done 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.”

“ Tmpertinent 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 will teach you good
manners.”

And so saying, she bit off the Singing Bird’s head, and he lay dead on
the ground.

“ Now, what’s the meaning of this?” she said, “could he not bear
even that ? 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 neighbour's Cock stuck his head into the yard, and crowed
with steam-engine power.

“Youll kill me with your crowing!” she cried. “It’s all your fault.
He’s lost his head, and I am very. near losing mine.”

“ There ’s not much lving where he fell!” observed the Cock.

“Speak of him with respect,” retorted the Portuguese Duck, “ for he
had song, manners, and education. He was affectionate and soft, and
that’s as good in animals as in your so-called human beings.”

And all the Ducks came crowding round the little dead Singing Bird.
Ducks have strong passions, whether they feel envy or pity; and as
there was nothing here to envy, pity manifested itself, even in the two
Chinese.

“We shall never get such a singing bird again; he was almost a
The Red Shoes. ~ 181

Chinese,” they whispered ; and they wept with a mighty clucking sound,
and all the fowls clucked too, but the Ducks went about with the redder
eyes.
Me We ’ve hearts of our own,” they said; “nobody can deny that.”

“ Hearts!’ repeated the Portuguese, “yes, that we have, almost as
much as in Portugal.”

“Let us think of getting something to satisfy our hunger,” said the
Drake, “for that’s the most important point. If one of our toys is
broken, why, we have plenty more!”

THE RED SHOES.

THERE was once a little girl; a very nice pretty little girl. But in
summer she had to go barefoot, because she was poor, and in winter
she wore thick wooden shoes, so that her little instep became quite red,
altogether red.

In the middle of the village lived an old shoemaker’s wife: she sat,
and sewed, as well as she could, a pair of little shoes, of old strips of
red cloth; they were clumsy cnough, but well meant, and the little
girl was to have them. ‘The little girl’s name was Karen.

On the day when her mother was buried. she received the red shoes
and wore them for the first time. They were certainly not suited for
mourning; but she had no others, and therefore thrust her little bare
feet into them and walked behind the plain deal coffin.

Suddenly a great carriage came by, and in the carriage sat an old
lady: she looked at the little girl and felt pity for her, and said to the
clergyman,

“ Give me the little girl, and I will provide for her.”

Karen thought this was for the sake of the shoes; but the old lady
declared they were hideous; and they were burned. But Karen her-
self was clothed neatly and properly: she was taught to read and to
sew, and the people said she was agreeable. But her mirror said, “ You
are much more than agreeable; you are beautiful.”

Once the Queen travelled through the country, and had her little
daughter with her; and the daughter was a Princess. And the people
flocked towards the castle, and Karen too was among them; and the
little Princess stood in a fine white dress at a window, and let herself
be gazed at. She had neither train nor golden crown, but she wore
splendid red morocco shoes; they were certainly far handsomer than
those the shoemaker’s wife had made for little Karen. Nothing in the
world can compare with red shoes!

Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed: new clothes were made
for her, and she was to have new shoes. The rich shoemaker in the
town took the measure of her little feet; this was done in his own
house, in his little room, and there stood great glass cases with neat
182 Stories for the Household.

shoes and’ shining boots. It had quite a charming appearance, but the
old lady could not see well, and therefore took no pleasure in it. Among
the shoes stood a red pair, just like those which the Princess had worn.
How beautiful they were! The shoemaker also said they had been made
for a Count’s child, but they had not fitted.

“That must be patent leather,” observed the old lady, “the shoes
shine so!”

“Yes, they shine!” replied Karen; and they fitted her, and were
bought. But the old lady did not know that they were red; for she
would never have allowed Karen to go to her confirmation in red shoes;
and that is what Karen did.

Every one was looking at her shoes. And when she went across the
church porch, towards the door of the choir, it seemed to her as if the
old pictures on the tombstones, the portraits of clergymen and clergy-
men’s wives, in their stiff collars and long black garments, fixed their
eyes upon her red shoes. And she thought of her shoes only, when
the priest laid his hand upon her head and spoke holy words. And the
organ pealed solemnly, the children sang with their fresh sweet voices,
and the old precentor sang too; but Karen thought only of her red
shoes.

In the afternoon the old lady was informed by every one that the
shoes were red; and she said it was naughty and unsuitable, and that
when Karen went to church in future, she should always go in black.
shoes, even if they were old. ;

' Next Sunday was Sacrament Sunday. And Karen looked at the
black shoes, and looked at the red ones—locked at them again —and
put on the red ones.

The sun shone gloriously; Karen and the old lady went along the
foot-path through the fields, and it was rather dusty.

By the church door stood an old invalid soldier with a crutch and a
long beard; the beard was rather red than white, for it was red alto-
gether; and he bowed down almost to the ground, and asked the old
lady if he might dust her shoes. And Karen also stretched out her
little foot.

“ Look, what pretty dancing-shoes!* said the old soldier. “Fit so
tightly when you dance!”

And he tapped the soles with his hand. And the old lady gave the
soldier an alms, and went into the church with Karen.

