Citation
The snow queen

Material Information

Title:
The snow queen and other fairy tales
Uniform Title:
Tales
Spine title:
The snow queen and other tales from Hans Anderson
Creator:
Andersen, H. C ( Hans Christian ), 1805-1875
Arnold, Edward ( Publisher )
Lemann, E. A ( Illustrator )
Billing and Sons ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
London
Publisher:
Edward Arnold
Manufacturer:
Billing and Sons
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
232, 8 p. : ill. ; 22 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1894 ( lcsh )
Fairy tales -- 1894 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1894
Genre:
Children's stories
Fairy tales ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
England -- Guildford
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Date of publication from inscription.
Statement of Responsibility:
illustrated by E.A. Lemann.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
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:
026566142 ( ALEPH )
ALG1411 ( NOTIS )
225155279 ( OCLC )

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Full Text
NAS PSS Sa RE TE CR: 1H OTe aoe ainetd MK i at het MD RIM aCe sgh ope rt hla

PRae eeeahee

le
1
as
s
















ta

Mi

be



DOLLY IN THE TREE. Page 178.







THEZSNOW OUEEN

AND OTHER FAIRY TALES

BY

HANS CHRISTIAN. ANDERSEN

ILLUSTRATED BY E, A. LEMANN

LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
37 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
Publisher to the Endia Office



BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.





THE approval accorded to the first series of Hans Andersen’s

“Fairy Tales,” illustrated by Miss E. A. Lemann, which
appeared last autumn, has encouraged the publisher, with
the.'co-operation of the same artist, to issue a fresh series,
which, it is hoped, will be found no less acceptable than the

former one.

October, 1894.



CONTENTS.

THE SNOW QUEEN
BUCKWHEAT

THE FIR-TREE

THE LOVING ParR

THE PRINCESS AND THE PARCHED PEA
THE GALOSHES OF HAPPINESS
LITTLE TUK ...

THE STORY OF A MOTHER .,.,
WHAT THE Moon Saw
HOLGER DANSKE

THE OLD STREET LAMP

THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL

THE Happy FAMILY

GRANDMOTHER , ave

194

N Nv
bo m
te Ww

WV
N
‘oO



List OF JELUSTRATIONS:

DOLLY IN THE TREE ...

THE SNOW QUEEN es:

IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S SLEDGE

GERDA ADRIFI IN THE BOAT ...

THE OLD WOMAN RESCUES GERDA
THE Crow’s STORY

THE ROBBER GIRL’S HOME

FAREWELL TO THE ROBBER GIRL

THE IcE PUZZLE as

THE WILLOW IN THE STORM ...

THE HARE BY THE FIR-TREE...

THE FIR-TREE TELLS HIS STORY

A PRINCESS STOOD OUTSIDE

CARE AND THE MAID OF HAPPINESS

“I MIND ME ONCE IN EARLY YOUTH”...
THE HOSPITAL ASSISTANT AND THE RAILINGS ...
THE CAT AND THE CLERK

CARE VANISHES WITH THE GALOSHES ...
LITTLE TUK

GOD’S GARDENER

THE GARRET WINDOW

THE CHILD AND THE CHICKENS
UNDER THE BEECHES...

LOOKING FOR THE BABY

frontispiece
Page 5
10
13
15
25
35
39
47
3
59
69
77
8
93
100
FIG
118
121
133
139
T44
153
165



vill List of Ilustrations.



PAGE
THE CHILD’S NEW CLOTHES ... ah eas Ries eel 7 O:
THE SWAN RESTING ON THE LAKE... BBA ce fe 3186
A GAME WITH BRUIN... ae a ee Se we 189
SAYING PRAYERS TO MOTHER... ns ae ues Eeeg2
CARVING HOLGER DANSKE... a0 aoe aoe ee 106
THE HAPPIEST MAN ALIVE... aes on, ee hen 204
THE LAMP IN ITS OLD AGE ... eos a ee oneep ent
_WARMING HERSELF WITH THE MATCHES oe See eee oly,
THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL’S VISION _... oe ai ee 2OL
THE SNAIL’S WEDDING a os ae a G27.

GRANDMOTHER’S: STORY nol aeece - see veeg 230





\ —

GC SAt asx even oa prays x

SS



RAIRY TALES,

THE SNOW QUEEN.

IN SEVEN STORIES.

STORY THE FIRST.—WHICH TREATS OF A LOOKING-GLASS AND
ITS BROKEN FRAGMENTS.

Now, then, we will begin. When we have got to the end of
the story we shall know more than we do now—for it is about
a very wicked hobgoblin! He was one of the craftiest that
ever lived: in short, he was the arch-fiend in person. One
day, when he was ina facetious humour, he made a looking-
glass which possessed the power of diminishing, almost to
nothing, everything good and beautiful mirrored on its surface,
while all that was worthless or ill-looking was brought out

into stronger relief than before. Seen in this glass, the most
B



2 The Snow Queen.



lovely landscapes looked like cooked spinach, and the best
amongst mankind appeared repulsive, and as though standing
on-his head; countenances were so distorted that they were
not recognisable; and if one had a single freckle, one would
have been led to believe that it extended over one’s nose and
mouth. The arch-fiend said this was extremely entertaining.
If a good, pious thought entered a human being’s brain, a flaw
appeared in the looking-glass, and made the arch-fiend laugh
at his cunning invention. All those who attended the hob-
goblin’s school—for he kept one—spread the fame of the
wonderful glass in all directions, and maintained that people
might now see, for the first time, how the world and its in-
habitants really looked. They carried the glass about every-
where, till at last there was not a land nor a human being left
which had not been seen distorted on its surface. They now
presumed to attempt to scale the regions of the blessed ; but
the higher they flew with the glass the more it cracked: they
could scarcely hold it fast, yet they flew higher and higher,
and still nearer the sun, till the glass shook so dreadfully in
the process of fusion, that it slipped out of their hands and fell
upon the earth, where it split into millions and billions of
pieces; and by this means it became still more mischievous
than heretofore, for some of the shivers were scarcely so large
as a grain of sand, and these flew about the world, and when
they lodged in anybody’s eye, there they remained, and the
person, thenceforth, saw everything through a distorted
medium, or only approved the perverse side of a question; for
every minute fragment of the glass possessed the same qualities
that formerly belonged to the whole glass. Some human
beings had a piece right through their heart, and this was



A Lsttle Boy and a Little Girl. 3



shocking, for it made their hearts as cold as a lump of ice.
Some of these fragments were so large that they served for
window-panes; but it would not have done to look at one’s
friends through such panes as those. Other pieces were set as
spectacles, and it was hard for those who wore them to see
anything in its proper light, or to have the least sense of
justice ; and the arch-fiend laughed till he shook his sides, so
amazingly was he tickled by all the mischief that arose. And
many little glass shivers flew besides through the air, as we
shall presently hear.

STORY THE SECOND.—A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL.

In a large town, where the population was so dense, and
the houses so closely packed, that there was not room for
everybody to have a little garden, and, consequently, the bulk
of the inhabitants were obliged to rest satisfied with the
possession of a few plants in flower-pots, there lived two poor.
children who had a garden somewhat larger than a mere
flower-pot. They were not brother and sister, though they
loved one another quite as much as if they had been.

Their parents lived opposite each other, in two garrets,
where the roof of a neighbouring house joined theirs, and a
gutter ran all along between the two roofs. In each house was
a little window, and by stepping over the gutter, it was easy to
go from one window to the other.

The parents on both sides had a large wooden box, in which
they reared pot-herbs for their own use, and a little rose-tree.
There was one in each box, and they flourished amazingly !
The parents now took it into their heads to place these boxes



4 The Snow Quyeen.



across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window
to another, and looked like two flowery banks. Blooming peas
flung their tendrils over the edge of the boxes, and the rose-
trees put forth their long sprigs that twined about the windows,
and leaned towards each other. In short, it was almost like a
triumphal arch of leaves and flowers.

As the boxes were very high, and the children knew that
they must not climb up to them, they often had leave to get
down out of the window to each other, and to sit on ‘their
little stools under the roses. And then they played together
so prettily !

In winter there was an end to such pleasures. The windows
were frequently covered with frost; but then they warmed
copper pieces on the stove, and laid a warm coin on the frozen
pane, and that made such a nice round hole to peep through !
And then a soft, bright eye beamed from each window ; this
was the little boy and the little girl looking at each other.
His name was Kay, and hers Gerda. In summer they needed
but to take a leap to be side by side, but in winter they had
many stairs to go down, and then to go up again, before
they could meet ; and now the snow-flakes were flying about
abroad.

“‘ The white bees are swarming,” said grandmother.

“‘ Have they, too, a queen bee ?” asked the little boy.

“To be sure,” said the grandmother ; ‘‘she is flying in the
thickest of the swarm. She is the largest of them all, and
never remains upon the ground, but flutters upwards again
towards the black clouds. She often flies through the streets
of the town at midnight, and peeps in at the windows, and
then they freeze into such odd shapes, and look like flowers.” |



A Little Boy and a Littl Girl.

“Ves, I have seen that,” said both the children, and now

they knew it was true.

“Can the Snow Queen come in here ?” asked the little girl.











THE SNOW QUEEN.

“Let her come,’ said the boy, ‘and I’ll. put her on the

warm stove, and then she must melt.”



6 The Snow Queen.



But grandmother stroked his hair, and told them other
stories.

In the evening, when little Kay had returned home, and
was half-undressed, he climbed on a chair up to the window,
and peeped through the little hole, when he saw some snow-
flakes falling, the largest among which alighted on the edge of
one of the flower-boxes, and kept increasing and increasing till
it became a full-grown woman, dressed in the most aérial
white gauze, that seemed to consist of millions of star-like
flakes fastened together. She was delicately beautiful, but
made of ice—dazzling, glittering ice. Yet was she living; her
eyes sparkled like:two bright stars, and there seemed to be no
rest or calmness in them. She nodded towards the window,
and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened, and
jumped down from the chair, and then he thought he sawa
large bird fly past the window.

On the following day there was a clear frost; and then, at
last, the spring came, the sun shone, the earth was clothed in
green, the swallows built their nests, the windows were opened,
and the little children once more sat in their small garden on
the roof, high above all the other stories.

The roses blossomed most beautifully that summer. The
little girl had learned a psalm in which roses were mentioned,
andthe roses reminded her of it; and she sang it to the little
boy, and‘he joined her in singing :

*«The roses bloom but one short hour, then die,
But th’ infant Jesus ever lives on high !”

And the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed
the roses, and looked up at God’s bright sunshine and



A Littl Boy and a Little Girl. 7.

addressed it as though it were the infant Jesus. Oh, those
were pleasant summer days! It was so delightful up there
near the fresh rose-trees, that seemed never to mean to have
done blossoming !

Kay and Gerda sat looking in their book at the pictures of
quadrupeds and birds, when, just as the great church-clock
struck five, Kay said: ‘“‘Oh, dear! Something pricks my
heart, and something has flown into my eye.”

The little girl put her arm round his neck, and his eyes
twinkled, but there was nothing to be seen in them. ‘‘I think
it is gone,” said he; but gone it was not. It was one of those
bits of glass, no bigger than a grain of sand, being a particle of
the magic glass, which we have not forgotten—of that nasty
glass that made everything great and good look small and
ugly, while all that was bad and disagreeable stood out in
strong relief, and every fault in anything became immediately
perceptible. Poor Kay had likewise received a grain right
through his heart, which was soon to grow as hard as 4 lump
of ice. He now ceased to feel any pain, but there the grain
remained.

“Why do you cry?” asked he. ‘“ You look so ugly! No-
thing ails me. Fie!” cried he suddenly, “‘there’s a maggot
in that rose! And look, that one is quite crooked! Alto-
gether, they are nasty roses—as bad as the boxes in which
they are set.” And then he kicked the boxes, and tore off the
two roses.

“Kay, what are you doing?” cried the little girl; and
when he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another
rose, and then leaped in at his window, away from sweet little
Gerda.



8 The Snow Queen.

The next time she brought out the picture-book, he said it
was only fit for babies in long clothes; and when his grand-
mother related a story, he was sure to interrupt her with
some ‘‘ifs”? and “‘ buts’’; and whenever he could manage it,
he would place himself behind her, put on a pair of spectacles,
and speak just like her, and he mimicked her so well that
everybody laughed. He could soon mimic both the voice and
the gait of every soul in the street. Kay was sure to imitate
to the life the disagreeable attributes of each person, and
people said, ‘‘ That boy will surely be a genius.” But it was
only the bit of glass that had stuck in his eye and in his heart,
and which made him tease even little Gerda, who loved him
so dearly.

His amusements were now quite different from what they
were formerly ; they savoured more of a grown person. One
winter’s day, when it had snowed, he came with a burning-
glass, and held out the skirt of his blue coat to catch some
flakes of snow.

“‘ Now look in the glass, Gerda,” said he. And every flake
was magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a
brilliant star, and very pretty it was to see. ‘‘ Nowis not this
scientific ?” said Kay; ‘“‘and how far more interesting than
real flowers! There is not a fault in them; they are quite
correct, provided they don’t melt away.”

Soon after, Kay appeared with thick gloves on his hands
and his sledge at his back, and called out to Gerda: ‘‘I have
leave to go to the great square, where other boys are playing.”
And away he went.

The boldest amongst the boys who used to play there often
fastened their sledges to the carts of the country people who



A Lattle Boy and a Little Girl. 9



passed by, and went a good way with them. And this amused
them vastly. In the height of their play, there came along a
large sledge, painted white, in which sat someone huddled up in
a rough white skin, and wearing a rough white cap. The sledge
went twice round the square, and Kay, having hastily bound
his little sledge to it, drove away in its wake. It went faster,
and still faster, right down the adjoining street. The driver
turned round and gave Kay a friendly nod, just as if they were
acquainted, and every time that Kay wanted to unfasten his
little sledge, the driver nodded again, and Kay sat still, and
thus they drove out at one of the gates of the town. It now
began to snow so heavily that the little boy could-not see a
hand’s length before him; but on they went, and though he
suddenly let go the string in order to get loose from the large
sledge, it proved of no use, for his little craft still clung fast to
the other, and they went with the speed of the wind. He then
screamed aloud, but nobody heard him, and the snow kept
fluttering about, and the sledge kept flying, and anon there
was a violent shock, as if they were leaping over hedges and
ditches. The boy was frightened, and tried to repeat the
Lord’s Prayer, but he could only think of the multiplication
table.

The flakes of snow grew larger and larger, and at last looked
like great white fowls; these suddenly jumped on one side, the
large sledge stopped, and the person who had driven it rose.
The skin and the cap were of snow, and he saw a tall and
slender lady of dazzling whiteness—and this was the Snow
Queen.

‘““We have come along at a good pace,” said she, ‘‘ but if
you don’t wish to freeze, creep into my bear-skin.” And she



10 : The Snow Queen.



placed him beside her in the sledge and wrapped the skin
round him, and it was just as if he were sinking into a snow-
drift.

“Are you still freezing?” said she as she kissed his forehead.
Oh! that kiss was colder than ice! It seemed to shoot right
through his heart, half of which was already a lump of ice, and
he felt as if he were going to die, but only for a moment, and



































































































































IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S SLEDGE.

then he was better than ever, and ceased to feel the coldness
of the atmosphere that surrounded him.

‘““My sledge! Don’t forget my sledge!’ That was his first
thought ; and so it was fastened to one of the white fowls, who
flew behind with the sledge on his back. The Snow Queen
kissed Kay once more, and then he clean forgot little Gerda
and his grandmother and everybody at home.



The Conjuring Woman. II



“Now, you shall have no more kisses,” said she, “or I
should kiss you to death.”

Kay looked at her, and she was beautiful to behold. A
more clever or lovely countenance he could not imagine
and she no longer seemed to him to be made of ice, as she did
formerly, when she sat outside the window and nodded to him.
In his eyes she appeared perfect, nor did she inspire him with
the slightest fear. He told her that he could reckon by heart
and even reduce fractions, and he knew how many square
miles there were in the land, and the number of its inhabi-
tants. And she continued smiling; and then he thought that
what he knew was not sufficient, and he looked up towards
the vast expanse of air above them, and she flew with him
high above the black clouds where the storm was raging, and
it seemed as if it were singing old songs. Then they flew over
forests and lakes, across the sea and the lands beyond. Under
them blew the cold wind, the wolves howled, the snow crackled,
and the black, cawing crows were hovering about, but high
above all shone the clear, large moon, and Kay witnessed the
long, long winter’s night. In the daytime he slept at the feet
of the Snow Queen.

STORY THE THIRD.—THE FLOWER-GARDEN OF THE
CONJURING WOMAN.

But how fared little Gerda when Kay did not return?
Where could he be? Nobody knew, nobody could give any
tidings of him. Only the boys said they had seen him fasten
his sledge to a mighty large one, that had driven through the
streets and out by the town-gate. Nobody knew whither he



12 The Snow Queen.



had gone; many tears were shed; little Gerda cried so
bitterly and so long—and then people said he was dead; that
he had got drowned in the river that flowed past the school.
Oh! what long, dreary winter days were those!

The spring now returned, and brought a warmer sunshine.
“ Kay is dead and gone,” said little Gerda.

“©T don’t believe it,” answered the sunshine.

‘He is dead and gone!” said she to the swallows.

““We don’t believe it,” answered they; and at length little
Gerda ceased to believe it any longer.

“‘T will put on my new red shoes,” said she one morning,
“those which Kay never saw, and then I'll go down to the
river and ask after him.”

It was quite early. She kissed her old grandmother, who
was yet asleep, put on the red shoes, and went all alone out
through the town-gate, towards the river.

“Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow away
from me?” said she. ‘I will make you a present of my red
shoes if you will give him me back.” © .

And it seemed to her as if the waves nodded to her in a
singular fashion ; and then she took off her red shoes, which
she was so fond of, and threw them into the water, but they
fell near the bank, and the little waves brought them back to
land, just as if the river would not accept of what she most
valued, as it had not little Kay to give in exchange. But now ~
she fancied that she had not thrown the shoes out far enough,
and so she crept into a boat that lay amongst the sedges, and
went to the farthest end of it, and then flung the shoes from
thence into the water; but as the boat was not fastened, her
motion set it gliding away from the strand; perceiving this,



The Conjuring Woman. 13

she hastened to get out of the boat, but before she had time to
do so, it was above an ell distant from land, and soon floated
along still faster.

Little Gerda was now frighteried, and began to cry; but
nobody heard her except the sparrows, and they could not
carry her ashore. But they flew along the banks, and, as if to
comfort her, they kept singing—‘‘ Here we are! Here we
are!’ The boat followed the tide. Little Gerda sat still,









GERDA ADRIFT IN THE BOAT.

with only her stockings on her feet; her little red shoes
followed in the wake of the boat, but without being able to
reach it, as it went much faster.

The banks on each side of the river were very pretty.
There were beautiful flowers, aged trees, and grassy slopes, on
which sheep and cows were grazing; but not a human being
was to be seen.

‘Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay,” thought



14 The Snow Queen.



Gerda ; and then she grew more cheerful, and rose and looked
for hours at the pretty green banks of the river, till she
reached a large cherry orchard, in which stood a little house
with strange red and blue windows; it had, besides, a thatched
roof, and before it stood two wooden soldiers, who presented
arms to all who sailed past.

Gerda called to them, thinking they were alive, but of
course they did not answer; she now approached them, and
the stream drove the boat straight towards the shore.

Gerda called out in a still louder voice, when a very old
woman, leaning on a crutch, came out of the house; she wore
a broad hat to screen her from the sun, and it was painted
with the prettiest flowers.

‘You poor little child!”’ said the old woman, “to think of
your coming out into the wide world on this broad and rapid
stream !”” and the old woman waded through the water, towed
the boat ashore with her crutch, and lifted little Gerda out.

Gerda was glad to be once more on dry land, although she
was somewhat afraid of the strange old woman.

“Come and tell us who you are, and how you came hither,”
said she.

And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head,
and said: ‘‘Hem, hem!” And after Gerda had told her
everything, and had asked in turn if she had not seen little
Kay, the woman said he had not yet passed that way, but he
might come still; and so she had better take heart, and taste
her cherries, and look at her flowers, that were prettier than
any picture-book, for every one of them could tell a story.
She then took Gerda by the hand and led her into the house,
and the old woman shut the door.





THE OLD WOMAN RESCUES GERDA.

























The Conjuring Woman. 7

The windows were very high, and the panes were red, blue,
and yellow, so that the light shone through them in a variety
of strange colours; but on the table were the finest cherries,
and Gerda was allowed to eat as many of them as she chose.
While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a
golden comb, and her yellow locks curled and looked beauti-
fully glossy round her cheerful little face, that was round and
fresh as a rose.

‘“T have long wished for such a nice little girl,” said the old
woman, “and now you shall see how comfortably we shall live
together.” And while she was combing little Gerda’s hair,
Gerda gradually forgot all about her adopted brother Kay,
for the old woman was learned in witchcraft, though not a
wicked sorceress: she only made use of magic arts for her
amusement, and because she wished to keep little Gerda.
Therefore she went into the garden, and extended her crutch
towards all the rose-trees, every one of which, however bloom-
ing, sank into the dark ground, without leaving a trace of
where it had stood. The old crone was fearful lest the sight
of rose-trees would have reminded Gerda of her own, when she
would have recollected little Kay, and run away.

She now took Gerda into the garden. How fragrant and
how lovely it was! Every imaginable flower, and for every
season, too, was to be seen there in full bloom; no picture-
book could be more varied or more beautiful. Gerda jumped
for joy at the sight, and played till the sun sank behind the
tall cherry-trees, and then she lay down in an elegant bed
with red silk pillows, stuffed with variegated violets, and
slept and dreamed as pleasantly as any queen on her wedding-
day.



18 The Snow Queen.



Next morning she was free to play again with the flowers
in the warm sunshine; and many days flew by in the same
manner. Gerda knew each flower; but numerous as were the
flowers, there still seemed to be one missing, although she
could not tell which it was. One day, however, as she sat and
gazed at the old woman’s garden-hat with its painted flowers,
the prettiest amongst them happened to be a rose. The old
woman had forgotten to take it out of the hat, when she
buried the others in the earth. But that is the way when
one’s thoughts are not always present. ‘‘ What! are there no
roses here ?” said Gerda, jumping amongst the flower-beds,
and looking for what, alas! was not to be found. She then
sat down and cried, and her tears fell just on the spot where
one of the rose-trees had sunk into the ground ; and when her
warm tears bedewed the earth, the rose-tree shot up once
more as blooming as ever, and Gerda embraced it, and kissed
the roses, and thought of the lovely roses at home, and with
them of little Kay.

‘Oh, how I have been detained!” said the little girl; “I
wanted to look for little Kay. Do you not know where he
is ?” asked she of the roses. ‘‘ Do you think he is dead ?”’

“He is not dead,” answered the roses; “‘ we have been
into the ground where all the dead lie, and Kay was not
there.”

“TI thank you,” said little Gerda, and went to the other
flowers, and peeped into each calyx, and asked, “‘ Do you know
where little Kay is ?”

But each flower stood dreaming in the sun, and thinking of
its own story; and Gerda heard a great many of these, but
none of the flowers knew anything about Kay.



The Conjuring Woman. 19

What said the yellow lily ?

“Do you hear the drum? Boom! boom! It has only
two sounds; it always says: ‘Boom! boom!’ Listen to the
dirge of the women, and the call of the priests. The Hindoo
widow stands, wrapped in her long red mantle on the funeral
pile: the flames encircle her and her husband’s dead body ;
but the Hindoo widow thinks of the living ones who surround
her, and of him whose eyes shone brighter than the flames
—of him whose fiery eyes affect her heart far more than
the flames that will consume her body to ashes. Can the
flame of the heart be extinguished in the flames of a funeral
pile ?”

“T don’t understand anything about it,” said little Gerda.

‘““ That is my story,” said the yellow lily.

What said the bindweed ?

‘“An old feudal castle hangs over the narrow crossway ;
thick house-leek is climbing, leaf by leaf, up its old red walls,
and round the balcony, where stands a fair maiden, who bends
over the railing and looks into the road below. No rose on its
spray is fresher than she; no apple-blossom when blown off
the tree floats more lightly than she walks; and how her
gorgeous silk gown rustles! ‘Is he not yet coming ?’”

“Do you mean Kay ?” asked little Gerda.

“I’m speaking of my story—of my dream,” replied the
bindweed.

What said the little snowdrop ?

‘“‘ Between the trees hangs a plant fastened by ropes; it is
a swing, and two little girls, in snow-white dresses, and with
long green ribbons fluttering from their bonnets, sit swinging
themselves. Their brother, who is bigger than they, stands



20 The Snow Queen.



on the swing; he has flung his arm round the rope to steady
himself, for in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the
other a clay-pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles; the swing
keeps going, and the pretty variegated bubbles fly about, while
the last still clings to the stem of the pipe; and rocks in the
wind. The swing keeps going; the little black dog, as light
as the bubbles, raises himself on his hind paws, and will get
into the swing amongst the rest ; and off goes the swing, and
the dog falls, barks, and is angry; the children tease him, and
the bubbles burst. A rocking plank, and scattered foam—such
is my song.”

“Tt may be all very pretty, but you tell it in so mournful a
tone, and you don’t even mention little Kay.”

What said the hyacinths ?

“There were three beautiful sisters, most delicate and
transparent ; one was dressed in red, another in blue, and the
third in pure white; and they danced, hand in hand, near the
silent lake, in the bright moonshine. They were no elves, but
daughters of the earth. There was a sweet fragrance, and the
girls disappeared in the wood. The fragrance waxed stronger ;
three coffins, in which lay the beautiful girls, glided from the
thicket across the lake ; the glow-worms flew beside them, like
so many little floating torches. Are the dancing girls asleep,
or are they dead? The perfume of the flowers says they are
corpses, and the evening bell is tolling their knell.”

“You make me quite sad,” said little Gerda. ‘‘ You smell
so strong, that you make me think of the dead girls. Alas! is
_little Kay really dead? The roses who went down into the
earth say he is not.”

“‘ Ding, dong !”” sounded the hyacinth bells. ‘We are not



The Conjuring Woman. os



tolling for little Kay, for we don’t know him: we are merely
singing our song, the only one we can sing.”

And Gerda then went up to the buttercup that peeped out ©
of its shining green leaves.

“You are a little bright sun,’ said Gerda. ‘“‘ Tell me, if
you know, where I can find my playfellow ?”

And the buttercup sparkled so prettily, and looked at Gerda.
What song could the buttercup sing? Not one that said any-
thing about Kay.

“The bright sunshine shone warmly, one spring morning,
upon a little courtyard. The beams glided down the white
walls of the neighbouring house, and close by bloomed the
first yellow flower, and sparkled like gold in the warm sun-
shine. The old grandmother sat out in the air on her chair,
and her granddaughter, a poor and pretty serving-girl, returned
home from a short visit. She kissed her grandmother. There
was gold—the gold of the heart—in that blessed kiss. There
was gold in the sunbeams of that morning, and she was worth
her weight in gold. That's my little story,” said the buttercup.

“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. ‘Yes, no
doubt she is longing to see me, and fretting about me, as she
did about little Kay. But I'll soon go home and bring Kay
with me. It is no use asking the flowers, who know nothing
but their own song; they can give me no tidings.” And then
she tucked up her little gown that she might run the faster ;
but the narcissus caught her foot as she was jumping over it;
so she stopped short and looked at the tall yellow flower, and
said: ‘‘Perhaps you know something.” And she stooped
down close to the narcissus, and what did it tell ?

“I can see myself to the very life,” said the narcissus.



22 The Snow Queen.



“Oh, oh! how beautifully I do smell! Up there, in that
small room with a balcony, is a little dancer, who stands some-
times on one leg and sometimes on both legs; she tramples on
the whole world; she is nothing but deceit from head to foot;
she pours water out of the teapot upon a piece of stuff she
holds in her hand, which is her bodice. Cleanliness is a
virtue. Her white dress hangs upon a peg; that, too, has
been washed in the teapot and dried upon the roof. She puts
it on and wraps a saffron-coloured handkerchief round her
.throat, which makes her dress look whiter. Now she twirls
her leg, and see how proudly she stands on her stem. It is
just like seeing myself—just like myself.”

‘What do I care about that ?” said Gerda. ‘‘ You had no
need to tell me this stuff.’ And she ran to the further end of
the garden.

The gates were shut ; but she pressed upon the rusty latch,
and it gave way.

The gates flew open, and little Gerda ran forth, with bare
feet, into the wide world. She looked back thrice, but nobody
was pursuing her. At last, she could run no longer, and sat
down upon a large stone, and, on looking round her, found
that summer was over and autumn already far advanced,
which she had been unable to perceive in the beautiful garden,
where there were flowers and sunshine all the year round.

‘Dear me! how long I have stayed!” said little Gerda.
“Tt is now autumn; I must not dally,” and she rose to go
further.

Oh! how tired and sore were her poor little feet! And
everything around looked so bleak and so cheerless. The long
willow-leaves were quite yellow, and dew trickled down like



The Prince and Princess. — 23

water. One leaf kept falling after another, and the sloe-tree
alone still bore fruit, only it was so sour that one could not eat
it without making wry faces. Oh! how gray and how dreary
seemed the whole world !

STORY THE FOURTH.—THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS.

Gerda was obliged to rest again, when a large crow hopped
through the snow, right opposite the place where she was
sitting, and after looking at her a long while and wagging his
-head, said, “Caw, caw! goo’ day, goo’ day!” He could not
speak any plainer, but he meant kindly towards the little girl,
and asked whither she was going, all alone in the wide world.

Gerda understood perfectly the word “alone,” and knew its
full import ; so she told the crow her whole story, and asked
him if he had seen Kay.

The crow nodded his head thoughtfully, and said, “‘ May
be, may be.”

“‘No—have you though?” cried the little girl, and came
near to hugging the crow to death, so fondly did she kiss him.

“Steady, steady,” said the crow. ‘I think—I know—I
believe—it may be little Kay, but he has certainly forgotten
you by this time for the princess.”

“Is he living at a princess's ?” asked Gerda.

“Yes, listen,” said the crow; “only I find it so hard to
speak your language. If you understand crows’ language,!
then I shall be able to tell you better.”

1 “ Crows’ language” is a jocose term for a kind of gibberish in use

amongst children, and produced by the addition of syllables and letters to
each word.



24 The Snow Queen.

“No, I never learned it,” said Gerda, ‘‘ but my grandmother
knows it, and she could speak it too. I wish I had learned it.”

“Never mind,” said the crow; “I'll tell it as well as I can,
though I can’t tell it properly.’ And then he told what he
knew.

“In the kingdom where we now are lives a princess who is
desperately clever. It is true she has read and forgotten all the
newspapers that exist in the world, so learned is she. Lately, as
she was sitting on the throne—which, people say, is not so very
agreeable either—she began to sing a song which ran thus:

“¢ Wherefore shouldn’t I marry ?

‘Why not, indeed ?’ added she: And then she determined to
marry, only she wished to find a husband who knew how to
answer when he was spoken to, and not one who could merely
stand and look grand, because that is so tiresome. So she
assembled all her ladies-in-waiting by the beat of a drum; and
when they heard of her intention, they were much pleased.
‘We are glad of it,’ said they ; ‘we had thought of it lately
ourselves. —You may believe every word I utter,” continued
the crow, ‘‘for I have a tame sweetheart who hops about the
palace and told me all that passed.”

Of course his sweetheart was a crow, as like seeks like, and
a crow is sure to choose a crow.

“The newspapers immediately sported a border of hearts
with the princess’s initials, and proclaimed that every good-
looking young man was at liberty to go to the palace and
speak to the princess; and he who could say anything worth
hearing would be welcome to the run of the palace, while
he who spoke the best would be chosen as a husband for the

































































THE CROW'S STORY.













Sis



The Prince and Princess. 27

princess.—Yes, yes,” continued the crow, ‘‘ you may believe
me; it is every word as true as that I’m sitting here. The
people all crowded helter-skelter to the palace, and there was
such crushing and pushing; but nobody succeeded, either the
first or the second day. They could all speak well enough
while they were outside in the street, but when they had
passed through the palace gate and came to behold the body-
guards in silver and the lackeys all over gold standing along
the staircase, and the large rooms so finely lighted up, they
‘were quite confounded. And when they approached the
throne where the princess sat, they found nothing to say, and
could only repeat the last word that she uttered, which she
had no mind to hear a second time. It was exactly as if the
people inside had taken snuff into their stomachs, and had
fallen asleep till they came back into the street and recovered
their speech. There was a whole row of them, reaching from
the town-gate to the palace. I went myself to see them,”
added the crow. “‘ They were hungry and thirsty, but they
did not get as much as a glass of water in the palace. Some
of the wisest had, to be sure, taken slices of bread-and-butter
with them, but they did not share them with their next neigh-
bour, for each thought, ‘Let him look hungry, and then the
princess won’t have him.”

“ But tell me about Kay—little Kay,” said Gerda. ‘‘ When
did he come ?—and was he amongst the crowd ?”

“Stop a bit; we are coming to him presently. On the
third day, there came marching cheerfully along towards the
palace a little body, who had neither horse nor coach. His
eyes sparkled like yours, and he had beautiful long hair, but
was shabbily dressed.”



28 The Snow Qyeen.



“That was Kay!” cried Gerda in high delight. ‘Oh, then,
I have found him now!” And she clapped her hands for joy.

“‘ He had a little knapsack on his back,” said the crow.

“No; it must have been his sledge,” said Gerda, “for he
went away with his sledge.”

‘““That may be,” said the crow; ‘‘I was not so particular
about it. But this I know from my tame sweetheart, that
when he came through the palace-gate and saw the bodyguards
all over silver, and the lackeys on the stairs all bedizened with
gold, he was not the least flustered, but nodded to them,
saying: ‘It must be very tiresome to stand on the staircase ;
I prefer going in.’ And the rooms were in a blaze of light;
privy councillors and excellencies were walking about on their
bare feet, and carrying golden vases—it was enough to inspire
one with profound respect. His boots creaked so dreadfully
loud, but he did not care a fig about that.”

“Tt must be Kay,” said Gerda; “I know he had new
boots on: I have heard them creak in grandmother’s room.”

“Yes, they did creak, indeed!” said the crow. ‘But he
went up boldly to the princess, who was sitting on a huge
pearl as large as a spinning-wheel; and all the court ladies
with their maids and their maids’ maids, and all the lords with
their gentlemen and their gentlemen’s gentlemen, who each
had a page to attend them, stood all around, and the nearer
they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. Indeed, one
could hardly venture to look at a gentleman’s gentleman’s
page, who always wears slippers, so important an air did each
assume as he stood in the doorway.

“Tt must be quite awful!” said little Gerda. ‘But did
Kay win the princess ?”



The Prince and Princess. 29

“Tf I had not been a crow, I would have taken her
myself, although I am engaged. He spoke just as well as
I do, when I am speaking the crows’ language—so I heard
from my tame sweetheart. He was cheerful and pleasant;
he had not come to woo her, but to see how clever the
princess might be; and he was pleased with her, and she
with him.”

“To be sure, it must be Kay!’ said Gerda. ‘‘ He was so
clever; he could reckon by heart even fractions. Oh! will
you not take me to the palace ?”

“That is ‘easily said,” answered the crow; ‘‘ but how can
we manage it? I will, however, speak to my tame sweetheart
about it, and she will give us some advice; for I must tell you
candidly, a little girl of your sort would never obtain leave to
enter the palace.”

“Yes, I shall,” said Gerda. ‘‘ When Kay hears that I am
there, he will immediately come out to fetch me in.”

“Wait for me there, near yonder trellis,” said the crow,
wagging his head as he flew away. aa

It was not till late in the evening that the crow returned.
“Caw! caw!” said he. ‘‘ She sends her love to you, and here
is a little roll which she took in the kitchen, on purpose for
you. There is bread enough there, and you must be very
hungry. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, as you

3

are barefooted; the guards in silver and the footmen in gold
would not allow you to pass. But don’t cry. We shall
manage to get you in. My sweetheart knows a small back
staircase that leads to the bedroom, and she knows where she
can find the key.”

And they went through the long alley in the garden, where



30 The Snow Queen.



the leaves were falling one after the other; and when the lights
in the palace were extinguished one after another, the crow
led little Gerda to a back-door that was only fastened with a
latch.

Oh, how Gerda’s heart beat with anxious longing! She
felt as if about to do something wrong; yet she only wanted
to know whether it was little Kay. ‘‘ It must be he,” thought
she, as she pictured to herself his intelligent eyes and his long
hair, and fancied she saw him smile as he did formerly, when
they used to sit under the roses at home. He would surely be
glad to see her, to hear what a long way she had come for his
sake, and to know how afflicted they all were at home when he
did not come back. Oh, how her heart was thrilled with fear
and joy!

They were now on the stairs, where a small lamp was
burning in a closet. In the middle of the floor stood
the tame crow, twisting her head in all directions as she
gazed at Gerda, who curtsied as her grandmother had taught
her to do.

‘“‘ My betrothed has spoken highly of you, my little missy,”
said the tame crow, ‘‘and your story is extremely touching.
If you will take the lamp I will walk before. We will go straight
along this way, and then we shall meet no one.”

“‘ Somebody seems to be behind us,” said Gerda, asa rustling
noise went past her, and horses, with flying manes and thin legs,
whippers-in, and ladies and gentlemen on horseback, all appeared
like shadows on the wall.

“They are only dreams,” said the crow, “that come and
fetch royalty’s thoughts to go a-hunting. So much the better,
as you can look at them in their beds all the more safely. But



The Prince and Princess. 31



I hope, when you rise to high honours, you will show a grateful
heart.”

“Of course,” said the crow from the woods.

They now entered the first room, that was hung with rose-
coloured satin, ornamented with artificial flowers, and where
the dreams were already rushing past them, only they went so
fast that Gerda could not manage to see the royal personages.
Each room was more magnificent than the last—it was enough
to bewilder one. Now they reached a bedroom. The ceiling
was like a large palm-tree, with glass leaves of the most costly
crystal; and in the middle of the floor, two beds, each re-
sembling a lily, hung from a golden stem; the one in which
the princess lay was white, the other was red, and it was in the
latter that Gerda was to seek for little Kay. She pushed one
of the red leaves aside, and perceived a brown neck—oh, that
must be Kay! She called out his name aloud, and held the
lamp over him—the dreams again rushed into the chamber on
horseback—he woke, turned his head round, and showed that
he was not little Kay.

The prince’s neck alone resembled his; still he was young
and pretty. Then the princess peeped out of the white lily,
and asked what was the matter, when little Gerda began to
cry, and related her whole story, and all that the crows had
done to help her.

‘Poor child!’ said the prince and princess, praising the
crows, and assuring them that they were not angry with them,
though they were not to make a practice of doing such things ;
and that they should even be rewarded.

“Would you like to have your freedom given you ?” asked
the princess, ‘for would you prefer being appointed court



32 The Snow Queen.

crows, and havens foe ee perquisites all the leavings i in the
kitchen ?”

The two crows bowed, and begged leave to have the fixed
appointment, for they thought of their old age, and said it
would be so comfortable to have a certain provision for their
old days, as they called it.

And the prince got out of his bed to give it up to Gerda, and
more he could scarcely do. She folded her little hands and
thought, ‘‘ How kind are both human beings and animals!”
And then she closed her eyes, and fell into a sweet sleep. All
the dreams came flying back into the chamber, looking like
angels, and drawing in a little sledge, in which sat Kay, who
nodded to her. But it was only a dream, so of course it vanished
the moment she woke.

On the following day she was dressed in silk and velvet
from head to foot, and they offered to let her stay in the palace
and enjoy a good time of it; but all she asked for was a little
coach and a horse, and a pair of little boots, that she might go
into the wide world to look for Kay.

And she not only obtained boots, but a muff; she was
elegantly dressed, and on going away, she found waiting at the
door a new coach of pure gold, with coachman, footmen, and
postilions, wearing gold crowns on their heads. The prince
and princess themselves helped her into the coach, and wished
her every happiness. The wild crow, who was now married,
accompanied her for the first three miles, and sat by her side,.
for he could not bear riding backwards; the tame crow stood
in the doorway flapping her wings, but went no further, because
she had been suffering from headache ever since she had had
a fixed appointment, and too much to eat. The coach was



The Little Robber Girl. 33

amply stored inside with sweet cakes, and under the seat were
fruit and gingerbread-nuts.

‘Farewell! farewell!” cried the prince and princess, and
little Gerda wept, and the crow wept. And then after the
first few miles, the wild crow took leave of her likewise; and
his was the saddest leave-taking of all: he perched upon atree,
and flapped his black wings as long as he could see the coach
glancing in the bright sunshine.

STORY THE FIFTH.—THE LITTLE ROBBER GIRL.

They now drove through a gloomy forest; but the coach lit
up the way like a torch, and glared in the eyes of some robbers,
who could not withstand such a sight.

It is gold! it is gold!” said they, rushing forward; and
seizing hold of the horses, they struck the little jockeys, the
coachman and footmen, dead, and dragged little Gerda out
of the coach.

‘“She is fat and nice, and fed with the kernels of nuts,”
said the old robber woman, who had a long bristly beard, and
eyebrows that overshadowed her eyes.

“It’s as good as a little fat lamb—how nice it will taste
So saying, she drew forth a shining knife, and most frightfully
did it glitter.

‘*Oh, dear!’ screamed the woman, whose ear was bitten at
that very moment by her own daughter, a froward, naughty
girl who was hanging on her back. ‘“ You ugly thing!” said
the mother, forgetting to kill Gerda.

‘She shall play with me,” said the little robber girl. ‘‘ She
shall give me her muff, and her pretty dress, and sleep with me in

D

1?



RA The Snow Queen.



my bed.” And she bit her mother again, till she leaped into
the air, and twirled round again. And all the robbers laughed,
saying: ‘‘ See how she is dancing with her cub |”

** J will take a ride in the coach,” said the little robber girl.
And she must and would have her way, she was so ill-bred and
obstinate. She and Gerda then got in, and away they went
into the depths of the wood. The little robber girl was as big
as Gerda, but stronger, with broader shoulders, and a darker
' skin; her eyes were quite black, and she looked almost
melancholy. She took little Gerda round the waist, and said:
‘They shan’t kill you, as long as I don’t wish you ill. I
suppose you are a princess ?”

**No,” said Gerda, relating her whole history, and how fond
she was of little Kay.

The robber girl looked at her earnestly, and, slightly
nodding her head, she said: ‘‘ They shan’t kill you, even if I
should wish you ill; for then I’d do it myself.” And then she
dried Gerda’s eyes, and put both her hands into the handsome
muff that was so soft and so warm.

The coach now stopped. They were in the middle of a
courtyard belonging to a robber’s castle, that was full of
crevices from top to bottom. Crows and ravens flew out of
the open holes, and great bulldogs, every one of which looked
as though it could swallow a whole man, were jumping about,
though they did not bark, because it was not allowed.

In a large, old, smoky hall, a bright fire was burning on the
stone floor. The smoke went up to the ceiling, and found an
outlet as best it might. Soup was boiling in a large caldron,
and hares and rabbits were roasting on spits.

‘You shall sleep to-night with me and all my little animals,”



The Little Robber Girl. 316



said the robber girl. They then had something to eat and
drink given to them; after which they went into a corner,
where straw and carpets were laid on the floor. Upwards ofa
hundred doves were perched on laths and poles, and were



THE ROBBER GIRL’S HOME.

apparently asleep, though they turned round slightly when the
two little girls approached.