And every one in the church looked at Karen’s red shoes, and all the
pictures looked at them. And while Karen knelt in the church she
only thought of her red shoes; and she forgot to sing her psalm, and
forgot to say her prayer.

Now all the people went out of church, and the old lady stepped
into her carriage. Karen lifted up her foot to step in too; then the old
soldier said,

“ Look, what beautiful dancing-shoes!”

And Karen could not resist: she was obliged to dance a few steps;
and when she once began, her legs went on dancing. It was just as












KAREN AND THE OLD SOLDIER.

though the shoes had obtained power over her. She danced round the
corner of the church—she could not help it; the coachman was obliged
to run behind her and seize her: he lifted her into the carriage, but her
feet went on dancing, so that she kicked the good old lady violently.
At last they took off her shoes, and her legs became quiet.

At home the shoes were put away in a cupboard; but Karen could
not resist looking at them.

Now the old lady became very ill, and it was said she would not
recover. She had to be nursed and waited on; and this was no one’s
duty so much as Karen’s. But there was to be a great ball in the
town, and Karen was invited. She looked at the old lady who could
not recover; she looked at the red shoes, and thought there would be
no harm in it. She put on the shoes, and that she might very well
do; but they went to the ball and began to dance.

But when she wished to go to the right hand, the shoes danced to the
left, and when she wanted to go upstairs the shoes danced downwards,
184 Stories for the Household.

down into the street and out at the town gate. She danced, and was
obliged to dance, straight out into the dark wood.

There was something glistening up among the trees, and she thought
it was the moon, for she saw a face. But it was the old soldier with
the red beard: he sat and nodded, and said,

“Look, what beautiful dancing-shoes!”

Then she was frightened, and wanted to throw away the red shoes;
but they clung fast to her. And she tore off her stockings; but the
shoes had grown fast to her feet. And she danced and was compelled
to go dancing over field and meadow, in rain and sunshine, by night
and by day; but it was most dreadful at night.

She danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there do not
dance ; they have far better things to do. She wished to sit down on
the poor man’s grave, where the biiter fern grows; but there was no
peace nor rest for her. And when she danced towards the open church
door, she saw there an angel in long white garments, with wings that
reached from his shoulders to his feet; his countenance was serious and
stern, and in his hand he held a sword that was broad and gleaming.

“Thou shalt dance!” he said—‘“ dance on thy red shoes, till thou art
pale and cold, and till thy body shrivels toa skeleton. Thou shalt dance
from door to door; and where proud, haughty children dwell, shalt thou
knock, that they may hear thee, and be afraid of thee! Thou shalt
dance, dance!”

“ Mercy!” cried Karen.

But she did not hear what the angel answered, for the shoes carried
her away—carried her through the door on to the field, over stock and
stone, and she was always obliged to dance.

One morning she danced past a door which she knew well. There was
a sound of psalm-singing within, and a coffin was carried out, adorned
with flowers. Then she knew that the old lady was dead, and she felt
that she was deserted by all, and condemned by the angel of heaven.

She danced, and was compelled to dance—to dance in the dark night.
The shoes carried her on over thorn and brier; she scratched herself
till she bled; she danced away across the heath to a little lonely house.
Here she knew the executioner dwelt; and she tapped with her fingers
on the panes, and called,

“ Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance!”

And the executioner said,

“You probably don’t know who I am? I cut off the bad people’s
heads with my axe, and mark how my axe rings!”

“Do not strike off my head,” said Karen, “for if you do I cannot
repent of my sin. But strike off my feet with the red shoes!”

And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner cut off her
feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the little feet.
over the fields and into the deep forest.

And he cut her a pair of wooden feet, with crutches, and taught her
a psalm, which the criminals always sing; and she kissed the hand that
had held the axe, and went away across the heath.
The Red Shoes. 185

“Now I have suffered pain enough for the red shoes,” said she.
“ Now I will go into the church, that they may see me.”

And she went quickly towards the church door; but when she came
there the red shoes danced before her, so that she was frightened, and
turned back.

The whole week through she was sorrowful, and wept many bitter
tears; but when Sunday came, she said,

““ Now I have suffered and striven enough! I think that I am just as
good as many of those who sit in the church and carry their heads high.”

And then she went boldly on; but she did not get farther than the
churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing along before her:
then she was seized with terror, and turned back, and repented of her
sin right heartily.































































KAREN’S RELEASE.

And she went to the parsonage, and begged to be taken there as a
servant. She promised to be industrious, and to do all she could; she
did not care for wages, and only wished to be under a roof and with
good people. The clergyman’s wife pitied her, and took her into her
service. And she was industrious and thoughtful. Silently she sat and
listened when in the evening the pastor read the Bible aloud. All the
little ones were very fond of her; but when they spoke of dress and
splendour and beauty she would shake her head.

Next Sunday they all went to church, and she was asked if she wished
to go too; but she looked sadly, with tears in her eyes, at her crutches.
And then the others went to hear God’s word; but she went alone
into her little room, which was only large enough to contain her bed
and achair. And herve she sat with her hymn-book; and as she read
it with a pious mind, the wind bore the notes of the organ over to her
from the church ; and she lifted up her face, wet with tears, and said,

“Q Lord, help me!”
186 Stories for the Household.

Then the sun shone so brightly ; and before her stood the angel in the
white garments, the same she had seen that night at the church door.
But he no longer grasped the sharp sword: he held a green branch
covered with roses; and he teuched the ceiling, and it rose up high, and
wherever he touched it a golden star gleamed forth; and he touched
the walls, and they spread forth widely, and she saw the organ which
was pealing its rich sounds; and she saw the old pictures of clergymen
and their wives; and the congregation sat in the decorated seats, and
sang from their hymn-books. The church had come to the poor girl in
her narrow room, or her chamber had become a church. She sat in the
chair with the rest of the clergyman’s people; and when they had
finished the psalm, and looked up, they nodded and said,

“That was right, that you came here, Karen.”

“Tt was mercy!” said she.

And the organ sounded its glorious notes; and the children’s voices
singing in chorus sounded sweet and lovely; the clear sunshine streamed
so warm through the window upon the chair in which Karen sat; and
her heart became so filled with sunshine, peace, and joy, that it broke.
Her soul flew on the sunbeams to heaven; and there was nobody who
asked after the Rep Suozs!

SOUP ON A SAUSAGE-PEG,
I.

“Tuat was a remarkably fine dinner yesterday,” observed an old
Mouse of the female sex to another who had not been at the festive
gathering. “I sat number twenty-one from the old Mouse King, so
that I was not badly placed. Should you like to hear the order of the
banquet ? The courses were very well arranged—mouldy bread, bacon
rind, tallow candle, and sausage — and then the same dishes over again
from the beginning: it was just as good as having two banquets in suc-
cession. There was as much joviality and agreeable jesting as in the
family circle. Nothing was left but the pegs at the ends of the sausages.
And the discourse turned upon these; and at last the expression, ‘Soup
on sausage rinds,’ or, as they have the proverb in the neighbouring
country, ‘Soup on a sausage-peg,’ was mentioned. Every one had heard
the proverb, but no one had ever tasted the sausage-peg soup, much
less prepared it. A capital toast was drunk to the inventor of the soup,
and it was said he deserved to be a relieving officer. Was not that
witty ? And the old Mouse King stood up, and promised that the young
female mouse who could best prepare that soup should be his queen;
and a year was allowed for the trial.”

“That was not at all bad,” said the other Mouse; “ but how does one
prepare this soup ?”
Soup on a Sausage-Peg. 187

“Ah, how is it prepared? That is just what all the young femaie
mice, and the old ones too, are asking. They would all very much like
to be queen; but they don’t want to take the trouble to go out into the
world to learn how to prepare the soup, and that they would certainly
have todo. But every one has not the gift of leaving the family circle
and the chimney corner. In foreign parts one can’t get cheese rinds
and bacon every day. No, one must bear hunger, and perhaps be eaten
up alive by a cat.”

Such were probably the considerations by which the majority were
deterred from going out into the wide world and gaining information.
Only four Mice announced themselves ready to depart. They were
young and brisk, but poor. Each of them wished to proceed to one
of the four quarters of the globe, and then it would become manifest
which of them was favoured by fortune. Every one took a sausage-peg,
so as to keep in mind the object of the journey. The stiff sausage-peg
was to be to them as a pilgrim’s staff.

It was at the beginnmg of May that they set out, and they did not
return till the May of the following year; and then only three of them
appeared. The fourth did not report herself, nor was there any intelli-
gence of her, though the day of trial was close at hand.

“Yes, there’s always some drawback in even the pleasantest affair,”
said the Mouse King.

And then he gave orders that all mice within a circuit of many
miles should be invited. They were to assemble in the kitchen, where
the three travelled Mice would stand up in a row, while a sausage-peg,
shrouded in crape, was set up as a memento of the fourth, who was
missing. No one was to proclaim his opinion till the Mouse King had
settled what was to be said. And now let us hear.

i
What the first little Mouse had seen and learned in her travels.

“Wuen I went out into the wide world,” said the little Mouse, ‘‘1
thought, as many think at my age, that I had already learned everything ;
but that was not the case. Years must pass before one gets so far. I
went to sea at once. I went ina ship that steered towards the north.
They had told me that the ship’s cook must know how to manage things
at sea; but it is easy enough to manage things when one has plenty of
sides of bacon, and whole tubs of salt pork, and mouldy flour. One
has delicate living on board; but one does not learn to prepare soup on
a sausage-peg. We sailed along for many days and nights; the ship
rocked fearfully, and we did not get off without a wetting. When we
at last reached the port to which’we were bound, I left the ship; and
it was high up in the far north.