“ They all belong to me,” said the little robber girl; and
seizing hold of the one nearest to her, she held it by the feet,
and shook it till it flapped its wings. ‘“‘ Kiss it!’ cried she,



36 ~The Snow Queen.



flapping it into Gerda’s face. ‘“ There sits a rabble of wild
doves,” continued she, pointing behind a number of stayes that ~
were fixed in front of a hole high up in the wall. ‘‘ Those two
are a couple of rascally wild doves, who would fly away directly
if they were not kept locked up. And here stands my dear old
baa!” So saying, she took by the horn a reindeer, who
wore a bright brass collar round his neck, and was tied up.
“We must keep him pretty tightly too, or else he would give
us the slip. I tickle his neck every evening with my sharp
knife, which he is vastly afraid of.” And the little girl took
out a long knife from a cleft in the wall, and drew it slightly
across the reindeer’s neck. The poor animal began to kick,
and the little robber girl laughed, and then drew little Gerda
into bed with her.

“Do you mean to keep the knife with you when you are
asleep ?” asked Gerda, looking at it with some alarm.

‘“T always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber girl.
‘““One never knows what may happen. But tell me now over
again all that you told me about RSD and why you went out
into the wide world,”

And Gerda related what she had told before, while the wild
doves kept cooing: in their prison above, and the other doves
slept. The little robber girl put her arm round Gerda’s
neck, and held the knife in her other hand,-and-snored-aloud ;
but Gerda could not close her eyes, not knowing whether she
was to live or to be put to death. The robbers sat round the
fire, singing and drinking, and the robber woman became
quite tipsy. Oh! it was shocking for the little girl to witness
sueh a scene |

‘Then the wild doves said: “Coo! coo! we have seen little



The Be Robber Girl. 37

coe A white fowl carried ois aledbe, He sat in the Snow
Queen’s carriage, which drove right over the. forest. as we lay
in our nests. She blew upon us young ones, who all died
except our two selves. Coo! coo!”

“What are you saying up there?” cried Gerda. ‘‘ Where
was the Snow Queen going? Do you know anything
about it ?”

“She was prcbably going to Lapland, where there is
always snow and ice. Ask the reindeer that is fastened toa
rope.”

** Yes, there is ice and snow, and a delightful place it is,”
said the reindeer. ‘There one can leap about in freedom in
the large glittering valleys, and there the Snow Queen pitches
her summer tent ; but her stronghold lies near the north pole,
on an island called Spitzbergen.”

“Oh, Kay! little Kay!” sighed Gerda.

“Lie still,” said the robber girl, “or I’ll run the knife
through your body.”

_ Next morning Gerda told her all that the wild doves had
said, when the little robber girl looked serious, though she
nodded her head, saying: ‘‘That’s no matter! that’s no
matter! . Do you know where Lapland lies ?” asked she of the
reindeer.

“Who can know better than I?” said the animal, while
his eyes sparkled. ‘‘I was born and brought up there, and I
have frisked about on its snow-fields.”

“ Hark!” said the robber girl to Gerda; “ you see that all
our men are gone, and only mother remains at home; but
towards noon she drinks out of a large bottle, and takes a little
nap afterwards, and then I’ll do something for you.” She now



38 The Snow Queen.



jumped out of bed, took her mother by the neck, pulled her
beard, and said: “My own dear mammy! good-morning to
you!” ;

The mother, in return, filliped her nose till it was red and
blue; and all this was out of love.

When the mother had drunk freely out of her bottle, and
had gone off to sleep, the robber girl went to the reindeer, and
said: ‘I should like vastly to tickle you many times more with
the sharp knife, for then you make yourself so ridiculous ;
but never mind, I will untie your rope, and help you out, that
you may run off to Lapland. But you must put your best leg
foremost, to carry this little girl to the Snow Queen’s palace,
where she will find her playfellow. You have heard all she
told, for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.”

The reindeer jumped for joy. The robber girl lifted little
Gerda on to the animal, and took the precaution to bind her
fast, and even to give her a little cushion to sit upon.

“ And there are your fur boots,” said she, “for it is getting
cold; but as to the muff, I shall keep that, it is so pretty.
Yet, you shan’t be frozen by the cold, either; here are my
mother’s large mittens, which will reach to your elbows. Creep
into them. Now your hands look just like my mother’s.”

And Gerda wept for joy.

“TI don’t like to see you whimpering,” said the little robber
girl; ‘you ought now to look pleased. Here are a couple of
loaves and a ham, so now you won’t starve.” These were
fastened to the reindeer, and then the little robber girl opened
the doors, enticed all the dogs into the house, and lastly, cut
the rope that bound the reindeer with her sharp knife, saying to
him: “Now run away; but take good care of the little girl.”



The Littl Robber Girl. 39

And Gerda stretched forth her hands, in the large mittens,
towards the robber girl, and bade her farewell, and then away
the reindeer flew, through thick and thin, across the wide
forest, over bogs and steppes, as quick as he could fly. The
wolves howled, and ravens screeched. “Fizz! fizz!’ said the
sky, as if it were sneezing red.







FAREWELL TO THE ROBBER GIKL.

“‘There’s my old friend the Aurora borealis,” cried the rein-
deer; ‘see how it shines!” And he ran still faster, both day
and night. The loaves were eaten, and the ham too, and by
that time they had reached Lapland.



40 The Snow ee



STORY THE SIXTH.—THE LAPLANDER AND THE FINLANDER.

They stopped in front of a miserable-looking little house,
whose roof reached down to the ground, and whose door was
so low that the family were obliged to creep on all-fours when
they wanted to go out or in. Nobody was at home just then
but an old Laplandish woman, who was cooking fish by the
light of a train-oil lamp, and the reindeer told her Gerda’s
whole story, after having first told his own—which seemed to
him far the more important of the two—and Gerda was so
benumbed with the cold that she could not speak a word.

“Why, you poor creatures,” said the Laplander, ‘“‘ you have
still a long way to go. You must go a hundred miles into
Finland; for it is there the Snow Queen lives in the summer,
and burns Bengal lights every evening. I will write a few
words on a dried stock-fish, for I have no paper, and give it
you for the Finlandish woman up there, and she will direct
you better than I can.”

And when Gerda was warmed, and had eaten and drunk,
the Laplandish woman wrote a few words on a dried stock-fish,
and, telling Gerda to take good care of it, tied her once more
upon the reindeer, who made off with great speed.

“Fizz! fizz!” said the air, and during the whole night
there shone the prettiest blue aurora borealis. And then they
reached Finland, and knocked at the chimney of the Finlandish
woman, for door she had none.

It was'so terribly hot within, that their hostess had scarcely
any clothes on her back. She was small and dirty-looking.
She immediately loosened little Gerda’s dress, and took off her



The Finlander. AI



mittens and boots, or else she would have been oppressed by
the heat, and put a lump of ice on the reindeer’s head, and then
read what was written on the stock-fish. After perusing it
three times she knew its contents by heart, and then put the
stock-fish into the saucepan where the broth was cooking, as
it was fit to be eaten, and she never wasted anything.

The reindeer now related first, his own story, and then little
Gerda’s, and the Finlandish woman’s intelligent eyes twinkled,
though she said nothing.

‘‘ As you are so wise,” said the reindeer, ‘‘ that you can bind
all the winds in the world with a bit of thread, so that if a sea-
man loosens one knot it will bring him a fair wind, and if he
loosens another there will blow a stiff gale, and by untying a
third and fourth, he could raise a hurricane that would over-
throw forests—cannot you give this little girl a potion to endow
her with the power of twelve men, so that she should conquer
“the Snow Queen ?”

“The power of twelve men !”’ said the Finlandish woman ;
“that would be of much use, indeed!” and then she went to a
shelf, and took down a large skin roll, which she unfurled, and
upon which she read strange characters, till the perspiration
trickled down from her forehead.

But the reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and she
looked at the Finlandish woman with such tearful and entreat-
ing eyes, that the eyes of the latter began to twinkle, and
taking the reindeer into a corner, she whispered into his ear
as she laid a fresh lump of ice on his head:

“Little Kay is sure enough with the Snow Queen, and finds
everything in her palace so much to his taste and his liking
that he thinks it the finest place in the world; but this comes



42 The Snow Queen.



of his having a glass fragment in his heart, and a little speck
of glass in his eye. They must be removed, or else he'll never
be a human being-again, and the Snow Queen will retain her
power over him.”

“But can’t you give little Gerda something that shall
endow her with power over all these things ?”

“TI can’t give her any greater power than she already
possesses; do you not see how great it is even now? Do you
not see how men and animals must serve her, and how she has
come on in the world with bare feet? She can’t recelve any
power from us: its seat is in her heart, and consists in her
being such a dear, innocent child as she is. If she can’t gain
access to the Snow Queen by her own means, and remove the
glass shivers out of little Kay, we can do nothing to bring
about such a result. The Snow Queen’s garden begins two
miles from hence. Youcan carry the little girl thither, and set
her down near the large bush which stands covered with red
berries amidst the snow. Don’t stay gossiping, but make

haste and come back hither.”’ And then the Finlandish -

woman lifted little Gerda on to the reindeer’s back, who ran
off as fast as he could.

“Oh, I have forgotten my boots and my mittens!” cried
little Gerda, the moment she was in the biting cold, yet she
dared not stop the reindeer, who ran till he reached the bush
with the red berries, where he set down Gerda, and kissed her
mouth, while large, bright tears trickled down the animal's
cheeks, and away he ran back. There stood poor Gerda with-
out shoes or gloves in the middle of dreary, icy cold Finland.

“She ran forwards as quick as she could, when she was met
by a whole regiment of snow-flakes, which did not, however,

ee



_ The Finlander. 43

fall from the sky, that was bright and lit up by an aurora
borealis, but ran along the ground, and grew bigger the nearer
they approached. Gerda remembered how large and artfully-
fashioned snow-flakes looked, when she saw them through a
burning-glass. But here they were far larger, and more
alarming, for they were alive; they were the Snow Queen’s
sentries, and were of the oddest shapes. Some looked like
ugly great porcupines; others like a knot of serpents, with
their heads poking out; others again like fat little bears,
with bristling hairs: all were dazzlingly white, and all were
living snow-flakes.

Little Gerda then repeated the Lord’s Prayer, while the
cold was so intense that she could see her own breath which
came out of her mouth like so much smoke. These clouds of
breath became thicker, and took the shape of little angels, who
grew larger the moment they touched the earth; and all wore
helmets on their heads, and carried spears and shields in their
hands ; their numbers kept increasing, and by the time Gerda
had finished her prayer, a whole legion of them surrounded
her, and they pierced the frightful snow-flakes with their spears
till they shivered them into a hundred pieces, and little Gerda
went on in safety and in good spirits. The angels stroked her
hands and feet so that she felt the cold less, and hastened on
to the Snow Queen’s castle. But now we must see what Kay
is after. In truth, he was not thinking of little Gerda at
all, much less of her being outside the castle at that very
moment.



44 The Snow Queen.

STORY THE SEVENTH.—OF THE SNOW QUEEN’S CASTLE, AND
WHAT TOOK PLACE IN IT LATER.

The walls of the castle were made of drifted snow, and the
windows and doors were made of biting winds. There were
above a hundred rooms in it, just as the snow had blown them
together ; the largest was several miles long ; they were all lit
up by the vivid aurora borealis, and they were so large, so
empty, so icy cold, and so glittering! No festivities were ever
held there; not so much as a little ball for bears, to which the
tempest might have played tunes, and where the bears might
have danced on their hind legs, and shown their good breeding ;
nor even a game of hot cockles, nor a gossiping coffee party for
white fox spinsters: the Snow Queen’s halls were empty, cold,
and dreary. The aurora borealis shone so plain throughout
the castle, that one could reckon when it stood at the highest
or the lowest point in the heavens. In the middle of this
empty and endless snow-hall lay a frozen lake that was broken
into a thousand pieces, only each piece was so like the ‘other,
that it formed a complete work of art; and in the centre of
the lake sat the Snow Queen when she was at home, and then
she said she was sitting on the mirror of reason, which was the
best and only one in the world.

Little Kay was quite blue, nay, almost black with cold;
but he did not perceive it, for she had kissed away his shiver-
ing feelings, and his heart was like a lump of ice. He was
dragging about some sharp, flat pieces of ice, and placing them
in all manner of ways, for he wanted to make something out
of them. It was just as when we make use of little wooden



The Snow Quyeen’s Castle. 45
squares and triangles to compose figures, which we call
a Chinese puzzle. Kay, too, was making figures, and very
clever ones. This was the ice-game of reason. In his eyes
the figures were very remarkable, and of the highest import-
ance—owing to the little glass shiver that still stuck in his eye.
He composed complete figures that formed a written word, but
he never could manage to form the word he wanted, which was
“ Eternity.” And the Snow Queen had said: “If you can
find out this figure, you shall then be your own master, and
I’ll give you the whole world, besides a new pair of skates.”
But he could not accomplish it.

“Now I will rush off to warm lands,” said the Snow
Queen; ‘‘I will go and look into the black pipkins.” It was
the volcanoes Etna and Vesuvius that she designated in this
manner. “I will whiten them a bit! It will be good for
them, and benefit the lemons and grapes.” And away the
Snow Queen flew, and Kay remained all alone in the large ice-
hall that was so many miles long, and kept looking at the
pieces of ice, and thinking and thinking till his head was ready
to split; and he sat so stiff and so motionless, that one might
have thought he was frozen.

Just then it happened that little Gerda came through the
large gate into the castle. Cutting winds were raging within,
but she said an evening prayer, and the winds abated as if they
were going to sleep; and she entered the latge, empty, cold
rooms—and there she beheld Kay. She immediately tecog-
nised him, and flew to embrace him, and held him fast, while
she exclaimed: ‘‘ Kay! dear little Kay! So I have found you
at last.” .

But he sat quite motionless, stiff, and cold; and then little



46 The Snow Queen.



Gerda shed warm tears that fell upon his breast, and pene-
trated to his heart and melted the lump of ice, and washed
away the little glass fragment at the same time; he looked at
her while she sang:

“The roses bloom but one short hour, then die,
But the infant Jesus ever lives on high.”

Then Kay burst into tears, and he cried so abundantly that
the little bit of glass swam out of his eye when he recognised
her, and exclaimed joyously: “Gerda! dear little Gerda!
Where have you stayed away so long? And where have I
been ?” And he looked all about him. ‘‘ How cold it is here!
How large and how empty it all’ seems!’’ And he clung to
Gerda, who laughed and cried for joy; and the scene was so
moving, that even the pieces of ice jumped about for joy, and
when they were tired and lay down again, they formed them-
selves into the very letters the Snow Queen had said he must
find out before he ,could become his own master, and she
would make him a present of the whole world and a pair of
new skates.

Then Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they became blooming ;
she kissed his eyes, and they beamed like hers; she kissed his
hands and feet, and he became healthy and cheerful. The
Snow Queen might now come home if she pleased; for there
stood his letters-patent of freedom, written in glittering pieces
of ice.

And they took each other by the hand and walked out of the
castle, and talked of grandmamma, and of the roses on the roof ;
and wherever they went the winds were laid to rest, and the
sun shone forth; and when they reached the bush with red







© ARE guns
ASX

Ne iY Ce

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Ne SRK
SN SCN
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ARR
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Wesel oN



in :
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THE ICE PUZZLE.






The Snow Queen’s Castle. 49

berries, they found the reindeer waiting for them, accompanied
by a younger reindeer, whose udders were full of warm milk,
which she gave the children to drink, and then kissed their
mouths. They then carried Kay and Gerda to the Finlandish
woman, where they warmed themselves thoroughly in the hot
room, and obtained directions about their journey homewards,
and next to the Laplandish woman, who had made new clothes
for them, and set their sledge in order.

The reindeer and his Companion ran beside them, and
followed them to the frontiers of the land, where the first
green shoots were to be seen; and here the little travellers
took leave of the reindeer and of their Laplandish hostess.
‘‘ Farewell!” was said on all sides. And the first little birds
began to twitter, and the forest was full of green buds; and
there emerged from it a beautiful horse (that Gerda recognised
as having belonged to the golden coach) mounted by a girl
wearing a shining red cap, and with pistols in her belt. This
was the little robber girl, who was tired of staying at home,
and was going first to the north, and then, if that did not
suit her, to some other part of the world. She and Gerda
instantly recognised each other, and delighted they were to
meet.

““'You are a pretty fellow to have gone a-gadding in such a
manner!” said she to little Kay: “I wonder whether you
deserve that anybody should have taken the trouble to run to
the world’s end for your sake.”

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and asked after the prince
and princess.

“They are travelling in foreign lands,” said the robber
girl.



50 _ The Snow Queen,

‘“‘ And what is become of the crow ?” said Gerda.

‘He is dead,” returned she. “His tame sweetheart is
become a widow, and wears a bit of black woollen. thread
round her leg. She makes great lamentations, but it’s all
mere stuff. But now tell me how you fared, and how you
managed to get him back.”

Then Gerda and Kay related all that had taken place.
“‘ Snip-snap-snorum !” said the robber girl, who shook their
hands, and promised, should she ever pass through their town,
that she would pay them a visit ; and then she rode forth into
the wide world. Meantime, Kay and Gerda walked on hand
in hand, and the farther they went the lovelier the spring
appeared with its flowers and verdure; the church-bells were
ringing, and they recognised the tall steeples, and the large
town where they lived; and they entered it, and found their
way to their grandmother’s door, then up the stairs, and into
the room, where all looked the same as it used to do: the
clock was still going, ‘‘tick-tack!”” and the hands were point-
ing to the hour; but, as they passed through the doorway,
they perceived they were now grown up. The roses on the
roof were in: full bloom, and peeping in at the open window ;
and there stood their little chairs which they used as children,
upon which Kay and Gerda-now sat down, one on each chair,
holding each other by the hand, while the cold, empty
‘splendour of the Snow Queen’s palace vanished from their
thoughts like a painful dream. The grandmother sat in God’s
bright sunshine, reading aloud the following passage in the
Bible: “‘ Unless ye become as little children, ye shall not enter
into the kingdom of heaven.”



The Snow Queen’s Castle. 5I



And Kay and Gerda exchanged looks, and they now under-
stood the meaning of the old hymn:

“ The roses bloom but one short hour, then die,
But the infant Jesus ever lives on high.”

And there they both sat, grown up, yet children still, for
they were children in their hearts; arid it was summer—warm
glorious summer !











BUCKWHEAT.

Ir frequently happens, when one passes through a field of
buckwheat after a storm, that one sees it looking quite black
and singed, just as if a fierce flame had passed over it, and
then a countryman says, “That comes of the lightning!” But
how did it come about? Well, I'll tell you what a sparrow
told me, and the sparrow heard it from an aged willow that
stood in a meadow next to a field of buckwheat, and is still
standing for the matter of that. It is a most venerable, large
willow, though crippled and aged; its trunk is split right
through the middle, and grass and blackberry tendrils are
peeping out through the cleft. The tree is bending forwards,
and its branches are hanging down to the ground—just like
long green hair.

There grew corn in the surrounding fields, not only rye and
barley, but oats—pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a flight
of little yellow canary birds, sitting on a branch. The harvest
was blessed with plenty, and the heavier and richer the ears of
corn, the lower did they bow their heads in pious humility.



The Willow's Answer. St ee



Now, there was a field of buckwheat just opposite the old
willow. The buckwheat did not bow its head like the rest of
the corn, but flaunted away in stiff-necked pride.

“‘T am as rich as the other ears of corn,” said he, “‘ and,
moreover, I am much more sightly. My flowers are as pretty

Ky,»
Uy YT ~ G y



THE WILLOW IN THE STORM.

as apple-blossoms, and it is a treat to look at me and mine.
Do you know of anything more beautiful than ourselves, you
old willow ?”

And the willow nodded his head, as much as to say, “ In-
deed, I do!”



54 Buckwheat.

But the buckwheat bridled proudly, saying, ‘‘ Stupid tree !
He is so old that the grass is growing on his body.”

There now arose a violent storm. All the flowers of the
field folded up their leaves or bent their little heads down-
wards, while the storm swept over them; but the buckwheat

stood erect in all its pride.

** Bow your head, as we do,” said the flowers.

“There is no need of that for me,” answered the buck-
wheat..

“Hang your head down as we do,” cried the corn. ‘“ The
angel of the storm is approaching. He has wings that reach
from the clouds above down to our earth, and he’ll smite you
before you have time to beg for mercy.”

** But I don’t choose to bow down,” said the buckwheat.

“Fold up your flowers and bend your leaves,” said the old
willow. ‘Do not look at the lightning when the cloud bursts
open; even human beings dare not do that, for, in the midst
of lightning, one may see right into heaven, but the sight
strikes even human beings blind; and what would not happen
to us—the produce of the earth—if we ventured on such a
thing, so much humbler as we are ?”

** Humbler, indeed !” said the buckwheat. ‘‘ Now, I happen
to have a mind to take a peep into heaven.” And in his pride
and arrogance he dared to do so. The flashes of lightning
were so awful that it seemed as if the whole world were in
flames. :

When this dreadful storm was quite over, both the flowers
and the corn felt refreshed by the rain as they stood in the pure,
quiet air, but the buckwheat was burnt as black as a cinder by
the lightning, and was like a dead weed upon the field.



The Weeping Willow. 55



And the old willow’s branches rustled in the wind, and
large drops fell from his green leaves, just as though he were
shedding tears. .

Then the sparrows inquired: ‘“‘ Why are you weeping,
when all around seems blest ? Look how the sun shines, and
how the clouds are sailing! Do you not smell the sweet per-
fume of flowers and bushes? Wherefore do you weep, aged
willow ?”

And the willow told of the buckwheat’s pride, of his stub-
bornness, and of the punishment which is sure to follow.

I who am telling the tale heard it from the sparrows. They
told it me one evening when I asked them for a story.





5 sth

By \ BAS \ as iN SOE eS HR
: _ 2 ~~ Da rp 4
AE, OB INV UAE TRA NSN re UE

So ape be ES



THE FIR-TREE.

In the depths of the forest there stood a pretty little fir-
tree. It was placed very nicely, for it could get as much
sunshine and air as it wanted, and it was surrounded by a
number of taller companions, both firs and pines. But the
little fir-tree did so long to grow taller! It thought nothing
of the warm sun and the fresh air, and cared still less for the
peasant children who strolled about and chattered whenever
they came to gather wild strawberries and raspberries. They
would often bring a pipkin full of berries, or lay them out on a
handful of straw, and then seat themselves near the little fir-
tree, saying: “‘ Well, this is a sweet little tree!” But the tree
was quite insensible to any such praise.

In the following year, it had grown a notch taller, and the
year after it was taller still by another notch; for with fir-trees
it is easy to ascertain, by the number of notches, how many
years old they are.

““Oh! how I wish I were as tall as the other trees!” sighed



“ Could I but Grow!” 57



the diminutive fir; ‘‘and then I should spread my branches
all around, and my top would overlook the wide world. Birds
would then build nests in my branches, and when the wind
blew I should be able to bow with as much dignity as the rest
of my companions.”

It took no delight in the sunshine, or the birds, or the rosy
clouds that sailed over its head morning and evening. When
it was winter, and the white snow lay in dazzling sheets upon’
the ground, a hare would frequently jump right over the little
tree, and that vexed it so sorely! But after two more winters,
the tree had grown so tall, that by the time it had reached the
third, the hare was obliged to run round it. “Oh! could I
but grow and grow, and become tall and old! That is the
only thing worth caring for in this world,” thought the tree.

In the autumn, the woodcutters always came and felled
several of the tallest trees. As this happened regularly every
year, the young fir-tree, who was now grown up, shuddered at
the fate that perhaps awaited him; for the fine large trees fell
with a loud crashing and creaking to the ground. Their
branches were lopped off, and the trunks looked so naked, so
lank, and so narrow, that they were scarcely to be recognised.
Then they were placed on waggons, and the horses drew them
out of the forest.

Whither were they bound? What was to be their fate ?

In spring, when the swallows and storks made their
appearance, the tree inquired of them: “ Do you know where
they have been taken to? Did you not meet them ?”

The swallows knew nothing of the matter; but the stork,
after due reflection, nodded his head, saying: ‘‘ Yes, I think I
did; for I met a great many new ships as I flew out of Egypt,



58 The Fir-Tree.

and the ships had very handsome masts; so I conclude that it
must have been they, particularly as they smelt like firs. I
congratulate you upon your friends; really they are very
shining characters.” :

“Oh! if I were but tall enough to cross the sea! What is
this sea, and what does it look like ?”

“Why, it would take too much time to explain,’
the stork, going away.

“Enjoy your youth,” said the sunbeams; ‘‘enjoy your
fresh growth, and your young existence, while it lasts.”

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew shed tears over
it; but the fir-tree could not understand either of them.

When Christmas was drawing near, some very young trees
were felled; several trees, indeed, that were neither so tall
nor so old as this particular fir-tree, which could not rest for
longing to get away from its native place. These young trees,
which were chosen as being the prettiest of all, were not
deprived of their branches, and were laid upon waggons, and
taken away from the forest.

‘‘ Whither can they be going ?” asked our fir-tree. ‘‘ They
are not taller than I am; on the contrary, there was one
much smaller than myself. And why are they allowed to
retain their branches? What is to be done with them ?”

“We know—we know,” twittered the sparrows, “‘ for we
have looked in at the windows, in yonder town! We know
what is to be done with them. Oh, they are raised to the
very highest honours, I promise you! We saw through the
windows how they were stuck up in a warm room, and
ornamented with a host of fine things, such as gilt apples,
ginger-bread, and playthings, besides hundreds of tapers.’’.

’

replied









THE HARE BY THE FIR-TREE.









Farewell to the Flowers ! | 61



“‘ And then,” asked the fir-tree with trembling eagerness—
“and then—what next ?”

“Why, we saw nothing further—but it was an incom-
parable sight !”’ :

“ T wonder whether I am destined to so brilliant a career !”
exclaimed the fir-tree, in ecstasy. ‘‘ That is even better than
crossing the seas. How I do long for Christmas to come
round again! Iam now grown as tall as the others that were
taken away last year. Oh, how I wish I were already placed
on the waggon! How I wish I were in the warm room with
all the fine things about me! And then—why surely some-
thing still better must be in store, something far finer still, or
else they would not deck me out so smartly! There must be
something much grander and more magnificent yet to come—
only what can it be? Oh! I am so weary with longing—I
can’t tell how I feel !”

“Enjoy our gifts,” said the air and the sunbeams; “ enjoy
your bright young days in the open air.”

But the tree would not enjoy himself, and kept growing
and growing. Through both winter and summer he stood
clothed in dark green, and all who saw him said: “That is a
beautiful tree.” So towards Christmas he was felled before
any of the others. The axe clove right through his pith, and
down he fell with a groan ; it was like a pang, or a fainting fit,
and the tree ceased to think of the honours that awaited him,
in his affliction at leaving his home, and the spot where he
had grown into beauty; for he knew but too well that he
would never see his old companions again, nor the little rushes
and flowers that once surrounded him ; nor, pérhaps, even the
birds. Moreover, the journey was far from pleasant.



62 The Fir-Tree.

The tree revived a little when he was unpacked, together
with the other trees, in a courtyard, and he heard a man
observe: “This is a beauty. We only want one.”

Two well-dressed servants now came, and carried off the
fir-tree to a fine large room. The walls were adorned with
pictures, and beside the earthenware stove stood large china
vases, with lions on their lids; and there were rocking-chairs,
silk sofas, large tables loaded with books full of prints, and
playthings, to the amount of a hundred times a hundred
‘dollars—at least, so said the children. The fir-tree was
placed in a large barrel filled with sand; but nobody could
perceive it was a barrel, as it was covered round with green
baize, and stood on a handsome carpet. Oh! how the tree
quaked !

What was going to be done? Both the servants and the
young ladies helped to adorn it. On one branch they hung
little nets cut out of coloured paper, and each net was filled
with sweetmeats; gilt apples and walnuts- hung down from
others, as if they had grown there; and above a hundred
tapers—white, blue, and red—were fastened to the branches.
Beneath the green leaves were placed dolls, that looked for
all the world like living creatures—the tree had never seen
any such before; and on the topmost summit was fastened a
star, all over spangles, that was right royally splendid to
behold.

“This evening it will shine most gloriously!” they all
said.

“Oh!” thought the tree, ‘“‘if it were but evening! If the
tapers could but be lighted! And then what is to be done
next? I wonder whether the trees from our forest will come



The Christmas Tree. 63

and admire me? And whether the sparrows will peep in
through the window-panes? And whether I have taken root
here, and shall remain decked out in this fashion through both
winter and summer ?”

These reflections were all very well, only the tree’s long-
ings were so intense that his bark ached again through im-
patience; and barkache is just as bad for a tree as headache is
with us.

At length the tapers were lit; and a grand sight it was, to
be sure. The tree trembled so in all his branches that one
of the tapers set fire to the leaves and regularly singed
them. _

“Help! help!” shrieked the young ladies, as they hastily
extinguished the flame.

So the tree endeavoured not to tremble again, frightened
as he was—for he was most anxious not to lose any of
his ornaments—and though bewildered by so brilliant a
scene. And now the folding-doors were thrown open, and
in rushed a whole troop of children, as though they would
overturn the tree, while their elders followed in a more
leisurely manner. The little ones stood for a moment
stricken dumb, and then directly after set up such shouts of
joy, that the room rang with the sound. They danced round
the tree, and one present after another was plucked off from
its branches.

“What are they about?” thought the tree. “ What will
come next?” And as each taper burnt down to the branches,
it was put out, and then the children had leave given them to
rifle the tree. Oh, how they did set upon it, to be sure! And
how its branches cracked! Had it not been fastened by the



64 The Fir-Tree.



gold star at the top to the ceiling, it would have been over-
turned to a certainty.

The children danced about with their pretty toys, and
nobody took any further notice of the tree, except the old
nurse, who came and rummaged amongst the branches to see
if a fig or an apple had not been left there by chance.

““A story! let’s have a story!” cried the children, pulling a
little thick-set man towards the tree, under which he took his
seat, saying: ‘‘ Now we are in the shade; and of course the
tree will reap great advantage by listening to what we say.
But mind! I shall only tell one story, so which shall it be?
Ivede-Avede, or Humpty-Dumpty, who fell downstairs, and
yet was raised to high honours, and obtained the princess’s
hand ?”

“ Ivede-Avéde!”” cried some. “ Humpty-Dumpty!” cried
others. Anda fine screaming and squalling there was! The
fir-tree alone was silent, though he said to himself—‘‘ Am I
not to have a finger in the pie ?” For he had played his part
as well as anybody else that evening.

And the man told the story of Humpty-Dumpty, who fell
downstairs, and yet was raised to high honours, and obtained
the princess’s hand. And the children clapped their hands,
and cried: “‘Go on! Go on!” for they wanted to hear the
story of Ivede-Avede besides; but they only got Humpty-
Dumpty. The fir-tree stood in pensive silence. The birds in
the wood had never told him anything of the kind.

‘““Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet obtained a
princess! Yes, yes! that’s the way of the world,” argued the
fir-tree, thinking it must be a true story, because it was told
by such a well-dressed man. “So who knows but what I may



In the Loft. 65

fall downstairs and obtain a princess?” And he rejoiced to
think that next day he would again be decked out with tapers,
playthings, gold, and fruit.

“ To-morrow I will not tremble,” thought the tree. ‘I
will enjoy my grandeur. To-morrow I shall hear the story of
Humpty-Dumpty again, and perhaps that of Ivede-Avede.”
And the tree remained silent and thoughtful throughout the
whole night.

Next morning the man-servant and the maid came in.
““Now I’m going to be tricked out again in all my finery!”
thought the tree. But they dragged him out of the room, and
upstairs, and then flung him on the floor in a dark corner,
where daylight never shone. ‘‘ What’s the meaning of this ?”
thought the tree. ‘‘ What shall I do here? And what can I
hear in such a place?” And he leaned against the wall, still
thinking and thinking. And he had plenty of time for reflection,
as days and nights passed by, and nobody came up; and when
at length somebody did come, it was only to stow away some
large chests in the corner. So the tree was now as com-
pletely concealed as though his existence had been entirely
forgotten.

“Tt is winter abroad,” thought the tree; “ the ground must
now be hard and covered with snow, so they can’t plant me;
therefore, I am to be kept safe here until spring. That is
no bad plan. Really, people are very kind! I only wish it
was not so dark, and so terribly lonely here! There’s not even
a little hare to enliven one! How nice it was to be in the
forest when the snow was lying on the ground, and the hare
used to jump past me—or even when he leaped over me,

though I was not well pleased at the time, I remember.
F



66 The Fir-Tree.

It is so dreadfully lonely up here!’ ‘‘ Peep! peep!” squeaked
a little mouse, stealing forth, followed by another. They
sniffed at the fir-tree, and then ensconced themselves between
its branches.

“It is bitterly cold,” said the little mice, ‘‘ or else we should
be very well off here—shouldn’t we, you old fir-tree ?”’

“I’m not old,” said the fir-tree; ‘‘there are many a great
deal older than I.”

“‘Where do you come from?” inquired the mice,
what’s your name?” for they were vastly curious. ‘“‘ Tell us
something about the prettiest place in the world. Have you
been there? Have you been in the store-room, where there
is cheese lying on the shelves, and hams are hanging from
the ceiling; where one may dance upon tallow candles, and
from which one may come out twice as fat as one goes in ?”

“J don’t know of any such place,” said the tree; ‘‘but I
know of our forest where the sun shines, and the birds sing.”
And then he related the story of his youth; and the mice, who
had never heard of the like before, listened very attentively,
and then observed: ‘“‘How much you have seen, and how
happy you have been !”

“T happy!” exclaimed the fir-tree ;. and then he thought
over all he had told. ‘‘ Well! those were, to be sure, rather
pleasant times.” And then he related all about Christmas Eve,
and how he was decked out with cakes and tapers.

“Oh!” cried the little mice, ‘‘ how happy you have been,
you old fir-tree!”’

“JT am not old,” said the tree. “It’s only this winter that
I have come from the forest, and so I have been thrown back
in my growth.”

“and



Humpty-Dumpty. 67



“What pretty things you do relate!” said the little mice.
And the following night they returned with four other little
mice, that they might hear the tree tell his story; and the
oftener he told it the more distinctly he remembered every-
thing, and he could not help thinking, ‘‘ Those were right
pleasant times, but they will not come over again. Still,
as Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet obtained the
princess, perhaps I may still have a princess myself”? And
the fir-tree fondly recollected an elegant little birch that grew
in the forest, and was a beautiful princess for a fir-tree.

‘Who is Humpty-Dumpty ?” inquired the little mice.

The fir-tree then related the whole story, every word of
which he remembered; and _ the little mice were fit to jump to
the top of the tree with delight. Next night there came a great
many more mice, and by Sunday they were joined by a couple
of rats; but the latter said the story was not a pretty one,
which vexed the little mice, because it made them think less
of it themselves.

“Do you know nothing but this one story?” inquired
the rats.

“Only this one,” replied the tree. ‘I heard it on the
happiest evening of my life. I did not think then how happy
I was.”

“Tt is a pitiful story, anyway. Don’t you know any
stories about lard or tallow? Can’t you tell us some store-
room tales ?”

‘“No,” said the tree.

“Your servant,” answered the rats, and they returned to
their own set.

The little mice finished by staying away likewise, and then



68 The Fir-Tree.



the tree said, with a sigh, “It was very nice when those sym-
pathizing little mice used to sit all round me, and listen to my
story. Now, thatisover too.. But I shall think of those times,
and enjoy the recollection of them, when I am removed from
this place once more.”

But what, think you, happened? Why, one morning, there
came some people, who made a great to-do upon the floor ;
the chests were shoved aside, and the tree was drawn forth.
It’s true they flung it somewhat roughly on-the floor; but a
servant immediately dragged it towards the stairs, on which
shone the daylight.

“Now I am going to begin life anew,” thought the tree, as
he felt the fresh air and the welcome sunbeams on reaching the
court below. The court led to a garden, where everything
was in full bloom. The roses hung over the little trellis, and
looked so fresh, and smelt so sweet; while the lime-trees
were in blossom, and the swallows were flying about saying,
“ Twit—twit—twit—my mate is coming.” But it was not the
fir-tree they meant.

“Now I shall really live!” cried the latter, rejoicing and
spreading out his branches, that were, alas! all withered
and yellow; and there he lay in a corner amongst weeds and
nettles. The gilt-paper star was still stuck in the top of the
tree, and sparkled in the bright sunshine.

Two of the lively children who had danced round the tree and
taken such delight in it at Christmas happened to be playing
in the court. The youngest ran and tore off the gold star.

_ “See what is still sticking to the ugly old fir-tree,” said the
child, as he trampled on the branches till they cracked.

And the tree looked upon the bright flower-garden, and














= yon PON
fh ae =
“ all re IPR eo
pins TORS RIS
oo Sey Vw Le 7 Ti & aN
AZ Dees 4 Fe sas Sh
} z= Eee y
i EU te We
Va Kua Sec

WO

THE FIR-TREE TELLS HIS STORY.









“« Pop—Pop dhe 71



then thought of himself, and wished he had been left in his
dark corner on the floor. He recalled his early youth in the
forest, the merry Christmas evening, and the little mice who
were so pleased at hearing the story of Humpty-Dumpty.

“Tt’s all gone and past,” said the old tree. ‘‘ Would that I
had known my own happiness while it lasted |”

A lad now came and chopped the tree into small fagots,
and made them up into a bundle. A fire soon burned up
briskly under a large washing-copper, and the tree sighed so
deeply that every sigh was like a little pistol-shot. So the
children left off playing, and came and sat near the fire, and
looked at it, saying “‘ Pop—pop !” and then the tree was burnt
to ashes.

And as all was over with the tree, so it must be with the
story ; for all stories finish at last.





oA Ce eS
PIES 7 AES

AALS y



THE LOVING PAIR.

A WHIPPING-Top and a little ball lay together in a box,
amongst other playthings. One day the top said to the ball :
“Shall we make a match of it, since we are living here in the
same box?” But the ball being made of morocco leather, and
thinking quite as much of herself as any high-bred young lady
might do, did not even vouchsafe an answer.

On the following day came the little boy to whom the play-
things belonged; and he painted the top red and yellow, and
drove a brass nail right through the middle of it, so that it
looked very smart indeed when it spun round.

“Look at me,” said the top to the ball. ‘ What do you
think of me now? Shan’t we make a match of it? We are
so well suited to each other, for you jump and I dance. There
would not be a happier pair in the whole world.”

“Do you think so?” said the ball. ‘‘ You are, perhaps,
not aware that my father and mother were morocco slippers,
and that I have a Spanish cork in my body ?”



Top and Ball. | 73



“Yes; but Iam made of mahogany,” said the top, “‘and
the burgomaster turned me himself. He has a lathe of his own,
and he took great delight in me.”

“Can I depend upon what you say ?” asked the ball.

‘May I never be whipped if I’m telling a fib!’ returned
the top.

“You plead your own cause vastly well,” said the ball, “‘ but
I can’t accept your proposal. I am as good as betrothed to
a swallow. As often as I fly up into the air, he pokes his head
out of his nest, and says, ‘ Will you?’ And as I have inwardly
answered, ‘ Yes,’ it is almost as binding as a betrothal; but I'll
promise never to forget you.”

“A deal of good that will do me!” said the gop -And so
they left off speaking to each other.

On the following day the boy took out the ball. The top
saw it flying up into the air like any bird, till at last it was out
of sight. Each time it returned it gave a rebound as it touched
the earth, either because it longed to jump upwards or be-
cause it had a Spanish cork in its body. But the ninth time
it was flung into the air, it stayed away and did not return.
The boy sought and sought, but all in vain, for it was gone.

“‘T know where she is,” sighed the top; “‘in the swallow’s
nest, to be sure, where she has married the swallow by this
time.”

The more the top thought about the ball, the more in-
fatuated he was with her charms. His love increased just
because he could not obtain her, and most of ail, perhaps,
because another had taken her away from him. So the top
twirled round and hummed, but still kept thinking of the ball,
who grew more and more beautiful in his imagination. And



74. The Loving Pair.



years passed away in this manner, till his love had grown quite
an old story.

The top himself was no longer young, when one day he
was gilt all over. He had never looked so handsome before ;
he was now a gold top, and hopped about till he hummed
again. So this was something quite grand! Only one day he
leaped too high, and was out of sight.

He was looked for everywhere —even the cellar was searched,
but he was nowhere to be found.

Where could he be?

He had jumped into the dust-bin amongst the cabbage-
stalks, sweepings, and rubbish that had fallen from the gutter
of the roof.

‘Now I’m in a pretty pickle!” quoth he; “ my gilding will
soon come off at this rate. Oh dear! What a set of raga-
muffins I have got amongst!’ And he looked askance at a
long, bare cabbage-stalk, and at a strange round thing that
appeared like an old apple—though it was not an apple, but an
old ball that had lain for years in the gutter of the roof till it
was saturated with water.

“Thank goodness! Here comes somebody of my own
sort, with whom I can converse,” said the ball, examining the
gilt top. ‘I am, in point of fact, made of morocco, and was
sewed together by a young lady, and have a Spanish cork in
my body, though nobody would think it now. I was very
near marrying a swallow, only I fell into the gutter of the roof,
where I have lain these five years, and been drenched through
and through. Believe me, it is a long time for a young
maiden.”

The top said nothing; but he thought of his old flame, and



Old Acquaintance. 75



the more he listened the more convinced he felt that this must
be she.

Then came the housemaid to empty the dust-bin.

“ Holloa !” cried she, ‘‘ why there’s the gold top!”

So the top was again brought to light to be honoured and
admired, while nothing more was heard of the ball. And the
top never said a word more about his old flame, which may
well be quenched when one’s beloved has lain five years in a
gutter, and been soaked through—nay, one may even be
excused for cutting her acquaintance on meeting her in a dust-
bin.





«eee yb

jy:

MX Zs iii ,
TD J
Pe Ke

Hid
iis



THE PRINCESS. AND THE. PARCHED
PEA,

THERE was once a prince who wished to marry a princess;
but he wanted her to be a real princess. He travelled all
round the world to find such an one, but there was always
something wrong. Not that there was any lack of princesses,
but as to whether or no they were real ones he could not °
always make out. There was sure to be something in the way
that was not quite satisfactory. At length he returned home,
quite out of spirits, for he wished so to find a real princess.

One evening there was a fearful storm. It thundered
and lightened, and poured with rain, till it was quite dreadful.
There came a knock at the town-gate, and the old king went
and opened it.

A princess stood outside the gate; but, oh dear! what a
State she was in from the rain and the bad weather! The
water was dripping down from her hair and her clothes, and



.

os



S rs

Mf em

\

Ail if| (

\







aA



ik

A PRINCESS STOOD OUTSIDE.





ese:

ers
Fe





A Real Princess. 79



running in at the tips of her shoes and coming out at the heels.
Yet she said she was a real princess.

“Well, that we’ll presently see,” thought the old queen.
But she said nothing, and went into a spare room, and took off
all the bedding, and laid a pea on the sacking of the bedstead.
She then took twenty mattresses and laid them upon the pea,
and then piled twenty eider-down quilts on the top of the
mattresses.

The princess lay upon them the whole night. On the
following morning she was asked how she had slept.

“Oh, most shockingly!” said the princess. ‘‘I scarcely
closed my eyes all night! I do not know what was in the bed;
I lay upon some hard substance, which has made me black and
blue all over. It is quite dreadful!”

It was now evident that she was a real princess, since she
perceived the pea through twenty mattresses and twenty eider-
down quilts. None but a real princess could have such delicate
feeling.

So the prince married her, for he knew that he had now
found a real princess; and the pea was preserved in the cabinet
of curiosities, where it is still to be seen, unless somebody has
stolen it.

And this, mind you, is a real story.





THE GALOSHES OF HAPPINESS.

I.—A BEGINNING.

THERE was company in a house in Copenhagen, not far
from the King’s New Market, where a great many persons had
been invited. Half the company had already sat down to the
card-table, and the other half was awaiting the result of the
hostess’s question: ‘‘ Well, what shall we do?” They had got
thus far, and the entertainment was beginning to go on smoothly
enough. Amongst other things, the conversation happened to
fall upon the Middle Ages, which some few persons deemed
far more interesting than our own times. The councillor of
justice, Knap, maintained this opinion so warmly that the lady
of the house immediately went over to his side, and both fell
foul of those views about old and modern times in which the
preference, in all essential points, is given to our own age.
The councillor of justice looked upon the era of the Danish
King Hans! as the noblest and most happy of all.

“1 He died in 1513. He was married to Christine, daughter of the
Electoral Prince Ernest of Saxony.



Two Maidens. 81

While this topic forms the groundwork of the conversation,
which was only momentarily disturbed by the arrival of a
newspaper containing nothing worth reading, we will go out
into the ante-room, where the mantles, sticks, and galoshes were



uh
|







CARE AND THE MAID OF HAPPINESS,

laid by. Here sat two maidens, a young one and an old one,

just as if they had come to accompany their mistress home;

but, on a nearer inspection, one could have perceived that they

were no common abigails. Their noble figures, delicate skins,
G



82 The Galoshes of Happiness.



and the very cut of their clothes forbade such a possibility.
They were a couple of fairies. The younger was not Happiness
herself, but a waiting-maid of one of her lady’s-maids, who dis-
tribute the minor gifts of Happiness. The elder looked rather
gloomy; she was Care; she always looks after her own affairs
personally, and then she knows they are properly attended to.

They related to each other where they had been that day.
The messenger of Happiness had only performed some trifling
acts, coming more under the denomination of luck, such as
saving a new hat from a shower, obtaining for an honourable
man a bow from a titled nonentity, and so forth. But what
remained was something quite unusual.

‘‘T must tell you,” said she, ‘‘that it is to-day my birth-
day, in honour of which I have been entrusted with a pair of
galoshes that I am to introduce amongst mankind. These
galoshes have the property instantly to transport whosoever
shall put them on to the place and times he best likes. Every
wish relative to time, place, or existence will be instantly ful-
filled, and one mortal, at least, will be happy for the time being
here below.”

“So you fancy,” said Care. ‘‘ Most likely he will be very
unhappy, and will bless the moment when he gets rid of the
paloshes.. =.

‘‘ What are you thinking about ?” said the other. ‘‘ Now,
I’ll place them near the door; someone will get hold of them,
and be happy.”

Such was the conversation that passed between the two.



Councillor Knap. 83



IIL.—WHAT BEFELL THE COUNCILLOR OF JUSTICE.

It was late. Councillor Knap, who was deep in his specu-
lations about King Hans’ days, now wanted to go home, and
Fate so ordained it that he drew on the Galoshes of Happiness
instead of his own and stepped out into East Street. Only,
being transported back to the times of King Hans, by the
magic spell of the galoshes, he immediately set his foot into
the mire and swamp of the street, which in those days boasted
no pavement.

“How dreadfully dirty it is here!” said the councillor.
“The whole pavement has vanished, and all the lamps are
out.”

The moon had not risen high enough, and the air was,
besides, so thick, that all the surrounding objects were con-
fused in the gloom. At the nearest corner there hung a lantern
in front. of an image of the Madonna; but the light was as
good as nothing at all, for he only perceived it when he was
just under it, and his eyes fell on the painted Child and His
mother.

“Probably,” thought he, “this is some curiosity shop,
where they have forgotten to take down the sign.”

A couple of men, in the dress of the Middle Ages, passed
by him.

“What odd figures!” thought he. ‘Surely they come
from a masquerade.”

There suddenly struck up a sound of drums and fifes, while
torches shed a brilliant light. The councillor started back’ in
amaze, and now beheld a most singular procession pass before



84. The Galoshes of Happiness.



him. ‘First came a whole troop of drummers, who were be-
labouring their instruments.amain ; these were followed by body-
guards with bows and cross-bows. The principal person in
the procession was a clerical gentleman. The astonished
councillor asked what it all meant, and who the man could be.

“* The Bishop of Zealand.”

“Good gracious! What is the bishop thinking about?”
sighed the councillor, shaking his head. ‘Surely it could not
be the bishop!” While trying to make out the truth, the
councillor, who could see neither to the right nor to the left,
went through East Street and across the Habro-platz. The
bridge leading to the square in front of the palace was not to
be found, and he perceived he was near the bank of a shallow
sheet of water, and at length met two people in a boat.

‘Does his honour wish to be ferried over to the Holme?”
asked they.

“To the Holme!” echoed the councillor of justice, not
knowing the age he wasin. ‘I want to go to Christianshaven,
and to Little Market Street.” :

The people stared at him.

“Tell me where the bridge is,” said he. ‘It is really
shameful that the lamps are not lighted hereabouts ; and, be-
sides, it is as dirty as if one were wading through a swamp.”

The more he talked with the boatmen, the more incompre-
hensible they appeared to him.

“JT don’t understand your gibberish,” said he at last in a
pet, and turned his back upon them. Hecould not find the
bridge, and there was no parapet. “It is scandalous what a
state the place is in!” said he. And the age he lived in had
“never appeared more pitiful than it did thisevening. ‘I think



“What's This?” 85



the best thing I could do would be to have a droschka,” thought
he. But where were the droschkas? Not one was to be seen.
““T must go back to the stand in the King’s New Market and
find a coach, or else I shall never reach Christianshaven.”

He now went to East Street, and was nearly through it,
when the moon emerged from a cloud.

**Good gracious! What is this scaffold put up here for ?”
said he, on seeing the East Gate, which in those days stood at
the end of East Street.

He managed, however, to find an opening, which led him
to what is now our New Market, but was then a large meadow.
A few bushes stood around, and a wide canal or stream crossed
right through the meadow. A few miserable wooden booths,
for the convenience of Dutch ships, stood on the opposite
shore.

*‘ Either I am deceived by a fata morgana, or I must
be tipsy !” said the councillor. ‘‘ What’s this? what’s this ?”

He turned back, in the full persuasion that he must be ill ;
and, on again retracing his steps through the street, he looked
more attentively at the houses. They were mostly built of
boards, and had only thatched roofs.

“T am ill, toacertainty!”’ sighed he; “and yet I only drank
one glass of punch. But I never can stand it, and, moreover,
it was quite monstrous to give us punch and hot salmon; I
must mention it to the lady. Suppose I went back and said
how I feel? Only it looks so ridiculous, and then it is a
question, after all, whether they are still up.”

He looked for the house, but it was not to be found.

“Tt is really frightful! but I can’t recognise East Street.
There is not a shop to be seen, and nothing but wretched old



86 The Galoshes of Happiness.



tumble-down houses, just as if I were in Roeskilde or Ringstedt.
Surely I must be ill! So there’s no use making any ceremony.
But where in the world is the house?’ It is no longer the
same; only there are still persons stirring in it. Oh! I must
be very ill!”

He now pushed against a half-open door, through a chink
in which a light was streaming. It was an inn such as existed
in those times, being a kind of ale-house. The room looked
like a Dutch interior: a knot of people, composed of seamen,
Copenhagen citizens, together with a couple of learned men,
were in deep converse over their pitchers, and paid little atten-
tion to the new-comer.

“ Excuse me,” said the councillor of justice to the landlady ;
“*T am very ill, and should be glad if you could accommodate
me by sending for a droschka to drive to Christianshaven.”

The woman stared at him, and shook her head, and then
spoke to him inGerman. The councillor thought that she did
not know Danish, and therefore repeated his request in German,
which, together with his clothes, confirmed her in the opinion
that he must be a foreigner. She soon understood that he
was ill, and brought him a pitcher of water, which did, to be
sure, smack somewhat of salt water, though it was drawn from
the well outside.

The councillor leant his head on his hand, fetched his breath,
and then endeavoured to sift the meaning of all the strange
things that had befallen him.

“Ts that the last number of the News of the Day ?” asked he
mechanically, seeing the landlady laying by a large piece of
paper, which he took for the newspaper of his own times.

She did not understand what he meant, but handed him the



A Learned Discourse. 87



paper. It was a woodcut, representing a meteor that had
been seen in the town of Cologne.

‘“‘ This is very old,” said the councillor, brightening up at
the sight of this piece of antiquity. ‘‘ How did you come by
this singular sheet ? It is extremely interesting, although the
whole is but a fiction. Such phenomena are now accounted
for as being a kind of aurora borealis ; and they probably arise
from electricity.”

Those who sat near him, and heard what he said, looked at
him in great astonishment, and one of them rose, and doffed
his hat respectfully, saying, with a serious face: ‘‘ You must
certainly be a most learned man, monsieur.”

“Oh, by no means,’ returned the councillor; “I can only
discuss those topics that everybody must know something
about.”

“ Modestia is a great virtue,” said the stranger ; “‘ moreover,
I may add to your speech, mihi secus videtur ; though, in this
case, I willingly suspend my judicium.”

“May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing ?”
returned the councillor.

“Tam a Baccalaureus Scripture Sacre,’ said the man.

This answer satisfied the councillor; for in this case, the
title agreed with the dress. ‘‘ This is surely,” thought he,
“some old village schoolmaster—one of those odd fellows one
still meets with occasionally in Jutland.” ;

“This is no locus docendi,” observed the stranger; “‘ yet, I
wish you would favour us with your conversation. You are
assuredly deeply versed in antiquarian lore.”

“Why, yes,” replied the councillor of justice; ‘I like to
read all useful old writings; but I like the modern ones as



88 The Galoshes of Happiness.



well, with the exception of the ‘Domestic Tales,’ of which we
really have a surfeit.”

““* Domestic Tales’ >?” inquired our baccalaureus.

** Yes, I allude to the new novels that come out.”

“And yet,” said the bookworm, smiling, ‘‘they are very
witty, and are read at court. The king is especially fond of
the romance of Sir Iwain and Sir Gawain, which treats of
King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. He joked
about it with the gentlemen of his court.”

“Well, I have not read that,” said the councillor, ‘it must
be quite a new one, published by Heiberg.”

“No,” said the other, ‘‘ not by Heiberg, but by Godfred von
Gehmen.” :

‘Oh, is that the publisher ?” said the councillor. ‘‘ That’s
a very old name. Why, the first printer and publisher in
Denmark was called the same.”

“Yes, he is our first printer,” said the man.

So far, so good; then one of the citizens spoke of the plague
that raged a few years previous, meaning 1484. The councillor
thought it was the cholera that was alluded to, and so the
conversation got on. The buccaneers’ war of 1490 was so
recent that it could not fail to be touched upon. The English
buccaneers had captured ships in the Roads, and the councillor,
being versed in the events of 1801, quite agreed with them in
blaming the English. The rest of the conversation, however,
did not turn out so well, and was continually assuming the
tone of a funeral oration. The good baccalaureus was too
ignorant not to look upon the very simplest observations of the
councillor as both bold and fantastical. They stared at each
other, and when they could not get on at all, the baccalaureus



Full Text
NAS PSS Sa RE TE CR: 1H OTe aoe ainetd MK i at het MD RIM aCe sgh ope rt hla

PRae eeeahee

le
1
as
s




ta

Mi

be



DOLLY IN THE TREE. Page 178.

THEZSNOW OUEEN

AND OTHER FAIRY TALES

BY

HANS CHRISTIAN. ANDERSEN

ILLUSTRATED BY E, A. LEMANN

LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
37 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
Publisher to the Endia Office
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.


THE approval accorded to the first series of Hans Andersen’s

“Fairy Tales,” illustrated by Miss E. A. Lemann, which
appeared last autumn, has encouraged the publisher, with
the.'co-operation of the same artist, to issue a fresh series,
which, it is hoped, will be found no less acceptable than the

former one.

October, 1894.
CONTENTS.

THE SNOW QUEEN
BUCKWHEAT

THE FIR-TREE

THE LOVING ParR

THE PRINCESS AND THE PARCHED PEA
THE GALOSHES OF HAPPINESS
LITTLE TUK ...

THE STORY OF A MOTHER .,.,
WHAT THE Moon Saw
HOLGER DANSKE

THE OLD STREET LAMP

THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL

THE Happy FAMILY

GRANDMOTHER , ave

194

N Nv
bo m
te Ww

WV
N
‘oO
List OF JELUSTRATIONS:

DOLLY IN THE TREE ...

THE SNOW QUEEN es:

IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S SLEDGE

GERDA ADRIFI IN THE BOAT ...

THE OLD WOMAN RESCUES GERDA
THE Crow’s STORY

THE ROBBER GIRL’S HOME

FAREWELL TO THE ROBBER GIRL

THE IcE PUZZLE as

THE WILLOW IN THE STORM ...

THE HARE BY THE FIR-TREE...

THE FIR-TREE TELLS HIS STORY

A PRINCESS STOOD OUTSIDE

CARE AND THE MAID OF HAPPINESS

“I MIND ME ONCE IN EARLY YOUTH”...
THE HOSPITAL ASSISTANT AND THE RAILINGS ...
THE CAT AND THE CLERK

CARE VANISHES WITH THE GALOSHES ...
LITTLE TUK

GOD’S GARDENER

THE GARRET WINDOW

THE CHILD AND THE CHICKENS
UNDER THE BEECHES...

LOOKING FOR THE BABY

frontispiece
Page 5
10
13
15
25
35
39
47
3
59
69
77
8
93
100
FIG
118
121
133
139
T44
153
165
vill List of Ilustrations.



PAGE
THE CHILD’S NEW CLOTHES ... ah eas Ries eel 7 O:
THE SWAN RESTING ON THE LAKE... BBA ce fe 3186
A GAME WITH BRUIN... ae a ee Se we 189
SAYING PRAYERS TO MOTHER... ns ae ues Eeeg2
CARVING HOLGER DANSKE... a0 aoe aoe ee 106
THE HAPPIEST MAN ALIVE... aes on, ee hen 204
THE LAMP IN ITS OLD AGE ... eos a ee oneep ent
_WARMING HERSELF WITH THE MATCHES oe See eee oly,
THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL’S VISION _... oe ai ee 2OL
THE SNAIL’S WEDDING a os ae a G27.

GRANDMOTHER’S: STORY nol aeece - see veeg 230


\ —

GC SAt asx even oa prays x

SS



RAIRY TALES,

THE SNOW QUEEN.

IN SEVEN STORIES.

STORY THE FIRST.—WHICH TREATS OF A LOOKING-GLASS AND
ITS BROKEN FRAGMENTS.

Now, then, we will begin. When we have got to the end of
the story we shall know more than we do now—for it is about
a very wicked hobgoblin! He was one of the craftiest that
ever lived: in short, he was the arch-fiend in person. One
day, when he was ina facetious humour, he made a looking-
glass which possessed the power of diminishing, almost to
nothing, everything good and beautiful mirrored on its surface,
while all that was worthless or ill-looking was brought out

into stronger relief than before. Seen in this glass, the most
B
2 The Snow Queen.



lovely landscapes looked like cooked spinach, and the best
amongst mankind appeared repulsive, and as though standing
on-his head; countenances were so distorted that they were
not recognisable; and if one had a single freckle, one would
have been led to believe that it extended over one’s nose and
mouth. The arch-fiend said this was extremely entertaining.
If a good, pious thought entered a human being’s brain, a flaw
appeared in the looking-glass, and made the arch-fiend laugh
at his cunning invention. All those who attended the hob-
goblin’s school—for he kept one—spread the fame of the
wonderful glass in all directions, and maintained that people
might now see, for the first time, how the world and its in-
habitants really looked. They carried the glass about every-
where, till at last there was not a land nor a human being left
which had not been seen distorted on its surface. They now
presumed to attempt to scale the regions of the blessed ; but
the higher they flew with the glass the more it cracked: they
could scarcely hold it fast, yet they flew higher and higher,
and still nearer the sun, till the glass shook so dreadfully in
the process of fusion, that it slipped out of their hands and fell
upon the earth, where it split into millions and billions of
pieces; and by this means it became still more mischievous
than heretofore, for some of the shivers were scarcely so large
as a grain of sand, and these flew about the world, and when
they lodged in anybody’s eye, there they remained, and the
person, thenceforth, saw everything through a distorted
medium, or only approved the perverse side of a question; for
every minute fragment of the glass possessed the same qualities
that formerly belonged to the whole glass. Some human
beings had a piece right through their heart, and this was
A Lsttle Boy and a Little Girl. 3



shocking, for it made their hearts as cold as a lump of ice.
Some of these fragments were so large that they served for
window-panes; but it would not have done to look at one’s
friends through such panes as those. Other pieces were set as
spectacles, and it was hard for those who wore them to see
anything in its proper light, or to have the least sense of
justice ; and the arch-fiend laughed till he shook his sides, so
amazingly was he tickled by all the mischief that arose. And
many little glass shivers flew besides through the air, as we
shall presently hear.

STORY THE SECOND.—A LITTLE BOY AND A LITTLE GIRL.

In a large town, where the population was so dense, and
the houses so closely packed, that there was not room for
everybody to have a little garden, and, consequently, the bulk
of the inhabitants were obliged to rest satisfied with the
possession of a few plants in flower-pots, there lived two poor.
children who had a garden somewhat larger than a mere
flower-pot. They were not brother and sister, though they
loved one another quite as much as if they had been.

Their parents lived opposite each other, in two garrets,
where the roof of a neighbouring house joined theirs, and a
gutter ran all along between the two roofs. In each house was
a little window, and by stepping over the gutter, it was easy to
go from one window to the other.

The parents on both sides had a large wooden box, in which
they reared pot-herbs for their own use, and a little rose-tree.
There was one in each box, and they flourished amazingly !
The parents now took it into their heads to place these boxes
4 The Snow Quyeen.



across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window
to another, and looked like two flowery banks. Blooming peas
flung their tendrils over the edge of the boxes, and the rose-
trees put forth their long sprigs that twined about the windows,
and leaned towards each other. In short, it was almost like a
triumphal arch of leaves and flowers.

As the boxes were very high, and the children knew that
they must not climb up to them, they often had leave to get
down out of the window to each other, and to sit on ‘their
little stools under the roses. And then they played together
so prettily !

In winter there was an end to such pleasures. The windows
were frequently covered with frost; but then they warmed
copper pieces on the stove, and laid a warm coin on the frozen
pane, and that made such a nice round hole to peep through !
And then a soft, bright eye beamed from each window ; this
was the little boy and the little girl looking at each other.
His name was Kay, and hers Gerda. In summer they needed
but to take a leap to be side by side, but in winter they had
many stairs to go down, and then to go up again, before
they could meet ; and now the snow-flakes were flying about
abroad.

“‘ The white bees are swarming,” said grandmother.

“‘ Have they, too, a queen bee ?” asked the little boy.

“To be sure,” said the grandmother ; ‘‘she is flying in the
thickest of the swarm. She is the largest of them all, and
never remains upon the ground, but flutters upwards again
towards the black clouds. She often flies through the streets
of the town at midnight, and peeps in at the windows, and
then they freeze into such odd shapes, and look like flowers.” |
A Little Boy and a Littl Girl.

“Ves, I have seen that,” said both the children, and now

they knew it was true.

“Can the Snow Queen come in here ?” asked the little girl.











THE SNOW QUEEN.

“Let her come,’ said the boy, ‘and I’ll. put her on the

warm stove, and then she must melt.”
6 The Snow Queen.



But grandmother stroked his hair, and told them other
stories.

In the evening, when little Kay had returned home, and
was half-undressed, he climbed on a chair up to the window,
and peeped through the little hole, when he saw some snow-
flakes falling, the largest among which alighted on the edge of
one of the flower-boxes, and kept increasing and increasing till
it became a full-grown woman, dressed in the most aérial
white gauze, that seemed to consist of millions of star-like
flakes fastened together. She was delicately beautiful, but
made of ice—dazzling, glittering ice. Yet was she living; her
eyes sparkled like:two bright stars, and there seemed to be no
rest or calmness in them. She nodded towards the window,
and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened, and
jumped down from the chair, and then he thought he sawa
large bird fly past the window.

On the following day there was a clear frost; and then, at
last, the spring came, the sun shone, the earth was clothed in
green, the swallows built their nests, the windows were opened,
and the little children once more sat in their small garden on
the roof, high above all the other stories.

The roses blossomed most beautifully that summer. The
little girl had learned a psalm in which roses were mentioned,
andthe roses reminded her of it; and she sang it to the little
boy, and‘he joined her in singing :

*«The roses bloom but one short hour, then die,
But th’ infant Jesus ever lives on high !”

And the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed
the roses, and looked up at God’s bright sunshine and
A Littl Boy and a Little Girl. 7.

addressed it as though it were the infant Jesus. Oh, those
were pleasant summer days! It was so delightful up there
near the fresh rose-trees, that seemed never to mean to have
done blossoming !

Kay and Gerda sat looking in their book at the pictures of
quadrupeds and birds, when, just as the great church-clock
struck five, Kay said: ‘“‘Oh, dear! Something pricks my
heart, and something has flown into my eye.”

The little girl put her arm round his neck, and his eyes
twinkled, but there was nothing to be seen in them. ‘‘I think
it is gone,” said he; but gone it was not. It was one of those
bits of glass, no bigger than a grain of sand, being a particle of
the magic glass, which we have not forgotten—of that nasty
glass that made everything great and good look small and
ugly, while all that was bad and disagreeable stood out in
strong relief, and every fault in anything became immediately
perceptible. Poor Kay had likewise received a grain right
through his heart, which was soon to grow as hard as 4 lump
of ice. He now ceased to feel any pain, but there the grain
remained.

“Why do you cry?” asked he. ‘“ You look so ugly! No-
thing ails me. Fie!” cried he suddenly, “‘there’s a maggot
in that rose! And look, that one is quite crooked! Alto-
gether, they are nasty roses—as bad as the boxes in which
they are set.” And then he kicked the boxes, and tore off the
two roses.

“Kay, what are you doing?” cried the little girl; and
when he saw how frightened she was, he tore off another
rose, and then leaped in at his window, away from sweet little
Gerda.
8 The Snow Queen.

The next time she brought out the picture-book, he said it
was only fit for babies in long clothes; and when his grand-
mother related a story, he was sure to interrupt her with
some ‘‘ifs”? and “‘ buts’’; and whenever he could manage it,
he would place himself behind her, put on a pair of spectacles,
and speak just like her, and he mimicked her so well that
everybody laughed. He could soon mimic both the voice and
the gait of every soul in the street. Kay was sure to imitate
to the life the disagreeable attributes of each person, and
people said, ‘‘ That boy will surely be a genius.” But it was
only the bit of glass that had stuck in his eye and in his heart,
and which made him tease even little Gerda, who loved him
so dearly.

His amusements were now quite different from what they
were formerly ; they savoured more of a grown person. One
winter’s day, when it had snowed, he came with a burning-
glass, and held out the skirt of his blue coat to catch some
flakes of snow.

“‘ Now look in the glass, Gerda,” said he. And every flake
was magnified, and looked like a beautiful flower or a
brilliant star, and very pretty it was to see. ‘‘ Nowis not this
scientific ?” said Kay; ‘“‘and how far more interesting than
real flowers! There is not a fault in them; they are quite
correct, provided they don’t melt away.”

Soon after, Kay appeared with thick gloves on his hands
and his sledge at his back, and called out to Gerda: ‘‘I have
leave to go to the great square, where other boys are playing.”
And away he went.

The boldest amongst the boys who used to play there often
fastened their sledges to the carts of the country people who
A Lattle Boy and a Little Girl. 9



passed by, and went a good way with them. And this amused
them vastly. In the height of their play, there came along a
large sledge, painted white, in which sat someone huddled up in
a rough white skin, and wearing a rough white cap. The sledge
went twice round the square, and Kay, having hastily bound
his little sledge to it, drove away in its wake. It went faster,
and still faster, right down the adjoining street. The driver
turned round and gave Kay a friendly nod, just as if they were
acquainted, and every time that Kay wanted to unfasten his
little sledge, the driver nodded again, and Kay sat still, and
thus they drove out at one of the gates of the town. It now
began to snow so heavily that the little boy could-not see a
hand’s length before him; but on they went, and though he
suddenly let go the string in order to get loose from the large
sledge, it proved of no use, for his little craft still clung fast to
the other, and they went with the speed of the wind. He then
screamed aloud, but nobody heard him, and the snow kept
fluttering about, and the sledge kept flying, and anon there
was a violent shock, as if they were leaping over hedges and
ditches. The boy was frightened, and tried to repeat the
Lord’s Prayer, but he could only think of the multiplication
table.

The flakes of snow grew larger and larger, and at last looked
like great white fowls; these suddenly jumped on one side, the
large sledge stopped, and the person who had driven it rose.
The skin and the cap were of snow, and he saw a tall and
slender lady of dazzling whiteness—and this was the Snow
Queen.

‘““We have come along at a good pace,” said she, ‘‘ but if
you don’t wish to freeze, creep into my bear-skin.” And she
10 : The Snow Queen.



placed him beside her in the sledge and wrapped the skin
round him, and it was just as if he were sinking into a snow-
drift.

“Are you still freezing?” said she as she kissed his forehead.
Oh! that kiss was colder than ice! It seemed to shoot right
through his heart, half of which was already a lump of ice, and
he felt as if he were going to die, but only for a moment, and



































































































































IN THE SNOW QUEEN’S SLEDGE.

then he was better than ever, and ceased to feel the coldness
of the atmosphere that surrounded him.

‘““My sledge! Don’t forget my sledge!’ That was his first
thought ; and so it was fastened to one of the white fowls, who
flew behind with the sledge on his back. The Snow Queen
kissed Kay once more, and then he clean forgot little Gerda
and his grandmother and everybody at home.
The Conjuring Woman. II



“Now, you shall have no more kisses,” said she, “or I
should kiss you to death.”

Kay looked at her, and she was beautiful to behold. A
more clever or lovely countenance he could not imagine
and she no longer seemed to him to be made of ice, as she did
formerly, when she sat outside the window and nodded to him.
In his eyes she appeared perfect, nor did she inspire him with
the slightest fear. He told her that he could reckon by heart
and even reduce fractions, and he knew how many square
miles there were in the land, and the number of its inhabi-
tants. And she continued smiling; and then he thought that
what he knew was not sufficient, and he looked up towards
the vast expanse of air above them, and she flew with him
high above the black clouds where the storm was raging, and
it seemed as if it were singing old songs. Then they flew over
forests and lakes, across the sea and the lands beyond. Under
them blew the cold wind, the wolves howled, the snow crackled,
and the black, cawing crows were hovering about, but high
above all shone the clear, large moon, and Kay witnessed the
long, long winter’s night. In the daytime he slept at the feet
of the Snow Queen.

STORY THE THIRD.—THE FLOWER-GARDEN OF THE
CONJURING WOMAN.

But how fared little Gerda when Kay did not return?
Where could he be? Nobody knew, nobody could give any
tidings of him. Only the boys said they had seen him fasten
his sledge to a mighty large one, that had driven through the
streets and out by the town-gate. Nobody knew whither he
12 The Snow Queen.



had gone; many tears were shed; little Gerda cried so
bitterly and so long—and then people said he was dead; that
he had got drowned in the river that flowed past the school.
Oh! what long, dreary winter days were those!

The spring now returned, and brought a warmer sunshine.
“ Kay is dead and gone,” said little Gerda.

“©T don’t believe it,” answered the sunshine.

‘He is dead and gone!” said she to the swallows.

““We don’t believe it,” answered they; and at length little
Gerda ceased to believe it any longer.

“‘T will put on my new red shoes,” said she one morning,
“those which Kay never saw, and then I'll go down to the
river and ask after him.”

It was quite early. She kissed her old grandmother, who
was yet asleep, put on the red shoes, and went all alone out
through the town-gate, towards the river.

“Is it true that you have taken my little playfellow away
from me?” said she. ‘I will make you a present of my red
shoes if you will give him me back.” © .

And it seemed to her as if the waves nodded to her in a
singular fashion ; and then she took off her red shoes, which
she was so fond of, and threw them into the water, but they
fell near the bank, and the little waves brought them back to
land, just as if the river would not accept of what she most
valued, as it had not little Kay to give in exchange. But now ~
she fancied that she had not thrown the shoes out far enough,
and so she crept into a boat that lay amongst the sedges, and
went to the farthest end of it, and then flung the shoes from
thence into the water; but as the boat was not fastened, her
motion set it gliding away from the strand; perceiving this,
The Conjuring Woman. 13

she hastened to get out of the boat, but before she had time to
do so, it was above an ell distant from land, and soon floated
along still faster.

Little Gerda was now frighteried, and began to cry; but
nobody heard her except the sparrows, and they could not
carry her ashore. But they flew along the banks, and, as if to
comfort her, they kept singing—‘‘ Here we are! Here we
are!’ The boat followed the tide. Little Gerda sat still,









GERDA ADRIFT IN THE BOAT.

with only her stockings on her feet; her little red shoes
followed in the wake of the boat, but without being able to
reach it, as it went much faster.

The banks on each side of the river were very pretty.
There were beautiful flowers, aged trees, and grassy slopes, on
which sheep and cows were grazing; but not a human being
was to be seen.

‘Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay,” thought
14 The Snow Queen.



Gerda ; and then she grew more cheerful, and rose and looked
for hours at the pretty green banks of the river, till she
reached a large cherry orchard, in which stood a little house
with strange red and blue windows; it had, besides, a thatched
roof, and before it stood two wooden soldiers, who presented
arms to all who sailed past.

Gerda called to them, thinking they were alive, but of
course they did not answer; she now approached them, and
the stream drove the boat straight towards the shore.

Gerda called out in a still louder voice, when a very old
woman, leaning on a crutch, came out of the house; she wore
a broad hat to screen her from the sun, and it was painted
with the prettiest flowers.

‘You poor little child!”’ said the old woman, “to think of
your coming out into the wide world on this broad and rapid
stream !”” and the old woman waded through the water, towed
the boat ashore with her crutch, and lifted little Gerda out.

Gerda was glad to be once more on dry land, although she
was somewhat afraid of the strange old woman.

“Come and tell us who you are, and how you came hither,”
said she.

And Gerda told her all; and the old woman shook her head,
and said: ‘‘Hem, hem!” And after Gerda had told her
everything, and had asked in turn if she had not seen little
Kay, the woman said he had not yet passed that way, but he
might come still; and so she had better take heart, and taste
her cherries, and look at her flowers, that were prettier than
any picture-book, for every one of them could tell a story.
She then took Gerda by the hand and led her into the house,
and the old woman shut the door.


THE OLD WOMAN RESCUES GERDA.



















The Conjuring Woman. 7

The windows were very high, and the panes were red, blue,
and yellow, so that the light shone through them in a variety
of strange colours; but on the table were the finest cherries,
and Gerda was allowed to eat as many of them as she chose.
While she was eating, the old woman combed her hair with a
golden comb, and her yellow locks curled and looked beauti-
fully glossy round her cheerful little face, that was round and
fresh as a rose.

‘“T have long wished for such a nice little girl,” said the old
woman, “and now you shall see how comfortably we shall live
together.” And while she was combing little Gerda’s hair,
Gerda gradually forgot all about her adopted brother Kay,
for the old woman was learned in witchcraft, though not a
wicked sorceress: she only made use of magic arts for her
amusement, and because she wished to keep little Gerda.
Therefore she went into the garden, and extended her crutch
towards all the rose-trees, every one of which, however bloom-
ing, sank into the dark ground, without leaving a trace of
where it had stood. The old crone was fearful lest the sight
of rose-trees would have reminded Gerda of her own, when she
would have recollected little Kay, and run away.

She now took Gerda into the garden. How fragrant and
how lovely it was! Every imaginable flower, and for every
season, too, was to be seen there in full bloom; no picture-
book could be more varied or more beautiful. Gerda jumped
for joy at the sight, and played till the sun sank behind the
tall cherry-trees, and then she lay down in an elegant bed
with red silk pillows, stuffed with variegated violets, and
slept and dreamed as pleasantly as any queen on her wedding-
day.
18 The Snow Queen.



Next morning she was free to play again with the flowers
in the warm sunshine; and many days flew by in the same
manner. Gerda knew each flower; but numerous as were the
flowers, there still seemed to be one missing, although she
could not tell which it was. One day, however, as she sat and
gazed at the old woman’s garden-hat with its painted flowers,
the prettiest amongst them happened to be a rose. The old
woman had forgotten to take it out of the hat, when she
buried the others in the earth. But that is the way when
one’s thoughts are not always present. ‘‘ What! are there no
roses here ?” said Gerda, jumping amongst the flower-beds,
and looking for what, alas! was not to be found. She then
sat down and cried, and her tears fell just on the spot where
one of the rose-trees had sunk into the ground ; and when her
warm tears bedewed the earth, the rose-tree shot up once
more as blooming as ever, and Gerda embraced it, and kissed
the roses, and thought of the lovely roses at home, and with
them of little Kay.

‘Oh, how I have been detained!” said the little girl; “I
wanted to look for little Kay. Do you not know where he
is ?” asked she of the roses. ‘‘ Do you think he is dead ?”’

“He is not dead,” answered the roses; “‘ we have been
into the ground where all the dead lie, and Kay was not
there.”

“TI thank you,” said little Gerda, and went to the other
flowers, and peeped into each calyx, and asked, “‘ Do you know
where little Kay is ?”

But each flower stood dreaming in the sun, and thinking of
its own story; and Gerda heard a great many of these, but
none of the flowers knew anything about Kay.
The Conjuring Woman. 19

What said the yellow lily ?

“Do you hear the drum? Boom! boom! It has only
two sounds; it always says: ‘Boom! boom!’ Listen to the
dirge of the women, and the call of the priests. The Hindoo
widow stands, wrapped in her long red mantle on the funeral
pile: the flames encircle her and her husband’s dead body ;
but the Hindoo widow thinks of the living ones who surround
her, and of him whose eyes shone brighter than the flames
—of him whose fiery eyes affect her heart far more than
the flames that will consume her body to ashes. Can the
flame of the heart be extinguished in the flames of a funeral
pile ?”

“T don’t understand anything about it,” said little Gerda.

‘““ That is my story,” said the yellow lily.

What said the bindweed ?

‘“An old feudal castle hangs over the narrow crossway ;
thick house-leek is climbing, leaf by leaf, up its old red walls,
and round the balcony, where stands a fair maiden, who bends
over the railing and looks into the road below. No rose on its
spray is fresher than she; no apple-blossom when blown off
the tree floats more lightly than she walks; and how her
gorgeous silk gown rustles! ‘Is he not yet coming ?’”

“Do you mean Kay ?” asked little Gerda.

“I’m speaking of my story—of my dream,” replied the
bindweed.

What said the little snowdrop ?

‘“‘ Between the trees hangs a plant fastened by ropes; it is
a swing, and two little girls, in snow-white dresses, and with
long green ribbons fluttering from their bonnets, sit swinging
themselves. Their brother, who is bigger than they, stands
20 The Snow Queen.



on the swing; he has flung his arm round the rope to steady
himself, for in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the
other a clay-pipe. He is blowing soap-bubbles; the swing
keeps going, and the pretty variegated bubbles fly about, while
the last still clings to the stem of the pipe; and rocks in the
wind. The swing keeps going; the little black dog, as light
as the bubbles, raises himself on his hind paws, and will get
into the swing amongst the rest ; and off goes the swing, and
the dog falls, barks, and is angry; the children tease him, and
the bubbles burst. A rocking plank, and scattered foam—such
is my song.”

“Tt may be all very pretty, but you tell it in so mournful a
tone, and you don’t even mention little Kay.”

What said the hyacinths ?

“There were three beautiful sisters, most delicate and
transparent ; one was dressed in red, another in blue, and the
third in pure white; and they danced, hand in hand, near the
silent lake, in the bright moonshine. They were no elves, but
daughters of the earth. There was a sweet fragrance, and the
girls disappeared in the wood. The fragrance waxed stronger ;
three coffins, in which lay the beautiful girls, glided from the
thicket across the lake ; the glow-worms flew beside them, like
so many little floating torches. Are the dancing girls asleep,
or are they dead? The perfume of the flowers says they are
corpses, and the evening bell is tolling their knell.”

“You make me quite sad,” said little Gerda. ‘‘ You smell
so strong, that you make me think of the dead girls. Alas! is
_little Kay really dead? The roses who went down into the
earth say he is not.”

“‘ Ding, dong !”” sounded the hyacinth bells. ‘We are not
The Conjuring Woman. os



tolling for little Kay, for we don’t know him: we are merely
singing our song, the only one we can sing.”

And Gerda then went up to the buttercup that peeped out ©
of its shining green leaves.

“You are a little bright sun,’ said Gerda. ‘“‘ Tell me, if
you know, where I can find my playfellow ?”

And the buttercup sparkled so prettily, and looked at Gerda.
What song could the buttercup sing? Not one that said any-
thing about Kay.

“The bright sunshine shone warmly, one spring morning,
upon a little courtyard. The beams glided down the white
walls of the neighbouring house, and close by bloomed the
first yellow flower, and sparkled like gold in the warm sun-
shine. The old grandmother sat out in the air on her chair,
and her granddaughter, a poor and pretty serving-girl, returned
home from a short visit. She kissed her grandmother. There
was gold—the gold of the heart—in that blessed kiss. There
was gold in the sunbeams of that morning, and she was worth
her weight in gold. That's my little story,” said the buttercup.

“My poor old grandmother!” sighed Gerda. ‘Yes, no
doubt she is longing to see me, and fretting about me, as she
did about little Kay. But I'll soon go home and bring Kay
with me. It is no use asking the flowers, who know nothing
but their own song; they can give me no tidings.” And then
she tucked up her little gown that she might run the faster ;
but the narcissus caught her foot as she was jumping over it;
so she stopped short and looked at the tall yellow flower, and
said: ‘‘Perhaps you know something.” And she stooped
down close to the narcissus, and what did it tell ?

“I can see myself to the very life,” said the narcissus.
22 The Snow Queen.



“Oh, oh! how beautifully I do smell! Up there, in that
small room with a balcony, is a little dancer, who stands some-
times on one leg and sometimes on both legs; she tramples on
the whole world; she is nothing but deceit from head to foot;
she pours water out of the teapot upon a piece of stuff she
holds in her hand, which is her bodice. Cleanliness is a
virtue. Her white dress hangs upon a peg; that, too, has
been washed in the teapot and dried upon the roof. She puts
it on and wraps a saffron-coloured handkerchief round her
.throat, which makes her dress look whiter. Now she twirls
her leg, and see how proudly she stands on her stem. It is
just like seeing myself—just like myself.”

‘What do I care about that ?” said Gerda. ‘‘ You had no
need to tell me this stuff.’ And she ran to the further end of
the garden.

The gates were shut ; but she pressed upon the rusty latch,
and it gave way.

The gates flew open, and little Gerda ran forth, with bare
feet, into the wide world. She looked back thrice, but nobody
was pursuing her. At last, she could run no longer, and sat
down upon a large stone, and, on looking round her, found
that summer was over and autumn already far advanced,
which she had been unable to perceive in the beautiful garden,
where there were flowers and sunshine all the year round.

‘Dear me! how long I have stayed!” said little Gerda.
“Tt is now autumn; I must not dally,” and she rose to go
further.

Oh! how tired and sore were her poor little feet! And
everything around looked so bleak and so cheerless. The long
willow-leaves were quite yellow, and dew trickled down like
The Prince and Princess. — 23

water. One leaf kept falling after another, and the sloe-tree
alone still bore fruit, only it was so sour that one could not eat
it without making wry faces. Oh! how gray and how dreary
seemed the whole world !

STORY THE FOURTH.—THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS.

Gerda was obliged to rest again, when a large crow hopped
through the snow, right opposite the place where she was
sitting, and after looking at her a long while and wagging his
-head, said, “Caw, caw! goo’ day, goo’ day!” He could not
speak any plainer, but he meant kindly towards the little girl,
and asked whither she was going, all alone in the wide world.

Gerda understood perfectly the word “alone,” and knew its
full import ; so she told the crow her whole story, and asked
him if he had seen Kay.

The crow nodded his head thoughtfully, and said, “‘ May
be, may be.”

“‘No—have you though?” cried the little girl, and came
near to hugging the crow to death, so fondly did she kiss him.

“Steady, steady,” said the crow. ‘I think—I know—I
believe—it may be little Kay, but he has certainly forgotten
you by this time for the princess.”

“Is he living at a princess's ?” asked Gerda.

“Yes, listen,” said the crow; “only I find it so hard to
speak your language. If you understand crows’ language,!
then I shall be able to tell you better.”

1 “ Crows’ language” is a jocose term for a kind of gibberish in use

amongst children, and produced by the addition of syllables and letters to
each word.
24 The Snow Queen.

“No, I never learned it,” said Gerda, ‘‘ but my grandmother
knows it, and she could speak it too. I wish I had learned it.”

“Never mind,” said the crow; “I'll tell it as well as I can,
though I can’t tell it properly.’ And then he told what he
knew.

“In the kingdom where we now are lives a princess who is
desperately clever. It is true she has read and forgotten all the
newspapers that exist in the world, so learned is she. Lately, as
she was sitting on the throne—which, people say, is not so very
agreeable either—she began to sing a song which ran thus:

“¢ Wherefore shouldn’t I marry ?

‘Why not, indeed ?’ added she: And then she determined to
marry, only she wished to find a husband who knew how to
answer when he was spoken to, and not one who could merely
stand and look grand, because that is so tiresome. So she
assembled all her ladies-in-waiting by the beat of a drum; and
when they heard of her intention, they were much pleased.
‘We are glad of it,’ said they ; ‘we had thought of it lately
ourselves. —You may believe every word I utter,” continued
the crow, ‘‘for I have a tame sweetheart who hops about the
palace and told me all that passed.”

Of course his sweetheart was a crow, as like seeks like, and
a crow is sure to choose a crow.

“The newspapers immediately sported a border of hearts
with the princess’s initials, and proclaimed that every good-
looking young man was at liberty to go to the palace and
speak to the princess; and he who could say anything worth
hearing would be welcome to the run of the palace, while
he who spoke the best would be chosen as a husband for the






























































THE CROW'S STORY.










Sis
The Prince and Princess. 27

princess.—Yes, yes,” continued the crow, ‘‘ you may believe
me; it is every word as true as that I’m sitting here. The
people all crowded helter-skelter to the palace, and there was
such crushing and pushing; but nobody succeeded, either the
first or the second day. They could all speak well enough
while they were outside in the street, but when they had
passed through the palace gate and came to behold the body-
guards in silver and the lackeys all over gold standing along
the staircase, and the large rooms so finely lighted up, they
‘were quite confounded. And when they approached the
throne where the princess sat, they found nothing to say, and
could only repeat the last word that she uttered, which she
had no mind to hear a second time. It was exactly as if the
people inside had taken snuff into their stomachs, and had
fallen asleep till they came back into the street and recovered
their speech. There was a whole row of them, reaching from
the town-gate to the palace. I went myself to see them,”
added the crow. “‘ They were hungry and thirsty, but they
did not get as much as a glass of water in the palace. Some
of the wisest had, to be sure, taken slices of bread-and-butter
with them, but they did not share them with their next neigh-
bour, for each thought, ‘Let him look hungry, and then the
princess won’t have him.”

“ But tell me about Kay—little Kay,” said Gerda. ‘‘ When
did he come ?—and was he amongst the crowd ?”

“Stop a bit; we are coming to him presently. On the
third day, there came marching cheerfully along towards the
palace a little body, who had neither horse nor coach. His
eyes sparkled like yours, and he had beautiful long hair, but
was shabbily dressed.”
28 The Snow Qyeen.