“Tt is a wonderful thing, to go out of one’s own corner at home, and
sail in a ship, where one has a sort of corner too, and then suddenly to
188 Stories for the Household.

find oneself hundreds of miles away in a strange land. I saw great
pathless forests of pine and birch, which smelt so strong that I sneezed,
and thought of sausage. There were great lakes there too. When I
came close to them the waters were quite clear, but from a distance they
looked black as ink. Great swans floated upon them: I thought at first
they were spots of foam, they lay so still; but then I saw them walk
and fly, and I recognized them. They belong to the goose family—one
can see that by their walk; for no one can deny his parentage. I kept
with my own kind. I associated with the forest and field mice, who, by
the way, know very little, especially as regards cookery, though this was
the very subject that had brought me abroad. The thought that soup
might be boiled on a sausage-peg was such a startling statement to
them, that it flew at once from mouth to mouth through the whole
forest. They declared the problem could never be solved ; and little did
I think that there, on the very first night, I should be initiated into the
method of its preparation. Jt was in the height of summer, and that,
the mice said, was the reason why the wood smelt so strongly, and why
the herbs were so fragrant, and the lakes so transparent and yet so
dark, with their white swimming swans.

“On the margin of the wood, among three or four houses, a pole as
tall as the mainmast of a ship had been erected, and from its summit
hung wreaths and fluttering ribbons: this was called a maypole. Men
and maids danced round the tree, and sang as loudly as they could, to
the violin of the fiddler. There were merry doings at sundown and in.
the moonlight, but I took no part in them—what has a little mouse to
do with a May dance? I sat in the soft moss and held my sausage-
peg fast. The moon threw its beams especially upon one spot, where
a tree stood, covered with moss so exceedingly fine, I may almost venture
to say it was as fine as the skin of the Mouse King; but it was of a
green colour, and that is a great relief to the eye.

“ All at once, the most charming little people came marching forth.
They were only tall enough to reach to my knee. They looked like men,
but were better proportioned: they called themselves elves, and had
. delicate clothes on, of flower leaves trimmed with the wings of flies and
gnats, which had a very good appearance. Directly they appeared, they
seemed to be seeking for something—I know not what; but at last
some of them came towards me, and the chief pointed to my sausage-
peg, aud said, ‘That is just such a one as we want—it is pointed—it is
capital!’ and the longer he looked at my pilgrim’s staff the more de-
lighted he became.

“¢J will lend it,’ I said, ‘but not to keep.’

“* Not to keep!’ they all repeated; and they seized the sausage-peg,
which I gave up to them, and danced away to the spot where the fine
moss grew; and here they set up the peg in the midst of the green.
They wanted to have a maypole of their own, and the one they now had
ene cut out for them; and they decorated it so that it was beautiful
to behold.

“ First, little spiders spun it round with gold thread, and hung it all


Hh

ANY
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Wit
\N
AS ss

i ‘ ‘

AN

As

Soe Seip WN IW MAY?

THE ELVES APPLY FOR THE LOAN OF THE SAUSAGE-PEG.



over with fluttering veils and flags, so finely woven, bleached so snowy
white in the moonshine, that they dazzled my eyes. They took colours
from the butterfly’s wing, and strewed these over the white linen, and
flowers and diamonds gleamed upon it, so that I did not know my
sausage-peg again: there is not in all the world such a maypole as they
had made of it. And now came the real great party of elves. They
were quite without clothes, and looked as genteel as possible; and they
invited me to be present at the feast; but I was to keep at a certain
distance, for I was too large for them.

“And now began such music! It sounded like thousands of glass
bells, so full, so rich, that I thought the swans were singing. I fancied
also that I heard the voice of the cuckoo and the blackbird, and at last
the whole forest seemed to join in. I heard children’s voices, the sound
of bells, and the song of birds; the most glorious melodies —and all
came from the elves’ maypole, namely, my sausage-peg. I should never
have believed that so much could come out of it; but that depends very
190 Stories for the Household.

much upon the hands into which it falls. I was quite touched. I wept,
as a little mouse may weep, with pure pleasure.

“The night was far too short; but it is not longer up yonder at that
season. In the morning dawn the breeze began to blow, the mirror of
the forest lake was covered with ripples, and all the delicate veils and
flags fluttered away in the air. The waving garlands of spider’s web,
the hanging bridges and balustrades, and whatever else they are called,
flew away as if they were nothing at all. Six elves brought me back
my sausage-peg, and asked me at the same time if I had any wish that
they could gratify; so I asked them if they could tell me how soup was
made on a sausage-peg.

“¢ How we do it?’ asked the chief of the elves, with a smile. '‘ Why,
you have just seen it. I fancy you hardly know your sausage-peg
again P’

oe You only mean that as a joke,’ I replied. And then I told them
in so many words, why I had undertaken a journey, and what great
hopes were founded on the operation at home. ‘ What advantage,’ I
asked, ‘can accrue to our Mouse King, and to our whole powerful state,
from the fact of my having witnessed all this festivity ? I cannot shake
it out of the sausage-peg, and say, “ Look, here is the peg, now the soup
will come.” That would be a dish that could only be put on the table
when the gucsts had dined.’

“Then the elf dipped his little finger into the cup of a blue violet,
and said to me,

«See here! I will anoint your pilgrim’s staff; and when you go bac
to your country, and come to the castle of the Mouse King, you have
but to touch him with the staff, and violets will spring forth and cover
its whole surface, even in the coldest winter-time. And so I think I’ve
given you something to carry home, and a little more than something!’”