“That was Kay!” cried Gerda in high delight. ‘Oh, then,
I have found him now!” And she clapped her hands for joy.

“‘ He had a little knapsack on his back,” said the crow.

“No; it must have been his sledge,” said Gerda, “for he
went away with his sledge.”

‘““That may be,” said the crow; ‘‘I was not so particular
about it. But this I know from my tame sweetheart, that
when he came through the palace-gate and saw the bodyguards
all over silver, and the lackeys on the stairs all bedizened with
gold, he was not the least flustered, but nodded to them,
saying: ‘It must be very tiresome to stand on the staircase ;
I prefer going in.’ And the rooms were in a blaze of light;
privy councillors and excellencies were walking about on their
bare feet, and carrying golden vases—it was enough to inspire
one with profound respect. His boots creaked so dreadfully
loud, but he did not care a fig about that.”

“Tt must be Kay,” said Gerda; “I know he had new
boots on: I have heard them creak in grandmother’s room.”

“Yes, they did creak, indeed!” said the crow. ‘But he
went up boldly to the princess, who was sitting on a huge
pearl as large as a spinning-wheel; and all the court ladies
with their maids and their maids’ maids, and all the lords with
their gentlemen and their gentlemen’s gentlemen, who each
had a page to attend them, stood all around, and the nearer
they stood to the door, the prouder they looked. Indeed, one
could hardly venture to look at a gentleman’s gentleman’s
page, who always wears slippers, so important an air did each
assume as he stood in the doorway.

“Tt must be quite awful!” said little Gerda. ‘But did
Kay win the princess ?”
The Prince and Princess. 29

“Tf I had not been a crow, I would have taken her
myself, although I am engaged. He spoke just as well as
I do, when I am speaking the crows’ language—so I heard
from my tame sweetheart. He was cheerful and pleasant;
he had not come to woo her, but to see how clever the
princess might be; and he was pleased with her, and she
with him.”

“To be sure, it must be Kay!’ said Gerda. ‘‘ He was so
clever; he could reckon by heart even fractions. Oh! will
you not take me to the palace ?”

“That is ‘easily said,” answered the crow; ‘‘ but how can
we manage it? I will, however, speak to my tame sweetheart
about it, and she will give us some advice; for I must tell you
candidly, a little girl of your sort would never obtain leave to
enter the palace.”

“Yes, I shall,” said Gerda. ‘‘ When Kay hears that I am
there, he will immediately come out to fetch me in.”

“Wait for me there, near yonder trellis,” said the crow,
wagging his head as he flew away. aa

It was not till late in the evening that the crow returned.
“Caw! caw!” said he. ‘‘ She sends her love to you, and here
is a little roll which she took in the kitchen, on purpose for
you. There is bread enough there, and you must be very
hungry. It is not possible for you to enter the palace, as you

3

are barefooted; the guards in silver and the footmen in gold
would not allow you to pass. But don’t cry. We shall
manage to get you in. My sweetheart knows a small back
staircase that leads to the bedroom, and she knows where she
can find the key.”

And they went through the long alley in the garden, where
30 The Snow Queen.



the leaves were falling one after the other; and when the lights
in the palace were extinguished one after another, the crow
led little Gerda to a back-door that was only fastened with a
latch.

Oh, how Gerda’s heart beat with anxious longing! She
felt as if about to do something wrong; yet she only wanted
to know whether it was little Kay. ‘‘ It must be he,” thought
she, as she pictured to herself his intelligent eyes and his long
hair, and fancied she saw him smile as he did formerly, when
they used to sit under the roses at home. He would surely be
glad to see her, to hear what a long way she had come for his
sake, and to know how afflicted they all were at home when he
did not come back. Oh, how her heart was thrilled with fear
and joy!

They were now on the stairs, where a small lamp was
burning in a closet. In the middle of the floor stood
the tame crow, twisting her head in all directions as she
gazed at Gerda, who curtsied as her grandmother had taught
her to do.

‘“‘ My betrothed has spoken highly of you, my little missy,”
said the tame crow, ‘‘and your story is extremely touching.
If you will take the lamp I will walk before. We will go straight
along this way, and then we shall meet no one.”

“‘ Somebody seems to be behind us,” said Gerda, asa rustling
noise went past her, and horses, with flying manes and thin legs,
whippers-in, and ladies and gentlemen on horseback, all appeared
like shadows on the wall.

“They are only dreams,” said the crow, “that come and
fetch royalty’s thoughts to go a-hunting. So much the better,
as you can look at them in their beds all the more safely. But
The Prince and Princess. 31



I hope, when you rise to high honours, you will show a grateful
heart.”

“Of course,” said the crow from the woods.

They now entered the first room, that was hung with rose-
coloured satin, ornamented with artificial flowers, and where
the dreams were already rushing past them, only they went so
fast that Gerda could not manage to see the royal personages.
Each room was more magnificent than the last—it was enough
to bewilder one. Now they reached a bedroom. The ceiling
was like a large palm-tree, with glass leaves of the most costly
crystal; and in the middle of the floor, two beds, each re-
sembling a lily, hung from a golden stem; the one in which
the princess lay was white, the other was red, and it was in the
latter that Gerda was to seek for little Kay. She pushed one
of the red leaves aside, and perceived a brown neck—oh, that
must be Kay! She called out his name aloud, and held the
lamp over him—the dreams again rushed into the chamber on
horseback—he woke, turned his head round, and showed that
he was not little Kay.

The prince’s neck alone resembled his; still he was young
and pretty. Then the princess peeped out of the white lily,
and asked what was the matter, when little Gerda began to
cry, and related her whole story, and all that the crows had
done to help her.

‘Poor child!’ said the prince and princess, praising the
crows, and assuring them that they were not angry with them,
though they were not to make a practice of doing such things ;
and that they should even be rewarded.

“Would you like to have your freedom given you ?” asked
the princess, ‘for would you prefer being appointed court
32 The Snow Queen.

crows, and havens foe ee perquisites all the leavings i in the
kitchen ?”

The two crows bowed, and begged leave to have the fixed
appointment, for they thought of their old age, and said it
would be so comfortable to have a certain provision for their
old days, as they called it.

And the prince got out of his bed to give it up to Gerda, and
more he could scarcely do. She folded her little hands and
thought, ‘‘ How kind are both human beings and animals!”
And then she closed her eyes, and fell into a sweet sleep. All
the dreams came flying back into the chamber, looking like
angels, and drawing in a little sledge, in which sat Kay, who
nodded to her. But it was only a dream, so of course it vanished
the moment she woke.

On the following day she was dressed in silk and velvet
from head to foot, and they offered to let her stay in the palace
and enjoy a good time of it; but all she asked for was a little
coach and a horse, and a pair of little boots, that she might go
into the wide world to look for Kay.

And she not only obtained boots, but a muff; she was
elegantly dressed, and on going away, she found waiting at the
door a new coach of pure gold, with coachman, footmen, and
postilions, wearing gold crowns on their heads. The prince
and princess themselves helped her into the coach, and wished
her every happiness. The wild crow, who was now married,
accompanied her for the first three miles, and sat by her side,.
for he could not bear riding backwards; the tame crow stood
in the doorway flapping her wings, but went no further, because
she had been suffering from headache ever since she had had
a fixed appointment, and too much to eat. The coach was
The Little Robber Girl. 33

amply stored inside with sweet cakes, and under the seat were
fruit and gingerbread-nuts.

‘Farewell! farewell!” cried the prince and princess, and
little Gerda wept, and the crow wept. And then after the
first few miles, the wild crow took leave of her likewise; and
his was the saddest leave-taking of all: he perched upon atree,
and flapped his black wings as long as he could see the coach
glancing in the bright sunshine.

STORY THE FIFTH.—THE LITTLE ROBBER GIRL.

They now drove through a gloomy forest; but the coach lit
up the way like a torch, and glared in the eyes of some robbers,
who could not withstand such a sight.

It is gold! it is gold!” said they, rushing forward; and
seizing hold of the horses, they struck the little jockeys, the
coachman and footmen, dead, and dragged little Gerda out
of the coach.

‘“She is fat and nice, and fed with the kernels of nuts,”
said the old robber woman, who had a long bristly beard, and
eyebrows that overshadowed her eyes.

“It’s as good as a little fat lamb—how nice it will taste
So saying, she drew forth a shining knife, and most frightfully
did it glitter.

‘*Oh, dear!’ screamed the woman, whose ear was bitten at
that very moment by her own daughter, a froward, naughty
girl who was hanging on her back. ‘“ You ugly thing!” said
the mother, forgetting to kill Gerda.

‘She shall play with me,” said the little robber girl. ‘‘ She
shall give me her muff, and her pretty dress, and sleep with me in

D

1?
RA The Snow Queen.



my bed.” And she bit her mother again, till she leaped into
the air, and twirled round again. And all the robbers laughed,
saying: ‘‘ See how she is dancing with her cub |”

** J will take a ride in the coach,” said the little robber girl.
And she must and would have her way, she was so ill-bred and
obstinate. She and Gerda then got in, and away they went
into the depths of the wood. The little robber girl was as big
as Gerda, but stronger, with broader shoulders, and a darker
' skin; her eyes were quite black, and she looked almost
melancholy. She took little Gerda round the waist, and said:
‘They shan’t kill you, as long as I don’t wish you ill. I
suppose you are a princess ?”

**No,” said Gerda, relating her whole history, and how fond
she was of little Kay.

The robber girl looked at her earnestly, and, slightly
nodding her head, she said: ‘‘ They shan’t kill you, even if I
should wish you ill; for then I’d do it myself.” And then she
dried Gerda’s eyes, and put both her hands into the handsome
muff that was so soft and so warm.

The coach now stopped. They were in the middle of a
courtyard belonging to a robber’s castle, that was full of
crevices from top to bottom. Crows and ravens flew out of
the open holes, and great bulldogs, every one of which looked
as though it could swallow a whole man, were jumping about,
though they did not bark, because it was not allowed.

In a large, old, smoky hall, a bright fire was burning on the
stone floor. The smoke went up to the ceiling, and found an
outlet as best it might. Soup was boiling in a large caldron,
and hares and rabbits were roasting on spits.

‘You shall sleep to-night with me and all my little animals,”
The Little Robber Girl. 316



said the robber girl. They then had something to eat and
drink given to them; after which they went into a corner,
where straw and carpets were laid on the floor. Upwards ofa
hundred doves were perched on laths and poles, and were



THE ROBBER GIRL’S HOME.

apparently asleep, though they turned round slightly when the
two little girls approached.

“ They all belong to me,” said the little robber girl; and
seizing hold of the one nearest to her, she held it by the feet,
and shook it till it flapped its wings. ‘“‘ Kiss it!’ cried she,
36 ~The Snow Queen.



flapping it into Gerda’s face. ‘“ There sits a rabble of wild
doves,” continued she, pointing behind a number of stayes that ~
were fixed in front of a hole high up in the wall. ‘‘ Those two
are a couple of rascally wild doves, who would fly away directly
if they were not kept locked up. And here stands my dear old
baa!” So saying, she took by the horn a reindeer, who
wore a bright brass collar round his neck, and was tied up.
“We must keep him pretty tightly too, or else he would give
us the slip. I tickle his neck every evening with my sharp
knife, which he is vastly afraid of.” And the little girl took
out a long knife from a cleft in the wall, and drew it slightly
across the reindeer’s neck. The poor animal began to kick,
and the little robber girl laughed, and then drew little Gerda
into bed with her.

“Do you mean to keep the knife with you when you are
asleep ?” asked Gerda, looking at it with some alarm.

‘“T always sleep with the knife,” said the little robber girl.
‘““One never knows what may happen. But tell me now over
again all that you told me about RSD and why you went out
into the wide world,”

And Gerda related what she had told before, while the wild
doves kept cooing: in their prison above, and the other doves
slept. The little robber girl put her arm round Gerda’s
neck, and held the knife in her other hand,-and-snored-aloud ;
but Gerda could not close her eyes, not knowing whether she
was to live or to be put to death. The robbers sat round the
fire, singing and drinking, and the robber woman became
quite tipsy. Oh! it was shocking for the little girl to witness
sueh a scene |

‘Then the wild doves said: “Coo! coo! we have seen little
The Be Robber Girl. 37

coe A white fowl carried ois aledbe, He sat in the Snow
Queen’s carriage, which drove right over the. forest. as we lay
in our nests. She blew upon us young ones, who all died
except our two selves. Coo! coo!”

“What are you saying up there?” cried Gerda. ‘‘ Where
was the Snow Queen going? Do you know anything
about it ?”

“She was prcbably going to Lapland, where there is
always snow and ice. Ask the reindeer that is fastened toa
rope.”

** Yes, there is ice and snow, and a delightful place it is,”
said the reindeer. ‘There one can leap about in freedom in
the large glittering valleys, and there the Snow Queen pitches
her summer tent ; but her stronghold lies near the north pole,
on an island called Spitzbergen.”

“Oh, Kay! little Kay!” sighed Gerda.

“Lie still,” said the robber girl, “or I’ll run the knife
through your body.”

_ Next morning Gerda told her all that the wild doves had
said, when the little robber girl looked serious, though she
nodded her head, saying: ‘‘That’s no matter! that’s no
matter! . Do you know where Lapland lies ?” asked she of the
reindeer.

“Who can know better than I?” said the animal, while
his eyes sparkled. ‘‘I was born and brought up there, and I
have frisked about on its snow-fields.”

“ Hark!” said the robber girl to Gerda; “ you see that all
our men are gone, and only mother remains at home; but
towards noon she drinks out of a large bottle, and takes a little
nap afterwards, and then I’ll do something for you.” She now
38 The Snow Queen.



jumped out of bed, took her mother by the neck, pulled her
beard, and said: “My own dear mammy! good-morning to
you!” ;

The mother, in return, filliped her nose till it was red and
blue; and all this was out of love.

When the mother had drunk freely out of her bottle, and
had gone off to sleep, the robber girl went to the reindeer, and
said: ‘I should like vastly to tickle you many times more with
the sharp knife, for then you make yourself so ridiculous ;
but never mind, I will untie your rope, and help you out, that
you may run off to Lapland. But you must put your best leg
foremost, to carry this little girl to the Snow Queen’s palace,
where she will find her playfellow. You have heard all she
told, for she spoke loud enough, and you were listening.”

The reindeer jumped for joy. The robber girl lifted little
Gerda on to the animal, and took the precaution to bind her
fast, and even to give her a little cushion to sit upon.

“ And there are your fur boots,” said she, “for it is getting
cold; but as to the muff, I shall keep that, it is so pretty.
Yet, you shan’t be frozen by the cold, either; here are my
mother’s large mittens, which will reach to your elbows. Creep
into them. Now your hands look just like my mother’s.”

And Gerda wept for joy.

“TI don’t like to see you whimpering,” said the little robber
girl; ‘you ought now to look pleased. Here are a couple of
loaves and a ham, so now you won’t starve.” These were
fastened to the reindeer, and then the little robber girl opened
the doors, enticed all the dogs into the house, and lastly, cut
the rope that bound the reindeer with her sharp knife, saying to
him: “Now run away; but take good care of the little girl.”
The Littl Robber Girl. 39

And Gerda stretched forth her hands, in the large mittens,
towards the robber girl, and bade her farewell, and then away
the reindeer flew, through thick and thin, across the wide
forest, over bogs and steppes, as quick as he could fly. The
wolves howled, and ravens screeched. “Fizz! fizz!’ said the
sky, as if it were sneezing red.







FAREWELL TO THE ROBBER GIKL.

“‘There’s my old friend the Aurora borealis,” cried the rein-
deer; ‘see how it shines!” And he ran still faster, both day
and night. The loaves were eaten, and the ham too, and by
that time they had reached Lapland.
40 The Snow ee



STORY THE SIXTH.—THE LAPLANDER AND THE FINLANDER.

They stopped in front of a miserable-looking little house,
whose roof reached down to the ground, and whose door was
so low that the family were obliged to creep on all-fours when
they wanted to go out or in. Nobody was at home just then
but an old Laplandish woman, who was cooking fish by the
light of a train-oil lamp, and the reindeer told her Gerda’s
whole story, after having first told his own—which seemed to
him far the more important of the two—and Gerda was so
benumbed with the cold that she could not speak a word.

“Why, you poor creatures,” said the Laplander, ‘“‘ you have
still a long way to go. You must go a hundred miles into
Finland; for it is there the Snow Queen lives in the summer,
and burns Bengal lights every evening. I will write a few
words on a dried stock-fish, for I have no paper, and give it
you for the Finlandish woman up there, and she will direct
you better than I can.”

And when Gerda was warmed, and had eaten and drunk,
the Laplandish woman wrote a few words on a dried stock-fish,
and, telling Gerda to take good care of it, tied her once more
upon the reindeer, who made off with great speed.

“Fizz! fizz!” said the air, and during the whole night
there shone the prettiest blue aurora borealis. And then they
reached Finland, and knocked at the chimney of the Finlandish
woman, for door she had none.

It was'so terribly hot within, that their hostess had scarcely
any clothes on her back. She was small and dirty-looking.
She immediately loosened little Gerda’s dress, and took off her
The Finlander. AI



mittens and boots, or else she would have been oppressed by
the heat, and put a lump of ice on the reindeer’s head, and then
read what was written on the stock-fish. After perusing it
three times she knew its contents by heart, and then put the
stock-fish into the saucepan where the broth was cooking, as
it was fit to be eaten, and she never wasted anything.

The reindeer now related first, his own story, and then little
Gerda’s, and the Finlandish woman’s intelligent eyes twinkled,
though she said nothing.

‘‘ As you are so wise,” said the reindeer, ‘‘ that you can bind
all the winds in the world with a bit of thread, so that if a sea-
man loosens one knot it will bring him a fair wind, and if he
loosens another there will blow a stiff gale, and by untying a
third and fourth, he could raise a hurricane that would over-
throw forests—cannot you give this little girl a potion to endow
her with the power of twelve men, so that she should conquer
“the Snow Queen ?”

“The power of twelve men !”’ said the Finlandish woman ;
“that would be of much use, indeed!” and then she went to a
shelf, and took down a large skin roll, which she unfurled, and
upon which she read strange characters, till the perspiration
trickled down from her forehead.

But the reindeer begged so hard for little Gerda, and she
looked at the Finlandish woman with such tearful and entreat-
ing eyes, that the eyes of the latter began to twinkle, and
taking the reindeer into a corner, she whispered into his ear
as she laid a fresh lump of ice on his head:

“Little Kay is sure enough with the Snow Queen, and finds
everything in her palace so much to his taste and his liking
that he thinks it the finest place in the world; but this comes
42 The Snow Queen.



of his having a glass fragment in his heart, and a little speck
of glass in his eye. They must be removed, or else he'll never
be a human being-again, and the Snow Queen will retain her
power over him.”

“But can’t you give little Gerda something that shall
endow her with power over all these things ?”

“TI can’t give her any greater power than she already
possesses; do you not see how great it is even now? Do you
not see how men and animals must serve her, and how she has
come on in the world with bare feet? She can’t recelve any
power from us: its seat is in her heart, and consists in her
being such a dear, innocent child as she is. If she can’t gain
access to the Snow Queen by her own means, and remove the
glass shivers out of little Kay, we can do nothing to bring
about such a result. The Snow Queen’s garden begins two
miles from hence. Youcan carry the little girl thither, and set
her down near the large bush which stands covered with red
berries amidst the snow. Don’t stay gossiping, but make

haste and come back hither.”’ And then the Finlandish -

woman lifted little Gerda on to the reindeer’s back, who ran
off as fast as he could.

“Oh, I have forgotten my boots and my mittens!” cried
little Gerda, the moment she was in the biting cold, yet she
dared not stop the reindeer, who ran till he reached the bush
with the red berries, where he set down Gerda, and kissed her
mouth, while large, bright tears trickled down the animal's
cheeks, and away he ran back. There stood poor Gerda with-
out shoes or gloves in the middle of dreary, icy cold Finland.

“She ran forwards as quick as she could, when she was met
by a whole regiment of snow-flakes, which did not, however,

ee
_ The Finlander. 43

fall from the sky, that was bright and lit up by an aurora
borealis, but ran along the ground, and grew bigger the nearer
they approached. Gerda remembered how large and artfully-
fashioned snow-flakes looked, when she saw them through a
burning-glass. But here they were far larger, and more
alarming, for they were alive; they were the Snow Queen’s
sentries, and were of the oddest shapes. Some looked like
ugly great porcupines; others like a knot of serpents, with
their heads poking out; others again like fat little bears,
with bristling hairs: all were dazzlingly white, and all were
living snow-flakes.

Little Gerda then repeated the Lord’s Prayer, while the
cold was so intense that she could see her own breath which
came out of her mouth like so much smoke. These clouds of
breath became thicker, and took the shape of little angels, who
grew larger the moment they touched the earth; and all wore
helmets on their heads, and carried spears and shields in their
hands ; their numbers kept increasing, and by the time Gerda
had finished her prayer, a whole legion of them surrounded
her, and they pierced the frightful snow-flakes with their spears
till they shivered them into a hundred pieces, and little Gerda
went on in safety and in good spirits. The angels stroked her
hands and feet so that she felt the cold less, and hastened on
to the Snow Queen’s castle. But now we must see what Kay
is after. In truth, he was not thinking of little Gerda at
all, much less of her being outside the castle at that very
moment.
44 The Snow Queen.

STORY THE SEVENTH.—OF THE SNOW QUEEN’S CASTLE, AND
WHAT TOOK PLACE IN IT LATER.

The walls of the castle were made of drifted snow, and the
windows and doors were made of biting winds. There were
above a hundred rooms in it, just as the snow had blown them
together ; the largest was several miles long ; they were all lit
up by the vivid aurora borealis, and they were so large, so
empty, so icy cold, and so glittering! No festivities were ever
held there; not so much as a little ball for bears, to which the
tempest might have played tunes, and where the bears might
have danced on their hind legs, and shown their good breeding ;
nor even a game of hot cockles, nor a gossiping coffee party for
white fox spinsters: the Snow Queen’s halls were empty, cold,
and dreary. The aurora borealis shone so plain throughout
the castle, that one could reckon when it stood at the highest
or the lowest point in the heavens. In the middle of this
empty and endless snow-hall lay a frozen lake that was broken
into a thousand pieces, only each piece was so like the ‘other,
that it formed a complete work of art; and in the centre of
the lake sat the Snow Queen when she was at home, and then
she said she was sitting on the mirror of reason, which was the
best and only one in the world.

Little Kay was quite blue, nay, almost black with cold;
but he did not perceive it, for she had kissed away his shiver-
ing feelings, and his heart was like a lump of ice. He was
dragging about some sharp, flat pieces of ice, and placing them
in all manner of ways, for he wanted to make something out
of them. It was just as when we make use of little wooden
The Snow Quyeen’s Castle. 45
squares and triangles to compose figures, which we call
a Chinese puzzle. Kay, too, was making figures, and very
clever ones. This was the ice-game of reason. In his eyes
the figures were very remarkable, and of the highest import-
ance—owing to the little glass shiver that still stuck in his eye.
He composed complete figures that formed a written word, but
he never could manage to form the word he wanted, which was
“ Eternity.” And the Snow Queen had said: “If you can
find out this figure, you shall then be your own master, and
I’ll give you the whole world, besides a new pair of skates.”
But he could not accomplish it.

“Now I will rush off to warm lands,” said the Snow
Queen; ‘‘I will go and look into the black pipkins.” It was
the volcanoes Etna and Vesuvius that she designated in this
manner. “I will whiten them a bit! It will be good for
them, and benefit the lemons and grapes.” And away the
Snow Queen flew, and Kay remained all alone in the large ice-
hall that was so many miles long, and kept looking at the
pieces of ice, and thinking and thinking till his head was ready
to split; and he sat so stiff and so motionless, that one might
have thought he was frozen.

Just then it happened that little Gerda came through the
large gate into the castle. Cutting winds were raging within,
but she said an evening prayer, and the winds abated as if they
were going to sleep; and she entered the latge, empty, cold
rooms—and there she beheld Kay. She immediately tecog-
nised him, and flew to embrace him, and held him fast, while
she exclaimed: ‘‘ Kay! dear little Kay! So I have found you
at last.” .

But he sat quite motionless, stiff, and cold; and then little
46 The Snow Queen.



Gerda shed warm tears that fell upon his breast, and pene-
trated to his heart and melted the lump of ice, and washed
away the little glass fragment at the same time; he looked at
her while she sang:

“The roses bloom but one short hour, then die,
But the infant Jesus ever lives on high.”

Then Kay burst into tears, and he cried so abundantly that
the little bit of glass swam out of his eye when he recognised
her, and exclaimed joyously: “Gerda! dear little Gerda!
Where have you stayed away so long? And where have I
been ?” And he looked all about him. ‘‘ How cold it is here!
How large and how empty it all’ seems!’’ And he clung to
Gerda, who laughed and cried for joy; and the scene was so
moving, that even the pieces of ice jumped about for joy, and
when they were tired and lay down again, they formed them-
selves into the very letters the Snow Queen had said he must
find out before he ,could become his own master, and she
would make him a present of the whole world and a pair of
new skates.

Then Gerda kissed his cheeks, and they became blooming ;
she kissed his eyes, and they beamed like hers; she kissed his
hands and feet, and he became healthy and cheerful. The
Snow Queen might now come home if she pleased; for there
stood his letters-patent of freedom, written in glittering pieces
of ice.

And they took each other by the hand and walked out of the
castle, and talked of grandmamma, and of the roses on the roof ;
and wherever they went the winds were laid to rest, and the
sun shone forth; and when they reached the bush with red




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THE ICE PUZZLE.
The Snow Queen’s Castle. 49

berries, they found the reindeer waiting for them, accompanied
by a younger reindeer, whose udders were full of warm milk,
which she gave the children to drink, and then kissed their
mouths. They then carried Kay and Gerda to the Finlandish
woman, where they warmed themselves thoroughly in the hot
room, and obtained directions about their journey homewards,
and next to the Laplandish woman, who had made new clothes
for them, and set their sledge in order.

The reindeer and his Companion ran beside them, and
followed them to the frontiers of the land, where the first
green shoots were to be seen; and here the little travellers
took leave of the reindeer and of their Laplandish hostess.
‘‘ Farewell!” was said on all sides. And the first little birds
began to twitter, and the forest was full of green buds; and
there emerged from it a beautiful horse (that Gerda recognised
as having belonged to the golden coach) mounted by a girl
wearing a shining red cap, and with pistols in her belt. This
was the little robber girl, who was tired of staying at home,
and was going first to the north, and then, if that did not
suit her, to some other part of the world. She and Gerda
instantly recognised each other, and delighted they were to
meet.

““'You are a pretty fellow to have gone a-gadding in such a
manner!” said she to little Kay: “I wonder whether you
deserve that anybody should have taken the trouble to run to
the world’s end for your sake.”

But Gerda patted her cheeks, and asked after the prince
and princess.

“They are travelling in foreign lands,” said the robber
girl.
50 _ The Snow Queen,

‘“‘ And what is become of the crow ?” said Gerda.

‘He is dead,” returned she. “His tame sweetheart is
become a widow, and wears a bit of black woollen. thread
round her leg. She makes great lamentations, but it’s all
mere stuff. But now tell me how you fared, and how you
managed to get him back.”

Then Gerda and Kay related all that had taken place.
“‘ Snip-snap-snorum !” said the robber girl, who shook their
hands, and promised, should she ever pass through their town,
that she would pay them a visit ; and then she rode forth into
the wide world. Meantime, Kay and Gerda walked on hand
in hand, and the farther they went the lovelier the spring
appeared with its flowers and verdure; the church-bells were
ringing, and they recognised the tall steeples, and the large
town where they lived; and they entered it, and found their
way to their grandmother’s door, then up the stairs, and into
the room, where all looked the same as it used to do: the
clock was still going, ‘‘tick-tack!”” and the hands were point-
ing to the hour; but, as they passed through the doorway,
they perceived they were now grown up. The roses on the
roof were in: full bloom, and peeping in at the open window ;
and there stood their little chairs which they used as children,
upon which Kay and Gerda-now sat down, one on each chair,
holding each other by the hand, while the cold, empty
‘splendour of the Snow Queen’s palace vanished from their
thoughts like a painful dream. The grandmother sat in God’s
bright sunshine, reading aloud the following passage in the
Bible: “‘ Unless ye become as little children, ye shall not enter
into the kingdom of heaven.”
The Snow Queen’s Castle. 5I



And Kay and Gerda exchanged looks, and they now under-
stood the meaning of the old hymn:

“ The roses bloom but one short hour, then die,
But the infant Jesus ever lives on high.”

And there they both sat, grown up, yet children still, for
they were children in their hearts; arid it was summer—warm
glorious summer !








BUCKWHEAT.

Ir frequently happens, when one passes through a field of
buckwheat after a storm, that one sees it looking quite black
and singed, just as if a fierce flame had passed over it, and
then a countryman says, “That comes of the lightning!” But
how did it come about? Well, I'll tell you what a sparrow
told me, and the sparrow heard it from an aged willow that
stood in a meadow next to a field of buckwheat, and is still
standing for the matter of that. It is a most venerable, large
willow, though crippled and aged; its trunk is split right
through the middle, and grass and blackberry tendrils are
peeping out through the cleft. The tree is bending forwards,
and its branches are hanging down to the ground—just like
long green hair.

There grew corn in the surrounding fields, not only rye and
barley, but oats—pretty oats that, when ripe, look like a flight
of little yellow canary birds, sitting on a branch. The harvest
was blessed with plenty, and the heavier and richer the ears of
corn, the lower did they bow their heads in pious humility.
The Willow's Answer. St ee



Now, there was a field of buckwheat just opposite the old
willow. The buckwheat did not bow its head like the rest of
the corn, but flaunted away in stiff-necked pride.

“‘T am as rich as the other ears of corn,” said he, “‘ and,
moreover, I am much more sightly. My flowers are as pretty

Ky,»
Uy YT ~ G y



THE WILLOW IN THE STORM.

as apple-blossoms, and it is a treat to look at me and mine.
Do you know of anything more beautiful than ourselves, you
old willow ?”

And the willow nodded his head, as much as to say, “ In-
deed, I do!”
54 Buckwheat.

But the buckwheat bridled proudly, saying, ‘‘ Stupid tree !
He is so old that the grass is growing on his body.”

There now arose a violent storm. All the flowers of the
field folded up their leaves or bent their little heads down-
wards, while the storm swept over them; but the buckwheat

stood erect in all its pride.

** Bow your head, as we do,” said the flowers.

“There is no need of that for me,” answered the buck-
wheat..

“Hang your head down as we do,” cried the corn. ‘“ The
angel of the storm is approaching. He has wings that reach
from the clouds above down to our earth, and he’ll smite you
before you have time to beg for mercy.”

** But I don’t choose to bow down,” said the buckwheat.

“Fold up your flowers and bend your leaves,” said the old
willow. ‘Do not look at the lightning when the cloud bursts
open; even human beings dare not do that, for, in the midst
of lightning, one may see right into heaven, but the sight
strikes even human beings blind; and what would not happen
to us—the produce of the earth—if we ventured on such a
thing, so much humbler as we are ?”

** Humbler, indeed !” said the buckwheat. ‘‘ Now, I happen
to have a mind to take a peep into heaven.” And in his pride
and arrogance he dared to do so. The flashes of lightning
were so awful that it seemed as if the whole world were in
flames. :

When this dreadful storm was quite over, both the flowers
and the corn felt refreshed by the rain as they stood in the pure,
quiet air, but the buckwheat was burnt as black as a cinder by
the lightning, and was like a dead weed upon the field.
The Weeping Willow. 55



And the old willow’s branches rustled in the wind, and
large drops fell from his green leaves, just as though he were
shedding tears. .

Then the sparrows inquired: ‘“‘ Why are you weeping,
when all around seems blest ? Look how the sun shines, and
how the clouds are sailing! Do you not smell the sweet per-
fume of flowers and bushes? Wherefore do you weep, aged
willow ?”

And the willow told of the buckwheat’s pride, of his stub-
bornness, and of the punishment which is sure to follow.

I who am telling the tale heard it from the sparrows. They
told it me one evening when I asked them for a story.


5 sth

By \ BAS \ as iN SOE eS HR
: _ 2 ~~ Da rp 4
AE, OB INV UAE TRA NSN re UE

So ape be ES



THE FIR-TREE.

In the depths of the forest there stood a pretty little fir-
tree. It was placed very nicely, for it could get as much
sunshine and air as it wanted, and it was surrounded by a
number of taller companions, both firs and pines. But the
little fir-tree did so long to grow taller! It thought nothing
of the warm sun and the fresh air, and cared still less for the
peasant children who strolled about and chattered whenever
they came to gather wild strawberries and raspberries. They
would often bring a pipkin full of berries, or lay them out on a
handful of straw, and then seat themselves near the little fir-
tree, saying: “‘ Well, this is a sweet little tree!” But the tree
was quite insensible to any such praise.

In the following year, it had grown a notch taller, and the
year after it was taller still by another notch; for with fir-trees
it is easy to ascertain, by the number of notches, how many
years old they are.

““Oh! how I wish I were as tall as the other trees!” sighed
“ Could I but Grow!” 57



the diminutive fir; ‘‘and then I should spread my branches
all around, and my top would overlook the wide world. Birds
would then build nests in my branches, and when the wind
blew I should be able to bow with as much dignity as the rest
of my companions.”

It took no delight in the sunshine, or the birds, or the rosy
clouds that sailed over its head morning and evening. When
it was winter, and the white snow lay in dazzling sheets upon’
the ground, a hare would frequently jump right over the little
tree, and that vexed it so sorely! But after two more winters,
the tree had grown so tall, that by the time it had reached the
third, the hare was obliged to run round it. “Oh! could I
but grow and grow, and become tall and old! That is the
only thing worth caring for in this world,” thought the tree.

In the autumn, the woodcutters always came and felled
several of the tallest trees. As this happened regularly every
year, the young fir-tree, who was now grown up, shuddered at
the fate that perhaps awaited him; for the fine large trees fell
with a loud crashing and creaking to the ground. Their
branches were lopped off, and the trunks looked so naked, so
lank, and so narrow, that they were scarcely to be recognised.
Then they were placed on waggons, and the horses drew them
out of the forest.

Whither were they bound? What was to be their fate ?

In spring, when the swallows and storks made their
appearance, the tree inquired of them: “ Do you know where
they have been taken to? Did you not meet them ?”

The swallows knew nothing of the matter; but the stork,
after due reflection, nodded his head, saying: ‘‘ Yes, I think I
did; for I met a great many new ships as I flew out of Egypt,
58 The Fir-Tree.

and the ships had very handsome masts; so I conclude that it
must have been they, particularly as they smelt like firs. I
congratulate you upon your friends; really they are very
shining characters.” :

“Oh! if I were but tall enough to cross the sea! What is
this sea, and what does it look like ?”

“Why, it would take too much time to explain,’
the stork, going away.

“Enjoy your youth,” said the sunbeams; ‘‘enjoy your
fresh growth, and your young existence, while it lasts.”

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew shed tears over
it; but the fir-tree could not understand either of them.

When Christmas was drawing near, some very young trees
were felled; several trees, indeed, that were neither so tall
nor so old as this particular fir-tree, which could not rest for
longing to get away from its native place. These young trees,
which were chosen as being the prettiest of all, were not
deprived of their branches, and were laid upon waggons, and
taken away from the forest.

‘‘ Whither can they be going ?” asked our fir-tree. ‘‘ They
are not taller than I am; on the contrary, there was one
much smaller than myself. And why are they allowed to
retain their branches? What is to be done with them ?”

“We know—we know,” twittered the sparrows, “‘ for we
have looked in at the windows, in yonder town! We know
what is to be done with them. Oh, they are raised to the
very highest honours, I promise you! We saw through the
windows how they were stuck up in a warm room, and
ornamented with a host of fine things, such as gilt apples,
ginger-bread, and playthings, besides hundreds of tapers.’’.

’

replied






THE HARE BY THE FIR-TREE.



Farewell to the Flowers ! | 61



“‘ And then,” asked the fir-tree with trembling eagerness—
“and then—what next ?”

“Why, we saw nothing further—but it was an incom-
parable sight !”’ :

“ T wonder whether I am destined to so brilliant a career !”
exclaimed the fir-tree, in ecstasy. ‘‘ That is even better than
crossing the seas. How I do long for Christmas to come
round again! Iam now grown as tall as the others that were
taken away last year. Oh, how I wish I were already placed
on the waggon! How I wish I were in the warm room with
all the fine things about me! And then—why surely some-
thing still better must be in store, something far finer still, or
else they would not deck me out so smartly! There must be
something much grander and more magnificent yet to come—
only what can it be? Oh! I am so weary with longing—I
can’t tell how I feel !”

“Enjoy our gifts,” said the air and the sunbeams; “ enjoy
your bright young days in the open air.”

But the tree would not enjoy himself, and kept growing
and growing. Through both winter and summer he stood
clothed in dark green, and all who saw him said: “That is a
beautiful tree.” So towards Christmas he was felled before
any of the others. The axe clove right through his pith, and
down he fell with a groan ; it was like a pang, or a fainting fit,
and the tree ceased to think of the honours that awaited him,
in his affliction at leaving his home, and the spot where he
had grown into beauty; for he knew but too well that he
would never see his old companions again, nor the little rushes
and flowers that once surrounded him ; nor, pérhaps, even the
birds. Moreover, the journey was far from pleasant.
62 The Fir-Tree.

The tree revived a little when he was unpacked, together
with the other trees, in a courtyard, and he heard a man
observe: “This is a beauty. We only want one.”

Two well-dressed servants now came, and carried off the
fir-tree to a fine large room. The walls were adorned with
pictures, and beside the earthenware stove stood large china
vases, with lions on their lids; and there were rocking-chairs,
silk sofas, large tables loaded with books full of prints, and
playthings, to the amount of a hundred times a hundred
‘dollars—at least, so said the children. The fir-tree was
placed in a large barrel filled with sand; but nobody could
perceive it was a barrel, as it was covered round with green
baize, and stood on a handsome carpet. Oh! how the tree
quaked !

What was going to be done? Both the servants and the
young ladies helped to adorn it. On one branch they hung
little nets cut out of coloured paper, and each net was filled
with sweetmeats; gilt apples and walnuts- hung down from
others, as if they had grown there; and above a hundred
tapers—white, blue, and red—were fastened to the branches.
Beneath the green leaves were placed dolls, that looked for
all the world like living creatures—the tree had never seen
any such before; and on the topmost summit was fastened a
star, all over spangles, that was right royally splendid to
behold.

“This evening it will shine most gloriously!” they all
said.

“Oh!” thought the tree, ‘“‘if it were but evening! If the
tapers could but be lighted! And then what is to be done
next? I wonder whether the trees from our forest will come
The Christmas Tree. 63

and admire me? And whether the sparrows will peep in
through the window-panes? And whether I have taken root
here, and shall remain decked out in this fashion through both
winter and summer ?”

These reflections were all very well, only the tree’s long-
ings were so intense that his bark ached again through im-
patience; and barkache is just as bad for a tree as headache is
with us.

At length the tapers were lit; and a grand sight it was, to
be sure. The tree trembled so in all his branches that one
of the tapers set fire to the leaves and regularly singed
them. _

“Help! help!” shrieked the young ladies, as they hastily
extinguished the flame.

So the tree endeavoured not to tremble again, frightened
as he was—for he was most anxious not to lose any of
his ornaments—and though bewildered by so brilliant a
scene. And now the folding-doors were thrown open, and
in rushed a whole troop of children, as though they would
overturn the tree, while their elders followed in a more
leisurely manner. The little ones stood for a moment
stricken dumb, and then directly after set up such shouts of
joy, that the room rang with the sound. They danced round
the tree, and one present after another was plucked off from
its branches.

“What are they about?” thought the tree. “ What will
come next?” And as each taper burnt down to the branches,
it was put out, and then the children had leave given them to
rifle the tree. Oh, how they did set upon it, to be sure! And
how its branches cracked! Had it not been fastened by the
64 The Fir-Tree.



gold star at the top to the ceiling, it would have been over-
turned to a certainty.

The children danced about with their pretty toys, and
nobody took any further notice of the tree, except the old
nurse, who came and rummaged amongst the branches to see
if a fig or an apple had not been left there by chance.

““A story! let’s have a story!” cried the children, pulling a
little thick-set man towards the tree, under which he took his
seat, saying: ‘‘ Now we are in the shade; and of course the
tree will reap great advantage by listening to what we say.
But mind! I shall only tell one story, so which shall it be?
Ivede-Avede, or Humpty-Dumpty, who fell downstairs, and
yet was raised to high honours, and obtained the princess’s
hand ?”

“ Ivede-Avéde!”” cried some. “ Humpty-Dumpty!” cried
others. Anda fine screaming and squalling there was! The
fir-tree alone was silent, though he said to himself—‘‘ Am I
not to have a finger in the pie ?” For he had played his part
as well as anybody else that evening.

And the man told the story of Humpty-Dumpty, who fell
downstairs, and yet was raised to high honours, and obtained
the princess’s hand. And the children clapped their hands,
and cried: “‘Go on! Go on!” for they wanted to hear the
story of Ivede-Avede besides; but they only got Humpty-
Dumpty. The fir-tree stood in pensive silence. The birds in
the wood had never told him anything of the kind.

‘““Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet obtained a
princess! Yes, yes! that’s the way of the world,” argued the
fir-tree, thinking it must be a true story, because it was told
by such a well-dressed man. “So who knows but what I may
In the Loft. 65

fall downstairs and obtain a princess?” And he rejoiced to
think that next day he would again be decked out with tapers,
playthings, gold, and fruit.

“ To-morrow I will not tremble,” thought the tree. ‘I
will enjoy my grandeur. To-morrow I shall hear the story of
Humpty-Dumpty again, and perhaps that of Ivede-Avede.”
And the tree remained silent and thoughtful throughout the
whole night.

Next morning the man-servant and the maid came in.
““Now I’m going to be tricked out again in all my finery!”
thought the tree. But they dragged him out of the room, and
upstairs, and then flung him on the floor in a dark corner,
where daylight never shone. ‘‘ What’s the meaning of this ?”
thought the tree. ‘‘ What shall I do here? And what can I
hear in such a place?” And he leaned against the wall, still
thinking and thinking. And he had plenty of time for reflection,
as days and nights passed by, and nobody came up; and when
at length somebody did come, it was only to stow away some
large chests in the corner. So the tree was now as com-
pletely concealed as though his existence had been entirely
forgotten.

“Tt is winter abroad,” thought the tree; “ the ground must
now be hard and covered with snow, so they can’t plant me;
therefore, I am to be kept safe here until spring. That is
no bad plan. Really, people are very kind! I only wish it
was not so dark, and so terribly lonely here! There’s not even
a little hare to enliven one! How nice it was to be in the
forest when the snow was lying on the ground, and the hare
used to jump past me—or even when he leaped over me,

though I was not well pleased at the time, I remember.
F
66 The Fir-Tree.

It is so dreadfully lonely up here!’ ‘‘ Peep! peep!” squeaked
a little mouse, stealing forth, followed by another. They
sniffed at the fir-tree, and then ensconced themselves between
its branches.

“It is bitterly cold,” said the little mice, ‘‘ or else we should
be very well off here—shouldn’t we, you old fir-tree ?”’

“I’m not old,” said the fir-tree; ‘‘there are many a great
deal older than I.”

“‘Where do you come from?” inquired the mice,
what’s your name?” for they were vastly curious. ‘“‘ Tell us
something about the prettiest place in the world. Have you
been there? Have you been in the store-room, where there
is cheese lying on the shelves, and hams are hanging from
the ceiling; where one may dance upon tallow candles, and
from which one may come out twice as fat as one goes in ?”