But before the little Mouse said what this “something more” was,
she stretched her staff out towards the King, and in very truth the most
beautiful bunch of violets burst forth ; and the scent was so powerful
that the Mouse King incontinently ordered the mice who stood nearest
the chimney to thrust their tails into the fire and create a smell of
burning, for the odour of the violets was not to be borne, and was not
of the kind he liked.

“But what was the ‘something more,’ of which you spoke ?” asked
the Mouse King.

“Why,” the little Mouse answered, “I think it is what they call
effect !” and herewith she turned the staff round, and lo! there was not
a single flower to be seen upon it; she only held the naked skewer, and
lifted this up, as a musical conductor lifts his béton. “*‘ Violets,’ the elf
said to me, ‘are for sight, and smell, and touch. Therefore it yet
remains to provide for hearing and taste!’”

And now the little Mouse began to beat time; and music was heard,
not such as sounded in the forest among the elves, but such as is heard
in the kitchen. There was a bubbling sound of boiling and roasting; and
all at once it seemed as if the sound were rushing through every chimney,
Soup on a Sausage-Peg. 191

and pots or kettles were boiling over. The fire-shovel hammered upon
the brass kettle, and then, on a sudden, all was quiet again. They heard
the quiet subdued song of the tea-kettle, and it was wonderful to hear
—they could not quite tell if the kettle were beginning to sing or leaving
off; and the little pot simmered, and the big pot simmered, and neither
eared for the other: there seemed to be no reason at allin the pots. And
the little Mouse flourished her déton more and more wildly; the pots
foamed, threw up large bubbles, boiled over, and the wind roared and
whistled through the chimney. Oh! it became so terrible that the
little Mouse lost her stick at last.

“That was a heavy soup!” said the Mouse King. “Shall we not
soon hear about the preparation ?”

“That was all,” said the little Mouse, with a bow.

“That all! Then we should be glad to hear what the next has to
relate,” said the Mouse King.

TI.
What the second little Mouse had to tell.

“T was born in the palace library,” said the second Mouse. “T and
several members of our family never knew the happiness of getting into
the dining-room, much less into the store-room; on my journey, and
here to day, are the only times I have seen a kitchen. We have indeed
often been compelled to suffer hunger in the library, but we get a good
deal of Imowledge. The rumour penetrated even to us, of the royal
prize offered to those who could cook soup upon a sausage-peg; and it
was my old grandmother who thereupon ferreted out a manuscript,
which she certainly could not read, but which she had heard read out,
and in which it was written: ‘Those who are poets can boil soup upon
a sausage-peg.’ She asked meif I were a poet. I felt quite innocent on
the subject, and then she told me I must go out, and manage to become
one. I again asked what was requisite in that particular, for it was
as difficult for me to find that out as to prepare the soup; but grand-
mother had heard a good deal of reading, and she said that three things
was especially necessary: ‘ Understanding, imagination, feeling—if you
can manage to obtain these three, you are a poet, and the sausage-peg
affair will be quite easy to you.’

“ And I went forth, and marched towards the west, away into the
wide world, to become a poet.

“ Understanding is the most important thing in every affair. I knew
that, for the two other things are not held in half such respect, and
consequently I went out first to seek understanding. Yes, where does
he dwell? ‘Go to the ant and be wise,’ said the great King of the
Jews; I knew that from my library experience; and I never stopped
till I came to the first great ant-hill, and there I placed myself on the
watch, to become wise. .

“The ants are a respectable people. They are understanding itself.
192 Stories for the Household.

Everything with them is like a well-worked sum, that comes right. To
work and to lay eggs, they say, is to live while you live, and to provide
for posterity ; and accordingly that is what they do. They were divided
into the clean and the dirty ants. The rank of each is indicated by a
number, and the ant queen is number onz; and her view is the only
correct one, she is the receptacle of all wisdom; and that was important
for me to know. She spoke so much, and it was all so clever, that it
sounded to me like nonsense. She declared her ant-hill was the loftiest
thing in the world; though close by it grew a tree, which was certainly
loftier, much loftier, that could not be denied, and therefore it was never
mentioned. One evening an ant had lost herself upon the tree; she
had crept up the stem—not up to the crown, but higher than any ant
had climbed until then ; and when she turned, and came back home, she
talked of something far higher than the ant-hill that she had found in
her travels; but the other ants considered that an insult to the whole
community, and consequently she was condemned to wear a muzzle, and
to continual solitary confinement. But a short time afterwards another
ant got on the tree, and made the same journey and the same discovery :
and this one spoke with emphasis, and distinctly, as they said; and as,
moreover, she was one of the pure ants and very much respected, they
believed her ; and when she died they erected an egg-shell as a memorial
of her, for they had a great respect for the sciences. I saw,’ continued
the little Mouse, “that the -ants are always running to-and fro with
their eggs on their backs. One of them once dropped her egg; she
exerted herself greatly to pick it up again, but she could not succeed.
Then two others came up, and helped her with all their might, inso-
much that they nearly dropped their own eggs over it; but then they
certainly at once relaxed their exertions, for each should think of him-
self first—the ant queen had declared that by so doing they exhibited at
once heart and understanding.