“J don’t know of any such place,” said the tree; ‘‘but I
know of our forest where the sun shines, and the birds sing.”
And then he related the story of his youth; and the mice, who
had never heard of the like before, listened very attentively,
and then observed: ‘“‘How much you have seen, and how
happy you have been !”

“T happy!” exclaimed the fir-tree ;. and then he thought
over all he had told. ‘‘ Well! those were, to be sure, rather
pleasant times.” And then he related all about Christmas Eve,
and how he was decked out with cakes and tapers.

“Oh!” cried the little mice, ‘‘ how happy you have been,
you old fir-tree!”’

“JT am not old,” said the tree. “It’s only this winter that
I have come from the forest, and so I have been thrown back
in my growth.”

“and
Humpty-Dumpty. 67



“What pretty things you do relate!” said the little mice.
And the following night they returned with four other little
mice, that they might hear the tree tell his story; and the
oftener he told it the more distinctly he remembered every-
thing, and he could not help thinking, ‘‘ Those were right
pleasant times, but they will not come over again. Still,
as Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet obtained the
princess, perhaps I may still have a princess myself”? And
the fir-tree fondly recollected an elegant little birch that grew
in the forest, and was a beautiful princess for a fir-tree.

‘Who is Humpty-Dumpty ?” inquired the little mice.

The fir-tree then related the whole story, every word of
which he remembered; and _ the little mice were fit to jump to
the top of the tree with delight. Next night there came a great
many more mice, and by Sunday they were joined by a couple
of rats; but the latter said the story was not a pretty one,
which vexed the little mice, because it made them think less
of it themselves.

“Do you know nothing but this one story?” inquired
the rats.

“Only this one,” replied the tree. ‘I heard it on the
happiest evening of my life. I did not think then how happy
I was.”

“Tt is a pitiful story, anyway. Don’t you know any
stories about lard or tallow? Can’t you tell us some store-
room tales ?”

‘“No,” said the tree.

“Your servant,” answered the rats, and they returned to
their own set.

The little mice finished by staying away likewise, and then
68 The Fir-Tree.



the tree said, with a sigh, “It was very nice when those sym-
pathizing little mice used to sit all round me, and listen to my
story. Now, thatisover too.. But I shall think of those times,
and enjoy the recollection of them, when I am removed from
this place once more.”

But what, think you, happened? Why, one morning, there
came some people, who made a great to-do upon the floor ;
the chests were shoved aside, and the tree was drawn forth.
It’s true they flung it somewhat roughly on-the floor; but a
servant immediately dragged it towards the stairs, on which
shone the daylight.

“Now I am going to begin life anew,” thought the tree, as
he felt the fresh air and the welcome sunbeams on reaching the
court below. The court led to a garden, where everything
was in full bloom. The roses hung over the little trellis, and
looked so fresh, and smelt so sweet; while the lime-trees
were in blossom, and the swallows were flying about saying,
“ Twit—twit—twit—my mate is coming.” But it was not the
fir-tree they meant.

“Now I shall really live!” cried the latter, rejoicing and
spreading out his branches, that were, alas! all withered
and yellow; and there he lay in a corner amongst weeds and
nettles. The gilt-paper star was still stuck in the top of the
tree, and sparkled in the bright sunshine.

Two of the lively children who had danced round the tree and
taken such delight in it at Christmas happened to be playing
in the court. The youngest ran and tore off the gold star.

_ “See what is still sticking to the ugly old fir-tree,” said the
child, as he trampled on the branches till they cracked.

And the tree looked upon the bright flower-garden, and











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pins TORS RIS
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AZ Dees 4 Fe sas Sh
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Va Kua Sec

WO

THE FIR-TREE TELLS HIS STORY.



“« Pop—Pop dhe 71



then thought of himself, and wished he had been left in his
dark corner on the floor. He recalled his early youth in the
forest, the merry Christmas evening, and the little mice who
were so pleased at hearing the story of Humpty-Dumpty.

“Tt’s all gone and past,” said the old tree. ‘‘ Would that I
had known my own happiness while it lasted |”

A lad now came and chopped the tree into small fagots,
and made them up into a bundle. A fire soon burned up
briskly under a large washing-copper, and the tree sighed so
deeply that every sigh was like a little pistol-shot. So the
children left off playing, and came and sat near the fire, and
looked at it, saying “‘ Pop—pop !” and then the tree was burnt
to ashes.

And as all was over with the tree, so it must be with the
story ; for all stories finish at last.


oA Ce eS
PIES 7 AES

AALS y



THE LOVING PAIR.

A WHIPPING-Top and a little ball lay together in a box,
amongst other playthings. One day the top said to the ball :
“Shall we make a match of it, since we are living here in the
same box?” But the ball being made of morocco leather, and
thinking quite as much of herself as any high-bred young lady
might do, did not even vouchsafe an answer.

On the following day came the little boy to whom the play-
things belonged; and he painted the top red and yellow, and
drove a brass nail right through the middle of it, so that it
looked very smart indeed when it spun round.

“Look at me,” said the top to the ball. ‘ What do you
think of me now? Shan’t we make a match of it? We are
so well suited to each other, for you jump and I dance. There
would not be a happier pair in the whole world.”

“Do you think so?” said the ball. ‘‘ You are, perhaps,
not aware that my father and mother were morocco slippers,
and that I have a Spanish cork in my body ?”
Top and Ball. | 73



“Yes; but Iam made of mahogany,” said the top, “‘and
the burgomaster turned me himself. He has a lathe of his own,
and he took great delight in me.”

“Can I depend upon what you say ?” asked the ball.

‘May I never be whipped if I’m telling a fib!’ returned
the top.

“You plead your own cause vastly well,” said the ball, “‘ but
I can’t accept your proposal. I am as good as betrothed to
a swallow. As often as I fly up into the air, he pokes his head
out of his nest, and says, ‘ Will you?’ And as I have inwardly
answered, ‘ Yes,’ it is almost as binding as a betrothal; but I'll
promise never to forget you.”

“A deal of good that will do me!” said the gop -And so
they left off speaking to each other.

On the following day the boy took out the ball. The top
saw it flying up into the air like any bird, till at last it was out
of sight. Each time it returned it gave a rebound as it touched
the earth, either because it longed to jump upwards or be-
cause it had a Spanish cork in its body. But the ninth time
it was flung into the air, it stayed away and did not return.
The boy sought and sought, but all in vain, for it was gone.

“‘T know where she is,” sighed the top; “‘in the swallow’s
nest, to be sure, where she has married the swallow by this
time.”

The more the top thought about the ball, the more in-
fatuated he was with her charms. His love increased just
because he could not obtain her, and most of ail, perhaps,
because another had taken her away from him. So the top
twirled round and hummed, but still kept thinking of the ball,
who grew more and more beautiful in his imagination. And
74. The Loving Pair.



years passed away in this manner, till his love had grown quite
an old story.

The top himself was no longer young, when one day he
was gilt all over. He had never looked so handsome before ;
he was now a gold top, and hopped about till he hummed
again. So this was something quite grand! Only one day he
leaped too high, and was out of sight.

He was looked for everywhere —even the cellar was searched,
but he was nowhere to be found.

Where could he be?

He had jumped into the dust-bin amongst the cabbage-
stalks, sweepings, and rubbish that had fallen from the gutter
of the roof.

‘Now I’m in a pretty pickle!” quoth he; “ my gilding will
soon come off at this rate. Oh dear! What a set of raga-
muffins I have got amongst!’ And he looked askance at a
long, bare cabbage-stalk, and at a strange round thing that
appeared like an old apple—though it was not an apple, but an
old ball that had lain for years in the gutter of the roof till it
was saturated with water.

“Thank goodness! Here comes somebody of my own
sort, with whom I can converse,” said the ball, examining the
gilt top. ‘I am, in point of fact, made of morocco, and was
sewed together by a young lady, and have a Spanish cork in
my body, though nobody would think it now. I was very
near marrying a swallow, only I fell into the gutter of the roof,
where I have lain these five years, and been drenched through
and through. Believe me, it is a long time for a young
maiden.”

The top said nothing; but he thought of his old flame, and
Old Acquaintance. 75



the more he listened the more convinced he felt that this must
be she.

Then came the housemaid to empty the dust-bin.

“ Holloa !” cried she, ‘‘ why there’s the gold top!”

So the top was again brought to light to be honoured and
admired, while nothing more was heard of the ball. And the
top never said a word more about his old flame, which may
well be quenched when one’s beloved has lain five years in a
gutter, and been soaked through—nay, one may even be
excused for cutting her acquaintance on meeting her in a dust-
bin.


«eee yb

jy:

MX Zs iii ,
TD J
Pe Ke

Hid
iis



THE PRINCESS. AND THE. PARCHED
PEA,

THERE was once a prince who wished to marry a princess;
but he wanted her to be a real princess. He travelled all
round the world to find such an one, but there was always
something wrong. Not that there was any lack of princesses,
but as to whether or no they were real ones he could not °
always make out. There was sure to be something in the way
that was not quite satisfactory. At length he returned home,
quite out of spirits, for he wished so to find a real princess.

One evening there was a fearful storm. It thundered
and lightened, and poured with rain, till it was quite dreadful.
There came a knock at the town-gate, and the old king went
and opened it.

A princess stood outside the gate; but, oh dear! what a
State she was in from the rain and the bad weather! The
water was dripping down from her hair and her clothes, and
.

os



S rs

Mf em

\

Ail if| (

\







aA



ik

A PRINCESS STOOD OUTSIDE.


ese:

ers
Fe


A Real Princess. 79



running in at the tips of her shoes and coming out at the heels.
Yet she said she was a real princess.

“Well, that we’ll presently see,” thought the old queen.
But she said nothing, and went into a spare room, and took off
all the bedding, and laid a pea on the sacking of the bedstead.
She then took twenty mattresses and laid them upon the pea,
and then piled twenty eider-down quilts on the top of the
mattresses.

The princess lay upon them the whole night. On the
following morning she was asked how she had slept.

“Oh, most shockingly!” said the princess. ‘‘I scarcely
closed my eyes all night! I do not know what was in the bed;
I lay upon some hard substance, which has made me black and
blue all over. It is quite dreadful!”

It was now evident that she was a real princess, since she
perceived the pea through twenty mattresses and twenty eider-
down quilts. None but a real princess could have such delicate
feeling.

So the prince married her, for he knew that he had now
found a real princess; and the pea was preserved in the cabinet
of curiosities, where it is still to be seen, unless somebody has
stolen it.

And this, mind you, is a real story.


THE GALOSHES OF HAPPINESS.

I.—A BEGINNING.

THERE was company in a house in Copenhagen, not far
from the King’s New Market, where a great many persons had
been invited. Half the company had already sat down to the
card-table, and the other half was awaiting the result of the
hostess’s question: ‘‘ Well, what shall we do?” They had got
thus far, and the entertainment was beginning to go on smoothly
enough. Amongst other things, the conversation happened to
fall upon the Middle Ages, which some few persons deemed
far more interesting than our own times. The councillor of
justice, Knap, maintained this opinion so warmly that the lady
of the house immediately went over to his side, and both fell
foul of those views about old and modern times in which the
preference, in all essential points, is given to our own age.
The councillor of justice looked upon the era of the Danish
King Hans! as the noblest and most happy of all.

“1 He died in 1513. He was married to Christine, daughter of the
Electoral Prince Ernest of Saxony.
Two Maidens. 81

While this topic forms the groundwork of the conversation,
which was only momentarily disturbed by the arrival of a
newspaper containing nothing worth reading, we will go out
into the ante-room, where the mantles, sticks, and galoshes were



uh
|







CARE AND THE MAID OF HAPPINESS,

laid by. Here sat two maidens, a young one and an old one,

just as if they had come to accompany their mistress home;

but, on a nearer inspection, one could have perceived that they

were no common abigails. Their noble figures, delicate skins,
G
82 The Galoshes of Happiness.



and the very cut of their clothes forbade such a possibility.
They were a couple of fairies. The younger was not Happiness
herself, but a waiting-maid of one of her lady’s-maids, who dis-
tribute the minor gifts of Happiness. The elder looked rather
gloomy; she was Care; she always looks after her own affairs
personally, and then she knows they are properly attended to.

They related to each other where they had been that day.
The messenger of Happiness had only performed some trifling
acts, coming more under the denomination of luck, such as
saving a new hat from a shower, obtaining for an honourable
man a bow from a titled nonentity, and so forth. But what
remained was something quite unusual.

‘‘T must tell you,” said she, ‘‘that it is to-day my birth-
day, in honour of which I have been entrusted with a pair of
galoshes that I am to introduce amongst mankind. These
galoshes have the property instantly to transport whosoever
shall put them on to the place and times he best likes. Every
wish relative to time, place, or existence will be instantly ful-
filled, and one mortal, at least, will be happy for the time being
here below.”

“So you fancy,” said Care. ‘‘ Most likely he will be very
unhappy, and will bless the moment when he gets rid of the
paloshes.. =.

‘‘ What are you thinking about ?” said the other. ‘‘ Now,
I’ll place them near the door; someone will get hold of them,
and be happy.”

Such was the conversation that passed between the two.
Councillor Knap. 83



IIL.—WHAT BEFELL THE COUNCILLOR OF JUSTICE.

It was late. Councillor Knap, who was deep in his specu-
lations about King Hans’ days, now wanted to go home, and
Fate so ordained it that he drew on the Galoshes of Happiness
instead of his own and stepped out into East Street. Only,
being transported back to the times of King Hans, by the
magic spell of the galoshes, he immediately set his foot into
the mire and swamp of the street, which in those days boasted
no pavement.

“How dreadfully dirty it is here!” said the councillor.
“The whole pavement has vanished, and all the lamps are
out.”

The moon had not risen high enough, and the air was,
besides, so thick, that all the surrounding objects were con-
fused in the gloom. At the nearest corner there hung a lantern
in front. of an image of the Madonna; but the light was as
good as nothing at all, for he only perceived it when he was
just under it, and his eyes fell on the painted Child and His
mother.

“Probably,” thought he, “this is some curiosity shop,
where they have forgotten to take down the sign.”

A couple of men, in the dress of the Middle Ages, passed
by him.

“What odd figures!” thought he. ‘Surely they come
from a masquerade.”

There suddenly struck up a sound of drums and fifes, while
torches shed a brilliant light. The councillor started back’ in
amaze, and now beheld a most singular procession pass before
84. The Galoshes of Happiness.



him. ‘First came a whole troop of drummers, who were be-
labouring their instruments.amain ; these were followed by body-
guards with bows and cross-bows. The principal person in
the procession was a clerical gentleman. The astonished
councillor asked what it all meant, and who the man could be.

“* The Bishop of Zealand.”

“Good gracious! What is the bishop thinking about?”
sighed the councillor, shaking his head. ‘Surely it could not
be the bishop!” While trying to make out the truth, the
councillor, who could see neither to the right nor to the left,
went through East Street and across the Habro-platz. The
bridge leading to the square in front of the palace was not to
be found, and he perceived he was near the bank of a shallow
sheet of water, and at length met two people in a boat.

‘Does his honour wish to be ferried over to the Holme?”
asked they.

“To the Holme!” echoed the councillor of justice, not
knowing the age he wasin. ‘I want to go to Christianshaven,
and to Little Market Street.” :

The people stared at him.

“Tell me where the bridge is,” said he. ‘It is really
shameful that the lamps are not lighted hereabouts ; and, be-
sides, it is as dirty as if one were wading through a swamp.”

The more he talked with the boatmen, the more incompre-
hensible they appeared to him.

“JT don’t understand your gibberish,” said he at last in a
pet, and turned his back upon them. Hecould not find the
bridge, and there was no parapet. “It is scandalous what a
state the place is in!” said he. And the age he lived in had
“never appeared more pitiful than it did thisevening. ‘I think
“What's This?” 85



the best thing I could do would be to have a droschka,” thought
he. But where were the droschkas? Not one was to be seen.
““T must go back to the stand in the King’s New Market and
find a coach, or else I shall never reach Christianshaven.”

He now went to East Street, and was nearly through it,
when the moon emerged from a cloud.

**Good gracious! What is this scaffold put up here for ?”
said he, on seeing the East Gate, which in those days stood at
the end of East Street.

He managed, however, to find an opening, which led him
to what is now our New Market, but was then a large meadow.
A few bushes stood around, and a wide canal or stream crossed
right through the meadow. A few miserable wooden booths,
for the convenience of Dutch ships, stood on the opposite
shore.

*‘ Either I am deceived by a fata morgana, or I must
be tipsy !” said the councillor. ‘‘ What’s this? what’s this ?”

He turned back, in the full persuasion that he must be ill ;
and, on again retracing his steps through the street, he looked
more attentively at the houses. They were mostly built of
boards, and had only thatched roofs.

“T am ill, toacertainty!”’ sighed he; “and yet I only drank
one glass of punch. But I never can stand it, and, moreover,
it was quite monstrous to give us punch and hot salmon; I
must mention it to the lady. Suppose I went back and said
how I feel? Only it looks so ridiculous, and then it is a
question, after all, whether they are still up.”

He looked for the house, but it was not to be found.

“Tt is really frightful! but I can’t recognise East Street.
There is not a shop to be seen, and nothing but wretched old
86 The Galoshes of Happiness.



tumble-down houses, just as if I were in Roeskilde or Ringstedt.
Surely I must be ill! So there’s no use making any ceremony.
But where in the world is the house?’ It is no longer the
same; only there are still persons stirring in it. Oh! I must
be very ill!”

He now pushed against a half-open door, through a chink
in which a light was streaming. It was an inn such as existed
in those times, being a kind of ale-house. The room looked
like a Dutch interior: a knot of people, composed of seamen,
Copenhagen citizens, together with a couple of learned men,
were in deep converse over their pitchers, and paid little atten-
tion to the new-comer.

“ Excuse me,” said the councillor of justice to the landlady ;
“*T am very ill, and should be glad if you could accommodate
me by sending for a droschka to drive to Christianshaven.”

The woman stared at him, and shook her head, and then
spoke to him inGerman. The councillor thought that she did
not know Danish, and therefore repeated his request in German,
which, together with his clothes, confirmed her in the opinion
that he must be a foreigner. She soon understood that he
was ill, and brought him a pitcher of water, which did, to be
sure, smack somewhat of salt water, though it was drawn from
the well outside.

The councillor leant his head on his hand, fetched his breath,
and then endeavoured to sift the meaning of all the strange
things that had befallen him.

“Ts that the last number of the News of the Day ?” asked he
mechanically, seeing the landlady laying by a large piece of
paper, which he took for the newspaper of his own times.

She did not understand what he meant, but handed him the
A Learned Discourse. 87



paper. It was a woodcut, representing a meteor that had
been seen in the town of Cologne.

‘“‘ This is very old,” said the councillor, brightening up at
the sight of this piece of antiquity. ‘‘ How did you come by
this singular sheet ? It is extremely interesting, although the
whole is but a fiction. Such phenomena are now accounted
for as being a kind of aurora borealis ; and they probably arise
from electricity.”

Those who sat near him, and heard what he said, looked at
him in great astonishment, and one of them rose, and doffed
his hat respectfully, saying, with a serious face: ‘‘ You must
certainly be a most learned man, monsieur.”

“Oh, by no means,’ returned the councillor; “I can only
discuss those topics that everybody must know something
about.”

“ Modestia is a great virtue,” said the stranger ; “‘ moreover,
I may add to your speech, mihi secus videtur ; though, in this
case, I willingly suspend my judicium.”

“May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing ?”
returned the councillor.

“Tam a Baccalaureus Scripture Sacre,’ said the man.

This answer satisfied the councillor; for in this case, the
title agreed with the dress. ‘‘ This is surely,” thought he,
“some old village schoolmaster—one of those odd fellows one
still meets with occasionally in Jutland.” ;

“This is no locus docendi,” observed the stranger; “‘ yet, I
wish you would favour us with your conversation. You are
assuredly deeply versed in antiquarian lore.”

“Why, yes,” replied the councillor of justice; ‘I like to
read all useful old writings; but I like the modern ones as
88 The Galoshes of Happiness.



well, with the exception of the ‘Domestic Tales,’ of which we
really have a surfeit.”

““* Domestic Tales’ >?” inquired our baccalaureus.

** Yes, I allude to the new novels that come out.”

“And yet,” said the bookworm, smiling, ‘‘they are very
witty, and are read at court. The king is especially fond of
the romance of Sir Iwain and Sir Gawain, which treats of
King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. He joked
about it with the gentlemen of his court.”

“Well, I have not read that,” said the councillor, ‘it must
be quite a new one, published by Heiberg.”

“No,” said the other, ‘‘ not by Heiberg, but by Godfred von
Gehmen.” :

‘Oh, is that the publisher ?” said the councillor. ‘‘ That’s
a very old name. Why, the first printer and publisher in
Denmark was called the same.”

“Yes, he is our first printer,” said the man.

So far, so good; then one of the citizens spoke of the plague
that raged a few years previous, meaning 1484. The councillor
thought it was the cholera that was alluded to, and so the
conversation got on. The buccaneers’ war of 1490 was so
recent that it could not fail to be touched upon. The English
buccaneers had captured ships in the Roads, and the councillor,
being versed in the events of 1801, quite agreed with them in
blaming the English. The rest of the conversation, however,
did not turn out so well, and was continually assuming the
tone of a funeral oration. The good baccalaureus was too
ignorant not to look upon the very simplest observations of the
councillor as both bold and fantastical. They stared at each
other, and when they could not get on at all, the baccalaureus
Past and Present. 89



spoke Latin, in the hopes of being better understood, but it was
of no use.

“‘ How are you ?” said the landlady, pulling the councillor’s
sleeve. His recollection now returned, for, in the course
of the conversation, he had clean forgotten all that had
happened.

‘Good gracious! where am I?” said he, and he grew dizzy
as he thought about it.

“‘Tet’s drink claret, mead, and Bremen beer!’ cried one
of the guests, ‘‘and you shall join us.”

Two maids came in and poured out the drink, and retired
with a curtsey. The councillor felt a cold shiver run through
his frame.

“What is this? Whatisthis?” repeated he. But he was
forced, willy-nilly, to drink with them, for they overpowered
the good man with their kind attentions. He was in despair,
and when one of them observed that he was tipsy, he never
doubted the truth of the man’s words, but begged them to
procure him a droschka.

They now thought he was speaking Muscovitish.

He had never before been in such rough and vulgar company.
“ One would think the land had returned to paganism,” observed
he; “this is the most dreadful moment of my life.” But just
then it entered his head to stoop under the table, and creep
from thence to the door; which he accordingly proceeded to
do, only, just as he was going out, the company perceived
his intention, and seized him by the feet, when, luckily
for him, the galoshes came off, and with them vanished the
whole vision.

The councillor now plainly saw a lamp, and a large building
go The Galoshes of Happiness.



behind it; everything looked familiar and handsome. It was
East Street, such as we know it. He lay with his legs turned
towards a door, and opposite sat the watchman asleep.

‘Bless me! have I been lying here in the street dreaming ?”
said he. “Yes, this is East Street. How beautifully bright
and gayitlooks! It is shocking to think howa glass of punch
must have upset me!”

Two minutes later he was sitting in a droschka, which
drove him to Christianshaven. He thought of all the anxiety
and misery that he had endured, and now heartily relished the
happy reality of our own age, which, with all its shortcomings,
is yet far superior to the one in which he had so lately found
himself.

IIIL—THE WATCHMAN’S ADVENTURE.

“There lie a pair of galoshes,” said the watchman, ‘‘ which
no doubt belong to the lieutenant who lives up there. They —
are lying close to the door.”

The worthy man would willingly have rung, and delivered
them, for there was still a light in the upper story; but, not
wishing to disturb the sleep of the people in the house, he let
them rest. :

“That sort of thing must keep one nice and warm,” said
he. ‘They are of such soft leather.’ They fitted his feet
exactly. ‘‘ What an odd world this is!’ mused he: “now
there’s a fellow who might lie in his warm bed, yet, hang me if
he does. There he walks up and down the room! That’s a
happy fellow for you! He has neither wife nor children, and
“Were I but Rich!” gl



goes into company every evening. How I wish I were he! I
should then be a happy man indeed.”

No sooner had he spoken this wish than the magic of the
galoshes, which he had put on, took effect ; and the watchman
merged into the lieutenant. He now stood up there in his
room, holding a piece of pink note-paper between his fingers,
on which was penned a poem written by the lieutenant himself
—for who has not had a lyrical fit once in his life? And
then, if one writes down one’s thoughts, they of course flow in
poetry. The following verses were written on the paper :

“ Were I but rich !” I often sighed
In boyhood’s days, and thought with pride,
If rich I’d be a soldier brave,
With sword and snowy plumes that wave—
A soldier’s colours now I have,
But richer never shall I be,

Alas, poor me!

I mind me once, in early youth,

A little maiden kissed my mouth, ~

For rich was I in fairy lore,

Though still—alas ! in gold so poor ;

But she by money set no store—

My wealth all lay in youthful glee,
Alas, poor me !

“Were I but rich !” is still my prayer—
The child has grown a woman fair,
Good, beautiful, and true as gold.
Oh! might I but my heart unfold,
Or she but read the tale untold ;
But I must ever silent be—

Alas, poor me!

Oh! were I rich in peace and rest,
Not paper should my woes attest.
92 The Galoshes of Happiness.



May she I love but read this leaf,

And learn my youthful joys were brief,

Moist’ning with tears this tale of grief,

For dark my future still must be,
Alas, poor me!

One writes such verses as these when one is in love; but a
rational man does not print them. Lieutenant, love, and poverty
form a triangle, or perhaps, rather the half of the broken die
of luck. The lieutenant felt this to be the case, and, there-
fore, leant his head against the window-frame, and sighed
deeply.

“The poor watchman out in the street,” thought he, “is
happier than Iam. He does not suffer from the same penury
as I do. He has a home, a wife, and children, who weep
over his sorrows, and rejoice at his joys. I should be far
happier could I exchange my existence for his, and wander
through life with no higher hopes and expectations than his.
Yes, he is far happier than I.”

At the same moment, the watchman again became a watch-
man; for, after having passed into the lieutenant’s existence
by means of the Galoshes of Happiness, he had found himself
so much less contented than he expected, that he preferred the
state he had rejected a moment before. Therefore the watch-
man was a watchman once more.

“It was an ugly dream,” said he, “but funny enough. I
thought myself the lieutenant up above there, and yet I was
not satisfied. I missed my wife and my brats, who are all
ready to stifle me with their kisses.”

_ He sat down again and began tonod. He could not get his
dream out of his head, for he had still the galoshes on his feet.
A falling star shot across the sky.






Kw

oa.

Ze )
= CG Ge Dy

"ay









A Dangerous Wish. 95

“There goes one,” said he; ‘‘ however, there are plenty
left. I should like to be able to examine them a little closer,
and particularly the moon, for that would not slip through
one’s fingers. When we die, says the student for whom my
wife washes, we fly about from one star to the other. It is not
true; but it would be very pretty if it were. I wish I could
take a leap up thither, while my body remained lying here on
the doorstep.”

There are certain things in the world that one must be very
cautious of pronouncing aloud; and one need be doubly so
when one has the Galoshes of Happiness on one’s feet. Now
you shall hear what befell the watchman.

We are nearly all of us acquainted with the locomotive
powers of steam, which we have experienced either on a rail-
way or in a steamer; yet such modes of transport are like the
pace of the sloth or the snail, compared to the rapidity with
which Light journeys. It flies many million times faster than
the best racer, yet electricity is more rapid still. Death is an
electric shock which we receive in our hearts; and our soul,
thus set free, flies away on the wings of electricity. A sun-
beam requires only eight minutes and a few seconds to perform
a journey of over ninety million miles; but, with the aid of an
express train of electricity, the soul requires still fewer minutes
to achieve its flight. The space between the spheres is no
greater for the soul, than the distance is for us, in the same
town, from one friend’s house to another, supposing them to lie
in the same neighbourhood. Nevertheless, this electric shock
through our hearts costs us the use of our bodies here below,
unless we happen, like the watchman, to be wearing the
Galoshes of Happiness.
96 The Galoshes of Happiness.

In a few seconds the watchman had cleared the 250,000
miles up to the moon, which, as we all know, is of a much
lighter material than the earth, and as soft as new-fallen snow,
as we should call it. He found himself on one of the countless
circular ranges of mountains that we see in Dr. Madler’s large
map of the moon. In the interior it formed a kind of caldron,
of the perpendicular depth of about half a mile. Below, there
lav a town, of the appearance of which we can form a faint
idea, by turning the white of an egg into a glass of water.
The materials it was built of were just as soft, and shadowed
forth towers, with cupolas and galleries in the form of sails,
quite transparent, and swimming in the thin air. Our earth
floated above his head, like a large, deep-red ball.

He then perceived a number of beings, that were assuredly
meant for what we should call men; but they looked quite
different from us. A much richer imagination than the pseudo-
Herschel’s had called them into existence. If they were placed
in groups, and then painted, one would say: “‘ That is a pretty
arabesque.” They had, too, a language of their own; though.
nobody could require of the watchman’s soul to understand it.
Nevertheless, it was able to do so; for our souls have far
greater capabilities than is generally supposed. Does not the
soul show wonderful talent for dramatic composition in our
dreams, where each of our acquaintances speaks so perfectly
in character, and so exactly in the voice belonging to him,
that we should never be able to mimic it half so well in our
waking hours? How well, too, our soul reminds us of persons
whom we have forgotten for years, when they suddenly start
up to our recollection with the most vivid distinctness, even to
their smallest characteristics! After all, our soul’s capacity for
The People in the Moon. 97



thinking seems to place us in a somewhat ticklish position: it
enables us to recall every sin and every wicked thought we may
have indulged in; and then the question will arise, whether we
should be in a condition to account for every guilty word that
may have been whispered in our hearts, or have risen to our
lips.

The watchman’s soul, accordingly, understood the language
of the inhabitants of the moon very tolerably. They were
disputing about our earth, and doubted whether it could be in-
habited. The atmosphere, they contended, must be too thick
for rational moon-born beings to live in it. They considered
that the moon alone was inhabited, and was the real earth,
where lived the ancient inhabitants of the world.

They likewise talked politics—but we will descend to East
Street, and see what happened to the watchman’s body.

It lay lifeless on the steps. His star-tipped mace had fallen
from his hand, and his eyes were turned upwards to the moon,
where his honest soul was rambling.

‘What is o'clock, watchman?” asked a passer-by. But
no answer did the watchman return. The man then filliped
his nose, which made him lose his balance. There lay the
body sprawling at full length: the man was dead. All his
comrades were very much frightened; dead he was, and dead
he remained. . Notice was given of the event; it was talked
over, and at dawn the body was removed to the hospital.

This was likely to prove a pretty joke for the soul, in case
it returned, and, in all probability, went to seek for its body in
East Street and could not find it. Most likely it would have
applied first to the police, and next repaired to the directory
office, that inquiries might be made for it amongst other lost

H
98 The Galoshes of Happiness.



articles, and, lastly, have found its way to the hospital. How-
ever, we may comfort ourselves with the conviction that the
soul is wisest when acting on its own impulse; the body alone
makes it stupid. :

As before said, the watchman’s body was carried to the
hospital, where it was taken into a room to be cleaned, when,
naturally, the first thing they did was to take off the galoshes,
thereby forcing his soul to return. It immediately took the
straightest road to its earthly tenement, and in a couple of
seconds the poor man had revived. He assured the bystanders
that. this had been the most dreadful night in his existence ;
he would not take two gold pieces to be obliged to undergo
such sensations over again. However, luckily, it was over
now.

He was discharged that same day, but the galoshes re-
mained in the hospital.

IV.—AN EVENTFUL MOMENT.—A VERY UNUSUAL JOURNEY.

Every inhabitant of Copenhagen knows what the entrance
to Frederick’s Hospital is like ; but as it is probable that some
who do not live in that city may read this little tale, we will
give a short description of its appearance.

The hospital is divided from the street by a rather high
iron railing, the bars of which are so wide asunder, that, it is
said, very slim fellows have squeezed themselves through, and
gone to pay their visits in the town. The part of the body
most difficult to get through was the head: so in this, as in

“most. cases in the world, the little heads were the best off.
Thus much may serve as an introduction to what follows.
Half-Way. 99



One of the young assistants, who had, merely physically
speaking, a large head, was upon duty this very evening. The
rain was pouring down; yet, in spite of these two obstacles,
he positively wanted to go out. It was only for a quarter of
an hour, therefore not worth while, thought he, to let the
porter into his confidence, if he could but slip through the iron
railings. There lay the galoshes the watchman had forgotten,
and though it never occurred to him that they could be those
of Happiness, he thought they might do him good service in
such weather, and therefore he put them on. Now, the
question was, whether he could squeeze himself through the
railings, which he had hitherto never attempted. And there
he stood.

“Would to Heaven my head was on the other side!’ said
he, when, big as it was, it instantly slipped safely through.
The galoshes had contrived to effect this; but now the body
must needs follow, and that was no easy job.

““T am too stout,” said he. “I thought the head was the
worst. I shall not be able to get through.”

He now attempted to withdraw his head suddenly, but this
he found impracticable. He could move his neck easily
enough, but that was all. His first feeling was vexation, but
in a few seconds his spirits fell below zero. The Galoshes of
Happiness had brought him into this dreadful scrape, and, un-
luckily, it did not occur to him to wish himself well out of it.
No, instead of wishing, he kept striving to free himself, but
without success. The rain continued pouring down, and not
a being was to be seen in the street. He could not reach
the bell, and how was he to get loose? He foresaw that he
must stand here until dawn, when a locksmith must be sent
100 The Galoshes of Happiness.



for to file the iron rails. But that would be a long job; the
charity-school opposite would be astir, and the whole adjoining
neighbourhood, which is swarming with sailors, would come











-









to see him standing in the pillory, and there would be such a

‘crowd !
“Oh! the blood rushes to my head so that I shall go
Magic Spectacles. 101



mad!’ cried he. ‘Yes, I am crazy! Oh! would that I could
get loose, and then it would pass off!”

He should have said so sooner. At the very moment the
wish was expressed, his head was freed, and he started back,
half distracted by the fright the Galoshes of Happiness had
occasioned him.

But it must not be thought his trials ended here—no, more
things were yet to come.

The night and the day following had passed by, and the
galoshes were not claimed.

That evening there was to be a declamatory performance
in an amateur theatre, situated in a distant street. The house
was crowded, and amongst the spectators was the assistant
from the hospital, who seemed to have forgotten the preceding
evening’s adventure. He had on the galoshes, which had not
been fetched away; and as the streets were dirty, he thought
they might do him good service. A new poem, entitled “‘ My
Cousin’s Spectacles,” was recited. These spectacles, it was
pretended, if put on when one sat facing a large assembly,
made all the people present look like cards, from which one
could foretell all that was to happen to them in the following
year.
The idea struck him forcibly that he would like to have
had such a pair of spectacles. Perhaps, if used properly, they
might enable one to see into the hearts of those present, which
was far more interesting, he thought, than to see what would
happen to them next year, for that one would learn in the end,
while the other remained a sealed book. ‘‘I can fancy myself
peeping into the hearts of the gentlemen and ladies on the
first row of benches,” said he to himself, ‘it would be like
102 The Galoshes of Happiness.



looking into a kind of shop; and how my eyes would rove all
over it! I am sure I should find a large millinery establish-
ment in yonder lady’s heart; that other lady’s shop is empty,
but it would be all the better for a little cleaning. But perhaps
there may be some better shops amongst the rest. Indeed
there are!” sighed he. ‘I know one in which everything is
solid, only there is a shopman in it already, and that is its
only fault. From many others, the words ‘Pray come in’
would be sure to be heard. I wish I could step in like a little
tiny thought, and glide through the hearts of those now
present.”

This was the cue forthe galoshes. The assistant shrank up,
and set out on a most unusual journey through the hearts of the
front row of spectators. The first heart he entered was a lady’s,
but at first he fancied he had got into an orthopedic institution,
where plaster casts of deformed limbs were hanging on the
walls, only with this difference, that in the institution the
casts were taken when the patient comes in, while in this
heart the casts had been taken and preserved after the worthy
owners had left the place. They were casts of female friends,
and their physical and moral defects were here carefully
treasured up.

A moment after and he was in another female heart. Only
this one appeared to him like a spacious, holy church, where
the white dove of innocence was hovering over the high altar.
He would willingly have sunk on his knees, but he was obliged
to slip into the neighbouring heart. Yet he still heard the
tones of the organ, and he fancied himself a newer and better
man. He felt himself not unworthy to enter the next
sanctuary, which showed him a shabby garret, with a sick
In the Heart. 103



mother. But God’s warm sunshine streamed through the
window, lovely roses were nodding their heads in the little
wooden box on the roof, and two azure birds sang of childlike
joys, while the sick mother called down blessings on her
daughter’s head.

He then crept on all fours through an over-loaded butcher's
shop. He stumbled over meat, and nothing but meat. This
was the heart of a wealthy and respectable man, whose name
stands, beyond a doubt, in the directory.

He next entered the heart of the rich man’s wife, Which was
an old tumble-down dovecot. Her husband’s portrait served
as a weather-cock, and it was combined with the doors,
so that they opened and shut just as the husband veered
about.

Next he entered a cabinet lined with looking-glasses,
like the one in the Rosenburg palace; only the glasses
magnified everything to an extraordinary degree. In the
middle of the floor, like a Delhi Lama, sat the insignificant
self of the owner, lost in the contemplation of his own great-
ness.

He now thought himself transported into a narrow needle-
case, full of sharp needles. So he thought: ‘This must be

the heart of some old maid.” It was not, however, the case:
it was that of a young officer with several orders, of whom it
was generally said that he was a man of sound heart and
intellect.

The poor assistant came out of the last heart in the row
half stunried. He could not collect his thoughts, and con-
cluded that it was his over-vivid imagination that had led him
this dance.
104 The Galoshes of Happiness.



“Good gracious !” sighed he, ‘‘ surely I have a propensity
for going crazy! It is so very hot in this place, that my blood
rushes to my head.” And he now called to mind the great
event of the preceding evening, when his head had stuck
between the railings of the hospital. ‘It must have arisen
from that,” thought he, ‘‘and I must see to it in time. A
vapour bath would do me good. I wish I were now lying on
the upper shelf of one.”

And he instantly found himself lying on the upper shelf of a
vapour-bath, only with his clothes, boots, and galoshes still
on. The hot drops of water fell from the ceiling upon his
countenance.

“Dear! dear!” cried he, getting down to take a shower-
bath. The attendant uttered a loud exclamation at the sight of
a man in all his clothes. ;

He had. sufficient presence of mind to whisper to the
assistant: “It is a wager.” But the first thing he did on
reaching his own room was to put a large blister on his neck
and another on his back, in order to draw out his madness.

Next morning his back was quite raw, and this was all he
gained by the Galoshes of Happiness.

V.—THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE CLERK.

Meanwhile our friend the watchman, whom we have not
forgotten, recollected the galoshes he had found and taken to
the hospital. He therefore fetched them away, but as neither
the lieutenant nor anybody belonging to the street recognised
them as their property, he delivered them over to the police.

“They are very like my own galoshes,” said one of the
A Quiet Young Man. 105

clerks, looking at the foundlings, and placing them beside his
own. “It’s only a shoemaker’s eye that could see the differ-
ence of a pin between them.”

‘‘ Master clerk,” said a servant, coming in with some papers.

The clerk turned round to speak to the man, after which,
on looking once more at the galoshes, he felt quite uncertain
whether the pair on his left or that on his right were those
belonging to him.

“It must be the wet ones that are mine,” thought he. It
happened to be quite the reverse, for it was the Galoshes of
Happiness that were wet. But may not the police be liable
to err occasionally? So he drew them on, put his papers into
his pocket, and took several manuscripts under his arm, which
he was going to read through and take notes from at home;
but it was Sunday afternoon, and the weather was fine. ‘It
would do me good to take a turn to Fredericksberg,” thought
he, and away he went.

There was not a quieter or less frivolous young man in the
world than he. So we will not grudge him his little walk,
which could but be good for his health after so much sitting.
He went his ways at first like a person without thought or wish ;
the galoshes, therefore, had no opportunity to display their
magic powers.

In one of the avenues he chanced to meet with an acquaint-
ance, one of our younger poets, who told him that next day he
intended setting out on his summer’s journey.

“Are you already about to start ?” cried the clerk. ‘‘ What
a free and happy man youare! You can fly whither you please,
while such as we are chained by the foot.”

“Only it is fastened to a bread-tree,’”’ returned the poet.
106 The Galoshes of Happiness.



“You have no.cares for the morrow, and in your old age you
will obtain a pension.”

** Yours is the best life, after all,’ said the amanuensis. ‘It
is a pleasure to sit and write verses. The whole world says
agreeable things to you, and then you are your own master!
You should only try for once how you would like to sit in a
court of justice, and be bored with the trivial matters we have
to listen to.”

The poet shook his head, and the clerk shook his. Each of
them retained his own opinion, and thereupon they parted.

‘‘ These poets are a peculiar race,” thought the clerk. “I
should like to try the experiment of becoming identified with a
poet’s being. I am certain I should not write such wretched
verses as the rest of them! MHere’s a true spring day for your
poet! The air is so unusually clear, the clouds are so beautiful,
and the trees and grass are quite fragrant. For years I have
never felt as I do at this moment.”

We may already perceive that he had become a poet. To
chronicle such a fact would, in most cases, be highly absurd ;
for it is a foolish idea to imagine a poet to be different from
other men, since far more poetical natures may frequently be
met with amongst the crowd than we often find in many a
professed poet. The only difference is, that a poet’s intellectual
memory is better: he can keep hold of an idea or a feeling till
it is clearly and plainly embodied in words, which the others
cannot do. Nevertheless, the transition from a humdrum,
everyday sort of nature to a more gifted one is a great transi-
tion, and could not but strike the clerk.

* “What a delicious perfume!” said he; “it reminds me of
my Aunt Lone’s violets. Ay, that was when I was a little boy.
A Budding Poet. 107



Dear me! how long it is since I have thought of those times.
She is a good old maid! She lives yonder, behind the Ex-
change—and she used always to have a sprig, or a few green
shoots, in water, let the winter be ever so severe. The violets
used to scent the room, while I would lay warm copper pennies
on the frozen window panes, to make holes to peep through.
And a pretty view it was that I looked upon. There lay the
ships, ice-bound in the canal, and deserted by their crews; a
croaking raven alone manned one of the vessels. Then when
the spring breezes came, everything grew animated; the icé
was sawed through amidst songs and cheers, the ships were
tarred and tackled, and they sailed for foreign shores. I re-
mained here, and here I am likely to remain, nailed to my seat
in the police-office, and condemned to see others taking out
their passports to go abroad. Such is my lot—alas! that -it
should be so!” said he, with a deep sigh. He then paused a
moment. ‘‘ My goodness! what has come to me?” cried he
presently, ‘“‘I have never thought or felt anything of the kind
before. It must be the air of spring-time. It makes one quite
uneasy, yet it is very agreeable.” He felt in his pocket for his
papers. ‘‘ These will afford food for very different ideas,” said
he, glancing his eye over the first page, when he read: Mistress
Sigbrith ; an Original Tragedy, in five Acts. What is this ?—
and in my own handwriting too. Can I have written this
tragedy? An Intrigue on the Ramparts, or Fast-Day: a Vaude-
ville. But how ‘in the name of fortune did I come by them ?
They must have been put into my pocket—but here is a letter.”
This was from the manager of the theatre, who refused the
pieces, and had not taken the trouble to couch his epistle in
the most courteous terms either. ‘‘ Hem—hem,”’ said the
108 The Galoshes of Happiness.



clerk, sitting down on a bench, while his thoughts grew quite
elastic, and his heart waxed vastly soft. He involuntarily
seized hold of the nearest flower, which proved to be a little
common daisy. This tiny flower tells us in a moment that
which a botanist takes many lectures to expound. It related
the myth of its birth, and told the power of the sunshine which
expands its delicate petals, and compels it to yield a perfume.
He then reflected on the struggles of life that likewise awaken
sensations in our bosoms, Light and air are the flower’s
lovers, but light is the favoured swain. The flower turns
towards the light, and, as soon as it disappears, rolls up its
petals, and sleeps in the embraces of the air. ‘‘It is light that
adorns me,” said the flower. ‘But the air gives you life,”
whispered the poet’s voice.