“¢These two qualities,’ she said, ‘place us ants on the highest step
among all reasoning beings. Understanding is seen among us all in
predominant measure, and I have the greatest share of understanding.’
And so saying, she raised herself on her hind legs, so that she was easily
to be recognized. I could not be mistaken, and I ate her up. We were
to go to the ants to learn wisdom—and I had got the queen!

I now proceeded nearer to the before-mentioned lofty tree. It was
an oak, and had a great trunk and a far-spreading top, and was very
old. I knew that a living being dwelt here, a Dryad as itis called, who
is born with the tree, and dies with it. I had heard about this in the
library ; and now I saw an oak tree and an oak girl. She uttered a
piercing cry when she saw me so near. Like all females, she was very
much afraid of mice; and she had more ground for fear than others,
for I might have gnawn through the stem of the tree on which her life
depended. I accosted the maiden in a friendly and honest way, and
bade her take courage. And she took me up in her delicate hand; and
when I had told her my reason for coming out into the wide world,
she promised me that perhaps on that very evening I should have one
Soup on a Sausage-Peg. 193

of the two treasures of which I was still in quest. She told me that
Phantasus, the genius of imagination, was her very good friend, that he
was beautiful as the god of love, and that he rested many an hour
under the leafy boughs of the tree, which then rustled more strongly
than ever over the pair of them. THe called her his dryad, she said,
and the tree his tree, for the grand gnarled oak was just to his taste,
with its root burrowing so deep in the earth and the stem and crown
rising so high out in the fresh air, and knowing the beating snow, and
the sharp wind, and the warm sunshine as they deserve to be known.
‘Yes,’ the Dryad continued, ‘the birds sing aloft there in the branches,
and tell each other of strange countries they have visited; and on the
only dead bough the stork has built a nest which is highly ornamental,
and, moreover, one gets to hear something of the land of the pyramids.
All that is very pleasing to Phantasus ; but it is not enough for him: I
myself must talk to him, and tell him of life in the woods, and must
revert to my childhood, when I was little, and the tree such a delicate
thing that a stinging-nettle overshadowed it—-and I have to tell every-
thing, till now that the tree is great and strong. Sit you down under
the green thyme, and pay attention; and when Phantasus comes, I shall
find an opportunity to pinch his wings, and to pull out a little feather.
Take the pen—no better is given to any poet—and it will be enough
for you!’

“And when Phantasus came the feather was plucked, and I seized
it,” said the little Mouse. “I put it in water, and held it there till it
grew soft. It was very hard to digest, but I nibbled it up at last. It
4s very easy to gnaw oneself into being a poet, though there are many
things one must do. Now J had these two things, imagination and
understanding, and through these I knew that the third was to be
found in the library ; for a great man has said and written that there
are romances whose sole and single use is that they relieve people of
their superfluous tears, and that they are, in fact, a sort of sponges
sucking up human emotion. J remembered a few of these old books,
which had always looked especially palatable, and were much thumbed
and very greasy, having evidently absorded a great deal of feeling into
themselves.

“T betook myself back to the library, and, so 10 speak, devoured a
whole novel—that is, the essence of it, the interior part, for 1 left the -
crust or binding. When I had digested this, and a second cne in addi-
tion, I felt a stirring within me, and I ate a bit of a third romance, and
now I was a poet. I said so to myself, and told the others also. I had
headache, and chestache, and I can’t tell what aches besides. I began
thinking what kind of stories could be made to refer to a sausage-peg ;
and many pegs, and sticks, and staves, and splinters came into my mind
—the ant queen must have had a particularly fine understanding. I
remembered the man who took a white stick in his mouth, by which
means he could render himself and the stick invisible; I thought of
stick hobby-horses, of ‘stock rhymes,’ of ‘breaking the staff’ over an
offender, and goodness knows how many phrases more concerning sticks,

°
194 Stories for the Household.

stocks, staves, and pegs. All my thoughts ran upon sticks, staves, and

egs; and when one is a poet (and I am a poet, for I have worked
most terribly hard to become one) a person can make poetry on these
subjects. I shall therefore be able to wait upon you every day with a
poem or a history—and that’s the soup I have to offer.”

“Tet us hear what the third has to say,” was now the Mouse King’s
command.

“Peep! peep!” cried a small voice at the kitchen door, and a little
Mouse—it was the fourth of the Mice who had contended for the prize,
the one whom they looked upon as dead—shot in like an arrow. She
toppled the sausage-peg with the crape covering overina moment. She
had been running day and night, and had travelled on the railway, in
the goods train, having watched her opportunity, and yet she had almost
come too late. She pressed forward, looking very much rumpled, and
she had lost her sausage-peg, but not her voice, for she at once took up
the word, as if they had been waiting only for her, and wanted to hear
none but her, and as if everything else in the world were of no conse-
quence. She spoke at once, and spoke fully: she had appeared so
suddenly that no one found time to object to her speech or to her,
while she was speaking. And now let us hear what she said.

IV.

What the fourth Mouse, who spoke before the third had spoken,
had to tell.

“T serooxk myself immediately to the largest town,” she said; “the
name has escaped me-—-I have a bad memory for names. From the
railway I was carried, with some confiscated goods, to the council-house,
and when IJ arrived there, I ran into the dwelling of the gaoler. The
gaoler was talking of his prisoners, and especially of one, who had
spoken uncensidered words. These words had given rise to others, and
these latter had been written down and recorded.

“¢The whole thing is soup on a sausage-peg,’ said the gaoler; ‘ but
the soup may cost him his neck.’

“Now, this gave me an interest in the prisoner,’ continued the
Mouse, “and I watched my opportunity and slipped into his prison—
for there’s a mouse-hole to be-found behind every locked door. The
prisoner looked pale, and had a great beard and bright sparkling eyes.
The lamp flickered and smoked, but the walls were so accustomed to
that, that they grew none the blacker for it. The prisoner scratched
pictures and verses in white upon the black ground, but I did not read
them. I think he found it tedious, and I was a welcome guest. He
lured me with bread crumbs, with whistling, and with friendly words:
he was glad to see me, and gradually I got to trust him, and we became
good friends. He let me run upon his hand, his arm, and into his sleeve ;
he let me creep about in his beard, and called me hig little friend. I
























THE GAOLER’S GRANDDAUGHTER TAKES PITY ON THE LITTLE MOUSE,

really got to love him, for these things are reciprocal. I forgot my
mission in the wide world, forgot my sausage-peg: that I had placed in
a crack in the floor—it’s lying there still. I wished to stay where I was,
for if I went away the poor prisoner would have no one at all, and
that’s having foo little, in this world. J stayed, but he did not stay.
He spoke to me very mournfully the last time, gave me twice as much
bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me; then he went
away, and never came back. I don’t know his history.

“*Soup on a sausage-peg!’ said the gaoler, to whom I now went;
but I should not have trusted him. He took me in his hand, certainly,
but he popped me into a cage, a treadmill. That’s a horrible engine, in
which you go round and round without getting any farther; and people
laugh at you into the bargain.

“The gaoler’s granddaughter was a charming little thing, with a mass
of curly hair that shone like gold, and such merry eyes, and such a
smiling mouth !

“You poor little mouse,’ she said, as she peeped into my ugly cage;
and she drew out the iron rod, and forth I jumped to the window board,
and from thence to the roof spout. Free! free! I thought only of
that, and not of the goal of my journey.

02
196 Stories for the Household.

“Tt was dark, and night was coming on. I took wp my quarters in
an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. That is a creature
like a cat, who has the great failing that she eats mice. But one may
be mistaken, and so was I, for this was a very respectable, well-educated
old owl: she knew more than the watchman, and as much as I. The
young owls were always making a racket; but ‘Go and make soup ona
sausage peg’ were the hardest words she could prevail on herself to
utter, she was so fondly attached to her family. Her conduct inspired
me with go much confidence, that from the crack in which I was crouch-
ing I called out ‘peep!’ to her. This confidence of mine pleased her
hugely, and she assured me I should be under her protection, and that
no creature should be allowed to do me wrong; she would reserve me
for herself, for the winter, when there would be short commons.

“She was in every respect a clever woman, and explained to me how
the watchman could only ‘whoop’ with the horn that hung at his side,
adding, ‘ He is terribly conceited about it, and imagines he’s an owl in
the tower. Wants to do great things, but is very small—soup on a
sansage-peg !”

“TI begged the owl to give me the recipe for this soup, and then she
explained the matter to me.

“** Soup on a sausage-peg,’ she said, ‘was only a human proverb, and
was to be understood thus: Each thinks his own way the best, but the
whole signifies nothing.’

“¢Nothing!’ I exclaimed. I was quite struck. Truth is not always
agereeable, but truth is above everything ; and that’s what the oid owl
said. I now thought about it, and readily perceived that if I brought
what was above everything I brought something far beyond soup on a
sausage-pee. So I hastened away, that I might get home in time, and
bring the highest and best, that is above everything—namely, the truth.
The mice are an enlightened people, and the King is above them all.
He is capable of making me Queen, for the sake of truth.”

“Your truth is a falsehood,” said the Mouse who had not yet spoken.
“T can prepare the soup, and I mean to prepare it.”

Vv.
How it was prepared.

“T pip not travel,” the third Mouse said. “I remained in my country
—that’s the right thing to do. There ’s no necessity for travelling ; one
can get everything as good here. I stayed at home. I’ve not learned
what I know from supernatural beings, or gobbled it up, or held con-
verse with owls. I have what I know through my own reflections.
Will you make haste and put that kettle upon the fire? So—now
water must be poured in—quite full—up to the brim! So—now more
fuel—make up the fire, that the water may boil—it must boil over and
over! So—I now throw the peg in. ‘Will the King now be pleased to
Soup on a Sausage-Peg. , 197

dip his tail in the boiling water, and to stir it round with the said tail ?
The longer the King stirs it, the more powerful will the soup become.
Tt costs nothing at all—no further materials are necessary, only stir it
round |”

“Cannot any one else do that ?” asked the Mouse King.