Close by stood a boy, striking with a stick in a swampy
ditch; and as drops of water splashed through the green
boughs, the clerk thought what millions of animalcules were
thrown up into the air in each single drop, and to a distance
as great for them, in proportion to their size, as it would be for
us to be whirled up above the clouds. While these reflections
crossed the clerk’s mind, and as he mused upon the change
that had come over him, he smiled, and said to himself: ‘I
- am sleeping and dreaming! Still it is remarkable how
naturally we can dream, and yet be aware all the time that it is
nothing but a dream. I hope I shall be able to remember it
to-morrow when I wake. I seem to be most unusually capable
of doing so. I have a clear perception of everything, and feel
quite awake, yet I am sure that if I retain any of it to-morrow,
it will seem most stupid stuff—this has happened to me before!
It fares just the same with all the wise and witty things one
Would I were a Bird! 109



says and, hears in: dreams, as. with the money of the under-
ground folk—which is rich and splendid when one receives it,
but turns to stones and dried leaves by daylight. Ah!” sighed
he sorrowfully, as he gazed at the birds that were warbling,
and hopping from branch to branch, “they are far better off
than I. Flying is a splendid gift! Happy he who is born
with it! Yes; if I could transform myself into any other
shape, I would assume that of a little lark!”

At the same moment the skirts and sleeves of his coat
became wings, his clothes turned to feathers, and his galoshes
to claws. On perceiving this metamorphosis, he smiled
inwardly, observing: “‘ This is the finishing stroke to convince
me that I am dreaming. But I never before dreamt such
foolish things.” And he flew up into a green branch and sang
—but there was no poetry in his song, for the poetical element
had left him. The galoshes, like all those who do things
thoroughly, could only attend to one thing at a time. He
wanted to be a poet, and he was one. Now he wanted to bea
little bird, and in order to become a bird, he must abdicate his
former individuality.

“This is delightful!” said he. ‘‘ By day I sit in the police-
office, amongst the most matter-of-fact deeds; and by night I
can dream that I am flying about as a lark in the Fredericks-
berg garden. Really, a whole comedy might be written on the
subject.”

He now flew down to the grass, twisted his head about in
all directions, and pecked at the pliant blades, that appeared to
him, in proportion to his present size, like the palm-trees of
Northern Africa,

In another moment it was as dark as pitch all round him.
110 The Galoshes of Happiness.



An enormous object seemed to be thrown over him, which was
in reality only a large cap that a sailor boy flung over the bird.
A hand was thrust under the cap, which seized the clerk by
the back and wings, till he screeched again. In his first alarm
he cried out: ‘‘ You shameless scapegrace! I’m a clerk in the
police-office.” But to the boy it only sounded like ‘tweat-
tweat !” He gave the bird a knock on its bill, and took him
away.

In the avenue he met a couple of schoolboys belonging to
the educated class; that is to say, in a social point of view,
for as regards intellect they might be reckoned as appertaining
to the lowest class of the school. They purchased the bird for
eightpence, and so the clerk returned to Copenhagen.

“Tt is well that I am only dreaming,” said the clerk, “or
else I should be quite angry. I was first a poet, and now I’m
a lark. It was the poetical element, to a certainty, that trans-
formed me into this little animal. It is a lamentable story,
especially when one falls into boys’ hands. I shall like to know
how it will end.”

The boys took him into a most elegant room, where they
were received by a stout, smiling lady. But she was not very
well pleased that a common field-bird, as she termed the lark,
should be introduced into the house. She would only put up
with it just for this one day, provided that the bird were placed
in the empty cage near the window. “It will perhaps please
Poll,”’ added she, smiling at a large green parrot, who was
rocking himself very majestically on his swinging perch in the
pretty brass-wired cage. ‘It is Poll’s birthday,” said she
tenderly, ‘‘and therefore the field-bird begs to offer his con-
gratulations.”
The Canary and the Parrot. III



Poll did not answer a word, but continued see-sawing in
dignified silence ; on the other hand, a pretty canary-bird that
had been brought last summer from the sunny, fragrant land of
his birth, began singing loudly.

“You little screamer!” said the lady, throwing a white
handkerchief over the cage.

“Tweat! tweat!” sighed he, ‘what a dreadful snow-
storm |”? And so saying he was silent. ’

The clerk, or as the lady would have called him, the field-
bird, was placed in a little cage, close to the canary-bird and
not far from the parrot. The only human sentence that Poll
could chatter, and which sometimes had a very droll effect,
was: ‘‘Now, let us be men!” All the rest of the noise he
screamed was just as unintelligible as the twittering of the
canary-bird; but not to the clerk, who was now himself a bird,
and consequently understood his comrades perfectly.

“T used to fly beneath green palm-trees and blooming

-almond-trees,” sang the canary-bird. ‘I used to fly with my
brothers and sisters over lovely flowers, and across the limpid
‘surface of the lake, where plants were waving to and fro in the
waters below. I used to see many pretty parrots, who told the
most entertaining stories—and they knew so many stories, and
such long ones!”
“Those were wild birds,” returned the parrot, ‘‘ who were
wholly uneducated. Now, let us be men!—Why do you not
laugh? Since the lady and all her visitors laugh at this, you
surely might. It is a great defect not to be able to appreciate
what is witty. Now, let us be men !”

“Do you remember the pretty girls who used to dance
beneath the tent, beside the trees in full blossom? Do you
112 The Galoshes of Happiness.



remember the delicious fruit, and the cooling sap of the wild
herbs ?”

‘Oh yes,” said the parrot, ‘‘ but I’m much better off here.
I am well fed, and treated with distinction; I know that I am
intellectual, and I desire nothing better. Now, let us be men!
—You have what is called a poetical soul. I have solid ac-
quirements and wit, while you have genius, but no discretion.
You raise your natural tones to so high a pitch, that you get
covered over. That is never done to me—oh, dear me, no!
for I cost them a great deal more. I overawe them with
my beak, and can utter witty sayings. Now, let us be men!”

“OQ my warm and blooming country!” sang the canary-
bird, “‘I will sing your dark green trees, and your calm gulf,
where the boughs kiss the clear surface of the water—and I
will sing the joys of my glittering brothers and sisters, who are
frolicking in the land where grows the cactus.”

“Do leave alone these elegiac strains,’’ said the parrot,
‘‘and sing something to,make one laugh. Laughter is the
sign of the highest point of all intellect. You never see a dog.
or a horse laughing, No—they can cry, but to man alone is
given the faculty of laughter. Ho-ho-ho!” laughed the
parrot, adding his oft-repeated witty saying: ‘“‘ Now, let us be
men |”

‘You little gray Danish bird,” said the canary-bird, “ you,
too, have become a prisoner. It must be very cold im your
forests, but still there’s liberty to be found in them. Fly away!
They have forgotten to close your cage, and the window is open
at the top. Fly away! fly away!”

~ The clerk instinctively obeyed and left the cage; at the
same moment the half-open door leading to the adjoining room


One

“ Now, let us be Men!” 3



creaked on its hinges, and the cat, with its green, sparkling
eyes, stole in and began to pursue him. The canary-bird

fluttered in its cage, while the parrot flapped his wings,

crying: ‘‘ Now, let us be men!”’ The poor clerk experienced
the most deadly fright, and flew out of the window, over
the houses and across the streets, till at last he was obliged to
rest. i

A house that stood opposite to him looked familiar. He

rc

E



THE CAT AND TH® CLERK.

flew in at the open window, and found himself in his own room.
He perched upon the table.

““ Now, let us be men!” said he, involuntarily mimicking the
parrot; and at the same moment he was the clerk once more—
only he was sitting on the table.

“Heaven help me!” said he, ‘‘ how did I get up here, and
fall asleep in this manner? It was an uneasy dream that I
had, anyhow. The whole of it was most nonsensical stuff.”
114 The Galoshes of Happiness.



VI.—THE BEST THING THE GALOSHES BROUGHT.

Early the following day, as the clerk still lay a-bed, some
one tapped at his door. It was a neighbour of his, a young
theologian, living on the same story as himself, who walked in.

‘Pray lend me your-galoshes,”’ said he, ‘‘ it is so wet in the
garden, although the sun is shining brightly, and I want to go
down and smoke a pipe.”

He drew on the galoshes, and was presently down in the
garden, which contained one plum-tree and one apple-tree.
Yet even so small a garden as that is a treasure in the midst of
a town.

The theologian sauntered up and down the walk. It was
now six o’clock, and he heard a postman’s horn in the street.

“O travelling—travelling !”” cried he, ‘‘there is no greater
delight in the world! That is the height of all my wishes!
My restless feelings would then find a vent and be appeased,
provided I went far enough. I should wish to see beautiful
Switzerland, and Italy, and ;



It was well the galoshes.took immediate effect, or else he
would have travelled rather too far, both for himself and for us.
He was now journeying through Switzerland, only packed
inside a diligence with eight fellow-passengers. His head
ached, his neck was stiff, and the blood had rushed downwards
to his feet, which were swollen, and sorely pinched by his boots.
He was in a dreamy state between waking and sleeping. In
his right-hand pocket was a letter of credit, in his left-hand
pocket his passport, and a small leather purse in which a few
louis-d’ors were carefully stitched up. Every dream pictured
The Pleasures of Travel. Ets



forth the loss of one or other of these valuables, and he would
awake from his naps with a feverish start, and then the first
evolution his hand described was a triangular one, from right
to left, and to the top of his breast, to feel whether his goods
were still in his possession. Umbrellas, sticks, and hats were
swinging about in the net above his head, and quite spoiled the
prospect, which was a most imposing one. He just peeped at
it, while his heart sang the lines, which a poet, whom we know,
sang in Switzerland, though hitherto he has not had them
printed :
Tis lovely here beyond compare,
1 see Mont Blanc’s white finger—

And till my money melts to air,
I gladly here would linger.

The landscape around was grand, dark, and gloomy. The
forests of fir-trees appeared lke so much heath on the high
rocks, whose: summits were lost in clouds of mist. It now
snowed, and a cold wind began to blow.

‘Oh dear !” sighed he, “‘I wish we were on the other side
of the Alps, and then it would be summer, and I should have
taken out the money for my letter of credit. I am so uneasy
about its safety, that I cannot enjoy Switzerland. Oh, how I
wish I were on the other side!”

Accordingly, he was on the other side, and far away into
Italy, between Florence and Rome. The Lake of Thrasymene
lay like.a sheet of flaming gold in the glowing sunset, between
the dark-blue mountains. Here, where Hannibal defeated
Flaminius, the tendrils of the vines were peacefully clasping
each other’s green fingers; while lovely, half-naked children
were tending a herd of coal-black swine under a knot of
116 The Galoshes of Happiness.



fragrant laurels. If we could but picture forth this scene
correctly, everyone would exclaim: ‘‘ Delightful Italy!” But
neither the theologian nor any of his fellow-travellers in the
coach felt inclined to say anything of the kind.

Thousands of venomous flies and gnats were swarming in
the coach. It was in vain they drove them away with a sprig
of myrtle: the flies stung them in spite of all their efforts.
There was not a person in the coach whose face was not
swollen and bleeding from numerous bites. The poor horses
looked like skeletons: vast armies of flies were encamped on
their backs, and they only obtained a temporary relief by the
coachman getting down and rubbing their tormentors off.
The sun now set. An icy coldness, though only of short
duration, pervaded all nature: it was like the cold air of a
vault after a hot summer’s day; but the surrounding mountains
and the clouds displayed that peculiar green tint which we find
in old pictures, and which we look upon as unnatural, unless
we have seen nature’s own colouring in the South. It wasa
splendid sight, but—their stomachs were empty, and _ their
bodies tired ; and all their longings tended towards a lodging
for the night, though they did not yet know where it might be.
But everybody was far more eagerly on the look-out for that
than inclined to admire the beauties of nature.

The road ran through a wood of olives: it was like driving
_through a grove of knotty willows in the theologian’s own
country. Here stood the lonely inn. A dozen crippled beggars
were encamped in front, the most vigorous amongst whom
looked, to use an expression of Marryat’s, like ‘‘ hunger’s eldest
son, just come to the years of manhood.” The others were
either blind, or had withered legs, that obliged. them to creep
“ Ta bella Italia.” LZ



_about on their hands ; or shrivelled arms, with fingerless hands.
It was squalid poverty, peeping out fromitstatters. “ Eccelenza!
miserabilt!” sighed they, holding out their diseased limbs.
The landlady herself, with bare feet, uncombed hair, and
huddled up in a dirty blouse, came forward to receive her
guests. The doors were fastened up with twine; the rooms
presented floors made of bricks, half of which were scattered
about in all directions; bats were flying under the ceilings ;
and as to the odour——!

“‘ Let’s have dinner served up in the stable,” said one of the
travellers, ‘‘and then, at least, we shall know what we are
breathing.”

The windows were opened, to let in a little fresh air; but
the shrivelled arms, and the monotonous whines of “‘ Miserabili!
eccelenza |”? came in much faster than the breezes. On the
walls were penned inscriptions, most of them railing at la bella
Italia.

The meal was now served up. It consisted of water soup,
seasoned with pepper and rancid oil, which latter played a
conspicuous part in the salad. Addled eggs and fried cocks’-
combs were the best dishes on the table: even the wine had
a strong taste, for it was finely adulterated.

At night the trunks were all placed against the door. One
of the travellers was to keep watch, while the others slept. It
fell to the lot of the theologian. Oh, how sultry it was in that
stifling room! The heat was oppressive, the gnats were
buzzing about and stinging, while the miserabili outside were
whining even in their dreams.

“‘ Travelling is all very fine,” observed the theologian, “ if
one could but get rid of one’s body. What a pity the body

>
118 The Galoshes of Happiness.



can’t rest, while the spirit flies away! Wherever I go, I feel
a void that oppresses my heart—a longing for something better
than the present moment—yes, for something better, and even
for the best of all. But where is that to be found? In point
of fact, I don’t myself exactly know what I want; but I wish
to attain a happy goal—ay, the happiest of all.”



CARE VANISHES WITH THE GALOSHES.

And no sooner had he spoken these words, than he was
transported home. The long white curtains were drawn over
the windows, and in the middle of the floor stood a black coffin,
in which he lay wrapped in the sleep of death. His wish was
fulfilled: his body was at rest, and his spirit was travelling.
“Call no man happy, till he is in his grave,” were Solon’s
words; and the case in point offered a fresh proof of their truth.

Every corpse is a sphinx of immortality. Thus, the present
The Last of the Galoshes. 119



sphinx, in its black sarcophagus, recalled the lines that the
living man had penned only two days before:

“Oh, mighty Death ! thy silence fills with awe,
’Tis churchyard graves alone that mark thy traces—
But by a ladder, suchas Jacob saw,
Shall not our spirit mount to brighter places?

“The greatest sorrows oft remain unknown !
Thou who wert lonely till thy day of dying,
By duties stern thy heart was more weighed down
ee Than by the earth upon thy coil now lying !”

Two figures were moving about the room. They are both
known to us. One was the fairy named Care, and the other
the ambassadress of Happiness.

“Look there,” said Care. ‘What happiness did your
galoshes afford mankind ?”

‘“‘ They have, at least, wrought a lasting good for him who
is slumbering here,” answered Joy.

“Not so,” said Care. ‘“ He went away of himself, without
being called. His intellectual powers were not strong enough
to dig up the treasures he was destined to discover. I will
confer a benefit upon him.”

And she drew the galoshes off his feet, when the sleep of
death ended, and he once more revived. Care disappeared,
and with her the galoshes; she doubtless considered them to
be her own property.




LEP TUK.

Yes, he was called Little Tuk—not that it was really his
name, but he called himself so before he could speak plainly; he
meant it for Charles, and it was all very well when one did but
know it. Little Tuk was left to take care of his sister Gustave,
who was much younger than himself; and at the same time
he had to learn his lessons, only the two things could not very
well be carried on simultaneously. The poor little fellow sat
with his sister on his knee, and sang her all the songs he knew,
while ever and anon he gave a look at his geography-book that
lay open before him; for he had to get by heart the names of
all the towns in Zealand, and to know all that could be known
about them by the next morning.

His mother, who had been out, now came home, and took
little Gustave in her arms; then Tuk ran to the window, and
read and read so zealously, that he nearly read his eyes out,
for it grew darker and darker; and his mother had no money
to buy a light.

“There goes the old washerwoman, opposite, down the


e i h
eA
Mi

YN
NVA

“AG



[iy

LITTLE TUK.

Little Tuk’s Dream. E20



street,” said the mother, looking out of window. ‘‘ The poor
woman can hardly drag herself along ; and now she has to carry
a bucket from the well into the bargain. Now, do just step
over, Tuk, and help the old woman, there’s a good boy.”

And Tuk ran off and helped her; but when he returned it
was quite dark in the room, and as there was no talk about
having a candle, he was obliged to go to bed; and he lay in his
old crib thinking of his geography lesson, and of Zealand, and
of all the things his schoolmaster had told him. He should
have read a good deal more, but this he could not do. So he
placed the geography-book under his bolster, because he had
heard that it was a great help towards learning one’s lessons—
though it must not be too much depended upon.

There he lay thinking and thinking—when it suddenly
seemed to him as if some one kissed him on his mouth and
eyes.

He was asleep, and yet he was not; it was as if the old
washerwoman looked at him with her mild eyes, saying: “It
would be a sin, indeed, if you did not know your lesson early
to-morrow morning! You helped me, and now I will help you,
and the Almighty will always befriend you.”

And the book began to move about like a live thing uncer
Tuk’s bolster.

“©Cluck! cluck! cluck!” said a hen, creeping out of it, “I
am a Kidge hen.” And then she told all about the little town
of Kidge, how many inhabitants it numbered ; besides relating
the battle that had taken place there between the English and
the Danes, though it was scarcely worth mentioning.

Scratch! scratch! and down fell something with a heavy
lump! It was a wooden bird, the popinjay used as a shooting-
124 Luttle Tuk.



mark at Pradstde. He had reckoned that the number of its
inhabitants was equal to the nails in his body; so he was very
proud. ‘‘ Thorwaldsen lived close to me,” said he; ‘‘and—
lump !—here am I, all safe and sound |”

And now Little Tuk ceased to be lying down, and found
himself on a horse.

Gallop! gallop! away he went. A richly dressed warrior
in a helmet with waving plume held him before him on his
-horse, and they rode through the wood to the old city of
Vordingborg ; and a large, animated town it was: stately turrets
surmounted the royal castle, and lights gleamed from all its
windows ; the sounds of music and dancing were heard from
within, and King Waldemar was dancing with the richly-attired
young ladies of his court.

_ Morning now dawned, and, with the rising sun, the whole
town and the royal castle sank to ruins—one turret falling after
another, till only one remained standing on the hill where the
castle formerly reared its head; and the town had shrunk to
such poverty and insignificance, that the schoolboys came with
their books under their arms, saying: ‘“‘ Two thousand inhabi-
tants ’—and even this was a boast, for there were not anything
_ like so many. 2
And Little Tuk lay in his bed; he seemed to be dreaming,
and yet not dreaming. But someone seemed close by him.
Little Tukky! Little Tukky !” said a voice, that proceeded
from a seaman, quite a little fellow, no bigger than a middy,
though he was not one—‘‘I bring you greetings from Corsor.
It is a rising town, and a very lively one, possessing both
steamers and stage coaches. People used to call it an ugly
and tiresome place; because, formerly, travellers had to wait in
The Geography Lesson. 125 .

its port for a favourable wind, before the introduction of
steamers ; but now it no longer deserves such an epithet.

“*T am situated on the coast,’ said Corsér, ‘but I have
roads, and pleasure-gardens ; and I have given birth to a poet,
both witty and entertaining, which all are not. I once formed
the project of fitting out a ship to sail round the world, but I
did not carry it out, though I could have done so; and besides
all the rest, I am fragrant with Perfumes; for the loveliest roses
bloom outside my gates.’”’

Little Tuk looked before him, and saw a mass of red and
green; but when the confusion of colours had somewhat sub-
sided, he perceived it was a cliff near the bay all overgrown

with roses, at the top of which towered a fine old church with
a couple of high Gothic turrets. Large streams of water sprang
from the cliff, and close by sat an aged king with a gold crown
on his white hair; this was King Hroar-o’-the-Streams, near
which stands the town of Roeskilde, as it is now called. And
all the kings and queens of Denmark, with all their gold crowns
on their heads, went hand-in-hand into the old church, while
the organ was playing, and the streams were flowing. For
nearly all the sovereigns of Denmark lie buried in this beautiful
church.

Little Tuk saw and heard everything that was passing.
“Do not forget the provinces,” said King Hroar.

Then all vanished—though where it went to, he knew not;
but it was just as if the leaf of a book had been turned over.

And now there stood before him an old peasant woman, from
Sorée, a quiet little town, where grass grows in the market-
place.’ Her head and shoulders were covered with a gray linen
apron, that was as wet as if it had been drenched by the rain.
126 Littl Tuk.



“And so it has,” said she. And she told a great many in-
teresting things, from Holberg’s comedies, and about Waldemar
and Absalon. For Holberg had founded a military academy
in her native town.

On a sudden, however, she shrivelled up, and wagged her
head as if she were going totakealeap. ‘‘ Croak!” quoth she,
and she at once became a frog. ‘“‘Croak!” cried she, and
again she changed to an old woman.

‘‘One must dress according to the weather,” said she. ‘It
is-wet—it is wet. Croak!”

It sounded exactly as if frogs were squeaking, or as if some-
body was walking over a swamp with heavy boots; her tone
was so monotonous and so tiresome, that little Tukky fell fast
asleep, which was the best thing for him.

But even in this sleep there came a dream, or whatever else
it may be called. His little sister Gustave, with her blue eyes
and flaxen ringlets, had suddenly grown into a tall and beautiful
girl, who could fly, though she had no wings; and they now
flew over Zealand, and over the green forests, and across the
blue sea.

“Do you hear the cock crowing, little Tukky? Cock-a-
doodle-doo! The hens are flying hither from Kidge! And you
shall have a farmyard, such a large one too! you shall never
know hunger nor want! And the golden goose shall be yours,
and you shall become a rich and happy man. Your house
shall rise like King Waldemar’s tower, and be richly adorned
with marble pillars, like those that come from Pristée. You
understand me. Your name shall travel round the earth like
the ship that was to sail from Corsoér, and in Roeskilde ae

“Do not forget the provinces!” said King Hroar—‘‘and


Awake again. 127,



there will you speak wisely and well, little Tukky; and when
at length you sink into your grave, you will sleep in peace

“As if [ lay in SorGe,” interrupted Tuk, and then he awoke.

It was a bright morning, and he could not recollect his
dream. But it was not necessary he should; for one has no
need of knowing that which one will live to see.

And he now jumped out of bed, and read his book, and
immediately knew his whole lesson by heart.

And the old washerwoman popped her head in at the door,
and said with a friendly nod: ‘‘ Thank you, my good boy, for
your kind help. May the Lord fulfil your brightest dreams !”



Little Tukky no longer knew what he had dreamt; but the
Almighty did.








THE SlORY OF eA MOTHER:

A MOTHER sat watching her little child, and she was sadly
afflicted, for she feared it would die. It was quite pale, and its
little eyes were closed. The child sometimes breathed as
heavily as if it drew a deep sigh, and then the mother would
gaze on the little being with still greater anguish.

Someone knocked at the door, and in came an old man,
wrapped up in what looked like a horse-cloth, for that keeps
one warm ; and he stood in need of such covering, for it was
a cold winter’s day. Abroad everything lay covered with
snow and ice, and the wind was so sharp that it cut one’s
face.

Seeing the old man shiver with cold, and as the little child
had gone to sleep for a moment,,the mother got up and placed
a small pot of beer on the stove, to warm it for him. And the
old man sat and rocked the cradle, while the mother sat ona
chair beside him, and looked at her sick child, who was breath-
ing so heavily, and took hold of its little hand.

“You think that I shall preserve him, do you not?”
Her Little Child is Gone 129



asked she. “An all-merciful God will surely not take him
from me.”

The old man—who was no other than Death—nodded his
head so oddly, that it might just as well have stood for-yes as
no. And the mother cast down her eyes, while tears rolled
down her cheeks. Her head felt so heavy, for she had never
closed her eyes for three days and three nights, that she now fell
asleep, but only for a minute, and then she got up and shivered
with cold. ‘‘ How is this?” asked she, looking all about her.
But the old man was gone, and her little child was gone; he
had evidently taken it with him. And the old clock in the
corner began to rattle—the heavy leaden weights fell to the
ground :—whir! and the clock stood still.

But the*poor mother rushed. out of the house, calling after
her child.

Outside in the snow sat a woman in long black clothes, who
said: ‘Death has been into your room. I saw him hastening
away with your little child. He strode faster than the wind ;
and he never brings back what he has taken.”

“Only tell me which way he is gone,” said the mother—
“tell me the way, and I’ll find him.”

“T know it,” said the woman in black; ‘‘ but before I tell
you, you must first sing me all the songs you used to sing your
child. I am fond of those songs. I have heard them before.
I am Night; and I saw your tears flowing while you sang
them.”

“T will sing them all—all,” said the mother; “but don’t
detain me now, that I may overtake him, and get back my
child.”

But Night sat silent and still. The mother then wrung her
‘ K
130 The Story of a Mother.



hands, wept, and sang. There were many songs sung, but still
more tears were shed. Then Night said: “‘Go to the right in
the gloomy forest of pines, it was thither I saw Death carrying
the little child.”

In the depths of the wood was a crossway, and she knew
not which direction to take. There stood a bramble-bush,
without either leaves or flowers, for it was cold winter, and
icicles hung to the twigs.

“Have you not seen Death go past with my little child?”

“Yes,” said the bramble-bush; ‘‘but I will not tell you
which way he has taken, until you have warmed me on your
bosom. I am freezing to death here, and turning to ice.”

And she pressed the bramble-bush close to her breast, in
order that it might thaw. And the thorns ran into her flesh,
and her blood trickled down in large drops. But the bramble-
bush put forth green leaves, and blossomed in the cold winter’s
night,—for warm indeed is the heart of an afflicted mother !
And the bramble-bush told her the way she was to go.

She then reached a large lake, where there was neither a
ship nor a boat to be seen. The lake was not sufficiently
frozen to bear her on its surface, nor yet shallow enough to be
waded through,—yet over it must she go to find her child.
She then lay down to drink up the lake; but that was an
impossible task for any mortal to perform. Nevertheless,
the sorrowing mother thought that a miracle might perhaps
take place.

“No, that will never do,” said the lake ; ‘‘let us two rather
agree upon a bargain. I love to collect pearls, and your eyes
are the purest pearls I have ever seen. If you will cry them
away, then will I take you to yonder large hot-house, where
Her Eyes become Pearls. 131



Death lives, and rears trees and flowers, every one of which is a
mortal’s life.”

““What would I not give to find my child ?” said the weep-
ing mother. And she wept and wept till her eyes dissolved
into the lake, and became two costly pearls. Then the lake
raised her up as if she sat on a see-saw, and swung her over to
the opposite shore, where stood a strange house a mile long.
There was no saying whether it was a mountain covered with
forests and caverns, or whether it was timbered. But the poor
mother could not see, for she had cried her eyes away.

“Where shall I find Death, who took away my little child ?”
asked she.

‘He has not yet arrived here,” said a gray old woman, who
took care of Death’s hot-house. ‘‘ How have you come hither,
and who has helped you ?”

“God has helped me,” answered she. ‘He is com-
passionate ; and do you be the same. Where shall I find my
little child >”

“JT do not know it,” said the old woman, “and you can’t
see. Many flowers and trees withered to-night, and Death will
soon come and transplant them. You know that every human
being has his tree of life, or his flower of life, according as the
case may be. They look like other plants, but their hearts
beat. Children’s hearts beat likewise. Therefore be guided
by that, and perhaps you may recognise the beatings of your
child’s heart. But what will you give me if I tell you what
more you must do ?”

“‘T have nothing to give,” said the afflicted mother; “ but
I would go to the world’s end for you.”

“‘T have no business there,” said the old woman; “but you
132 The Story of a Mother.



can give me your long black hair. You know yourself that it is
beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white locks in
exchange, and that would be something.”

“Ts that all you ask?” said she. ‘I will give it you with
pleasure.” And she gave her fine hair in pee for the old
woman’s snow-white locks.

And they then went into Death’s large hot-house, where
trees and flowers were growing promiscuously in a strange
fashion.. There were delicate hyacinths, under glass shades ;
and large peonies, as strongas trees. There were water-plants ;
some quite fresh, others half sickly from being entwined in the
coils of water-snakes, while black crabs were hugging their
stems. Then there were splendid palm-trees; oaks, and plane-
trees, besides parsley and thyme. Each trée and each flower
had. its name, and to each was attached the life of some
human being, who might be living in China, in Greenland, or
in any other part of the world, as it might happen. Some large
trees were planted in little pots, so that they were stifled, and
ready to shiver the pot to atoms; while many little weakly
flowers were set in a rich soil, surrounded with moss, and
nurtured with the utmost care. But the afflicted mother bent
over the smallest plants, and could hear in each the beatings of
a human heart; and she recognised the beatings of her child’s
heart amongst a million.

_ “There he is,” cried she, stretching out her hand towards a
little crocus, that drooped its sickly head on one side.

“Do not touch the flower,” said the old woman. ‘“ But
place yourself here, and when Death comes—and I expect him
every minute—don’t let him root up the plant, but threaten him
to serve other flowers the same, and then he’ll be uneasy! He





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God's Gardener. 135



must account for each to God, and none must be uprooted till
leave be given him to do so.”

A cold wind blew through the hot-house, and the blind
mother felt it must be Death who had just arrived.

“How did you find your way hither?” asked he. “ How
could you come faster than I did ?”

“IT am a mother,” answered she.

And Death stretched out his hand towards the little delicate
flower; but she held her hands fast around it, and clung to it
so anxiously, yet so carefully withal, that not one of its leaves
was injured. Then Death breathed on her hands, and she felt
his breath to be colder than the biting wind, and her hands
relaxed their hold.

“You cannot prevail against me,” said Death.

“But a merciful God may,” said she.

“T only obey His will,” said Death. ‘Iam His gardener. I
take all His flowers and trees, and transplant them into the
vast garden of paradise, in an unknown land. How they
flourish there, and what that garden is like, I may not say.”

“‘ Give me back my child,” said the mother, with tears and
entreaties. And she seized hold of two pretty flowers, and
said to Death: ‘I will tear up all your flowers, for I am in
despair !”’

“Do not touch them,” said Death. ‘‘ You say you are un-
happy; and would you make another mother just as unhappy
as yourself?”

“‘ Another mother !”? cried the poor woman, leaving hold of
the flowers.

‘‘ There are your eyes,” said Death. ‘I have fished them
136 The Story of a Mother.



up out of the lake. They were so bright, that I knew they
were yours. Take them back—they are now more brilliant
than before—and then look into the deep well just by. I will
speak the names of the two flowers that you wished to root up,
when their whole future career shall lie displayed before you.
And then you will see what you wanted to ruin and destroy in
the bud.”

And she then looked down into the well; and it was delight-
ful to see how the existence of one of these flowers was a blessing
to the world, and how much happiness it spread around; while
the life of the other was full of care, anxiety, misery, and
wretchedness.

* Both are the will of God,” said Death.

“Which is the unhappy flower, and which is the blessed
one ?”’ said she.

“T may not tell you,” answered Death; ‘‘ but this much
shall you learn from me: that one of these flowers was attached
to your child’s existence. It was the future fate that awaited
your child that you beheld!”

Then the mother uttered a scream of alarm.

“Which of them was my child’s fate? Tell me. Deliver
the innocent one! Deliver my child from so much misery !
Rather takeitaway! Take it tothe kingdom of God! Forget
my tears and my entreaties, and all that I have done!”

“‘T do not understand you,” said Death. ‘‘ Do you wish to
have your child back again, or shall I take him to that place
which you do not know ?”

The mother then wrung her hands, fell on her knees, and
prayed to God: ‘Grant not my prayers when they are contrary
Thy Will be Done. Ieee,

to Thy will, which must always be the best! Oh! grant them
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And her head dropped upon her bosom.

And Death carried her child to the unknown land.

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WHAT THE MOON SAW.

INTRODUCTION.

Ir is a strange thing, that when I feel most fervently and
most deeply, my hands and my tongue seem alike tied, so that
I cannot rightly describe or accurately portray the thoughts
that are rising within me; and yet I am a painter: my eye tells
me as much as that, and all my friends who have seen my
sketches and fancies say the same.

I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of alleys;
but I do not want for light, as my room is high up in the house,
with an extensive prospect over the neighbouring roofs. During
the first few days I went to live in the town I felt low-spirited
and solitary enough. Instead of the forest and the green hills
of former days, I had here only a forest of chimney-pots to
look out upon. And then I had not a single friend; not one
familiar face greeted me.

So one evening I sat at the window, in a desponding mood ;
























































































































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THE GARRET WINDOW.

A Well-known Face. 141



and presently I opened the casement and looked out. Oh, how
my heart leaped up for joy! Here was a well-known face at
last—a round, friendly countenance, the face of a good friend
I had known at home. In fact, it was the Moon that looked
in upon me. She was quite unchanged, the dear old Moon,
and had the same face exactly that she used to show when she
peered down upon me through the willow trees on the moor.
I kissed my hand to her over and over again, as she shone far
into my little room; and she, for her part, promised me that
every evening, when she came abroad, she would look in upon
me fora few moments. This promise she has faithfully kept.
It is a pity that she can only stay such a short time when she
comes. Whenever she appears she tells me of one thing or
another that she has seen on the previous night or on that same
evening.

‘Just paint the scenes I describe to you’’—that is what
she said to me—‘‘and you will have a very pretty picture-
book.”

I have followed her injunction for many evenings. I could
make up a new “ Thousand and One Nights,” in my own way,
out of these pictures, but the number might be too great, after
all. The pictures I have here given have not been chosen at
random, but follow in their proper order, just as they were
described to me. Some great gifted painter, or some poet or
musician, may make something more of them if he likes; what
I have given here are only hasty sketches, hurriedly put upon
the paper, with some of my own thoughts interspersed ; for
the Moon did not come to me every evening—a cloud some-
times hid her face from me.
142 What the Moon Saw.

FIRST EVENING.

“Last night”—I am quoting the Moon’s own words—“ last
night I was gliding through the cloudless Indian sky. My face
was mirrored in the waters of the Ganges, and my beams strove
to pierce through the thick intertwining boughs of the banyans,
arching beneath me like the tortoise’s shell. Forth from the
thicket tripped a Hindoo. maid, light as a gazelle, beautiful as °
Eve. Airy and ethereal as a vision, and yet sharply defined
amid the surrounding shadows, stood this daughter of Hindo-
stan: I could read on her delicate brow the thought that had
brought her hither. The thorny creeping plants tore her
sandals, but for all that she came rapidly forward. The deer
that had come down to the river to quench its thirst, sprang by
with a startled bound, for in her hand the maiden bore a lighted
lamp. I could see the blood in her delicate finger tips, as she
spread them for a screen before the dancing flame.

‘‘ She came down to the stream, and set the lamp upon the
water, and let it float away. The flame flickered to and fro,
and seemed ready to expire; but still the lamp burned on, and
the girl’s black sparkling eyes, half veiled behind their long
silken lashes, followed it with a gaze of earnest intensity. She
well knew that if the lamp continued to burn so long as she
could keep it, in sight, her betrothed was still alive; but if the
lamp was suddenly extinguished, he was dead. And the lamp
burned bravely on, and she fell on her knees and prayed. Near
her in the’grass lay a speckled snake, but she heeded it not—
she thought only of Bramah and of her betrothed.

““*He lives!’ she shouted joyfully, ‘he lives!’ And from
the mountains the echo came back to her, ‘ He lives !’”




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THE CHILD AND THE CHICKENS,
What the Moon Saw. 145

SECOND EVENING.

“Yesterday,” said the Moon to me, “I looked down upon a
small courtyard surrounded on all sides by houses. In the
courtyard sat a clucking hen with eleven chickens; and a pretty
little girl was running and jumping around them. The hen
was frightened, and screamed, and spread out her wings
over the little brood. Then the girl’s father came out and
scolded her; and I glided away and cue no more of the
matter.

‘* But this evening, only a few minutes ago, I looked down
into the same courtyard. Everything was quiet. But presently
the little girl came forth again, crept quietly to the hen-house,
pushed back the bolt, and slipped into the apartment. of the
hen and chickens. They cried ‘out loudly, and came fluttering
down from their perches, and ran about in dismay, and the
little girl ran after them. I saw it quite plainly, for I looked
through a hole in the hen-house wall.

“T was angry with the wilful child, and felt glad when her
father came out and scolded her more violently than yesterday,
holding her roughly by the arm: she held down her head, and
her blue eyes were full of large tears. ‘What are you about
here?’ he asked. She wept and said, ‘I wanted to kiss the
hen and beg her pardon for frightening her yesterday; but I
was afraid to tell you.’

‘And the father kissed the innocent child’s forehead, and I
kissed her on the mouth and eyes.”
146 What the Moon Saw.

THIRD EVENING.

“In the narrow street round the corner yonder—it is so
narrow that my beams can only glide for a minute along the
walls of the house, but in that minute I see enough to learn
what the world is made of—in that narrow street I saw a
woman. Sixteen years ago that woman was a child, playing
in the garden of the old parsonagein thecountry. The hedges
of rose bushes were old, and the flowers were nearly over.
They straggled wild over the paths, and the ragged branches -
grew up among the boughs of the apple-trees; here and there
were a few roses still in bloom—not so fair as the queen of
flowers generally appears, but still they had colour and scent
too. The clergyman’s little daughter appeared to me a far
lovelier rose, as she sat on her stool under the straggling hedge,
hugging and caressing her doll with the battered pasteboard
cheeks.

“Ten years afterwards I saw her again. I beheld her ina
splendid ball-room: she was the beautiful bride of a rich
‘merchant. I rejoiced at her happiness, and sought her on
calm quiet evenings—ah, nobody thinks of my clear eye and
silent glance! Alas! my rose ran wild, like the rose bushes in
the garden of the parsonage. There are tragedies in every-day
life, and to-night I saw the last act of one.

“* She was lying in bed in a house in that narrow street ; she
was sick unto death, and the cruel landlord came up, and tore
away the thin coverlet, her only protection against the cold.
‘Get up!’ said he, ‘your face is enough to frighten one. Get
up and dress yourself. Give me money, or I’ll turn you out
The Theatricals. 147

into the street! Quick—getup!’ She answered, ‘Alas! death
is gnawing at my heart. Let me rest.’ But he forced her to
get up and bathe her face, and he put a wreath of roses in her
hair; and he placed her in a chair at the window, with a candle
burning beside her, and went away.

“‘T looked at her, and she was sitting motionless, with her
hands in her lap. The wind caught the open window and shut
it with a crash, so that a pane came clattering down in
fragments; but still she never moved. The curtain caught
fire, and the flames played about her face; and then I saw that
she was dead. There at the window sat the dead woman,
preaching a sermon against sin—my poor faded rose out of the

parsonage garden !”

FOURTH EVENING.

‘“‘ This evening I saw a German play acted,”’ said the Moon.
“It was in a little town. A stable had been turned into a
theatre; that is to say, the stable had been left standing, and
had been turned into private boxes, and all the timber work
had been covered with coloured paper. A little iron chandelier
hung beneath the ceiling, and that it might be made to dis-
appear, as it does in great theatres, when the ting-ting of the
prompter’s bell is heard, a great inverted tub had been placed
just above it.

“<« Ting-ting ’ and the little iron chandelier suddenly rose at
least half a yard and disappeared in the tub; and that was the
sign that the play was going to begin. A young nobleman and
his lady, who happened to be passing through the little town,
were present at the performance, and consequently the house
148 What the Moon Saw.

was crowded. But under the chandelier was a vacant space
like a little crater; not a single soul sat there, for the tallow
was dropping, drip, drip! I saw everything, for it was so warm
in there that every loophole had been opened. The men-
servants and maids stood outside, peeping through the chinks,
although a real policeman was inside, threatening them with a
stick.

“Close by the orchestra could be seen the noble young
couple in two old arm-chairs, which were usually occupied by
his worship the mayor and his lady; but these latter were
obliged to-day to content themselves with wooden forms, just”
as if they had been ordinary citizens; and the lady observed |
quietly to herself, ‘One sees, now, that there is rank above
rank ;’ and this incident gave an air of extra festivity to the
whole proceedings. The chandelier gave little leaps, the crowd
got their knuckles rapped, and I, the Moon, was present at the
performance from beginning to end.”

FIFTH EVENING.

“Yesterday,” began the Moon, ‘‘I looked down upon the
turmoil of Paris. My eye penetrated into an apartment of the
Louvre. An old grandmother, poorly clad—she belonged to
the working class—was following one of the under servants
into the great empty throne-room, for this was the apartment
she wanted to see—that she was resolved to see; it had
cost her many a little sacrifice and many a coaxing word
to penetrate thus far. - She folded her thin hands, and
looked round with an air of reverence, as if she had been in a
church.
On the Throne of France. 149









“* Here it was |’ she said, ‘here!’ And she approached the
throne, from which hung the rich velvet fringed with gold lace.
‘There,’ she exclaimed, ‘there!’ and she knelt and kissed the
purple carpet. I think she was actually weeping.

“*But it was not this very velvet!’ observed the footman,
and a smile played about his mouth.

“True, but it was this very place,’ replied the woman, ‘and
it must have looked just like this.’

““* Tt looked so, and yet it did not,’ observed the man ; ‘the
windows were beaten in, and the doors were off their hinges,
and there was blood upon the floor.’

“* Say whatever you like, my grandson died upon the throne
of France. Died!’ mournfully repeated the old woman.

“T do not think another word was spoken, and they soon
quitted the hall. The evening twilight faded, and my light
shone vividly upon the rich velvet that covered the throne of
France.

“Now, who do you think this poor woman was? Listen, I
will tell you a story.

“It happened in the Revolution. of July, on the evening of
the most brilliantly victorious day, when every house was a
fortress, every window a breastwork. The people stormed the
Tuileries. Even women and children were found among the
combatants. They penetrated into the apartments and halls of
the palace. among the older insurgents. Mortally wounded with several
bayonet thrusts, he sank down. This happened in the throne-
room. They laid the bleeding youth upon the throne of
France, wrapped the velvet round his wounds, and his blood
streamed forth upon the imperial purple.
150 What the Moon Saw.



“There was a picture!—the splendid hall, the fighting
groups! A torn flag lay upon the ground, the tricolour was
waving above the bayonets, and on the throne lay the poor lad
with the pale glorified countenance, his eyes turned towards the
sky, his limbs writhing in the death agony, his breast bare, and
his poor tattered clothing half hidden by the rich velvet
embroidered with silver lilies. At the boy’s cradle a prophecy
had been spoken: ‘ He will die on the throne of France!’ The
mother’s heart had fondly imagined a second Napoleon.

““My beams have kissed the wreath of immortelles on his
grave, and this night they kissed the forehead of the old grand-
mother, while in a dream the picture floated before her which
thou mayest draw—the poor boy on the throne of France.”

SIXTH EVENING.

*‘T’ve been in Upsala,” said the Moon; “I looked down
upon the great plain covered with coarse grass, and upon the
barren fields. I mirrored my face in the Tyris river, while the
steamboat drove the fish into the rushes. Beneath me rolled
the waves, throwing long shadows on the so-called graves of
Odin, Thor, and Friga. In the scanty turf that covers the
hill-side, names have been cut.1. There is no monument here,
no memorial on which the traveller can have his name carved,
no rocky wall on whose surface he can get it painted; so
visitors have the turf cut away for that purpose. The naked

' Travellers on the Continent have frequent opportunities of seeing how
universally this' custom prevails among tourists. . In some places on the
Rhine, pots of paint and brushes are offered by the natives to the traveller
desirous of “immortalizing ” himself.
The Seventh Evening. Tet



earth peers through in the form of great letters and names ;
these form a network over the whole hill. Here is an immor-
tality, which lasts till the fresh turf grows!

“Upon the hill stood a man, a poet. He emptied the mead
horn with the broad silver rim, and murmured a name. He
begged the winds not to betray him, but I heard the name. I
knew it. A count’s coronet sparkles above it, and therefore he
did not speak ‘it out. I smiled, for I knew that a poet’s crown
adorned his own name. The nobility of Eleanora d’Este is
attached to the name of Tasso. And I also know where the
Rose of Beauty blooms!”

Thus spake the Moon, and a cloud came between us. May
no cloud separate the poet from the rose!

SEVENTH EVENING.

‘ Along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of firs and
beeches, and sweet, fresh, and fragrant is this wood; hundreds
of nightingales visit it every spring. Close beside it is the sea,
the ever-changing sea, and between the two runs the broad
highroad. One carriage after another rolls over it; but I did
not follow them, for my eyes love best to rest upon one point.
A Hun’s grave! lies there, and the sloe and whitethorn grow
luxuriantly among the stones. Here is true poetry in nature.

“And how do you think men appreciate this poetry? I
will tell you what I heard there last evening and during the
night.

“« First, two rich landed proprietors came driving by.

1 Large mounds, similar to the “barrows” found in Britain, are thus
designated in Germany and the North.
152 What the Moon Saw.



‘Those are glorious trees!’ said the first. ‘ Certainly ; there
are ten loads of firewood in each,’ observed the other: ‘it will
be a hard winter, and last year we got fourteen dollars a load’
—and they were gone. ‘The road here is wretched,’ observed
another man who drove past. ‘That’s the fault of those
horrible trees,’ replied his neighbour: ‘there is no free current
of air; the wind can only come from the sea ’—and they were
gone.

“The stage-coach went rattling past. All the passengers
were asleep at this beautiful spot. The postilion blew his
horn, but he only thought, ‘I can play capitally. It sounds
well here. I wonder if those in there like it ?’—and the stage-
coach vanished.

“Then two young fellows came galloping up on horseback.
There’s youth and spirit in the blood here! thought I; and,
indeed, they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill and
thick forest. ‘I should not dislike a walk here with the miller’s
Christine,’ said one—and they flew past.

“The flowers scented the air ; every breath was hushed: it
‘seemed as if the sea were a part of the sky that stretched above
the deep valley. A carriage rolled by. Six people were sitting
init. Four of them were asleep; the fifth was thinking of his
new summer coat, which would suit him admirably ; the sixth
turned to the coachman and asked him if there were anything
remarkable connected with yonder heap. of stones. ‘No,’
replied the coachman, ‘it’s only a heap of stones; but the trees
are remarkable.’ ‘How so?’ ‘Why, I’ll tell you how they are
very remarkable. You see, in winter, when the snow lies very
deep, and has hidden the whole road so that nothing is to be
seen, those trees serve me for a landmark. I steer by them, so
WCCO



UNDER THE BEECHES.







The Eighth Evening. Ties

as not to drive into the sea; and, you see, that is why the trees
are remarkable.’

‘“Now came a painter. He spoke not a word, but his eyes
sparkled. He began to whistle. At this the nightingales sang
louder than ever. ‘ Hold your tongues,’ he cried testily; and
he made accurate notes of all the colours and transitions—blue,
and lilac, and dark brown. ‘That will make a_ beautiful
picture,’ he said. He took it in just as a mirror takes in a
view ; and as he worked he whistled a march of Rossini.

‘And last of all came a poor girl. She laid aside the burden
she carried and sat down to rest upon the Hun’s grave. Her
pale handsome face was bent in a listening attitude towards the
forest. Her eyes brightened, she gazed earnestly at the sea
and the sky, her hands were folded, and I think she prayed,
‘Our Father.’ She herself could not understand the feeling
that swept through her, but I know that this moment, and this
beautiful natural scene, will live within her memory for years,
far more vividly and more truly than the painter could portray
it with his colours on paper. My rays followed her till the
morning dawn kissed her brow.”

EIGHTH EVENING.

Heavy clouds obscured the sky, and the Moon did not make
her appearance at all. I stood in my little room, more lonely
than ever, and looked up at the sky where she ought to have
shown herself. My thoughts flew far away, up to my great
friend, who every evening told me such pretty tales, and showed
me pictures. Yes, she has had an experience indeed. She
glided over the waters of the Deluge, and smiled on Noah’s ark
156 What the Moon Saw.



just as she lately glanced down upon me, and brought comfort
and promise of a new world that was to spring forth from the
old. When the children of Israel sat weeping by the waters of
Babylon, she glanced mournfully upon the willows where hung
the silent harps. When Romeo climbed the balcony, and the
promise of true love fluttered like a cherub toward heaven, the
round Moon hung, half hidden among the dark cypresses, in the
lucid air. She saw, too, the captive giant at St. Helena, looking
from the lonely rock across the wide ocean, while great thoughts
swept through his soul.
Ah! what tales the Moon can tell. Human life is like a
story to her. To-night I shall not see thee again, old friend.
To-night I can draw no picture of the memories of thy visit.
And, as I looked dreamily towards the clouds, the sky became
bright. There was a glancing light, and a beam from the
Moon fell upon me. It vanished again, and dark clouds flew

past ; but still it was a greeting, a friendly good-night offered to
me by the Moon.

NINTH EVENING.

The air was clear again. Several evenings had passed, and
the Moon was in the first quarter. Again she gave me an out-
line for a sketch. Listen to what she told me.

‘I have followed the polar bird and the swimming whale to
the eastern coast of Greenland. Gaunt ice-covered rocks and
dark clouds hung over a valley, where dwarf willows and
barberry bushes stood clothed in green. The blooming lychnis
breathed sweet odours. My light was faint, my face pale as
the water-lily that, torn from its stem, has been drifting for
The Ninth Evening. 1657.



weeks with the tide. The crown-shaped Northern Light
burned fiercely in the sky. Its ring was broad, and from its
circumference the rays shot like whirling shafts of fire across
the whole sky, flashing in changing radiance from green to
red.

“The inhabitants of that icy region were assembling for
dance and festivity ; but, accustomed to this glorious spectacle,
they scarcely deigned to glance at it. ‘Let us leave the souls
of the dead to their ball-play with the heads of the walruses,’
they thought in their superstition, and they turned their whole
attention to the song and dance. In the midst of the circle,
and divested of his furry cloak, stood a Greenlander, with a
small pipe, and he played and sang a song about catching the
seal, and the chorus around chimed in with ‘Eia, Eia, Ah.’
And in their white furs they danced about in the circle, till you
might fancy it was a polar bears’ ball.

“And now a Court of Judgment was opened. Those Green-
landers who had quarrelled stepped forward, and the offended
person chanted forth the faults of his adversary in an extem-
pore song, turning them sharply into ridicule, to the sound of
the pipe and the measure of the dance. The defendant replied
with satire as keen, while the audience laughed and gave their
verdict.

“The rocks heaved, the glaciers melted, and great masses
of ice and snow came crashing down, shivering to fragments
as they fell: it was a glorious Greenland summer night. A
hundred paces away, under the open tent of hides, lay a sick
man. Life still flowed through his warm blood, but yet he
was to die; he himself felt it, and all who stood round knew it
also; therefore his wife was already sewing round him the
158 What the Moon Saw.



shroud of furs, that she might not afterwards be obliged to
touch the dead body. And she asked, ‘ Wilt thou be buried on
the rock, in the firm snow? I will deck the spot with thy
kayak, and thy arrows, and the angekokk shall dance over it.
Or wouldst thou rather be buried in the sea?’ ‘In the sea,’ he
whispered, and nodded with a mournful smile. ‘Yes, it is a
pleasant summer tent, the sea,’ observed the wife. ‘Thousands
of seals sport there, the walrus shall lie at thy feet, and the
hunt will be safe and merry!’ And the yelling children tore
the outspread hide from the window-hole, that the dead man
might be carried to the ocean, the billowy ocean, that had
given him food in life, and that now, in death, was to afford
him a place of rest. For his monument he had the floating,
ever-changing icebergs, whereon the seal sleeps, while the
storm-bird flies round their gleaming summits.”

TENTH EVENING.

““T knew an old maid,” said the Moon. ‘Every winter
she wore a wrapper of yellow satin, and it always remained
new, and was the only fashion she followed. In summer she
always wore the same straw hat, and I verily believe the very
same gray-blue dress.

“She never went out, except across the street to an old
female friend; and in later years she did not even take this
walk, for the old friend was dead. In her solitude my old maid
was always busy at the window, which was adorned in summer
with pretty flowers, and in winter with cress, grown upon felt.
During the last months I saw her no more at the window, but
she was still alive. I knew that, for I had not yet seen her
ce Tenth Evening. 159

begin the aa JOUTDEY >: of which she ae ae with Ren
friend. ‘ Yes, yes,’ she was in the habit of saying, ‘when I
come to die, I shall take a longer journey than I have made
in my whole life. Our family vault is six miles from here.
I shall be carried there, and shall sleep there among my family
and relatives.’ Last night a van stopped at the house. A
coffin was carried out, and then I knew that she was dead.
They placed straw round the coffin, and the van drove away.
There slept the quiet old lady, who had not gone out of her
house once for the last year. The van rolled out through
the town gate as briskly as if it were going for a pleasant
excursion.

“On the highroad the pace was quicker yet. The coachman
looked nervously round every now and then—I fancy he half
expected to see her sitting on the coffin, in her yellow satin
wrapper. And because he was startled, he foolishly lashed his
horses, while he held the reins so tightly that the poor beasts
were in a foam: they were young and fiery. A little hare
jumped across the road and startled them, and they fairly ran
away. The old sober maiden, who had for years and years
moved quietly round and round in a dull circle, was now, in
death, rattled over stock and stone on the public highway.

‘The coffin in its covering of straw tumbled out of the van,
and was left on the highroad, while horses, coachman, and
carriage flew past in wild career. The lark rose up carolling
from the field, twittering her morning lay over the coffin, and
presently perched upon it, picking with her beak at the straw
covering, as though she would tear it up. The lark rose up
again, singing gaily, and I withdrew behind the red morning
clouds.”


160 What the Moon Saw.



ELEVENTH EVENING.

“JT will give you a picture of Pompeii,” said the Moon.
**T was in the suburb in the Street of Tombs, as they call it,
where the fair monuments stand, in the spot where, ages ago,
the merry youths, their temples decked with wreaths of roses,
danced with the fair sisters of Lais. Now the stillness of death
reigned around. German mercenaries, in the Neapolitan
service, kept guard, and played cards and dice; and a troop
of strangers from beyond the mountains came into the town,
accompanied by a sentry. They wanted to see the city that
had risen from the grave illumined by my beams; and I
showed them the wheel-ruts in the streets paved with broad
lava slabs; I showed them the names on the doors, and the
signs that hung there yet: they saw in the little courtyard the
basins of the fountains, ornamented with shells; but no jet of
water gushed upwards, no songs sounded forth from the richly
painted chambers, where the bronze dog kept the door.

_ It was the City of the Dead; only Vesuvius thundered
forth his everlasting hymn, each separate verse of which is
called by men an eruption. We went to the temple of Venus,
built of snow-white marble, with its high altar in front of the
broad steps, and the weeping willows sprouting freshly forth
among the pillars. The air was transparent and blue, and
black Vesuvius formed the background, with fire ever shooting
forth from it, like the stem of the pine-tree. Above it stretched
the smoky cloud in the silence of the night, like the crown of a
pine, but in a blood-red illumination.

“Among the company was a lady singer, a real and great
The Eleventh Evening. 161



singer. I have witnessed the homage paid to her in the greatest
cities of Europe. When they came to the tragic theatre, they
all sat down on the amphitheatre steps, and thus a small part
of the house was occupied by an audience, as it had been many
centuries ago. The stage still stood unchanged, and its walled
side-scenes, and the two arches in the background, through
which the beholders saw the same scene that had been
exhibited in the old times—a scene painted by Nature herself,
namely, the mountains between Sorrento and Amalfi. The
singer gaily mounted the ancient stage, and sang. The place
inspired her, and she reminded me of a wild Arab horse, that
rushes headlong on with snorting nostrils and flying mane—
her song was so light and yet so firm. Anon I thought of the
mourning mother beneath the cross at Golgotha, so deep was
the expression of pain. And, just as it had done thousands
of years ago, the sound of applause and delight now filled the
theatre.

“* Happy, gifted creature!’ all the hearers exclaimed. Five
minutes more, and the stage was empty, the company had
vanished, and not a sound more was heard—all were gone.
But the ruins stood unchanged, as they will stand when
centuries shall have gone by, and when none will know of the
momentary applause and of the triumph of the fair songstress ;
when all will be forgotten and gone, and even for me this hour
will be but a dream of the past.”

TWELFTH EVENING.

“T looked through the windows of an editor’s house,”’ said
the Moon. “It was somewhere in Germany. I saw hand-
M
162 What the Moon Saw.



some furniture, many books, and a chaos of newspapers.
Several young men were present: the editor himself stood at
his desk, and two little books, both by young authors, were to
be noticed. ‘This one has been sent to me,’ said he. ‘I have
not read it yet; what think you of the contents?’ ‘ Oh,’ said
the person addressed—he was a poet himself—‘it is good
enough ; a little broad, certainly ; but, you see, the author is
still young. The verses might be better, to be sure; the
thoughts are sound, though there is certainly a good deal of
commonplace among them. But what will you have? You
can’t be always getting something new. That he'll turn out
anything great I don’t believe, but you may safely praise him.
He is well read, a remarkable Oriental scholar, and has a
good judgment. It was he who wrote that nice review of my
‘* Reflections on Domestic Life.” We must be lenient towards
the young man.’

“*But he is a complete hack!’ objected another of the
gentlemen. ‘Nothing is worse in poetry than mediocrity, and
he certainly does not go beyond that.’

*** Poor fellow |’ observed a third, ‘and his aunt is so happy
about him. It was she, Mr. Editor, who got together so many
subscribers for your last translation.’

“* Ah, the good woman! Well, I have noticed the book
briefly. Undoubted talent—a welcome offering—a flower in
the garden of poetry—prettily brought out, and so on. But this
other book—I suppose the author expects me to purchase it? I
hear it is praised. He has.genius, certainly: don’t you think so?’

**¢ Yes, all the world declares as much,’ replied the poet,
‘but the book has turned out rather wild. Its punctuation, in
particular, is very eccentric.’
The Twelfth Evening. 163



“Tt will be good for him if we pull him to pieces, and
anger him a little, otherwise he will get too good an opinion of
himself.’

“* But that would be unfair,’ objected the fourth. ‘Let
us not carp at little faults, but rejoice over the real and
abundant good that we find here: he surpasses all the rest.’

“*Not so. Ifhe be a true genius, he can bear the sharp
voice of censure. There are people enough to praise him.
Don’t let us quite turn his head.’

““* Decided talent,’ wrote the editor, ‘with the usual care-
lessness. That he can write incorrect verses may be seen in
page 25, where there are two false quantities. We recommend
him to study the ancients,’ etc.

““T went away,” continued the Moon, ‘‘and looked through
the window in the aunt’s house. There sat the bepraised poet,
the tame one; all the guests paid homage to him, and he was
happy.

“T sought the other poet out, the wild one; him also I
found in a great assembly at his patron’s, where the tame poet’s
book was being discussed.

“T shall read yours also,’ said Maecenas; ‘but to speak
honestly—you know I never hide my opinions from you—I
don’t expect much from it, for. you are much too wild, too
fantastic. But it must assuredly be allowed that, as a man,
you are highly respectable.’

“A young girl sat in a corner; and she read in a book
these words:

“*Tn the dust lies genius and glory,
But every-day talent will pay.
It’s only the old, old story,
But the piece is repeated each day,’”
164 What the Moon Saw.



THIRTEENTH EVENING.

The Moon said, “‘ Beside the woodland path there are two
small farmhouses. The doors are low, and some of the
windows are placed quite high, and others close to the ground ;
and whitethorn and barberry bushes grow around them. The
roof of each house is overgrown with moss and with yellow
flowers and house-leek. Cabbage and potatoes are the only
plants cultivated in the gardens, but out of the hedge there
grows a willow-tree, and under this willow-tree sat a little girl,
and she sat with her eyes fixed upon the old oak-tree between
the two huts.

“It was an old pollarded trunk. It had been sawn off at
the top, and a stork had built his nest upon it; and he stood
in this nest clapping with his beak. A little boy came and
stood by the girl’s side: they were brother and sister.

*** What are you looking at ?’ he asked.

““¢T’m watching the stork,’ she replied; ‘ our neighbour told
me that he would bring us a little brother or sister to-day ; let
us watch to see it come!’

“The stork brings no such things,’ the boy declared, ‘ you
may be sure of that. Our neighbour told me the same thing,
but she laughed when she said it, and so I asked her if she
could say ‘On my honour,” and she could not; and I know
by that that the story about the storks is not true, and that
they only tell it to us children for fun.’

“But where do the babies come from, then?’ asked the
girl.

““« Why, an angel from heaven brings them under his cloak,
The Thirteenth Evening. 165



but no man can see him; and that’s why we never know when
he brings them.’

“At that moment there was a rustling in the branches of

Ee
I’ Gy a

OO FR
OC
= ;

GFE



LOOKING FOR THE BABY.

the willow-tree, and the children folded their hands and looked
at one another: it was certainly the angel coming with the
baby. They took each other’s hand, and at that moment
166 What the Moon Saw.



the door of one of the houses opened, and the neighbour
appeared.

“*Come in, you two,’ she said. ‘See what the stork has
brought. It is a little brother.’

‘“‘And the children nodded gravely at one another, for they
had felt quite sure already that the baby was come.”

FOURTEENTH EVENING.

‘I was gliding over the Litineburg Heath,” the Moon said.
‘A lonely hut stood by the wayside, a few scanty bushes grew
near it, and a nightingale who had lost his way sang sweetly.
He died in the coldness of the night: it was his farewell song
that I heard.

“The morning dawn came glimmering red. I saw a
caravan of emigrant peasant families who were bound to Ham-
burg, there to take ship for America, where they fancied pros-
perity would bloom for them. The mothers carried their little
children at their backs, the elder ones tottered by their sides,
and a poor starved horse tugged at a cart that bore their scanty
effects. The cold wind whistled, and therefore the little girl
nestled closer to the mother, who, looking up at my decreasing
disc, thought of the bitter want at home, and spoke of the
heavy taxes they had not been able to raise. The whole
caravan thought of the same thing; therefore the rising dawn
seemed to them a message from the sun, of fortune that was to
gleam brightly upon them. They heard the dying nightingale
sing ; it was no false prophet, but a harbinger of fortune.

““The wind whistled, therefore they did not understand that
the nightingale sang, ‘Far away over the sea! Thou hast
The Fifteenth Evening. 167



paid the long passage with all that was thine, and poor and
helpless shalt thou enter Canaan. Thou must sell thyself, thy
wife, and thy children. But your griefs shall not last long.
Behind the broad fragrant leaves lurks the Goddess of Death,
and her welcome kiss shall breathe fever into thy blood. Fare
away, fare away, over the heaving billows.’ And the caravan
listened well pleased to the song of the nightingale, which
seemed to promise good fortune.

“The day broke through the light clouds; country people
went across the heath to church: the black-gowned women with
their white head-dresses looked like ghosts that had stepped
forth from the church pictures. All around lay a wide dead
plain, covered with faded brown heath, and black charred
spaces between the white sandhills. The women carried hymn-
books, and walked into the church. -Oh, pray, pray for those
who are wandering to find graves beyond the foaming billows.”

FIFTEENTH EVENING.

“‘T know a Pulcinella,”! the Moon told me. ‘‘ The public
applaud vociferously directly they see him. Every one of his
movements is comic, and is sure to throw the house into con-
vulsions of laughter; and yet there is no art in it at all—it is
complete nature. When he was yet a little boy, playing with
other boys, he was already Punch. Nature had intended him
for it, and had provided him with a hump on his back, and
another on his breast; but his inward man, his mind, on the
contrary, was richly furnished. No one could surpass him in

1 The comic or grotesque character of the Italian ballet, from which the
English ‘* Punch” takes his origin.
168 What the Vion Saw

depth of feeling or in readiness of intellect. The theatre was
his ideal world. If he had possessed a ‘slender, well-shaped
figure, he might have been the first tragedian on any stage: the
heroic, the great, filled his soul; and yet he had to become a
Pulcinella. His very sorrow and melancholy did but increase
the comic dryness of his sharply-cut features, and increased the
laughter of the audience, who showered plaudits on their
favourite. The lovely Columbine was indeed kind and cordial
to him; but she preferred to marry the Harlequin. It would
have been too ridiculous if beauty and ugliness had in reality
paired together.

“When Pulcinella was in very bad spirits, she was the only
one who could force a hearty burst of laughter, or even a smile
from him: first she would be melancholy with him, then
quieter, and at last quite cheerful and happy. ‘I know very
well what is the matter with you,’ she said; ‘yes, you’re in
love!’ And he could not help laughing. ‘I and Love!’ he
cried, ‘that would have an absurd look. How the public would
shout!’ ‘Certainly, you are in love,’ she continued 3 and added
with a comic pathos, ‘and I am the person you are in love
with.’ You see, such a thing may be said when it is quite out
of the question—and, indeed, Pulcinella burst out laughing,
and gave a leap into the air, and his melancholy was forgotten.

“And yet she had only spoken the truth. He did love her;
love her adoringly, as he loved what was great and lofty in art.
At her wedding he was the merriest among the guests, but in
the stillness of night he wept: if the public had seen his dis-
torted face then, they would have applauded rapturously.

‘““And a few days ago Columbine died. On the day of the
funeral, Harlequin was not required to show himself. on the
“The Sixteenth Evening. i69

boards, for he was a-disconsolate widower., The director had
to give a very merry piece, that the public might not too pain-
fully miss the pretty Columbine and the agile Harlequin.
Therefore Pulcinella had to be more boisterous and extravagant
than ever; and he danced and capered, with despair in his
heart; and the audience yelled, and shouted, ‘ Bravo! bravissimo!’
Pulcinella was actually called before the curtain. He was pro-
nounced inimitable.

“But last night the hideous little fellow went out of the town,
quite alone, to the deserted churchyard. The wreath of
flowers on Columbine’s grave was already faded, and he sat
down there. It was a study fora painter. As he sat with his
chin on his hands, his eyes turned up towards me, he looked
like a grotesque monument—a Punch on a grave—very peculiar
and whimsical. If the people could have seen their favourite,
they would have cried as usual, ‘Bravo, Pulcinella! bravo!
bravissimo |’ ”

SIXTEENTH EVENING.

Hear what the Moon toldme. ‘I have seen the cadet who
had just been made an officer put on his handsome uniform for
the first time; I have seen the young bride in her wedding
dress, and the princess girl-wife happy in her gorgeous robes;
but never have I seen a felicity equal to that of a little girl of
four years old, whom I watched this evening. She had
received a new blue dress and a new pink hat; the splendid
attire had just been put on, and all were calling for a candle,
for my rays, shining in through the windows of the room, were
not bright enough for the occasion, and further illumination
was required.
170 What the Moon Saw.



There stood the little. maid, stiff and upright as a doll, her
arms stretched painfully straight-out away from her dress, and



THE CHILD'S NEW CLOTHES.

her fingers apart ; and, oh, what happiness beamed from her
eyes and from her whole countenance! ‘To-morrow you shall
The Bride of the Sea. 171



go out in your new clothes,’ said her mother; and the little one
looked up at her hat and down at her frock, and smiled
brightly. ‘ Mother,’ she cried, ‘what will the little dogs think
when they see me in these splendid new things ?’”’

SEVENTEENTH EVENING.

‘“‘T have spoken to you of Pompeii,” said the Moon; “ that
corpse of a city, exposed to the view of living men: I know
another sight still more strange, and this is not the corpse, but
the spectre of a city. Whenever the jetty fountains splash into
the marble basins, they seem to me to be telling the story of
the floating city. Yes, the spouting water may tell of her, the
waves of the sea may sing of her fame! On the surface of the
ocean a mist often rests, and this is her widow’s veil. The
Bridegroom of the Sea is dead, his palace and his city are his
mausoleum !

“Dost thou know this city? She has never heard the
rolling of wheels or the hoof-tread of horses in her streets,
through which the fish swim, while the black gondola glides
spectrally over the green water. I will show you the place,”
continued the Moon, ‘‘the largest square in it, and you will
fancy yourself transported into the city of a fairy tale. The
grass grows rank among the broad flagstones, and in the
morning twilight thousands of tame pigeons flutter around the
solitary lofty tower. On three sides you find yourself sur-
rounded by cloistered walks. In these the silent Turk sits
smoking his long pipe; the handsome Greek leans against the
pillar, and gazes at the upraised trophies and lofty masts,
memorials of power that is gone. The flags hang downelike
172 What the Moon Saw.

mourning scarves. A girl rests there: she has put down her
heavy pails filled with water, the yoke with which she has
carried them rests on one of her shoulders, and she leans
against the mast of victory.

“This is not a fairy palace you see before you yonder, but
a church: the gilded domes and shining orbs flash back my
beams; the glorious bronze horses up yonder have made
journeys, like the bronze horse in the fairy tale: they have
come hither, and gone hence, and have returned again. Do
you notice the variegated splendour of the walls and windows?
It looks as if Genius had followed the caprices of a child, in
the adornment of these singular temples. Do you see the
winged lion on the pillar? The gold glitters still, but his wings
are tied—the lion is dead, for the King of the Sea is dead; the
great halls stand desolate, and where gorgeous painting hung
of yore, the naked wall now peers through. The lazzaroni
sleeps under the arcade, whose pavement in old times was to
be trodden only by the feet of the high nobility.

‘From the deep wells, and perhaps from the prisons by the
Bridge of Sighs, rise the accents of woe, as in the time when
the tambourine was heard in the gay gondolas, and the golden
ring was cast from the Bucentaur to Adria, the Queen of the
Seas. Adria! shroud thyself in mists; let the veil of thy
widowhood shroud thy form, and clothe in the weeds of woe

the mausoleum of thy bridegroom —the marble, spectral
Venice !”

EIGHTEENTH EVENING.

“I looked down upon a great theatre,” said the Moon.
“The house was crowded, for a new actor was to make his
The Eighteenth Evening. ~ 173



first appearance that night. My rays glided over a little
window in the wall, and I saw a painted face with the forehead
pressed against the panes. It was the hero of the evening.
The knightly beard curled crisply about the chin; but there
were tears in the man’s eyes, for he had been hissed off, and
indeed with reason.

“The poor Incapable! But Incapables cannot be admitted
into the empire of Art. He had deep feelings, and loved his
art enthusiastically, but the art lovednot him. The prompter’s
bell sounded ; ‘the hero enters with a determined atr,’ so ran the
stage direction in his part, and he had to appear before an
audience who turned him into ridicule.

““When the piece was over, I saw a form wrapped in a
mantle creeping down the steps: it was the vanquished knight
of the evening. The scene-shifters whispered to one another,
and I followed the poor fellow home to his room. To hang
one’s self is to die a mean death, and poison is not always at
hand, I know; but he thought of both. I saw how he looked
at his pale face in the glass, with eyes half closed, to see if he
should look well as a corpse. A man may be very unhappy,
and yet exceedingly affected. He thought of death, of suicide ;
I believe he pitied himself, for he wept bitterly; and when a
man has had his cry out he doesn’t kill himself.

“Since that time a:year had rolled by. Again a play was
to be acted, but in a little theatre, and by a poor strolling
company. Again I saw the well-remembered face, with the
painted cheeks and the crisp beard. He looked up at me and
smiled; and yet he had been hissed off only a minute before—
hissed off from a wretched theatre by a miserable audience.
And to-night a shabby hearse rolled out of the town gate. It
174 What the Moon Saw.



was a suicide—our painted, despised hero. The driver of the
hearse was the only person present, for no one followed except
my beams. In a corner of the churchyard the corpse of the
suicide was shovelled into the earth, and nettles will soon be
rankly growing over his grave, and the sexton will throw thorns
and weeds from the other graves upon it.”

NINETEENTH EVENING.

““T come from Rome,” said the Moon. ‘In the midst of
the city, upon one of the seven hills, lie the ruins of the
imperial palace. The wild fig-tree grows in the clefts of the
wall, and covers the nakedness thereof with its broad gray-
green leaves ; trampling among heaps of rubbish, the ass treads
upon green laurels, and rejoices over the rank thistles. From
this spot, whence the eagles of Rome once flew abroad, whence
they ‘came, saw, and conquered,’ one door leads into a little
mean house, built of clay between two pillars; the wild vine
hangs like a mourning garland over the crooked window.

“An old woman and her little grand-daughter live there :
they rule now in the palace of the Czsars, and show to
strangers the remains of its past glories. Of the splendid
throne-hall only a naked wall yet stands, and a black cypress
throws its dark shadow on the spot where the throne once
stood. The dust lies several feet deep on the broken pavement ;
and the little maiden, now the daughter of the imperial palace,
often sits there on her stool when the evening bells ring. The
keyhole of the door close by, she calls her turret-window ;
through this she can see half Rome, as far as the mighty
cupola of St. Peter’s.
The Nineteenth Evening. 17s



“On this evening, as usual, stillness reigned around; and
in the full beam of my light came the little grand-daughter.
On her head she carried an earthen pitcher of antique shape
filled with water. Her feet were bare, her short frock and her
white sleeves were torn. I kissed her pretty round shoulders,
her dark eyes, and black shining hair. She mounted the stairs;
they were steep, having been made up of rough blocks of
broken marble and the capital of a fallen pillar. The coloured
lizards slipped away, startled, from before her feet, but she was
not frightened at them.

‘Already she was lifting her hand to pull the door-bell—a
hare’s foot fastened to a string formed the bell-handle of the
imperial palace. She paused for a moment—of what might
she be thinking? Perhaps of the beautiful child-Christ,
dressed in gold and silver, which was down below in the chapel,
where the silver candlesticks gleamed so bright, and where her
little friends sang the hymns in which she also could join. I
know not. Presently she moved again—she stumbled ; the
earthen vessel fell from her head, and broke on the marble steps.
She burst into tears. The beautiful daughter of the imperial
palace wept over the worthless broken pitcher; with her bare
feet she stood there weeping, and dared not pull the string, the
bell-rope of the imperial palace.”

TWENTIETH EVENING.

It was more than a fortnight since the Moon had shone.
Now she showed once more, round and bright, above the clouds,
moving slowly onward. Hear what the Moon told me.

“From a town in Fezzan I followed a caravan. On the

%
176 What the Moon Saw.



margin of the sandy desert, in a salt plain, that shone like a
frozen lake, and was only covered in spots with light drifting
sand, a halt was made. The eldest of the company—the
water-gourd hung at his girdle, and on his head was a little bag
of unleavened bread—drew a square in the sand with his staff,
and wrote in it a few words out of the Koran, and then the
whole caravan passed over the consecrated spot.

“A young merchant, a child of the East, as I could tell by
his eye and his figure, rode pensively forward on his white
snorting steed. Was he thinking, perchance, of his fair young
wife? It was only two days ago that the camel, adorned with
furs and with costly shawls, had carried her, the beauteous
bride, round the walls of the city, while drums and cymbals had
sounded, the women sang, and festive shots, of which the
bridegroom fired the greatest number, resounded round the
camel; and now he was journeying with the caravan across the
desert. /

“For many nights I followed the train. I saw them rest
by the well-side among the stunted palms; they thrust the
knife into the breast of the camel that had fallen, and roasted
its flesh by the fire. My beams cooled the glowing sands, and
showed them the black rocks, dead islands in the immense
ocean of sand. No hostile tribes met them in’ their pathless
route, no storms arose, no columns of sand whirled destruction
over the journeying caravan. At home the beautiful wife
prayed for her husband and her father. ‘Are they dead ?’ she
asked of my golden crescent; ‘ Are they dead?’ she cried to
my full disc. Now the desert lies behind them. This evening
they sit beneath the lofty palm-trees, where the crane flutters
round them with its long wings, and the pelican watches them
The Twentieth Evening. 177.



from the branches of the mimosa. The luxuriant herbage is
trampled down, crushed by the feet of elephants.

“A troop of negroes are returning from a market in the
interior of the land; the women, adorned with copper buttons
and decked out in clothes dyed with indigo, drive the heavily-
laden oxen, on whose backs slumber the naked black children.
A negro leads a young lion, which he has bought, by a string.
They approach the caravan; the young merchant sits pensive
and motionless, thinking of his beautiful wife, dreaming, in the
land of the blacks, of his white fragrant lily beyond the desert.
He raises his head, and——”’

But at this moment a cloud passed before the Moon, and
then another. I heard nothing more from her this evening.

TWENTY-FIRST EVENING.

“TI looked down on Tyrol,” said the Moon, ‘‘and my beams
caused the dark pines to throw long shadows upon the rocks.
I looked at the pictures of St. Christopher carrying the Infant
Jesus, that are painted there upon the walls of the houses,
colossal figures reaching from the ground to the roof. St.
.Florian was represented pouring water on the burning house,
and the Lord hung bleeding on the great cross by the way-side.
To the present generation these are old pictures, but I saw
when they were put up, and marked how one followed the
other.

“On the brow of the mountain yonder is perched, like a
swallow’s nest, a lonely convent of nuns. Two of the sisters
stood up in the tower tolling the bell; they were both young,
and therefore their glances flew over the mountain out into the

N
178 What the Moon Saw.



world. A travelling coach passed by below, the postilion
wound his horn, and the poor nuns looked after the carriage
for a moment with a mournful glance, and a tear gleamed in
the eyes of the younger one. And the horn sounded faintly
and more faint, and the convent bell drowned its expiring
echoes.”

TWENTY-SECOND EVENING.

“JT saw a little girl weeping,” said the Moon: ‘she was
weeping over the depravity of the world. She had received a
most beautiful doll as a present. Oh, that was a glorious doll,
so fair and delicate! She did not seem created for the sorrows
of this world. But the brothers of the little girl, those great
naughty boys, had set the doll high up in the branches of a tree,
and had run away.

“The little girl could not reach up to the doll, and could
not help her down, and that is why she was crying. The doll
must certainly have been crying too, for she stretched out her
_arms among the green branches, and looked quite mournful.
Yes, these are the troubles of life of which the little girl had
often heard tell. Alas, poor doll! it began to grow dark
already ; and suppose night were to come on completely! Was
she to be left sitting there alone on the bough all night long?
No, the little maid could not make up her mind to that. ‘I'll
stay with you,’ she said, although she felt anything but happy
in her mind.

“She could almost fancy she distinctly saw little gnomes,
with their high-crowned hats, sitting in the bushes ; and farther
back in the long walk, tall spectres appeared to be dancing.
The Doll in the Tree. 179



They came nearer and nearer, and stretched out their hands
towards the tree on which the doll sat; they laughed scorn-
‘fully, and pointed at her with their fingers. Oh, how frightened
the little maid was! ‘But if one has not done anything wrong,’
she thought, ‘ nothing evil can harm one. I wonder if I have
done anything wrong?’ And she considered. ‘Oh, yes! I
laughed at the poor duck with the red rag on her leg; she
limped along so funnily, I could not help laughing; but it’s a
sin to laugh at animals.’ And she looked up at the doll. ‘Did
you laugh at the duck, too ?’ she asked; and it seemed as if the
doll shook her head.”

TWENTY-THIRD EVENING.

Hear what the Moon told me. ‘‘ Some years ago, here in
Copenhagen, I looked through the window of a mean little
room. The father and mother slept, but the little son was not
asleep. I saw the flowered cotton curtains of the bed move,
and the child peep forth. At first, I thought he was looking at
the great clock, which was gaily painted in red and green. At
the top sat a cuckoo, below hung the heavy leaden weights,
and the pendulum with the polished disc of metal went to and
fro, and said ‘tick, tick.’ But no, he was not looking at the
clock, but at his mother’s spinning-wheel, that stood . just
underneath it. That was the boy’s favourite piece of furniture,
but he dared not touch it, for if he meddled with it he got a rap
on the knuckles.

“For hours together, when his mother was spinning, he
would sit quietly by her side, watching the murmuring spindle
and the revolving wheel, and as he sat he thought of many
180 What the Moon Saw.



things. Oh, if he might only turn the wheel himself! Father
and mother were asleep: he looked at them, and looked at the
spinning-wheel, and presently a little naked foot peered out of
the bed, and then a second foot, and then two little white legs.
There he stood. He looked round once more, to see if father
and mother were still asleep—yes, they slept; and now he
crept softly, softly, in his short little nightgown, to the spinning-
wheel, and began to spin. The thread flew from the wheel,
and the wheel whirled faster and faster. I kissed his fair hair
and his blue eyes, it was such a pretty picture.

‘* At that moment the mother awoke. The curtain shook;
she looked forth, and fancied she saw a gnome or some other
kind of little spectre. ‘In Heaven’s name!’ she cried, and
aroused her husband in a frightened way. He opened his eyes,
rubbed them with his hands, and looked at the brisk little lad.
‘Why, that is Bertel,’ said he. And my eye quitted the poor
room, for I have so much to see. At the same moment I
looked at the halls of the Vatican, where the marble gods are
enthroned. I shone upon the group of the Laocoon: the
stone seemed to sigh. I pressed a silent kiss on the lips of the
Muses, and they seemed to stir and move.

“But my rays lingered longest about the Nile group with the
colossal god. Leaning against the Sphinx, he lies there
thoughtful and meditative, as if he were thinking on the rolling
centuries ; and little love-gods sport with him and with the
crocodiles. In the horn of plenty a little tiny love-god sits
with folded arms contemplating the great solemn river-god,
a true picture of the boy at the spinning-wheel—the features
were exactly the same. Charming and lifelike stood the little
marble form, and yet the wheel of the year has turned more
A Vision of Thorwaldsen. 181

than a thousand times since the time when it sprang from the
stone. Just as many times as the boy in the little room turned
the spinning-wheel, had the great wheel murmured, before the
age could again call forth marble gods equal to those he after-
wards formed. ,

“Years have passed since all this happened,” the Moon
went on to say. “ Yesterday I looked upon a bay on the eastern
coast of Denmark. Glorious woods are there, and high trees,
an old knightly castle with red walls, swans floating in the
ponds, and in the background appears, among orchards, a little
town with achurch. Many boats, the crews all furnished with
torches, glided over the silent expanse—but these fires had not
been kindled for catching fish, for everything had a festive
look. Music sounded, a song was sung, and in one of the
boats a man stood erect, to whom homage was paid by the
rest, a tall, sturdy man, wrapped in a cloak. He had blue eyes
and long white hair. I knew him, and thought of the Vatican,
and of the group of the Nile, and the old marble gods. I
thought of the simple little room where little Bertel sat in his
nightshirt by the spinning-wheel. The wheel of time has
turned, and new gods have come forth from the stone. From
the boats there arose a shout: ‘Hurrah! hurrah for Bertel

\? ced

Thorwaldsen

TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING.

‘TI will now give you a picture from Frankfort,” said the
Moon. “I especially noticed one building there. It was not
the house in which Goethe was born, nor the old council-house,
through whose grated windows peered the horns of the oxen
182 What the Moon Saw.



that were roasted and given to the people when the Emperors
were crowned. No, it was a private house, plain in appearance,
and painted green. It stood near the old Jews’ Street. It was
Rothschild’s house.

“IT looked through the open door. The staircase was
brilliantly lighted: servants carrying wax candles in massive
silver candlesticks stood there, and bowed low before an aged
woman, who was being brought downstairs on a litter. The
proprietor of the house stood bareheaded, and respectfully im-
printed a kiss on the hand of the old woman. She was his
mother. She nodded in a friendly manner to him and to the
servants, and they carried her into the dark narrow-street, into
a little house, that was her dwelling. Here her children had
been born, from hence the fortune of the family had arisen.
If she deserted the despised street and the little house,
fortune would also desert her children. That was her firm
belief.”

The Moon told me no more; her visit this evening was far
too short. But I thought of the old woman in the narrow
despised street. It would have cost her but a word, and a
brilliant house would have arisen for her on the banks of the
Thames—a word, and a villa would have been prepared in the
Bay of Naples.

“If I deserted the lowly house, where the fortunes of my
sons first began to bloom, fortune would desert them!” It
was a superstition, but a superstition of such a class, that he
who knows the story and has seen this picture, need have only
two words placed under the picture to make him understand it;
and these two words are: ‘‘ A mother.”
The Little Chimney-Sweep. 183



TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING.

“It was yesterday, in the morning twilight ’—these are the
words the Moon told me—‘ in the great city no chimney was
yet smoking—and it was just at the chimneys that I was
looking. Suddenly a little head emerged from one of them,
‘and then half a body, the arms resting on the rim of the
chimney-pot. ‘Ya-hip!’ cried a voice. It was the little
chimney-sweeper, who had for the first time in his life crept
through a chimney and stuck out his head at the top. ‘ Ya-
hip! ya-hip!’ Yes, certainly that was a very different thing
from creeping about in the dark narrow chimneys! the air
blows so fresh, and he could look over the whole city towards
the green wood. The sun was just rising. It shone round
and great, just in his face, which beamed with triumph, though
it was very prettily blacked with soot.

““¢ The whole town can see me now,’ he exclaimed, ‘and
the moon can see me now, and the sun too. Ya-hip! ya-hip!’
And he flourished his broom in triumph.”

TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING.

“Last night I looked down upon a town in China,” said
the Moon. - “ My beams illumined the naked walls that form
the streets there. Now and then, certainly, a door is seen, but
it is locked, for what does the Chinaman care about the outer
world? Close wooden shutters covered the windows of the
houses ; but through the windows of the temple a faint light
glimmered. I looked in, and saw the quaint decorations
184 What the Moon Saw.



within. From the floor to the ceiling pictures are painted in
the most glaring colours and richly gilt—pictures representing
the deeds of the gods here on earth. In each temple nine
statues are placed, but they are almost entirely hidden by the
coloured drapery and the banners that hang down. Before
each idol (and they are all made of tin) stood a little altar of
holy water, with flowers and burning wax-lights on it. Above
all the rest stood Fo, the chief deity, clad in a garment. of
yellow silk, for yellow is here the sacred colour.