“ No,” replied the Mouse. “The power is contained only in the tail
of the Mouse King.”

And the water boiled and bubbled, and the Mouse King stood close
beside the kettle—there was almost danger in it—and he put forth his
tail, as the mice do in the dairy, when they skim the cream from a pan of
milk, afterwards licking their creamy tails; but his tail only penetrated
into the hot steam, and then he sprang hastily down from the hearth.



THE MOUSE KING UNDERSTANDS HOW THE SOUP IS MADE.

“ Of course—certainly you are my Queen,” he said. “ We'll adjourn
the soup question till our golden wedding in fifty years’ time, so that
the poor of my subjects, who will then be fed, may have something to
which they can look forward with pleasure for a long time.”

And soon the wedding was held. But many of the mice said, as they .
were returning home, that it could not be really called soup on a sausage-
peg, but rather soup on a mouse’s tail. They said that some of the
stories had been very cleverly told; but the whole thing might have
been different. ‘“ I should have told it so—and so—and so!”

Thus said the critics, who are always wise—after the fact.

And this story went out into the wide world, everywhere; and
opinions varied concerning it, but the story remained as it was. And
that’s the best in great things and in small, so also with regard to
soup on a sausage-peg—not to expect any thanks for it.
THE WICKED PRINCE.

THERE was once a wicked Prince. His aim and object was to conquer
all the countries in the world, and to inspire all men with fear. He went
about with fire and sword, and his soldiers trampled down the corn in
the fields, and set fire to the peasants’ houses, so that the red flames
licked the leaves from the trees, and the fruit hung burned on the black
charred branches. With her naked baby in her arms, many a poor
mother took refuge behind the still smoking walls of her burned house ;
but even here the soldiers sought for their victims, and if they found
them, it was new food for their demoniac fury: evil spirits could not
have raged worse than did these soldiers; but the Prince thought their
deeds were right, and that it must be so. Every day his power in-
creased ; his name was feared by all, and fortune accompanied him in
all his actions. From conquered countries he brought vast treasures
home, and in his capital was heaped an amount of wealth unequalled in
any other place. And he caused gorgeous palaces, churches, and halls
to be built, and every one who saw those great buildings and these vast
treasures cried out respectfully, “ What a great Prince!” They thought
not of the misery he had brought upon other lands and cities; they
heard not all the sighs and all the moanings that arose from among the
ruins of demolished towns.

The Prince looked upon his gold, and upon his mighty buildings, and
his thoughts were like those of the crowd.

“Whatagreat Prince am I! But,” so his thought ran on, “ I must
have more, far more! No power may be equal to mine, much less
exceed it!” /

And he made war upon all his neighbours, and overcame them all.
The conquered Kings he caused to be bound with fetters of gold to his
chariot, and thus he drove through the streets of his capital; when he
banqueted, those Kings were compelled to kneel at his feet, and at the
feet of his courtiers, and receive the broken pieces which were thrown
to them from the table.

At last the Prince caused his own statue to be set up in the open
squares and in the royal palaces, and he even wished to place it in the
churches before the altars; but here the priests stood up against him,
and said,

“Prince, thou art mighty, but Heaven is mightier, and we dare not
fulfil thy commands.”

“Good: then,” said the Prince, “I will vanquish Heaven likewise.”

And in his pride and impious haughtiness he caused a costly ship to
be built, in which he could sail through the air: it was gay and glaring
to behold, like the tail of a peacock, and studded and covered with
thousands of eyes; but each eye was the muzzle of a gun. The Prince
sat in the midst of the ship, and needed only to press on a spring, and
a thousand bullets flew out on all sides, while the gun barrels were
The Wicked Prince. 199

re-loaded immediately. Hundreds of eagles were harnessed in front of
the ship, and with the speed of an arrow they flew upwards towards
the sun. How deep the earth lay below them! With its mountains
and forests, it seemed but a field through which the plough had drawn
its furrows, and along which the green bank rose covered with turf;
soon it appeared only like a flat map with indistinct lines ; and at last it
lay completely hidden in mist and cloud. Ever higher flew the eagles,
up into the air; then one of the innumerable angels appeared. ‘The
wicked Prince hurled thousands of bullets against him; but the bullets
sprang back from the angel’s shining pinions, and fell down like com-





THE PRIESTS EXHORTING THE WICKED PRINCE.

mon hail-stones; but a drop of blood, one single drop, fell from one of
the white wing-feathers, and this drop fell upon the ship in which the
Prince sat, and burned its way deep into the ship, and weighing like a
thousand hundredweight of lead, dragged down the ship in headlong
fall towards the earth; the strongest pinions of the eagles broke; the
wind roared round the Prince’s head, and the aroused clouds—formed
from the smoke of burned cities—drew themselves together in threaten-
ing shapes, like huge sea crabs stretching forth their claws and nippers
towards him, and piled themselves up in great overshadowing rocks,
with crushing fragments rolling down them, and then to fiery dragons,
t