“At the foot of the altar sat a living being, a young priest.
He appeared to be praying, but in the midst of his prayer he
seemed to fall into deep thought, and this must have been
wrong, for his cheeks glowed and he held down his head. Poor
Soui-hong! Was he, perhaps, dreaming of working in the little
flower-garden behind the high street wall? And did that
occupation seem more agreeable to him than watching the wax-
lights in the temple? Or did he wish to sit at the rich feast,
wiping his mouth with silver paper between each course? Or
was his sin so great that, if he dared to utter it, the Celestial
Empire would punish it with death? Had _ his thoughts
ventured to fly with the ships of the barbarians, to their homes
in far-distant England? No, his thoughts did not fly so far,
and yet they were sinful, sinful as thoughts born of evil
hearts, sinful here in the temple, in the presence of Fo and the
other holy gods.

“I know whither his thoughts had strayed. At the farther
end of the city, on the flat roof paved with porcelain, on which
stood the handsome vases covered with painted flowers, sat the
beauteous Pu, of the little roguish eyes, of the full lips, and of
the tiny feet. The tight shoe pained her, but her heart pained
Sout-Heng and Poor Pu. 185



her still more. She lifted her graceful round arm, and her satin
dress rustled. Before her stood a glass bowl containing four
goldfish. She stirred the bowl carefully with a slender lacquered
stick, very slowly, for she, too, was lost in thought. Was she
thinking, perchance, how the fishes were richly clothed in gold,
how they lived calmly and peacefully in their crystal world, how
they were regularly fed, and yet how much happier they might
be if they were free? Yes, that she could well understand, the
beautiful Pu. Her thoughts wandered away from her home,
wandered to the temple, but not for the sake of holy things.
Poor Pu! Poor Soui-hong !

‘Their earthly thoughts met, but my cold beam lay between
the two like the sword of the cherub.”

TWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING.

“The air was calm,” said the Moon; ‘‘the water was as
transparent as the pure ether through which I was gliding, and
deep below the surface I could see the strange plants that
stretched up their long arms towards me like the gigantic trees
of the forest. The fishes swam to and fro above their tops.
High in the air a flight of wild swans were winging their way,
and one of them sank lower and lower, with wearied pinions,
his eyes following the airy caravan, that melted farther and
farther into the distance.

With outspread wings he sank slowly, as a soap-bubble
sinks in the still air, till he touched the water. At length his
head lay back between his wings, and silently he lay there, like
a white lotus-flower upon the quiet lake. And a gentle wind
arose, and ruffled the quiet surface which poured along in great
186 What the Moon Saw.



broad waves, reflecting the gleam of the clouds; and the swan
raised his head, and the glowing water splashed like blue fire
over his breast and back. The morning dawn illuminated the
red clouds, the swan rose strengthened, and flew towards the
rising sun, towards the bluish coast whither the caravan had
gone; but he flew all alone, with a longing in his breast.
Lonely he flew over the blue swelling billows.”

























































































































































































THE SWAN RESTING ON THE LAKE.

TWENTY-EIGHTH EVENING.

“IT will give you another picture of Sweden,” said the
Moon. ‘ Among dark pine-woods, near the melancholy banks
of the Stoxen, lies the old convent church of Wreta. My rays
glided through the grating into the roomy vaults, where kings
sleep tranquilly in great stone coffins. On the wall, above the
grave of each, is placed the emblem of earthly grandeur, a
kingly crown; but it is made only of wood, painted and gilt,
and is hung on a wooden peg driven into the wall. The worms
have gnawed the gilded wood, the spider has spun her web
The Old Church of Wreta. 187



_ from the crown down to the sand, like a mourning banner, frail
and transient as the grief of mortals. How quietly they sleep!
I can remember them quite plainly. I still see the bold smile
on their lips, that so strongly and plainly expressed joy or
erief.

“When the steamboat winds along like a magic snail over
the lakes, a stranger often comes to the church, and visits the
burial-vault ; he asks the names of the kings, and they have a
dead and forgotten sound. He glances with a smile at the
worm-eaten crowns, and if he happens to bea pious, thoughtful
man, something of melancholy mingles with the smile. Slumber
on, ye dead ones! The Moon thinks of you, the Moon at
night sends down her rays into your silent kingdom, over which
hangs the crown of pine-wood.”

TWENTY-NINTH EVENING.

‘Close by the highroad,” said the Moon, “ is an inn, and
opposite to it is a great waggon-shed, whose straw roof was
just being re-thatched. I looked down beneath the bare rafters
and through the open loft into the comfortless space below.
The turkey-cock slept on the beam, and the saddle rested in
the empty crib. In the middle of the shed stood a travelling
carriage; the proprietor was inside, fast asleep, while the
horses were being watered. The coachman stretched himself,
though I am very sure that he had been most comfortably
asleep half the last stage. The door of the servants’ room
stood open, and the bed looked very much tumbled; the candle
stood on the floor, and had burned deep down into the socket.
The wind blew cold through the shed: it was nearer to the

188 What the Moon Saw.

dawn than to midnight. On the ground slept a wandering
family of musicians. The father and mother seemed to be
dreaming of the fiery liquor that remained in the bottle. The
little pale daughter was dreaming too, for her eyes were wet
with tears. The harp stood at their heads, and the dog lay
stretched at their feet.”

THIRTIETH EVENING.

“Tt was in a little provincial town,” the Moon said; “it
certainly happened last year, but that has nothing to do with
the matter. I saw it quite plainly. To-day I read about it in
the papers, but there it is not half so clearly expressed. In
the taproom of the little inn sat the bear-leader, eating his
supper; the bear was tied up outside, behind the wood
pile—poor Bruin, who did nobody any harm, though he
looked grim enough. Up in the garret three little children
were playing by the light of my beams; the eldest was
perhaps six years old, the youngest certainly not more than -
two.

- Tramp! tramp !—somebody was coming upstairs: who
might it be? The door was thrust open—it was Bruin, the
great shaggy Bruin! He had got tired of waiting down in the
courtyard, and had found his way to the stairs. I saw it all,”
said the Moon. “The children were very much frightened at
first at the great shaggy animal; each of them crept into a
corner, but he found them all out, and smelt at them, but did
them no harm. ‘This must be a great dog,’ they said, and
began to stroke him. He lay down upon the ground, the
youngest boy clambered on his back, and, bending down a
The Thirtieth Evening. 189



little head of golden curls, played at hiding in the beast’s
shaggy skin.

“Presently the, eldest boy took his drum, and beat it till it
rattled again: the bear rose up on its hind-legs and began to



A GAME WITH BRUIN.

dance. It was a charming sight to behold. Each boy now
took his gun, and the bear was obliged to have one too, and he
held it up quite properly. Here was a capital playmate they
had found! and they began marching—one, two ; one, two.
Igo. What the Moon Saw.



‘Suddenly someone came to the door, which opened, and
the mother of the children appeared. You should have seen her
in her dumb terror, with her face as white as chalk, her mouth
_ half open, and her eyes fixed in a horrified stare. But the
youngest boy nodded to her in great glee, and called out in his
infantile prattle, ‘ We’re playing at soldiers.’ And then the
bear-leader came running up.”

THIRTY-FIRST EVENING.

The wind blew stormy and cold, the clouds flew hurriedly
past; only fora moment now and then did the Moon become
visible. Shesaid, ‘‘ I looked down from the silent sky upon the
driving clouds, and saw their great shadows chasing each other
across the earth. I looked upon a prison. A closed carriage
stood before it: a prisoner was to be carried away. My rays
pierced through the grated window on to the wall: the
prisoner was scratching a few lines upon it, as a parting token;
but he did not write words, but a melody, the outpouring of his
heart. The door was opened, and he was led forth, and fixed
his eyes upon my round disc. Clouds passed between us, as if
he were not to see my face, nor I his.

“He stepped into the carriage, the door was closed, the
whip cracked, and the horses galloped off into the thick forest,
whither my rays were not able to follow him; but as I glanced
through the grated window, my rays glided over the notes, his
last farewell engraved on the prison wall—where words fail,
sounds can often speak. My rays could only light up isolated
notes, so the greater part of what was written there will ever
remain dark tome. Was it the death-hymn he wrote there ?
A Glimpse at the Children. 1g



Were these the glad notes of joy? Did he drive away to
meet his death, or hasten to the embraces of his beloved ?
The rays of the Moon do not read all that is written by
mortals.”

THIRTY-SECOND EVENING.

“‘T love the children,” said the Moon, “ especially the quite
little ones—they are so droll. Sometimes I peep into the
room, between the curtain and the window-frame, when they
are not thinking of me. It gives me pleasure to see them
dressing and undressing. First, the little round naked shoulder
comes creeping out of the frock, then the arm; or I see how
the stocking is drawn off, and a plump little white leg makes
its appearance, and a little white foot that is fit to be kissed,
and I kiss it too.

“ But this is what I was going to tell you. This evening I
looked through'a window, before which no curtain was drawn,
for nobody lives opposite. I saw a whole troop of little ones,
all of one family, and among them was a little sister. She is
only four years old, but can say her prayers as well as any of
the rest. The mother sits by her bed every evening, and
hears her say her prayers; and then she has a kiss, and the
mother sits by the bed till the little one has gone to sleep,
which generally happens as soon as ever she can close her
eyes. :

“‘ This evening the two elder children were a little boisterous.
One of them hopped about on one leg in his long white night-
gown, and the other stood on a chair surrounded by the clothes
of all the children, and declared he was acting Grecian statues.
192 What the Moon Saw.



The third and fourth laid the clean linen carefully in the box,
for that is a thing that has to be done; and the mother sat by
the bed of the yotingest, and told all the rest to be quiet, for little
sister was going to say her prayers.

“‘T looked in, over the lamp, into the little maiden’s bed,



SAYING PRAYERS TO MOTHER.

where she lay under the neat white coverlet, her hands folded
demurely and her little face quite grave and serious. She was
praying the Lord’s Prayer aloud. But her mother interrupted
in the middle of her prayer. ‘Howis it,’ she asked, ‘that when
The Thirty-second Evening. 193



you have prayed for daily bread, you always add something I
cannot understand? You must tell me what that is.’ The
little one lay silent, and looked at her mother shyly. ‘ What is
it you say after our daily bread?’ ‘Dear mother, don’t be
angry: I only said, and plenty of butter on tt.’ ”




HOLGER DANSKE.

In Denmark there stands an old castle called Kroneénburg.
It lies near the Sound of Elsinore, where large ships, both
English, Russian, and German, daily sail past by hundreds.
And they salute the old fortress with cannons that say:
“Boom!” And the fortress answers with its cannons:
“Boom!” which is the way cannons say ‘‘ Good-morning,”’
and ‘‘ Your servant.’ In winter no ships sail by, for all ‘is
covered with ice as far as the Swedish coast ; but it looks quite
like a highroad, and Danish and Swedish flags are waving, and
Danes and Swedes say to each other: ‘‘ Good-morning,” and
“Your servant.” But not with cannons—no indeed! but with
a friendly shake of the hand; and they mutually purchase
white bread and cracknels of each other, because foreign goods
taste the nicest. But the best of all is the old castle of
Kronenburg, where Holger Danske sits in a deep, dark cellar,
Carving the Ship’s Figure-head. 195



which nobody enters. He is clad in iron and steel, and
supports his head on his strong arm: his long beard hangs
over the marble table, in which it has taken root. He sleeps
and dreams; but in his dreams he sees everything that takes
place up above here in Denmark. Every Christmas evening
an angel comes to tell him that all he has dreamed is true, and
that he may go to sleep again in peace, for that Denmark is as
yet in no real peril; but should danger ever occur, then will old
Holger Danske rise, and shiver the table to pieces as he with-
draws his beard. And then he will come forth in his might,
and lay about him, till all the world shall ring with his fame.

. An old grandfather sat telling all these particulars about
Holger Danske to his little grandson; and the little boy knew
that what his grandfather said was true. And as the old man
sat talking, he was carving a large wooden figure representing
Holger Danske, which was to ornament the prow of a vessel ;
for the old grandfather was a carver of images, whose trade it
was to make figure-heads for ships, according as each ship
might be named; and, in the present case, he had carved
Holger Danske, who stood proud and erect, with his long
beard, holding in one hand his broad battle-sword, while he
supported himself with the other against the Danish coat-of-
arms.

And the old grandfather related so many histories about
distinguished Danish men and women, that at length his little
grandson fancied that he knew as much as Holger Danske
himself, who only dreams about things ; and when the little
fellow went to bed, he kept thinking and thinking, till he
pressed his chin against the counterpane, and then imagined
that he had a long beard that became rooted to it.
196 Holger Danske.



But the old grandfather still sat at his work, carving the last
portion of it, namely—the Danish arms.. At last he completed

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CARVING HOLGER DANSKE.

them, and then looked at the whole, and thought over all he
had read and heard, and what he had related that evening to
the little boy; and he nodded his head, wiped his spectacles,
The Arms of Denmark. 197

put them on again, and said: “Ay, Holger Danske won’t make
his appearance in my lifetime, but that boy in bed there will
perhaps be able to see him, and will be present when it really
comes to pass.” And the old grandfather nodded again; and
the more he looked at his Holger Danske, the more obvious it
was to him that he had carved a good figure—nay, it even
seemed to him as if it assumed the colour of life, and as if the
armour glittered like iron and steel: the nine hearts in the
Danish arms seemed redder and redder, while the lions, with
their gold crowns on their heads, were actually leaping.

“‘ They are certainly the finest arms in the world,” said the
old man. ‘The lions stand for strength, and the hearts. for
mercy and love.” And he gazed at the uppermost lion, and
thought of King Knud, who chained illustrious England to the
Danish throne; and he looked at the second lion, and thought
of Waldemar, who united Denmark, and conquered the Vandal
states. Then he looked at the third lion, and thought of
Margaret, who was the bond of union between Denmark,
Sweden, and Norway. But while he was gazing at the red
hearts, they glowed yet more brightly than before, and became
flames that moved, and his mind followed each of them in
turn.

The first flame led him into a dark and narrow prison, where
sat captive a beautiful woman, Eleonor Ulfeld,’ daughter to
Christian IV. ; and the flame alighted on her bosom like a rose,
and bloomed, and seemed to make one with the heart of the
best and noblest of all Danish women.

1 This highly-gifted princess (wife of the Corfitz Ulfeld, who was accused
of betraying his country), whose only crime was her faithful attachment to
her unfortunate husband, languished for twenty-two years in an abominable
dungeon, till her persecutor, Queen Sophia Amelia, was dead.
198 Holger Danske.



“* Ay, that is, indeed, a heart in Denmark’s arms,” said the
old grandfather.

And his spirit followed the second flame, that carried him
out to sea, where cannons were roaring, and ships lay wrapped
in smoke; and the flame shaped itself into the ribbon of an
order on Hvitfeldt’s breast, as he blew up himself and his ship,
in order to save the whole fleet.?

And the third flame led him to Greenland’s miserable huts,
where the missionary, Hans Egede,” held his sway by words
and deeds of Christian love. The flame that was a star on his
breast became one of the hearts in the Danish arms. :

And the old grandfather’s spirit followed the hovering flame,
for his spirit knew whither it was about to lead him. In a
peasant woman’s poverty-stricken room stood Frederick VI.,
writing his name in chalk upon a beam; the flame was
flickering on his breast and in his heart, and it was in the
peasant’s house that his heart became one of the hearts in the
Danish coat-of-arms. And the old grandfather wiped his eyes,

1 In the naval battle in the Kjége Gulf, between the Danes and Swedes,
in 1710, Hvitfeldt’s ship, the Danebrog, caught fire. In order to save the

town of Kjége and the Danish fleet from the flames of his ship, which was
driven towards them by the wind, he blew up his vessel with himseif and the
whole crew.

® Hans Egede went to Greenland in 1721, where he followed his calling
during fifteen years, amidst incredible privations and hardships. Not only
did he spread the lights of Christianity, but he was himself a pattern of the
noblest Christian virtues.

* During a journey to the western coast of Jutland, the king visited a poor
woman, who, on his leaving her house, ran after him to request him to write
his name on a beam ; the king accordingly turned back and complied with
her wish. Through the whole course of his life he displayed a great anxiety .
to better the condition of the peasantry. Hence it was that Danish peasants
begged for the privilege of carrying his coffin to its last resting-place, in the
royal vault at Roeskilde, a distance of four miles from Copenhagen.
A Hero in Battle. 199



for he had known King Frederick, with his silvery locks and
his honest blue eyes, and had lived under him; and he clasped
‘ his hands, and gazed steadfastly before him. The old grand-
father’s daughter-in-law then came to remind him that it was
late, that he ought to take some rest, and that supper was
ready.

“ But what you have carved is very fine, grandfather,” said
she; ‘“ Holger Danske, and our complete old coat-of-arms! It
seems to me as if I had seen that face before.”

“No, you can’t have seen it,” said the old grandfather ;
‘but I have, and I have endeavoured to carve it in wood, such
as it remained impressed on my memory. A long time ago,
when the English fleet lay in the roadstead, and when we
showed, on the memorable second of April,’ that we were true
ancient Danes, I was on the deck of the Denmark, for I served
in Steen Biles’ squadron, and there I stood beside a man,
whom the very cannon-balls seemed to be afraid of. He sang
old ditties in a cheerful voice, and fired and fought as if he
were something more than a human being. I still recollect his
countenance, but whence he came, or whither he went, neither
I nor anybody else ever knew. I have often thought it might
be old Holger Danske himself, who had swum down to us from
Kronenburg to help us in the hour of danger. That was my
notion, and there is his likeness.”

The wooden image cast its giant shadow upon the wall, and
even on a part of the ceiling. It seemed to be the real Holger
Danske himself standing there ; for the shadow moved, though
- it might only be the flickering light of the candle that caused

1 It was on April 2, 1801, that this bloody naval battle took place
between the Danes and the English, under Parker and Nelsop.
200 Holger Danshé,



such an illusion. And his daughter-in-law kissed the old
grandfather, and led him to the great arm-chair before the
table ; and she and her husband, the son of the old grand-
father and father to the little boy who lay in bed, supped with
him, while the old man descanted upon the Danish lions and
the Danish hearts, the emblems of strength and mercy, and
expounded very clearly that there was another kind of strength
that lay not in the sword, and pointed to a shelf containing
some old books, amongst which might be found a complete set
of Holberg’s comedies, that have been so much read, because
they are so amusing, and one can fancy one recognises all the
characters of bygone ages delineated in their pages.

“You see he, too, knew how to fight,” said the old grand-
father ; ‘‘ he scourged people’s follies and failings as long as he
could.” And the grandfather nodded in the direction of the
looking-glass, near which stood an almanac with a print of the
round tower;! saying: ‘‘ Tycho Brahe was another of those
who used the sword not to hack and ‘hew flesh, but to clear a
simpler road between all the stars in heaven. And then he,
whose father belonged to my craft—he, the son of the old
image-carver—he, whom we have ourselves seen, with his
white locks and broad shoulders, and whose name is celebrated
throughout all the lands of the world—ay, he is a sculptor,
while I am only an image-carver! Yes; Holger Danske can
come in many shapes, so that Denmark’s strength shall be
manifest through all the lands of the earth. Now, shall we
drink Bertel’s® health ?”

But the little boy in bed saw old Kronenburg and the Sound

1 The Astronomical Observatory in Copenhagen. ©
2 Bertel Thorwaldsen.
Boom! Boom! 201



of Elsinore quite plainly, and the real Holger Danske, who sat
below in the cellar, with his beard rooted to the table, dream-
ing of all that happens up above here. Holger Danske likewise
dreamed of the humble little room where sat the carver of
images: he heard the conversation that took place, and
nodded in his dream, saying: “Ay, do but remember me, you
Danish people! Bear me in your memory! I will come in
the hour of need!”

And the bright daylight now shone outside Kronenburg,
and the wind bore the sound of the huntsmen’s bugles from
the neighbouring land. The ships sailed past, and saluted the
fortress — ‘Boom! boom!” And Kronenburg answered:
“Boom! boom!’’ But Holger Danske did not wake, loud as
the cannons had roared, for they meant nothing but—‘“‘ Good-
morning!’ and “Your servant!” They must fire in another
sort- of manner before he awakes; but wake he will, if
necessary, for there is plenty of strength yet in Holger
Danske.






































= TET a VAT et Sc TA a zs

THE OLD STREET LAMP.

Dip you ever hear the story of the old street lamp? Not
that it is so very entertaining either, only it may bear to be
heard just once.

There was a most respectable old lamp, who, after many,
many years of active service, was just about to be cashiered.
She now stood at her post for the last time, and lit up the
street with feelings very nearly akin to those of some aged
‘figurante dancing for the last time, with the prospect of being
consigned to oblivion the next day in her garret. The lamp
was very uneasy about the morrow, for she knew that she
would have to make her appearance at the town-hall, and be
examined by the burgomaster and the council, to see whether
she were still fit for use or not.

The question to be solved was, whether she should in
future light the inhabitants of one of the suburbs, or be
removed to a manufactory in the country, or find her way into
an iron-foundry to be melted down. In this case all would,
The Lamps Last Evening. 203



indeed, be over with the lamp; but the thought that she might,
perhaps, retain the recollection of having formerly been a
street-lamp concerned her dreadfully. And whatever might
happen, certain it was that she must be separated from the
watchman and his wife, whom she looked upon exactly as her
own family. When the lamp was first hung up, the watchman
was an active young man, who entered upon his office in that
very same hour. It was, indeed, a long while ago since she
began to be a lamp and he a watchman. His wife was rather
proud in those days. It was only when she happened to pass
by in the evening that she deigned to look upon the lamp; for
by day she never took the slightest notice of it. But during
later years, now that the watchman, his wife, and the lamp had
all three grown old, the wife had likewise tended her, trimmed
her, and fed her with oil. The old couple were thoroughly
honest, and they had never cheated the lamp of so much as a
drop of the oil destined for her use.

It was her last evening in the street, and to-morrow she
was to go to the town-hall—two gloomy prospects! No wonder
if she did not burn as brightly as usual. Moreover, a number
of other thoughts crossed her at the same time. To what a
number of persons she had afforded light ! how much had she
seen! as much, very likely, as the burgomaster and the council!
Only she kept such thoughts to herself; being a good, honour-
able old lamp that would not injure anyone, much less the magis-
tracy. Many things struck her; and, meanwhile, her flame flared
more brightly. She felt an inward conviction at such moments,
that she would be remembered. ‘‘ There was formerly,”
thus ran her musings, ‘‘a young and handsome man—it is now
a long time since—who held in his hand a little note written
The Old Street Lamp.

204

on pink paper with a gold edge.



The writing was most





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THE HAPPIEST MAN ALIVE,

kissed it, and looked up at me with eyes that plainly said: ‘1

am the happiest man alive!’

He and I alone knew what stood
Candidates for Office. 205

written in this first letter from his beloved. Ay, and I re-
member another pair of eyes. It is odd what jumps the
imagination can sometimes take! A funeral passed through
the street. A young and beautiful woman lay on a magnificent
hearse, in a coffin decked with flowers and garlands; the
torches were so numerous as completely to eclipse my light.
All along the houses stood crowds of people waiting to join the
funeral procession. But when the torches no longer flared in
my face, and I looked about me, I saw one person leaning
against my post and weeping. Never shall I forget that
mournful pair of eyes which looked up at me!” These and
similar recollections busied the thoughts of the good old street
lamp, who was shedding her light for the last time.

~The sentry who is relieved from his post knows his suc-
cessor, and may whisper a’ few words in his ear; but the lamp
did not know hers, though she might have given him some
useful hints relative to rain and fog, and have informed him
how far the moonshine lay upon the pavement, from which
side the wind generally blew, and so forth.

On the bridge, across the kennel, stood three persons who
wanted to recommend themselves to the lamp, in the sup-
position that she could dispose of the office. One was a
herring’s head that could shine in the dark. He pretended it
would be a great economy of oil if he were placed at the top of
the post. The second candidate was a piece of phosphorescent
wood, which shines likewise. He pretended to have descended
from an old tree, once the ornament of its native forest. The
third candidate was a glow-worm; though where he came
from the lamp could not imagine—however, there he was, and
he could throw a light as well as the others. But the phos-
206 The Old Street Lamp.



phorescent wood and the herring’s head vowed by all they held
sacred that he only showed light at stated times, and that his
claims were, therefore, not worthy of being taken into con-
sideration.

The old lamp maintained that none of them threw a
sufficient light to undertake the office of street lamp; but none
of them agreed to this. And, therefore, when they found that
the lamp had not the office at her disposal, they pretended that
it was a good thing, for that she was much too weak to ‘be
able to make a good choice.

At this moment the wind came whizzing round the corner
of the street, and rushed through the air-holes of the old lamp.
“What do I hear?” asked he. ‘Are you going away. to-
morrow? Is this the last time we shall meet? Nay, then, I
must bestow on you a parting. I will blow into your brain, so
that in future you shall not only remember all that has passed
and that you have heard, but your inward perception shall
grow so bright, that you shall Be, able to see all that is read
about or related in your presence.”

“Oh, this is truly a great boon—a very great one!” said
‘the old lamp, ‘and heartily do I thank you. I only hope I
shall not be melted!”

“That will not happen yet awhile,” said the wind. ‘‘Now
I will puff memory into you; and should you receive several
other gifts of the same kind, you may spend your old age very
pleasantly.”

“TI. hope I shall not be melted |” said the lamp. “ But
should I retain my memory even in that case ?”

‘Be reasonable, old lamp,” said the wind, puffing.

At that moment the moon emerged from the clouds.
Presents for the Old Lamp. 207



“What will you give the lamp ?” inquired the wind.

“* Nothing,” answered the moon. ‘J am on the wane, and
no lamps have ever lit me, although I have frequently shone
them light.” And so saying, the moon concealed herself
behind the clouds, in order not to be exposed to fresh im-
portunities.

A drop now fell upon the lamp as if from the neighbouring
roof; but he explained that he came from a gray cloud, and
was a present likewise ; and, perhaps, as good a one as any.
“J will penetrate you so thoroughly, that you will have the
faculty of becoming rusty and falling into dust in a single night
if you should wish it.”

But this seemed to the lamp but a sorry gift ; and the wind
thought the same. ‘‘ Will nobody else give something? Will
nobody else give something ?” blew he, as hard as he could.

Just then a luminous falling-star came down, leaving a long,
bright track behind.

“‘ What was that ?” cried the herring’s head. ‘‘ Did not a
star fall? I think it went right into the lamp! Really, if
such exalted personages as these are canvassing for the office,
we may as well draw in our horns and go home.”

And this they all three accordingly did. But the old lamp
shed an amazingly powerful light. ‘‘ This is a capital gift !”
said she. ‘‘The bright stars that were always my greatest
delight, and that shone so brilliantly—more brilliantly than I
could ever shine, although it was my whole aim and endeavour
to do my best—have deigned to notice a poor old lamp like
myself, and have sent me a gift which will allow all the things
which I recollect, and see as plainly as though they stood
before me, to be likewise seen by all those I love. And in this
208 The Old Street Lamp.

consists, every true pleasure ; ia a joy that we cannot share
with others is only half a joy.”

“That does credit to your good feelings,” said the wind.
“ But wax tapers are necessary to produce this effect. Should
not these be lighted within you, your singular capabilities will
not benefit others at all. Only you see the stars did not think
of that; they: take you and every other light: to: be tapers.
But I must now lay myself.” And the wind was accordingly
laid.

“Tapers, quotha!” said the lamp. “I have neither had —
them hitherto, nor shall I be likely to obtain them in future!
I only hope I shall not be melted.”

On the following day—but we had better jump at once over
the following day. On the following evening, the lamp was
resting in an arm-chair. And guess where?’ Why, at the old
watchman’s. He had requested as a favour of the burgomaster
. and the council, in consideration of his long and faithful
services, to be allowed to keep the old lamp, which he had
hoisted and lit for the first time some four-and-twenty years
ago, on the first day of his entering upon his office. He
~ looked upon it as his child, having none of his own; and the
lamp was accordingly awarded him.

There she now lay in the arm-chair near the stove. It was
just as if she had grown larger, for she filled the whole
chair.

The old folks sat at supper, casting ever and anon a friendly
look at the old lamp, to whom they would willingly have given
a place at table.

It is true, they lived in a cellar two ells deep in the earth,
and one had to go through a paved passage to reach their
The Watchman’s House. 209



room, but within it was warm and comfortable ; list was nailed
round the door, there were curtains to the bedsteads and to
the little windows, and all was kept tidy and clean. On the
window-sill stood two curious flower-pots, which the sailor
Christian had brought from the East or West Indies. They
were only of clay, and represented two elephants; the back of
each was missing, but in one some very fine chives were grow-
ing out of the earth with which the vessel had been filled—and
this was the kitchen-garden; while in the other elephant grew
a large geranium, and that was the flower-garden. On the
wall was hung a large coloured ‘print of the congress at
Vienna. And here they had all the kings and emperors in
one picture. A house-clock, with heavy leaden weights, kept
saying “ Tick! tack!” and always advancing, which the old
folks maintained. was far better than going too slow. They
were eating their supper, while the street lamp lay, as has been
said, in the arm-chair near the stove. It seemed to the lamp
as if the whole world had been turned topsy-turvy. But when
the old watchman looked at her and spoke of all they two had
lived to see through rain and fog, through the clear, short
summer nights, or through the long winter nights in snow-
storms that made him long for the passage leading to his
cellar—the old lamp felt all right again. She saw everything
as plainly as if it were then happening—in truth, the wind had
enlightened her in good earnest.

The old folks were very active and industrious, and did not
spend a single hour in idleness. On Sunday afternoons, a book
of some kind was sure to be brought out, generally relating to
travels, which were their favourite reading. And the old man
read aloud about Africa and its vast forests, with elephants

P
210 The Old Street Lamp.

running about wild; while the old wife pricked up her ears,
and listened with all her might, casting a stealthy look ever
and anon towards the clay elephants that served as flower-
pots.

‘“T can almost imagine I were seeing it all!’’ observed she.

And the lamp wished so ardently that she could have had a
taper burning inside her; for then the old woman would have
seen even the minutest details as plainly as the lamp saw them
—the high trees with their thickly entwined branches, the
naked negroes on horseback, and whole herds of elephants
trampling down bamboos and bushes beneath their broad,



heavy feet.

‘What is the use of all my capacities, if I cannot have a
wax-light ?” sighed the lamp. ‘‘ They burn only oil and tallow;
and that will not suffice.”

One day a whole heap of wax candle-ends found their way
into the cellar. The largest pieces were burned ; and the old
woman made use of the small ones to wax her sewing thread
with. So tapers there were in plenty, only nobody thought of
_ placing so much as a little end in the lamp.

‘Here am I left in a corner with all my rare faculties,”
thought the lamp. “I carry everything within me, yet cannot
share it with them; they know not that I could change these
whitewashed walls to the most costly tapestry, to the finest
forests, or to whatever they might happen to wish.”’ The lamp
was, however, kept clean, and stood in a corner well furbished
up so as to strike everybody’s sight. Strangers thought it so
much lumber; but the old folks did not care about that, for
they loved the lamp.

One day—it was the old watchman’s birthday—the old











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The Old Street Lamp. 213



woman approached the lamp smiling to herself, and saying:
“J will illuminate to-day in honour of my old man.” And
the lamp rattled her tin gear, for she thought: ‘ Now, then,
they will at length be enlightened.” But oil was poured in,
and a taper was not thought of. She burned during the whole
evening; but she now too clearly perceived that the star’s gift
would remain a dead letter in this life. And then she had a
dream—for it was no difficult matter to dream with the
faculties she possessed!—in which she fancied that the old
couple had died, and that she had been taken to the iron-
foundry to be melted. She felt as uneasy ‘as she had done
when summoned to the town-hall to be examined by the
burgomaster and the council. Yet although she had the
faculty of turning to rust and falling into powder at her
pleasure, she did not make use of it. She was put into the
melting-furnace and changed into an iron candlestick, as
elegant as could be, for holding a wax taper. She was in the
form of an angel, holding a large nosegay, in the centre of
which the taper was to be placed. The candlestick was placed
on a green writing-table ; the room bore all the tokens of an
intellectual owner; there were books strewed about, and the
walls were hung with splendid paintings—in fact, it was a poet’s
home. All that he thought or wrote was pictured around.
Nature changed herself into thick, gloomy forests, or to
cheerful meadows where storks were strutting about, or to
the deck of a ship on the waving sea, or to a clear sky with
all its stars.
“What capabilities are in me!” said the lamp, awaking.
‘©T could almost wish to be melted. Yet not while the old
couple are alive either! They love me for my own sake; they
214 The Old Street Lamp.



have trimmed me, and supplied me with oil. I amas well off
as the whole congress, in the contemplation of which they
also take great delight.”

And from that time forward she felt a greater degree of
inward peace, which the honourable old lamp well deserved to
enjoy.


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THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL.

Ir was dreadfully cold, it snowed, and was getting quite ~
‘dark, for it was evening—yes, the last evening of the year.

Amid the cold and the darkness, a little girl, with bare
head and naked feet, was roaming through the streets. It is
true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but
they were not of much use, for they were very large slippers; so
large, indeed, that they had hitherto been used by her mother ;
besides, the little creature lost them as she hurried across the
street to avoid two carriages that were driving at a fearful
rate. One of the slippers was not to be found, and the other
was pounced upon by a boy, who ran away with it, saying that
it would serve for-a cradle when he should have children of
his own.

So the little girl went along, with her little bare feet, that
were red and blue with cold. She carried a number of matches
in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand.
216 The Little Match-Girl.



Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day,
and nobody had even given her a penny.

She crept along, shivering with cold and hunger, a perfect
picture of misery—poor little thing !

The snow-flakes covered her long flaxen hair, which hung
in pretty curls round her throat ; but she heeded them not.

Lights were streaming from all the windows, and there was
a savoury smell of roast goose; for it was St. Sylvester’s
evening. And this she did heed.

She now sat down, cowering in a corner formed by two
houses, one of which projected beyond the other. She had
drawn her little feet under her, but she felt colder than ever ;
yet she dared not return home, for she had not sold a match,
and could not take back a penny.

Her father would certainly beat her; and it was cold
enough at home, besides, for they had only the roof above
them, and the wind came howling through it, though the
largest holes had been stopped with straw and rags.

Her little hands were nearly frozen with cold.

Alas!.a single match might do her some good, if she might
only draw one out of the bundle, and rub it against the wall,
and warm her fingers.

So at last she drew one out. Whisht! how it shed sparks,
and how it burned! It gave out a warm, bright flame, like a
little candle, as she held her hands over it—truly, it was a
wonderful little light! It really seemed to the little girl as if
she were sitting before a large iron stove, with polished brass
feet, and brass shovel and tongs. The fire burned so blessedly,
and warmed so nicely, that the little creature stretched out her
feet to warm them likewise, when lo! the flame expired, the










WARMING HERSELF WITH THE MATCHES.

The Littl Match-Girl. 219



stove vanished, and left nothing but the little half-burned match
in her hand.

She rubbed another match against the wall. It gave a
light, and where it shone upon the wall the latter became as
transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room.

A snow-white tablecloth was spread upon the table, on
which stood a splendid china dinner-service, while a roast
goose, stuffed with apples and prunes, sent forth the most
savoury fumes. And what was more delightful still, the goose
jumped down from the dish, and waddled along the ground
with a knife and fork in its breast, up to the poor girl.

The match then went out, and nothing remained but the
thick, damp wall.

She lit another match.

She now sat under the most magnificent Christmas-tree,
that was larger and more superbly decked than even the one
she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant’s.
A thousand tapefs burned on its green branches, and gay
pictures, such as. one sees on targets, seemed to be looking
down upon her. The match then went out.

The Christmas lights kept rising higher and higher. They
now looked like stars in the sky. One of them fell down, and
left a long streak of fire.

“* Somebody is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old
grandmother, the only person who had ever loved her, and
who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls it is a
sign that a soul is going up to heaven.

She again rubbed a match upon the wall, and it was again
light all round; and in the brightness stood her old grand-
220 The Little Match-Girl.



mother, clear and shining like a spirit, yet looking so mild and
loving. :

“Grandmother,” cried the little one; “oh! take me with
you; I know you will go away when the match goes out—you
will vanish like the warm stove, and the delicious roast goose,
and the fine, large Christmas-tree |”

And she made haste to rub the whole bundle of matches,
for she wished to hold her grandmother fast.

And the matches gave a light that was brighter than noon-
day. Her grandmother had never appeared so beautiful nor
so large. She took the little girl in her arms, and both flew
upwards, all radiant and joyful, far, far above mortal ken,
where there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor care to be found;
for it was to the land of the blessed that they had flown.

But in the cold dawn the poor girl might be seén leaning
against the wall, with red cheeks and smiling mouth. She had
been frozen on the last night of the old year.

The new year’s sun shone upon the little corpse.

The child sat in the stiffness of death, still holding the
matches, one bundle of which was burned.

- People said: “She tried to warm herself.”

Nobody dreamed of the fine things she had seen, nor in
what splendour she had entered upon the joys of the new year,
together with her grandmother.




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THE HAPPY FAMILY.

THE largest green leaf in this country is certainly the
burdock ; for if one holds it before one’s little body it serves as
an apron, and should one put it on one’s head, it would be
almost as serviceable as an umbrella in a shower, for it is so
extraordinarily broad. Burdock never grows singly; where
you see one plant of the kind you are sure that others are
growing in its immediate neighbourhood—and how magnificent
they look! And all this magnificence is food for snails. The
large white snail which persons of rank, in former days, used
to have dished up as fricassees, after partaking of which they
would say: ‘Oh! how nice!”—for they really fancied them
nice—such snails, you must know, lived on burdock; and that
is why burdock was planted.

Now there was an old estate where snails were no longer in
request for the table. The race had died away, but the burdock
still flourished, and it had grown and grown in all the alleys,
and in all the beds, so that it could no longer be checked, and

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224. The Happy Family.



had become a regular forest of burdock. Here and there stood
an apple ora plum tree, which was the only token that reminded
one it could bea garden. It was burdock from one end to the
other, and beneath its shade lived the two last sens snails,
who were well stricken in years.

They did not themselves know how old they were; but they
could remember the time when there were a great many more
of them; that they descended from a family that came from
foreign lands, and that the whole forest had been planted for
them and theirs. They had never been beyond the limits of
the garden, but they knew that there was a something else in
the world, called the lord of the manor’s castle, in which their
fellow-creatures were cooked, and became black, and were then
laid on a silver dish—though what happened afterwards they
knew not. Neither could they exactly fancy how it felt to bé
cooked and laid on a silver dish; but it was no doubt a fine
thing, and was exceedingly genteel! Neither the cockchafer,
nor the toad, nor the earthworm, whom they questioned on the
matter, could give them the least information, for none of them
had ever been cooked or served up on a silver dish.

The old white snails were of the most aristocratic race in
the world, and this they were well aware of. The forest had
sprung up solely on their account, and the manor castle, too,
had been expressly built that they might be cooked arid served
up on a silver dish.

They now led a very retired and happy life, and having no
children, they had adopted a little common snail, whom they
had brought up as their own child. Only the little fellow would
not grow, for he was only a common snail, though the old foster-
mother snail pretended that she could see a great improvement
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A Snails’ Paradise. Das



in him. And she begged the father, since he could not per-
ceive it, just to feel the little snail’s shell ; and sure enough, on
touching it, he found his wife was right.

One day it rained very fast.

‘Hark ! what a drumming there is on the burdock-leaves—
rumdumdum ! rumdurmdum !” said the father snail.

“‘ And there are drops,” said the mother snail; ‘“ they come
trickling down the stalks. We shall presently find it very wet
here. I am glad, at all events, that we have such good houses,
and that the youngster has his own likewise. Really, more has
been done for us than for any other creatures living; it is
plain that we are the principal beings in the world! We have
houses from our very birth, and burdock is planted on purpose
for'us. I should like to know how far the plantation extends,
and what lies beyond it.”

‘There is nothing better than what we have here,” said the
father snail, ‘“‘I wish for nothing beyond.”

“And yet,” said the mother, “I would fain be taken to the
manor castle, and be cooked and served up on a silver dish ;
such was the fate of all our ancestors, and we may take it for
granted that it is something quite out of the common way.”

“The castle has perhaps fallen to ruins,” said the father
snail; “or it is perhaps overgrown with burdock, and its
inmates are unable to come out. There’s no hurry about the
matter. Only you are always in such a desperate hurry, and
the youngster begins to take after you. He has been creeping
these three days to the top of a stem—it makes me quite dizzy
to look at him.”

“Don’t scold him,” said the mother snail. ‘“‘ He creeps so
carefully. He will be the joy of our old age, and we old folks

Q
226 The Happy Family.



have nothing else to live for. But have you thought of how
we can manage to find him a wife? Do you not think that
further into the burdock forest there may be others of our
Own species ?” :

‘‘T dare say there may be black snails,’’*said the old snail,
“black snails without a house at all—only they are so vulgar,
although they think a good deal of themselves. But we can
employ the ants, who run-about in all directions, as if they had
all the business in the world on their hands, and they will
certainly be able to find a wife for our youngster.”

‘““T know the fairest of the fair,” said one of the ants,
“but I’m afraid it would be aiming rather too high, for she is a
queen.”

‘‘ She is none the worse for that,” said the old folks; ‘has
she a house ?”

“She has a palace!” answered the ant; “the most splendid
ant-palace, with seven hundred galleries.”

‘““Much obliged to you!” said the mother snail; ‘our son
shall not go and live in an ant-hill. If you know of nothing
better, we will employ the white gnats, who fly about both in
rain and sunshine, and know all the ins and outs of the burdock
forest.”

“We have found a wife for him,” said the gnats. “A
hundred human paces from here, there sits on a gooseberry-
bush a little snail with a house, who is all alone, and old
enough to marry. It is only a hundred human steps from
here!”

“Then let her come to him,” said the old couple; ‘‘he has
a whole forest of burdock, whilé she has only a bush.”

And they went and fetched the young lady snail. It took
The Young Snail Marries. 227)



her eight days to perform the journey, but that only showed her
high breeding, and that she belonged to the right race.

And the wedding then took place. Six glow-worms gave
all the light they could; but it was a very quiet affair in all
other respects, as the old couple could not bear the fatigue of

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THE SNAIL’S WEDDING.

any frolics or festivities. But the mother snail made a very
touching speech. As to the father, he was too much overcome
to say anything. They then gave the young folks the whole
burdock forest as their patrimony, saying what they had
always maintained, namely, that it was the finest thing in the
world; and that if they led an upright and honourable life, and
7

228 - The Happy Family.



if their family increased, both themselves and their children
would one day be taken to the manor castle, and be cooked till
they became black, and served up on a silver dish. And after
this address, the old couple crept into their houses and never
came out again, but went to sleep. The young snail pair now
reigned over the forest, and had a numerous offspring. But as
none of them were ever cooked or served up on a silver dish,
they concluded that the castle had fallen to ruin, and that all
human beings in the world had died. And as nobody contra-
dicted them, they thought it must be true. And the rain
continued to fall on the burdock leaves solely to entertain them
with: the drumming, and the sun shone to gild the burdock
forest for their especial benefit, and very happy they were
the whole family was happy—inexpressibly happy !

and




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GRANDMOTHER.

GRANDMOTHER 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. Grand-
mother 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? Do you know? . Why, each time
2.30 | Grandmother.



that Grandmother’s tears fall upon the rose, its colours become
fresh again; the rose swells and fills the whole room with its

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GRANDMOTHER'S STORY.,

fragrance ; the walls sink as if 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 Grand-
Grandmother's Grave. 231



mother—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 as if a
sunshine spread over her features; and she smiled again, and
then the people said she was dead.

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
232 Grandmother.

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 rosés
the nightingale sings and the organ sounds, and the remem-
brance lives of the old Grandmother with the mild eyes that
always looked young. Eyes can never die! Ours will once
again behold Grandmother, young and beautiful, as when she
kissed for the first time the fresh red rose that is now dust in
the grave.





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